"Summertime" (1955)

                               1955's Summertime marked a transition for director David Lean, whose previous efforts were smaller-scale British films. This film was his first internationally produced film and would ultimately lead to larger epics like Bridge on the River Kwai, Doctor Zhivago, and Lawrence of Arabia.
                             Summertime is based on Arthur Laurents' play "The Time of the Cuckoo" (which would later be adapted into the musical "Do I Hear a Waltz?"). It tells the story of Jane Hudson (played by Katharine Hepburn), a lonely American spinster taking a vacation in Venice where she meets and falls in love with an Italian merchant named Renato (played by Rossano Brazzi) who also happens to be married.
                         The movie wasn't really my thing; I found it too fluffy and dreamy-eyed to leave a lasting impact, but at the the same time, I found it to be an admirable effort. I mean, yes, you can praise the beautiful shots of Venice (it's the closest thing to a vacation slideshow of Venice that you'll ever get; I've never been to Venice, unless you count the Venetian Hotel in Las Vegas), the understated acting (Hepburn gives one of her more subtle and natural performances) and the fairly laconic pace (very much like a vacation). But the movie's biggest strength is that it tapped into something that I found very relatable: what it's like to be a lonely unremarkable tourist.
                       When Katharine Hepburn comes off the train at the beginning, she is swept up by a large crowd of people. In any other movie like this, the lead actor would stand out among the crowd, dressed colorfully, maybe lit in a certain way. In Summertime, Hepburn is a dot in a canvass of ongoing life. Even when she's on her way to her hotel, she has to walk through Venice's labyrinthian walkways and alleys, and you can sense her disorientation.
                       There's also various moments where Hepburn just sort of sits and looks at her surroundings. When she looks at some monument, the shots from her point-of-view are not show-off-y, but static, almost as if she's viewing them from some distant fog of sadness. I've had that same sensation where I'm staring at something that's historic or important and I'm expecting some sort of vibrant, emotional shock but it's just....a thing. Not that I don't think it's cool or interesting, but there's an emotional remove. When I went to Europe for the first time as younger man, I thought I would come back a changed person, based on a cliche that media tend to propagate, which is that international trips are emotionally life-changing. You look around, hoping your brain will be overwhelmed by this swarm of new sensual data, which to a degree it is, but it's not earth-shattering. You go back to your home country the same boring person with the same petty mundane problems.
                       I wasn't really crazy about the romance (it's a typical illicit affair kind of deal), but there was one moment that really stuck with me. It's when Jane drops her gardenia into a canal and Renato tries to grab it from the water, but he can't reach it and it just floats away. I mean, it's an obvious bit of tacked-on bittersweetness, but it's the way that Renato seems reluctant to go that far to grab it. I mean, he could have grabbed it and he was pretty close if he just leaned in a few more inches, but he didn't want one thread of his suit getting wet. Like he's too afraid to commit to this new romance, and that felt very human to me. Jump in that damn water and get that damn flower! Jane accidentally fell into a canal in an earlier scene; why can't you?
                        Overall, the movie didn't seem all that geared for an unsentimental individual as myself. It's pure romance; it's wine mom material. However, it wasn't as dreadful as I expected and it was admirable in its thematic goals.