When their mother dies, the siblings have a disagreement over what to do with the house. They are sentimentally attached to it but considering their own welfare and the fact they live overseas, Adrienne and Jérémie want to sell the house and some of the works while Frédéric really wants to keep it (not surprising, even I became attached to the bloody house with the way it was filmed).

Summer Hours is one of those considered family dramas that the French occasionally excel at. This doesn’t really stand out as an excellent example of the genre, in fairness, but there’s something about the relationships and the family dynamics that feels very real and that authenticity makes the film and the way it plays out all the more interesting.

The film also has something to say about the detachment of modern France from its traditions and cultural heritage and betrays a concern that a new generation is going to lose touch with their rich cultural history and identity. an idea reinforced by the interesting final scene which shows an even younger generation having a party at the house before it’s sold and showing scant regard for the weight of tradition that the house holds. They’re not entirely disrespectful of it but it’s treated as a venue rather than a place with a colourful history of its own. These concerns are perhaps a little trite but thankfully they’re not overwrought and the film’s subtlety – from performances to characterisation to direction by Olivier Assayas – is its strength.

Summer Hours opens in limited release in Australia on the 2nd of April. Click here to search for session times in your area.

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Davies’ own narration is robust both in tone and content, when he speaks he does so with a mix of wit, wonderful use of language and carefully chosen quotations. Fortunately he’s savvy enough to know when to be silent and let the images do the talking, and there is some striking and fascinating footage on display here. Much of it feels like footage from a time when film was still a novel technology and a far more precious commodity than it is now, but they were still fascinated enough to use the technology to capture the everyday realities of their life and their town. It would be nice to think they were also prescient enough to imagine that they would also gather some footage that would prove to be a surprisingly fascinating time capsule, a history of the everyman that is undoubtedly essential to a city as rooted in the strength of the working class as Liverpool. Whatever the case, there is a far more artful quality to the ordinary footage than anyone could capture with a mobile phone video camera these days.

The nostalgic sentiment that pervades Of Time and the City is inescapable to the point where it becomes overbearing on occasion, especially towards the film’s conclusion which has a ‘things have changed, what’s happened to my city?’ attitude that is somewhat tiresome, and that observation from Davies doesn’t seem especially well reconciled beyond a superficial level. It’s surprising given that he has a fairly profound understanding of the Liverpool he grew up in, but perhaps not so much Liverpool as it exists now.

The film’s positive qualities overwhelm these complaints, though, and the result is an interesting curiosity and a finely crafted documentary.

For local Australian session times, click here.

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But politics at the highest level often plays an important part in history – the world’s grandest soap opera – and that’s where it gets interesting. That’s why films like Frost/Nixon and All the President’s Men can be so riveting because of the fascinating true stories they are centred around. That’s why I’ll always be interested in seeing a film like W.

Oliver Stone barely succeeds in making his George W. Bush (Josh Brolin, inhabiting the role and probably harshly overlooked for some award nominations) a somewhat sympathetic and multidimensional character, which is quite remarkable under the circumstances. He’s depicted as well meaning and affable but simple, simplistic and out of his depth.

The problem is he’s not a particularly interesting person. His back-story, while important in understanding who he is and where he comes from, lacks a certain dynamism. As a result the film flitters between its more laboured moments and its intriguing moments, such as scenes with his political and eventually presidential father (James Cromwell).

The best scenes are when Bush is surrounded by his cabinet staff, some of whom fare better than others in their portrayals. In these scenes, they all try and persuade him of their agendas, sensing his malleable mind. This backfires after the WMD fiasco as they all try to search for someone to blame. Stone suggests that Bush’s erroneous trust of those around him ultimately destroys his legacy.

Verdict:

Stone spices things up with some interesting photography but the film is tonally muddled at times. Provocative moments being accompanied with twee music are jarring and W., though a competent film overall, occasionally loses its balance on the tightrope between humour and seriousness.

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