Showing posts with label Stefan Krohmer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stefan Krohmer. Show all posts

Friday, November 1, 2024

Summer '04 (Sommer '04)







 



Director Stefan Krohmer






















SUMMER ’04 (Sommer '04)       B+                                                                                      Germany  (97 mi)  2006  d: Stefan Krohmer

Some reviews have compared this style to French director Éric Rohmer, but maybe not, as within minutes this breezy looking film with quiet intelligence has the decisively cruel confrontational tone of German films which offer a candor simply not seen elsewhere.  Written by Daniel Nocke as an icy chamber drama that could very easily fool us as Nordic or Scandinavian, largely character-driven with elaborately developing psychological insight into each character, featuring a gorgeous looking wealthy family on a summer holiday in northern Germany along the Baltic coast near the Danish border, spending nearly all of their time outdoors, fixing up their impressive summer cottage, sailing one of their two boats in the wind-friendly sea, drinking plenty of wine and eating outdoors where relationships and sexuality are constantly under review.  What sets this apart is the self-loathing of the male characters, not off the charts, but distinctively present due to an absent moral compass, a factor that plays havoc with the viewer’s expectations.   André (Peter Davor) and Mirjam, Martina Gedeck from MOSTLY MARTHA (2001) and The Lives of Others (Das Leben der Anderen) (2006), are spending the summer with their 15-year old teenage son Nils (Lucas Kotaranin) and his 12-year old girlfriend Livia (Svea Lohde), who all agree is probably more mature than their son.  He likes to watch historical documentaries on Germany’s military-laden past analyzing various WWI military strategies and is in fairly routine disagreement with his liberal minded dad on just about everything, including the role Livia plays hooking up with and spending the day sailing with an older man, Bill (Robert Seeliger), a complete stranger, something of a rich playboy who has recently returned from America, leaving Nils out of the picture.  All are concerned on the effect Livia’s sexually active curiosity is having, especially on their suddenly forlorn and isolated son, and what moral obligation they have to deal with the older man in the picture.  André feels she’s perfectly capable of making her own decisions, while Mirjam is more hands on, especially when Livia doesn’t return home one night, so she drives unannounced to the man’s home expecting to confront him in the act.

Maintaining a certain moral ambiguity, Bill gets defensive and remains uncomfortable when questioned directly by Mirjam, yet in the interest of openness, he is included in the next day’s sailing, but it is Mirjam, not Livia, who sails with Bill.  Her sexual candor is intimidating, as she intentionally arouses him at one point, catching him completely off guard, not knowing what to think, as the sexual focus has suddenly moved away from Livia to Mirjam, who is openly asserting herself with such easy nonchalance.  She is drawn not only by his rugged, outdoor features, but by his introverted intelligence, somewhat ashamed of how he’s spent his life, scarred by the superficial outpouring of easy money and sex in America, but no real happiness to speak of.  Next thing you know, she comes after him like an animal in heat.  Becoming more comfortable in his presence, he continues to have an interest in 12-year old Livia, which in the face of what’s staring him in the face, is a phenomenal step backward into no man’s land, where the low-key psychology bears an unmistakable similarity to Roman Polanski’s KNIFE IN THE WATER (1962).  Beautifully shot on 35mm by Patrick Orth, Mirjam develops a maternal instinct to protect Livia, who is viewed as her competition as she remains as free-spirited as ever, carefree and oblivious to any serious consequences.   Both André and Nils remain out of the picture even when they’re in the picture, as they’re too busy repeating the live-and-let-live, mind your own business mantra.  Despite their disagreements with one another, they couldn’t be more alike in their dispassionate non-involvement.   Mirjam, on the other hand, is lividly furious underneath her calm demeanor, and when she finally gets a chance to speak her mind to Livia, it comes during a difficult sail on a ferociously windy day where obviously Livia’s thoughts lie elsewhere. 

How this plays out is somewhat predictable, as it was impossible not to think of Haneke’s Funny Games (1997) hidden beneath the veneer of bourgeois social respectability, as a crisis is simply waiting to happen, and the various characters have already established their limited character under fire, but what follows is a trip into an existential wasteland, where each character is left out on a limb with no one else to hold onto, which from each age perspective is decidedly different.  Emotions are prominently displayed, though perhaps out of character, so an associated awkwardness comes along with a certain embarrassment where they’re not used to having to rely on feelings, having to be so rational and all, so everyone is caught off guard, but sucked into the vacuum of their own moral abyss.  But Martina Gedeck as Mirjam is an assertive force to be reckoned with, never overbearing but amazingly direct, who despite having a smart, mildly troubled, still developing teenaged son continues to feel like she’s in the prime of her life.  There isn’t a hint of melodrama or overreach, directed with an understated minimalist flair and a chilly control, but instead offers a sober view of how people get bogged down by how they define themselves, where in their effort to assert their own individuality, they’re actually confining themselves to the same role they’re likely to play out for the rest of their lives, imprisoned by their own limitations.  Not knowing how they got there, as they’re bright, caring people who would by any measure be judged successful, there is something reminiscent of Bergman, Two from the 70's: Cries and Whispers (1972), as even the most well meaning families contain individuals who have lost the capacity to love, who stopped trying so long ago, safe in the empty gestures of their economically secure routines that they’re too late in discovering they’ve actually stopped learning how to live.