With backgrounds in fashion film and photography, Johan Von Reybekiel and Marcus Werner Hed have created an unsurprisingly beautiful debut feature. Following in the footsteps of Tom Ford’s A SINGLE MAN, fashion-influenced cinematography conveys the surety of filmmakers skilled at framing a shot. However, this belies the weaknesses in a plot that fails to live up to the faultless stride of its presentation.
THE SUMMER HOUSE unfolds on the idyllic shore side of a Swedish lake, and looks every bit the untainted rural escape it’s supposed to. This tranquil aesthetic is matched only by the cast, who effortlessly embody a carefree youth, ripe for the blemishing. As the group of friends — gathered to mark Carl’s birthday — ponder the nature of love and infatuation, it is as yet unclear what direction this holiday is to take. However, it is not long before a love triangle is clearly established, and the inevitable destiny of the plot is all but revealed. Carl sits alongside his old flame Stina and says it would be a shame to ignore one’s desires purely because of prior emotional commitments. His pregnant wife looks on. Stina’s boyfriend enters as the alienated Englishman abroad. The audience wonders how long it’ll be before Carl’s rather heavily forecast intentions are enacted.
… there is an unnecessary foreshadowing that sits at odds with the look of a subtle film.
Maybe it is cynical to criticise THE SUMMER HOUSE for being heavy handed, but when Carl pulls Stina onto his impressively large speed boat, whisking her away from the beach-bound Nick, or Nick asks Stina not to smoke only for her to go and puff on Carl’s cigarette, there is an unnecessary foreshadowing that sits at odds with the look of a subtle film. For what it’s worth, there are moments of palpable realism in Stina and Nick’s relationship (played by Sara Blomqvist and Tom Stanley). The smooching and bickering of the opening sequences establishes the affection and tension of a believable, young couple. Later, Nick’s despair and sense of loss is wonderfully conveyed as he sprints through a shapeless, mazy forest. He ends up still at the side of an open expanse of water, a distant lighthouse emitting occasional blips of light.
THE SUMMER HOUSE asks interesting enough questions. What is love? What is infatuation? How do they interact with one another? But there are few meaningful answers offered. We see love in one form or another. We see infatuation (or at least graphic humping). But it feels as if there wasn’t quite enough complexity or development in these themes to match the quality of the film’s appearance.
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