Summer Hours
Release: Now available on DVD
Running time: 99 minutes
Rating: M (drug references)
Olivier Assayas’ Summer Hours is the kind of quietly, richly perceptive film that the French do so well. Structurally, it recalls the work of fellow French filmmaker Francois Ozon, as it offers a series of glimpses into a family’s treasured memories and interior lives.
Adult siblings Adrienne (Juliette Binoche), Frédéric (Charles Berling) and Jérémie (Jérémie Renier) have returned to the country home of their childhood to celebrate the birthday of their mother, Hélène (Edith Scob). The dying Hélène spends her time reassessing her valuables so her children may sell the art that adorns her home.
The brother Frédéric seeks to preserve the past and is uncomfortable with the idea of disposing of his family’s memories, whilst the other two attempt to move on as their lives have now taken them beyond France (Adrienne is now living in America whilst Jérémie is about to take his young family to China).
A stronger film than recent French productions, Summer Hours absorbs the genuine emotions of its characters in strange and fascinating ways. These people do not feel like obvious “movie characters,” as they are driven by their real-world obligations. The practical Adrienne and Jérémie are not particularly selfish people nor are they greedy. They simply have a different vision for the future of their family. The siblings do not have the trite, overheated arguments that one would expect of a family drama; the sensitive Frédéric learns to accept the wishes of his family and recognises the inevitability of death and transition.
Assayas' understated, unpretentious film embodies succession as the disaffected, young generation of Frédéric’s children represent a sense of irresponsibility which pointedly contrasts with their parents’ consciousness and responsibility.
A much-noted French filmmaker (his addition to the portmanteau, Paris jetaime, was probably the most affecting), Olivier Assayas’ strong, intelligent eye absorbs interesting, fascinating detail of these ageing locales; a house once so open is bare by the film’s end, bar for one last party, a spirited affair hosted by Frédéric’s daughter.
If Summer Hours has a fault, then it is it’s sense of relative slightness- there’s only so much latitude that you can allow these disaffected French intellectuals and their trivial issues. But the film’s writing is so sensitive and its acting is so faultless that one cannot help but recognise the story’s texture and intelligence.
Andrew Moraitis
