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Up until a few years ago I thought Wes Anderson was the only recent director that could actually make me care about rich people and their issues. But Olivier Assayas changed all of that with 2008’s light family drama; ‘Summer Hours’ (a nice little break and change of pace between ‘Boarding Gate’ and ‘Carlos’). Aside from the fact that I’ll pretty much watch anything that Assayas directs, it was also released by the criterion collection which is enough to get me to watch anything. For quite some time i couldn’t get past writing two sentences about this one and then things finally clicked and i was able to enjoy it. I don’t mean to sound like some spiteful socialist or an occupy wallstreeter, but weather its fiction or non-fiction I cant get too emotionally attached to rich people problems. I either cant relate to them and/or I just don’t care. Simple as that. What are “rich people problems”, you ask? Stuff like losing a great deal of money when you’re STILL going to remain rich afterwards, power struggles over the ownership of a corporation that i could care less about, trying to rise to the top in the business world, or trying to decide what to do with a dead relatives will (which is part of what ‘Summer Hours’ is about). I also found it odd that a leftist raised in a very socialist household (Assayas) would make a film like this. Not to put anyone in a box or say they should be limited to what they explore on film, but rich people/upper class/the well off/etc are the last class of people I’d expect ‘Assayas to focus on the way he did with ’Summer Hours’ (although his earlier film; ‘Late August, Early September’ does kinda get in to that a little bit). And even when you put aside his upbringing and personal views, as a filmmaker, I was so use to his work jumping out at me and pulling me in right away (Demonlover & Boarding Gate) and ‘Summer Hours’ doesn’t really do that. It slowly creeps up on you after you watch it.
In ‘Summer Hours’ three siblings (Jeremie, Adrienne & Frederic) who’ve kinda drifted apart over the years have to decide what to do with their mother’s valuables after her passing (specifically a hefty art collection left to her by her brother). “Jeremie” (played by Jeremie Renier) and “Adrienne” (Juliette Binoche) both live abroad (China and America, respectively) while the oldest; “Frederic” (played by Olivier Assayas-regular; Charles Berling) is the only sibling that actually lived somewhat close to their mother in France. Even though all three are put to the task of trying to figure out what to do with their mothers belongings after she passes, Frederic is the most emotionally attached to the task. Frederic wants to keep the art collection together in order to try and get a museum to use it (against his mother’s wishes that she expressed before she died) while Jeremie and Adrienne want to sell the art off. ‘Summer Hours’ has quite a few touching and memorable moments (Frederic’s quick emotional breakdown in his car on the side of the road as well as the party scene at the end of the film are two standout moments for me), and there’s great yet subtle performances from the actors (specifically Charles Berling). In fact the entire film itself is quite subtle. Its a chilled out, laid back yet emotional film that’s good to kick back and watch on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
‘Summer Hours’ brings up the importance of family and the distance that can come between siblings, questions what classifies something as art or an antique that should be shared with the public in a museum versus something that’s a personal or a sentimental artifact that should be kept in the family. The film also brings up an interesting trend that’s been slowly developing over the years in indie/art house films that I don’t hear many people talking about. Its something I like to call “acceptable product placement” (or is it acceptable?). ‘Summer Hours’ is one of a few recent “art house” films to get funding from a famous art museum with the stipulation that the museum must be shown or somehow incorporated in to the making of the film. Olivier Assayas got support from the Musee d’Orsay in France for ‘Summer Hours’. Other similar scenarios involve Jim Jarmusch’s ‘Limits Of Control (The Museo Nacional Central de Arte Reina Sofia in Madrid), Matthew Barney’s ‘The Order’ (The Guggenheim) and Tsai Ming-Liang’s ‘Face’ (The Louvre). Is this OK or not? Recently product placement in films like ‘Ironman’ (burger king & Audi), ‘Darjeling Limited’ (apple/ipod) or just about anything by Michael Bay has become pretty fucking ridiculous and unnecessary.
But do these afformentioned art house/non-studio films get a pass because their product placement isn’t some stupid soda or fancy car most of us cant afford? I say yes, although I can understand if people are skeptical or weary of the idea. These days its becoming more and more difficult for talented filmmakers with great ideas to get funding for their movies through the traditional channels (pitching script ideas, getting backing from studios, etc) so I say why not as long as the “product” that’s being placed in front of us is something like a museum or an art gallery (which exists in order for us to learn from or gain some kind of knowledge or enlightenment) instead of something like coca cola or an ipod. Why cant one artform help out another? Directors like Hal Hartley and Todd Solondz are struggling more and more to get their films distributed or funded and have to come out of pocket to get their movies made (Solondz emptied his life savings to make ‘Palindromes’ and Hartley is becoming more and more obscure with each release). Even a director like David Lynch is slowly becoming more and more obscure and finding it hard to get things produced or distributed. Anyone wonder why more and more filmmakers from John Cameron Mitchell & Todd Haynes to Michael Mann are turning towards television instead of movies? Because its just become too hard to make a film these days (to quote John Cameron Mitchell directly). But back to the movie, being an American makes it very difficult for me to sympathize with any hardship a rich person comes across these days (big or small). But whats important to remember is that the upper-class characters in ‘Summer Hours’ aren’t the 1% that most of us Americans are use to these days (their not even American, lol) and they aren’t bad people. ‘Summer Hours’ is just another example of Olivier Assayas’ chameleon-like style and his ability to make any kind of film.

In the natural continuation of his “Les Destinées sentimentales”, Assayas returns from the corporate aspect of the modern world to that basic unit of society, the family. And the result is a quietly breath-taking humane drama. Every shot, glide, (un)said line, worried look… are so perfect that you almost can’t comment on them. This film draws such a gentle line between general ups and downs of life, it’s incredible. Hope and despair, past and future, art and commodity, all those things weave the persons we are and the existence we endure. The past must live inside our hearts, not on some shelves in a museum. What is the point of nostalgia then? The answer is in the film’s magical progression from sadness to optimism.

Our destiny is modern, not sentimental.

Talky and familiar nostalgia piece from acclaimed French director Olivier Assayas, about three grown siblings who return home to discuss the division of their family estate after the sudden passing of their mother. What’s unique about this particular estranged-siblings-return-home saga is the preciousness of the mother’s estate, which features valuable art works and paintings from a long deceased uncle of the impressionist style, and what is to be done, or valued more, family nostalgia, art preservation, or making a quick mint and moving on. Assayas is fond of lingering long takes and complicated moving camera shots, which give the talented actors plenty of room with difficult emotions which are never overstated or obvious; the film may be about death, but it’s also about preserving memory, celebrating the past, and celebrating artistic beauty, and though it may be understated, it’s quite moving, and lingers well past the end.

I’ve noticed Assayas’ style leans towards the cold and detached yet in no other way could I imagine this great story about the dismantling of a home, a symbol for our familial traces, after the loss of a loved one, without Assayas and Gautier’s icy gaze. It keeps the actors housed in a pale blue naturalism where deep emotions fade away as discreetly as they appear.

My favorite part of this film and there were many is the excellent sound work in this film. It feels rustic, as if the voices, steps, trees, birds, crackling floors were recorded on rustic pastels and old wine. I’d be fascinated to know how they recorded such rich textures.

See the film and you’ll be glad you went through the journey. The final sequence in the film is among the most beautiful: a series of eloquent tracking shots that follow a group of kids throwing a big party in what remains of the gutted home filled with music, soccer, splashing ponds, and eclectic music. It’s a gem.

What is the true value of something? Whether it a house, paintings, heirlooms, or photos, do objects hold more worth monetarily or sentimentally? Just the fact that the deceased is taxed upon death shows how important the money is to the whole system of life, rendering one’s childhood memories into commodity. Olivier Assayas’s film L’heure d’été [Summer Hours] delves into this very topic, showing a generational gap as well as a societal one when it comes to a trio of siblings’ mother’s estate. Two of them have moved on to America and China respectively, leaving their heritage behind for advancement and a future for their families. To them France is but a fleeting memory, something they will always cherish yet never feel the need to return to. The eldest has a differing opinion on it all, though, seeing what his mother left behind as a legacy to be cherished and kept in the family for generations to come. Out voted and unable to buy out his brother and sister, Frédéric must acquiesce and watch his entire youth become dismantled and shipped away.

The fact that mother Hélène is the wealthy niece of a famous artist, John Bertier, becomes the perfect catalyst for Assayas’s message. Her house is a mansion, beautiful in its derelict state, containing treasures beyond measure within. Each child remembers the artist and story behind every single painting, sculpture, and piece of furniture; the histories are ingrained in their heads. Their very lives were shaped in this home, growing up and experiencing life. The two boys even have the rare recollection of accidentally destroying an original work by Degas. The horror! One doesn’t have to wonder about the hell Frédéric remembers reigning down on him after that indiscretion. Through it all, they have known how the Musee d’Orsay coveted so much of what existed inside those walls, constantly staying in touch for the off chance that purchase was in the cards. But what about family honor and remembrance, allowing the grandchildren to grow old themselves, vacationing at this spot they have been visiting for their whole lives, one day taking their own children as well? How much is that lineage worth compared to the dollars and cents earned at auction, money that will be decimated by the enormous estate tax imposed by the government? One has to look at the make-up of each character to understand both the gain in selling as well as the enormous loss … or lack thereof.

Adrienne is played by Juliette Binoche and is the most distant from her homeland of the three. She is now a resident of the United States and calls it her home after making a career and a life with her current boyfriend there. To her all the artwork belongs to collectors to be seen by the world and not hermetically sealed in a tomb to rot in a house she has no interest in ever seeing again. Very pragmatic and objective, unloading the house is a necessity insomuch as lifting the burden from all their shoulders. Jérémie, an effective Jérémie Renier, is on the fence, but without a choice. He values the sentimental attributes of the property and things, sees the memories each piece projects once laying his eyes on it, but life has gotten away from the era of sitting back and enjoying the past. He is about to permanently move to China for work, unable to come back for at least five years. His children have become modernized and speak English, keeping France as a place they know but never felt connected to. Money is needed and, while he didn’t think it at first, the math does paint a picture to not be taken for granted.

It is Frédéric alone that held an innocent sense of utopia on those hallowed grounds. He stayed around Paris, building his family and taking root with his heritage. To him, it all has value for not only the Bertier clan, but for France itself. Living in the past, full of emotion and reverence, the legacy of John and Hélène is also that of his children. Walking through the house with his son and daughter, he shows them the Corot paintings they know well—the most valuable inclusions to the collection—and says how one day they’ll own them. Unexpected is the response of complete ambivalence, the words ‘they’re of a different era’ spouting out as a back is turned. These are teenagers in the 21st century; they are out having fun, getting drunk and high with their friends, while arts and culture take a distant back seat. Charles Berling’s turn as this defeated man proves to be the glue holding the film together. As the only one who truly sees what is around him, he not only gives each object its intrinsic value, but proves them all to be much more expensive than any appraiser’s price put upon them. His mother’s death isn’t just the loss of a generation—making he and his siblings the oldest in the family—it is also the death of his dreams and aspirations. No one else wants the future he has envisioned; they have all evolved to the times while he stayed back, unable to let go.

Besides the stellar acting—Summer Hours is a character driven piece from the start, a sort of Big Chill reckoning of family secrets and admissions—the film contains this very thought-provoking question of value. A vase can be the work of a famous artist, yet because it was despised by the lady of the house and relegated to be the maid’s flower container, does it than become worthless? This family’s memory of that glasswork is of their dear Éloïse and her constant addition of color to the rooms with her flower arrangements. They don’t know it is a priceless work worthy of museum display; to them it’s an extension of this woman in their lives. Which is more important? I could only imagine how surreal it would be to see something that was once so commonplace as your great uncle’s desk viewed by patrons in an art museum, unable to be touched and set with a placard describing its origin. People paying to see it have only the objective details told to them, either appreciating it or not depending on taste, calling it original or just another example of Art Nouveau. But to Frédéric and his wife, that desk is a lifetime of laughs and tears, good times and bad. And just because someone is young, such as the couple’s daughter, does not mean he or she doesn’t understand this feeling too. Loss is loss, and whether a child can express it or not, through words or actions, it is felt. Memories can be argued as invaluable, while sometimes the objects embedded with them are not. This is life and Assayas understands it as such. Death is always bigger than just one person.

L’heure d’été [Summer Hours] 7/10

http://jaredmobarakreviews.wordpress.com/2010/01/06/summer-hours/

It’s the middle of the afternoon and I’m waiting in a theater sparsely populated with a dozen other strangers. Suddenly the lights dim, the curtains pull back, and the image of an old house partially concealed by a lush forest tentatively dances on the screen. As the opening credits roll, the house fades and flickers — beautiful, ephemeral. Collectively, we try to will the shimmering mirage into existence, but it eludes us. Eventually the house fades into oblivion, replaced by a scene of children playing in the country. Did the image die of its own accord, or did we fail to sustain it, torn between our fascination with it and our expectations for narrative development?

Summer Hours, French writer/director Olivier Assayas’ newest film, is a deceptively simple tale about the death of a matriarch that unexpectedly sends us into contemplative flights of fancy like the one I’ve described above. The matriarch Hélène, portrayed by veteran French actress Edith Scob, has spent the last third of her life devoting herself to the preservation of her uncle’s art. Her small mansion in the country is a veritable shrine to his memory, filled with his own creations as well as the art he had loved and collected in his lifetime (much of it furniture). Yet unlike a museum, it’s a living, breathing, organic space; when Hélène’s children and grandchildren visit her in the beginning of the film, we discover the memories etched into the fabric of each piece. Priceless vases filled with flowers picked from the fields; rare art noveau furniture cluttered with knick-knacks and stuffed with toys.

Hélène’s death early on in the film brings her three children and their families back together again, forcing the adults to decide on the fate of the house-as-shrine. While we might expect a Bergman-esque torrent of spiritual introspection, familial fighting, and personal revelation, we instead find an all too familiar acquiescence to life’s incessant realities. A fractured narrative ensues, reinforcing the power of the banalities of existence over the larger questions of our lives.

Assayes tells his story without any obvious didacticism, and cinematographer Eric Gautier’s camera captures the dynamic relationships in the family with a balletic grace. Weaving and spinning around larger gatherings, we sense the motion and movement of a family thrust forward, while he treats smaller confrontations with intimate closeups, revealing the depth and nuance of the relationships.

Summer Hours is the second film commissioned by Paris’s Musée d’Orsay, the famous museum built inside of the former railway station Gare d’Orsay. The first was last year’s art-house sensation Flight of the Red Balloon, and while the latter only nominally included the museum in the story, Summer Hours features it much more prominently, though not necessarily flatteringly. As much of the family’s art ends up in the museum, we see it stripped bare for display. Crowds of onlookers pass it by with barely a glance; the art’s significance fades, just like film’s opening mirage.

Final Thought: A meditative tome on the relationship between life and art that offers abundant rewards, if few answers.