Summer Hours

I’m feeling rather unsophisticated at the moment, having read A.O. Scott’s review of Summer Hours upon returning from the theatre feeling only lukewarm about the film. This happens sometimes; I watch a film, feel unsure about it, then read a review by a respected source and realize it was better than I thought it was. I suppose that happens when you learn about a piece of art in art history class. Upon first glance it’s just whatever you see. Then your professor talks about it while gesturing at it on a screen in an almost dark room, and perhaps you even feel moved to join in on the discussion. And then you see it—the actual piece—in person one summer and you feel close to it, because you read about it, studied it, and feel like you know it. So rather than sum the film up in two words: Antiques Roadshow, you have more to say about it than you thought you would while you were cringing over the characters saying words like “Colorado” and “pretzel” en anglais.