Glenn Close in tender family drama

A lovely generational moment in the finale of Charlie McDowell summer book Capturing the restorative magic of the atmospheric environment on a small island in the Gulf of Finland.

Glenn Close plays a grandmother nearing the end of her life who admits that once-vivid memories are slipping away from her as she no longer remembers what it was like to sleep in a tent under the stars as a child. Her nine-year-old granddaughter described the experience to her, and a smile appeared on the old woman’s face: “I remember… the whole island shrinking around you until you and it were like a raft in the sea.”

Adapted by Robert Jones from the novel by Tove Jansson, a beloved Finnish author and illustrator whose works are timeless. Moomin Books and Comics – McDowell’s screen version remains faithful to the source material, sharing attention equally between the characters and the elemental forces surrounding them. You can feel the chill of the Baltic Sea water lapping against the shore; the gentle solace of the sun in a place where it’s always sweater weather; the intensity of storms that burst out without warning.

Evocative sense of place aside, the film is subdued. The terse narrative often appears to be drifting rather than moving forward with purpose, sometimes even in danger of being blown away by the winds that buffet the island. But on the plus side, the leisurely pace—call it island time—can inspire attention to detail. The accumulated experience is having an impact in its own minor key way, an attractive throwback to the old-school family drama of a more innocent time.

Although the book is fictional, it is based on the many summers Jansen and her niece spent on the rocky island of Klovharu in the Outer Archipelago, in a modest cabin built by the author and her brother in 1964 . ToveShe spent three decades on the island with her life partner, five months a year, and shot the 8mm home movie featured at the end and credits of the film.

The author’s deep roots in emotional and physical connections to the place provide the foundation for this slender story. These qualities are on full display in Close’s carefully crafted characterization. The unknown grandmother was a strong woman who was content to live in an unheated country house with minimal comforts, even as her health declined. She passes her love for the island—its rocks, moss, and patches of pine forest—to her granddaughter Sophia (smart newcomer Emily Matthews), and continues to do so throughout the process. Intimate communication.

The pair travel to the remote island with Sofia’s taciturn father (Anders Danielson-Lee) after suffering a shocking loss that goes unmentioned for much of the film. and. But, starting with the forlorn look on his face as he picked up the sunhat he left behind last summer, it’s clear that his wife’s death caused him to close himself off and retreat into his work as an illustrator. Sofia interpreted her father’s silence as a lack of love for her since her mother’s death, with her grandmother interceding only in the most discreet way as a mediator.

Despite the decision to adapt the source material into English, the family still feels distinctly Nordic. The little girl is grumpy and sometimes bored, playing cards and listening to her grandma’s old records. But Close gives her character a reassuring calm and happy smile that generally has a calming effect on Sofia. Even as she limped painfully up and down the rocks, using a rough piece of driftwood as a cane, the old woman’s demeanor was infectious.

Only once did she speak harshly to Sophia’s father, when he commented bitterly on a boatman’s reluctance to come to the house while delivering fireworks for the midsummer celebrations: “The stench of sorrow kept him away.” “Or Self-pity,” his mother replied.

The feeling seemed completely foreign to her. When Sofia asks, with the bluntness of a young person, when her grandmother will die, she replies, “It won’t matter. Soon.” Her calm acceptance of this inevitability even extends to the night when she kicks the covers off her bed and crosses her arms over her chest. , it seems that there is more curiosity than fear about the feeling inside the coffin.

Grandmother’s frailty did not prevent her from traveling with Sofia. They sailed to a neighboring island, where the newcomers built a large, modern home set in an unspoilt landscape. Even though the owners were sincerely friendly, the old woman’s comical dissatisfaction barely abated.

Another day, they head to an abandoned lighthouse. Sofia’s prayer for something exciting to happen—”like a storm. Anything.”—proves fateful. It leads to the narrative’s only highly dramatic sequence, one that allows the family to heal. cathartic change.

One major misstep in Jones’ script is when he’s caught in a storm in a rowboat and his father yells at the sky: “Is this all you have? Is it?” In this movie, this moment feels false and overwrought, otherwise This film is a model of restraint.

Danielson’s Lies (Unforgettable) the worst person in the world) is given such an invisible role that even his sadness seems distant. It’s been a while since he showed newfound enthusiasm for Sophia, and while it’s a bit sudden, it’s still poignant. The repaired bond allowed Grandma to let go, a joyful period in her life.

One might argue that McDowell prepares us so tirelessly for the old woman’s death that nearly every cut in the film’s second half seems to prepare us for her exit. But when the end of her life does come, she is truly moved – a peaceful surrender in which her heart stops and she truly returns to nature. (This cannot be considered a spoiler, as the film does not feature a version of Grandma’s life.)

Although a time frame is never specified, the production design, costumes, and props all indicate the period in which the 1972 novel was written. There’s lots of chunky knitwear, and no cell phones or computers; even the plush homes of the island’s newcomers might pass for boxy modernist architecture from half a century ago.

The most important scene is the Eternal Island itself. It’s a rough rock formation that looks like it was ejected by a volcano millions of years ago, and it’s surrounded by ice floes that only dissolve during the precious summer months. Director of photography Sturla Brandth Grovlen captures picturesque late-night sunsets, pillowy clouds, rippling water and tranquil clearings while avoiding postcard territory— — not to mention the stunning light — whose beauty makes you believe in the healing power of this place.

The setting is radically different from McDowell’s last film, a claustrophobic hostage thriller windfall. Neither can the main calm tone.

Polish pianist Hania Rani’s shimmering score is a reminder of the melancholy lurking beneath the characters’ surfaces, accompanied by the ever-present sounds of nature: waves, wind, seabirds. In this retelling, summer book The book may be thin, but its simple pleasures contain substance.