Movie Reviews
Movie Review: Glenn Close stars in a “Beach Read” that might cure insomnia — “The Summer Book”
“The Summer Book” is a picturesque period piece based on a novel Tove Jannson wrote, inspired by her own experiences living on an island in the Gulf of Finland. It aims for “lyrical” and “meditative” as it tells the story of a little girl and her father dealing with or avoiding the grief that came with the loss of the child’s mother.
But if the distributors of it were cheeky enough to make their own book “based on the film,” it’d be nothing but pretty pictures. It’s characterized by dry, scenic emptiness, a dash of melodrama and a Glenn Close performance of pointillistic perfection.
Nothing much happens, and not all that much is experienced in it, either.
Sophie, her illustrator father and wisened grandmother boat off to the deserted island where their family has summered for decades. The child (newcomer Emily Matthews) is six or so, and whatever happened to her mother is not something she can articulate or properly process. Dad (Anders Danielsen Lie) has memories of this place that probably haunt him, so he throws himself into his work and in coaxing back to life a poplar tree he planted — perhaps with his wife, or in her honor the year before.
Grandma (Close) twinkles and stumbles about with the infirmities of great age but the confidence of someone who knows every rock at the seaside, ever corner of the tiny forest there. She has a notion of what these two are going through, but doesn’t have much in the way of words of comfort or wisdom to offer.
The child can be a chatterbox, and granny has only so much patience for the incessant observations and questions such as “Are there ants in heaven?”
“Life is long, Sophia.”
They will spend the summer wandering, boating around the archipeligo and planning for the Midsomer bonfire, something they’ve always celebrated here.
Dad puts up a tent, another tradition, and grandma introduces Sophia to the wonders of nature and woodcarving as Dad practically disappears from the picture.
Thank heavens somebody brings Sophia a cat to adopt. Too bad it’s a cat.
“The more I love him, the less he loves me!”
But the child experiences this world and this life in what should turn out to be the formative memories of her future. Perhaps as an adult she’ll decide this was when she realized what loss was (not likely). But certainly she’ll figure out how inane she sounded saying this to her granny, who’s told her and us she helped found The Girl Scouts of Finland.
“I came to tell you what it’s like sleeping in a tent. I thought you would like to know.”
Too much of the movie is a read-between-the-lines/fill-its-holes-yourself experience — quiet idylls, grandma looking at the sea, the cove, the cabin and the trees as if this might be the last time, indulging Sophia as she’s really “getting” the place for the first time.
At one point, grandma runs naked through the trees, a scene not set up as “something we did as children.” That is merely implied. Or perhaps granny is going natural. Or a bit balmy.
The insights about the fragility of moss balance with the superstitions of grandma’s people.
“We’ll put seven leaves under your pillow and you’ll dream of the man you’ll marry.”
Sophia decides to test her newfound interest in the Almighty with a prayer — “Dear God, I’m bored as BEEF. Let SOMEthing happen.” Because “even a STORM” would be a break from the tedium.
Sure enough, that’s what happens, something served up in six thousand, two-hundred and seventy-two melodramas that preceded “The Summer Book.”
Whatever the meditative, “inspiring” merits of the novel, veteran British TV writer Robert Jones and “The One I Love” nepo baby director Charlie McDowell (son of Mary Steenbergen and Malcolm McDowell) don’t find its cinematic equivalents in this adaptation.
But Glenn Close, America’s Judi Dench (Give her an honorary Oscar, for the love of Mike.), makes the film watchable with another spot-on performance. Every gaze at the horizon, every movement, every gesture seems exactly right, calculated to seem as natural as taking that next deep breath.
Even if the script doesn’t move us through this character, Close almost manages that with just a look, a sigh or an old woman’s last wistful twirl of her Scandinavian pony tails.
Rating: unrated, nudity
Cast: Glenn Close, Anders Danielsen Lie and Emily Matthews
Credits: Directed by Charlie McDowell, scripted by Robert Jones, based on a novel by Tove Jansson. A Charades release.
Running time: 1:35
Desert Warrior, 2026.
Directed by Rupert Wyatt.
Starring Anthony Mackie, Aiysha Hart, Ben Kingsley, Ghassan Massoud, Sharlto Copley, Sami Bouajila, Lamis Ammar, Géza Röhrig, Numan Acar, Nabil Elouahabi, Hakeem Jomah, Ramsey Faragallah, Saïd Boumazoughe, and Soheil Bostani.
SYNOPSIS:
An honorable and mysterious rogue, known as Hanzala, makes himself an enemy of the Emperor Kisra after he helps a fugitive king and princess in the desert.
With aspirations of being a historical epic harkening back to the sword and sandal blockbusters of yesteryear, Rupert Wyatt’s seventeenth-century Arabia tale is about as generic and epically dull as one would expect from a film plainly titled Desert Warrior. Yes, there appear to be real locations here, and there are some admittedly sweeping shots of various tribes storming into battle on horseback and camels, but it’s all in service of a mess that is both miscast and questionable as the work of a filmmaking team of mostly white creatives.
The story of Emperor Kisraa (Ben Kingsley, a distracting presence even with only one or two scenes) rounding up women from other tribes to be his concubines, which inevitably became the catalyst for a revolution led by Princess Hind (Aiysha Hart), uniting all the divided clans and strategizing battle plans for flanking and poisoning, is undeniably ripe for cinematic treatment. The problem is that what’s here from Rupert Wyatt (and screenwriters Erica Beeney, Gary Ross, and David Self) is less than nothing in the primary creative process; no one seems to have a connection to Arabic heritage or culture, but they have made a flat-out boring film that is often narratively incoherent.
Following the death of her father and escaping the clutches of oppression, the honorable Princess Hind joins forces with a troubled, nameless bandit played by Anthony Mackie (he totally belongs here…), who seems to be here solely to give the movie some star power boost without running the risk of white savior accusations. Whatever the case may be, it’s jarring, but not quite as disorienting as how little screen time he has despite being billed as the lead and how little characterization he has. It is, however, equally disorienting as some of the other names that show up along the way.
As for the other factions, Princess Hind talks to them one by one, giving the film an adventure feel that fails to capitalize on using beautiful scenery in striking or visually poignant ways at almost every turn; the leaders of these tribes also often have no character. There also isn’t much of an understanding of why these tribes are at odds with one another. This movie is filled with dialogue that consistently and shockingly amounts to vague nothingness. Nevertheless, each tribe doesn’t take much convincing to begin with, meaning that not only is the film repetitive, but it’s also lifeless when characters are in conversation.
That Desert Warrior does occasionally spring to life, and a bloated 2+ running time is a small miracle. This is typically accomplished through the occasional fight scene between factions that also serves to demonstrate Princess Hind coming into her own as a warrior. When the tribes are united in a massive-scale battle, and that plan is unfolding step by step, one certainly sees why someone would want to tell this story and pull it off with such spectacle. However, this film is as dry as the desert itself.
Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ ★ / Movie: ★ ★
Robert Kojder
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=embed/playlist
‘4’, the opening track on Richard D James’ (Aphex Twin) self titled 1996 album is a piece of music that beautifully balances the chaotic with the serene, the oppressive and the freeing. It’s a trick that James has pulled off multiple times throughout his career and it is a huge part of what makes him such an iconic and influential artist. Many people have laid the “next Aphex Twin” label on musicians who do things slightly different and when you actually hear their music you realise that, once again, the label is flawed and applied with a lazy attitude. Why mention this? Well, it turns out we’ve been looking for James’ heir apparent in the wrong artform. We’ve so zoned in on music that we’ve not noticed that another Celtic son of Cornwall is rewriting an art form with that highwire balancing act between chaos and beauty. That artist is writer, director and composer Mark Jenkin who over his last two feature films has announced himself as an idiosyncratic voice who is creating his very own language within the world of cinema. Jenkin’s films are often centred around coastal towns or islands and whilst they are experimental or even unsettling, there is always a big heart at the centre of the narrative. A heart that cares about family, tradition, culture, and the pull of ‘home’. Even during the horror of 2022’s brilliant Enys Men you were anchored by the vulnerability and determination of its main protagonist.
This month sees the release of Jenkin’s latest feature film, Rose of Nevada, which is set in a fractured and diminished Cornish coastal town. One day the fishing boat of the film’s title arrives back in harbour after being missing for thirty years. The boat is unoccupied. And frankly that is all the information you are going to get because to discuss any more plot would be unfair on you and disrespectful to Jenkin and the team behind the film. You the viewer should be the one who decides what it is about because thematically there are so many wonderful threads to pull on. This writer’s opinions on what it is about have ranged from a theme of sacrifice for the good of a community to the conflict within when part of you wants to run away from your roots whilst the other half longs to stay and be a lifelong part of its tapestry. Is it about Brexit? Could be. Is it about our own relationships with time and our curation of memory? Could be. Is it about both the positives and negatives of nostalgia? Could be. As a side note, anyone in their mid-40s, like me, who came of age in the 1990s will certainly find moments of warm recognition. Is the film about ghosts and how they haunt families? Could be…I think you get the point.
The elements that make the film so well balanced between chaos and calm are many. It is there in the differing performances between the brilliant two lead actors George MacKay and Callum Turner. It is there in the sound design which fluctuates from being unbearably harsh and metallic, to lulling and warm. It is there in the editing where short, sharp close ups on seemingly unimportant factors are counterbalanced with shots that are held for just that little bit too long. For a film set around the sea, it is apt that it can make you feel like you’re rolling on a stomach churning storm one minute, or a calming low tide the next. Dialogue can be front and centre or blurred and buried under static. One shot is bathed in harsh sunlight whilst the next can be drowned in interior shadows.
Rose of Nevada is Mark Jenkin’s most ambitious film to date yet he has not lost a single iota of innovation, singularity of vision or his gift for telling the most human of stories. It is a film that will tell you different things each time you see it and whilst there are moments that can confuse or beguile, there is so much empathy and love that it can leave you crying tears of emotional understanding. It is chaotic. It is beautiful. It is life……
Rose of Nevada is released on the 24th April.
Mark Jenkin Instagram | Threads
Released through the BFI – Instagram | Facebook
Review by Simon Tucker
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