The Summer Book Review: An Awkward Drama Linking Nature and Spirit

      Note: This review was initially published as part of our coverage of the 2024 BFI London Festival. The Summer Book will be released in theaters on September 19.

      In Charlie McDowell’s previous film, Windfall, the ambitious—yet mostly unsuccessful—approach was to place the audience in a tense situation (similar to Hitchcock) and then quickly relieve that tension with a series of violent actions (akin to Tarantino). In contrast, his new film, The Summer Book, relies entirely on what could be termed “scenic exhalation”: those moments of stillness where a character gazes at a landscape while contemplating, ultimately revealing the bittersweet interconnectedness of all things. When utilized sparingly, this technique can be a powerful device that conveys profound lyricism (as seen in Tarkovsky’s The Sacrifice) and nuanced characterization (as in Mia Hansen-Løve’s Bergman Island). However, when overused—as it is in The Summer Book—the film begins to appear excessively tidy and idyllic, with the director's guiding influence becoming all too apparent.

      As suggested by the earlier examples, scenic exhalation appears disproportionately in films set in northern Scandinavia, where the landscapes are relatively pristine, making them fertile ground for writers to weave in their collage of earth, air, fire, and that dubious fifth element: soul. This holds true for The Summer Book, which emotionally anchors itself in the stark Gulf of Finland. The story follows eight-year-old Sophia, her father (simply referred to as “Father”), and her grandmother (likewise called “Grandmother”), as they navigate the loss of Sophia’s mother, whose brief mention looms large throughout the film.

      McDowell quickly establishes the film’s main premise: the emotional states of the characters mirror different aspects of the landscape. Sophia’s grandmother, who considers the current situation and her own imminent death in a broad, life-cycle perspective, is often linked to the sea and sky, the calmness of dawn, and sunlight filtering through trees (one scene in particular, where she wanders in a forest, seemingly echoes the final moments of Tarkovsky’s Mirror). Similarly, Sophia is drawn to the mix of forest trails and rocky cliffs, while her father is associated with the bleak gray skies and, later in the film, a sudden storm that threatens his boat—prompting him to shout what all beleaguered sailors must, “Is that all you’ve got?”

      Throughout much of the film, we find ourselves pondering the same question. While Sophia and her grandmother are allowed to develop at a slow, conventional pace, her father is given little opportunity for depth. Until he has a dramatic storm scene, which acts as a trigger for a hasty transformation, he serves merely as a somber background character and the unfortunate recipient of McDowell’s most awkward visual metaphors—most notably a prolonged shot of a weathervane’s arrow appearing to penetrate his chest. The result of this underdeveloped yet suddenly over-extended role creates a sort of narrative whiplash, leading to an unintentional jarring shift in mood and behavior as the story rushes toward its predictable conclusion. This oversight is unfortunate, as Anders Danielsen Lie has demonstrated his talent as an actor when provided with strong material. He could have balanced Emily Matthews’ solid portrayal of the courageous yet vulnerable Sophia and perhaps restrained Glenn Close’s playful grandmother, whose monologues and cane-bearing antics occasionally border on overacting.

      Nevertheless, the more playful exchanges between Sophia and her grandmother yield the best moments in The Summer Book, such as an excursion to a private island that plays out like a small action sequence, and a brief instance where the solitude of Sophia’s grandmother’s meditation is interrupted by the sound of Sophia clattering down some old stairs. However, despite these moments of charm and the emotional refuge each character finds in the other, The Summer Book ultimately feels too formulaic (an early “don’t-worry-it’s-nothing” cough sets the mood) and overly cautious about leaving the audience in the dark regarding the characters’ emotions (resulting in a symbolic overload). Ultimately, McDowell falls into the same trap that the somber Swede diligently avoided: revealing so much about the characters that we hardly get to know them at all.

      The Summer Book made its debut at the BFI London Film Festival.

      Grade: C