Vampire

Summer Hours (2008)
directed by Olivier Assayas
rating: 2 out of 5 cravats
on DVD from Netflix

I know that Assayas can direct a long Steadicam shot, but the critical adulation for this movie blows my mind. True, there are many points to make about familial duty, parents, and the legacy of what (and who) old folks leave behind, and Assayas isn't afraid to make them at the expense of his self-involved protagonist. Frédéric pays more attention to a Corot than his kids, but Assayas has to contrast this with a class-based aside involving the (of course non-materialistic) former housekeeper, who cares enough to visit her employer's grave and is sure to hug her nephew when he drops her off at her unromantic urban apartment.

Could it be more condescending? The director's real-life friends, dollars to donuts, are just like every one of these rich assholes, and it's the family - not the housekeeper - that the cameras follow like paparazzi. If Assayas could accept that better, or be more honest about his own position in the popular French firmament, I'd be open to the subtleties in his argument. Instead, he chooses to conclude the film among French teenagers in French bras, wiling away their own "summer hours" with bad rap and magic hour sun, and all you can think is that the ex-Mr. Maggie Cheung is probably sleeping with that girl.