A Summer's Tale (Rohmer, 1996): ICA Cinema, 7.30pm
A Tale of Summer is the third instalment of Éric Rohmer’s Tales of the Four Seasons series and, according to the filmmaker himself, the most autobiographical of his work. Mary Stephen, who will be in a in-person Q&A after this 35mm screening, not only collaborated with Rohmer on the film as an editor, but also worked with him on the music under the pseudonym ‘Sébastien Erms’, creating the melodious sea shanty the protagonist wrote in the film. This is part of a collaboration between Hong Kong Film Festival UK and the ICA.
Time Out review:
From the verbose intellectuals in his 1969 classic My Night at Maud’s to the loquacious lovers of 2007’s erotic The Romance of Astrea and Celadon, director
Eric Rohmer has always loved talk. Yet in this sublime 1996 love story,
nearly ten minutes elapse before a line of dialogue is spoken—a
tension-generating exception to the norm. During that time we observe
introverted young adult Gaspard (Melvil Poupaud) as he wanders the
streets of a seaside resort town, eating at restaurants, noodling on his
guitar and generally avoiding eye contact. In short order, he’s
approached by waitress Margot (Amanda Langlet, a Rohmer veteran), who
gets the full story: Gaspard is two weeks away from starting a new job
and is spending his downtime waiting for flaky sorta-girlfriend Lena
(Aurelia Nolin) to arrive. Will she? Won’t she? Rohmer
has a genius for taking a seemingly mundane situation and slowly
tightening the screws. Margot has a rapport with Gaspard, though she
denies any attraction—until maybe she doesn’t. Then there’s local girl
Solene (Gwenaëlle Simon), who becomes smitten with the young man, but
senses that his mind is elsewhere and continually challenges him about
it. And, of course, the emotionally volatile girlfriend does show up—to
Gaspard’s initial delight and eventual dismay. Conversation is a way for
the characters to continually put off that crucial moment when a
decision must be made. A long, enthralling interlude during which Solene
and Gaspard hem and haw, evading any intimate expression (the scene’s
punch line is killer) is the film in miniature. Think of it as a
thriller by Hitchcock—a Rohmer favorite—only with words, not knives,
that cut straight to the heart.
Keith Uhlich
Here (and above) is the trailer.
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