Outside of the few film segments featuring the exuberance and playfulness of children and adolescents, the remainder of this film consists largely of half-baked characters and unsurprising dialog -- involving an upper-crust 'art society'-type family and their coveted material things (of inheritance). I was unable to get behind the (too predictable, ho-hum) characters, unoriginal story line, and tiring moving camera: I dropped out after about 45 minutes of careful viewing and then selectively fast-forwarded through the rest. This is one of those films which seems to have surfaced from a combination of ample production assets plus a lack of creative vision. Furthermore, many cinephiles like me are tired of encountering 'too familiar' actors in films; instead, we much prefer to be exposed to fresh, even unprofessional, talent. Major film directors Rossellini, Pasolini, and Bunuel, for example, were fully aware of the filmic (and economic) value of using unknown/lesser-known actors -- and they did so often to great effect. Binoche and Berling are fine actors, but as with Tom Hanks and Gwyneth Paltrow, hey, we're just plain tired of the lack of intrigue such overly recognizable (and therefore somewhat predictable) actors bring to the screen. On a related note, Alan Ball, the academy award-winning screenwriter of American Beauty, once said, "I can't write characters that have no flaws; they don't seem real." Summer Hours does eventually expose character flaws (or call it human nature), but the flaws are embodied by characters of a kind that discerning viewers may find difficult to believe, care about, or relate to. Not enough existential intrigue or human diversity here: too much stale white bread to chew on.
Review of Summer Hours
