Review of Summertime (1955) by Eunice W — 06 Sep 2010

I think I watched a different movie than the rest of the folks who reviewed this because I got a 100 minute postcard of 1950s Venice with a wedged-in story about a dame hooking up with a married antique dealer.

To make matters worse, this was based on a play (which apparently must be all of 40 pages being that there are about 25 minutes of plot on displayâ?¦ maybe itâ??s a very â??open to interpretationâ?? play a la â??Our Townâ?? and the whole thing is actually 17 hours when performed onstage) and David Lean is in the driverâ??s seat.

Plays usually fare well and Lean almost always fares well so how did the wheels come off of this so fast? It canâ??t be Hepburn or Brazzi, both of whom turn in solid performances for what they have to work with (read: they deliver their cardboard, practically forced lines with a pulse).

It also is not the cinematography, as Lean uses on-location shots and peppers the movie full of themâ?¦ to the point where the city should almost be a character in itself. Itâ??s not even the token cute kid in this, which is saying something considering I usually despise children in movies (this one even gets to smoke at one point, which Iâ??m sure would go over with flying colors today).

I actually think itâ??s the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde shift the film takes as it isnâ??t sure whether or not it is a drama with a flimsy hook (Americans can find love in Europe!) or a documentary relying on buildings to carry us from one shot to the next (â??Antonio Gaudiâ?? this is not).

One oddly compelling moment in this is when our couple take their feelings for each other to the next step (which, for the time this was made, means they embrace on a balcony and walk inside behind the curtains) and we cut to fireworks going off.

Twice. And then a third time. And then they mail a postcard to Freud saying â??Wish you were here!â?? and we all laugh as the director casually walks into the frame and winks at us (not really, but that would actually add a whole other star to this review, if you ask me).

And this is intentionally done, which somehow makes this whole thing even more tragic. Save yourself the 100 minutes and catch a ticket to Venice instead. Or, better yet, go to the Venetian in Las Vegas and use your imagination.