As a film critic with a soft spot for poignant stories set against picturesque backdrops, I found myself utterly captivated by “The Summer Book.” The movie, much like its source novel, is a delicate exploration of life, loss, and the healing powers of nature – all wrapped up in a beautifully restrained package.
Towards the finale of Charlie McDowell’s enchanting novel, ‘The Summer Book’, there’s an emotional intergenerational scene that beautifully encapsulates the healing power of its tranquil ambiance on a small island nestled within the Gulf of Finland.
As a gamer, I find myself reminiscing about an unforgettable experience from my childhood – camping under the starlit sky on a secluded island. It’s been so long that I can barely recall the sensation anymore, but my young granddaughter has a vivid memory of it. She described it as feeling like the entire island had contracted, enveloping us in a raft floating on the vast sea. Just hearing her words brought a warm smile to my face, transporting me back to those carefree moments.
Robert Jones’ movie adaptation, based on the book by Tove Jansson, the acclaimed Finnish author and creator of the timeless Moomin series, maintains fidelity to its origins by balancing the focus between its characters and the powerful natural elements they inhabit. You can almost sense the crisp breeze from the Baltic Sea as it kisses the shoreline, or feel the warmth of sunlight in a perpetually chilly environment, and witness the sudden ferocity of a storm that erupts unexpectedly.
Despite the vivid atmosphere portrayed, the movie appears excessively calm and soft at times, bordering on being too restrained. The storyline, while minimalist, occasionally lacks direction, potentially veering off course like the winds that lash the island. However, the leisurely tempo – let’s call it ‘island pace’ – offers a chance to focus intently on subtle details. The overall effect is poignant in its understated manner, reminiscent of traditional family dramas from a bygone, more naive era.
The novel is based on the author’s numerous summers spent at the rocky islet of Klovharu in the outer-archipelago, where she shared a simple cottage with her niece, built by herself and her brother in 1964. Tove Jansson, who was portrayed in the 2020 Finnish biographical film Tove, spent about half a year for three decades on this island with her partner. The partner captured the 8mm home movies seen at the end of that film and as credits here.
The strong emotional and physical bond the author has with the location serves as a base for the delicate narrative. These characteristics are vividly depicted in Close’s meticulous character development. The unnamed grandmother, who is robust and content despite her spartan living conditions, continues to live in an unfurnished, chilly cottage, even as her health deteriorates. She transmits her affection for the island – its rugged landscapes, mossy terrains, and pockets of pine forest – to her granddaughter Sophia (the fresh face Emily Matthews) through tender conversations scattered throughout.
The duo finds themselves on a secluded island, accompanied by Sophia’s quiet-natured father (Anders Danielsen Lie), following a heavy loss that is largely unmentioned throughout the movie. However, Anders’ somber expression as he retrieves an abandoned sunhat hints at his wife’s passing and its impact on him – he’s secluded himself, immersed in his art as an illustrator to cope. Sophia perceives her father’s silence as a sign of diminished affection since her mother passed away, while her grandmother subtly steps in to act as a peace broker.
Although adjusting the original content to English, the family exhibits a strong Nordic essence. The young girl occasionally exhibits petulance and boredom, playing cards and enjoying her grandma’s vintage records. However, Close imbues her character with a comforting calmness and serene smile, which usually soothes Sophia. Even as she limps about the rocks with effort, using a twisted piece of driftwood as a cane, the old woman maintains a charmingly cheerful demeanor.
Only once does she speak sharply to Sophia’s father, when he bitterly comments on a boatman’s reluctance to come to the house while delivering fireworks for the Midsummer celebration: “The stink of grief keeps him away.” “Or self-pity,” responds his mother.
The sensation appears completely unfamiliar to her. When Sophia queries, with the bluntness characteristic of youth, about when her grandmother will pass away, she responds, “Don’t worry about it. It will happen eventually.” Her tranquil acceptance of that certainty even extends to her removing the blankets from her bed at night and crossing her hands over her chest, seemingly more intrigued than fearful about what the sensation of being in a coffin might be like.
Despite her advancing age and health issues, the grandmother continues to join Sophia on their boat trips across the island. They often visit a new area where a grand, contemporary house has been constructed, disrupting the otherwise untouched natural beauty of the land. The elderly woman’s displeasure, though masked with humor, hardly fades when they discover that the homeowners are genuinely kind individuals.
On another day, they journeyed deeper, reaching an abandoned lighthouse. Sophia’s hope for something thrilling – “Perhaps a storm. Anything.” – turned out to be significant. It triggered the only dramatic escalation in the story, a powerful upheaval that provided an opportunity for the family to mend.
In Jones’ screenplay, there’s an unfortunate dramatic choice – the father shouting at the sky when he encounters a storm while in a rowboat: “Is that the best you can do? Is it?” This scene appears forced and overly emotional in a film that generally embodies a sense of self-control.
In the movie “The Worst Person in the World“, Danielsen Lie portrays a character who is subtly reserved, making his grief seem remote. Yet, when he shows renewed affection towards Sophia, it comes after a long wait and feels somewhat sudden, but it’s still moving. There’s an appealing sense of life’s cycles in how the restored bond enables the grandmother to release her hold.
It could be argued that McDowell carefully orchestrates the old woman’s death throughout the latter part of the film, making it seem as if every interruption is leading up to her departure. Yet when her time eventually arrives, it’s genuinely touching – a serene goodbye where her heartbeat fades away as she merges back with nature. (Since there’s no version of this movie where grandma survives, this event isn’t considered a spoiler.)
Although the story doesn’t mention a particular time period, the setting – with its vintage design, clothing styles, and lack of contemporary technology like cellphones or computers – seems to be reminiscent of the era when the 1972 novel was penned. The island dwellings of the newcomers, complete with boxy modernist architecture, could easily be mistaken for homes from the mid-20th century.
What truly stands out is the significant island, timeless and seemingly birthed by a volcano eons ago. Encircled by ice floes that melt scarcely during those brief summer seasons, it’s this island that catches DP Sturla Brandth Grovlen’s lens. He masterfully captures the enchanting sunsets at dusk, the soft cloud formations, the rippling waters and the serene glades under the soothing light – all while showcasing a stunning display of light that makes one believe in the rejuvenating qualities of this magical place.
The setting for McDowell’s current project is strikingly distinct from his previous work, the tense hostage thriller titled “Windfall.” Similarly, the overall mood of the new piece is notably less subdued than that one.
Hania Rani’s glistening musical score in the film serves as a subtle hint at the underlying melancholy felt by the characters, while also featuring the constant background sounds of nature – ocean waves, wind, and seabirds. Essentially, The Summer Book, though small in size, delivers profound enjoyment that becomes more substantial as you delve deeper into it.
Read More
Sorry. No data so far.
2024-10-12 17:55