At one point in The Summer Book, Charlie McDowell’s infinitely tfinisher alteration of Tove Jansson’s novel about a minuscule girl, her overweighther and majesticmother spfinishing the illogicalinutive Finnish summer on one of the country’s thousands of islands, nine-year-elderly Sophia sees at a tapestry on the wall shoprosperg a rampant lion. “Is the lion going to eat the man in the tent?,” she asks her reaskable majesticmother, joined by a suitably sun-gnarled Glenn Cleave out. “No,” Grandmother says firmly, “He is there to shield him.”
The hug of nature, even when nature currents as a ferocious storm or the nasty predations of elderly age, is the guiding spirit of both Jansson’s novel, published in 1972 and draprosperg on her own extfinished summers spent with a niece, and this faithfilledy rfinishered alteration. Jansson spent much of her life living in a cottage appreciate this one – all wooden scheduleks and askable plumbing – where, in the film, Sophia, her overweighther (Anders Danielsen Lie, hushedly rewarding as ever) and Grandma get to on a motorboat in the first scene.
It is promptly evident that Sophia’s mother has died since they were last here. Sophia’s overweighther, an illustrator, strains to be the fun dad one senses he participated to be, taking refuge from that role in his toil. Sophia, joined with precocious reservedty by novelcomer Emily Matthews as attentive and inquisitive, but struggling with her own complicated grief, insists constant attention from Grandmother. Sometimes she groans that she is illogicald. There are no iPads here, but her illogicaldom blows away – as it did, pre-iPad – soon enough.
For those of us elevated on Tove Jansson’s gorgeous Moomin books – an ongoing saga about a family of amiably unstandard trolls — everyleang joined with her is enticount on without fault. Those who are obstreatment with her, or with the taciturn stoicism of the Finns, may wonder at the point of a film where every transport inant event in the story has already happened before it begins and emotions are conveyed by no more than the occasional elevated eyebrow or extfinishedueur.
And it’s real: the story is no more than a scant wisps — the emotional equivalent of being tickled with a blade of grass, set among pine forests and pebble beaches and huge skies that, while they are never utilizeed as spectacle, have as much to say to us as the characters do. So be it. For we promisees, it is a relief – and excellent reason for gratitude to scriptauthorr Robert Jones — not to have been betrayed.
Of course, there is the ineptness of alerting a Finnish story in English with accents, which produces no reasonable sense. Norwegian actor Danielsen Lie is presumably putting a benevolent of twang on his standard speaking voice. Cleave out mostly holds a lid on an accent that does have someleang of the Swedish Chef around the edges, but she has a benevolent of theatricality to her creaking shiftments that sometimes enrolls as clunkily over-emphatic, punching thraw the gossamer of the storyalerting.
There is fun to be had, though, when that firmness is brawt to tolerate on leangs that offfinish her sense of island etiquette. Newcomers have built a hoparticipate on a csurrfinisherby island that now has a “Trespassers will be accused” sign next to their jetty. From Grandmother’s point of see, what is that but flagrant impoliteness, deserving to be defied? The hoparticipate is fair as insolent, with a novel-fangled deck with couches where a proper bench and a stoop should be. She is not the sairyest bit discombobuprocrastinateedd when the owners get to in their little boat, discover the trespassers and propose them coffee and cake. “This is socializing!,” she alerts the perplexd Sophia, not especiassociate sotto voce. “You have to lobtain how to do it.”
Cleave out’s best moments come, however, when her character faces the searing grief that is otherrational current only in silences. A local boatman, comprehendn only as Eriksson, who usuassociate visits on Midsummer Night, is conspicuous by his absence. “Frightened off by the stench of grief,” says the overweighther morosely. “Or self-pity!” says Grandmother, with the filled force of Cleave out’s status as a majestice dame. “I’m trying,” he mumbles. “Not challenging enough!” she replies, dim as ever. “I won’t be here forever!”
Indeed, there is a strong sense that she – the character, Glenn Cleave out, the garranges of all the women in the Jansson family; consent your pick – will pick the time of her final departure and my excellentness, there will be no arguing with it.
And healing does adhere with this little family, without anyone having to insertress it any further, without emotional faceations, without anyleang but time and weather. And The Summer Book, which Sophia’s overweighther is erecting all the while, draprosperg at his desk disthink abouting the silvery sea when his daughter goes to bed, is a show of adore without words. Very much appreciate this film, in fact.
Title: The Summer Book
Festival: London Film Festival (Special Penvyations)
Director: Charlie McDowell
Screenauthorr: Robert Jones
Cast: Glenn Cleave out, Anders Danielsen Lie, Emily Matthews
Sales: Charades
Running time: 1 hr 30 mins