Summer Wishes, Winter Dreams

By the early 1970's, films had become more personal and character studies were emerging on the screen. Such is the case with "Summer Wishes, Winter Dreams." At first glance, the film seems to be about Rita (Joanne Woodward) coping with the sudden and awful death of her mother (the wonderful Sylvia Sidney). The film then shifts to the apparently empty marriage between Rita and her husband Harry (Martin Balsam). They travel to Europe, where emotions and past resentments come to the foreground. Rita has much guilt about her son, who apparently wants nothing to do with her or Harry - we find out he is gay, but never the exact reasons why he can't stand either of them! (The son is seen only in flashbacks). Harry has a very emotional reaction while visiting Bastogne, where he fought in WWII. Rita has a breakdown in a London subway tunnel, apparently imaging she has seen her dead mother. Harry and Rita's daughter seems to have no purpose in the film except to be sanctimonious and shrill. This is not a perfect film, and at times the script jumps around. There are a few things that don't quite jive. There seems to be a lot of Freudian type psycho babble in the film (which was popular at the time). But it is the fine performance of Joanne Woodward that shines here. Ms. Woodward is one of the best actresses ever to grace the American cinema. Martin Balsam is in fine form here too. A quiet little film worth watching.

With a great performance by Joanne Woodward as a middle aged New York woman named Rita Walden going through an emotional crisis, this movie is a true original. Directed by Gilbert Cates, it shows one woman's strained family relationships as the movie goes from one scene to another where she interacts with the other characters in a series of interesting vignettes.

Rita's mother is played by Sylvia Sidney, whose career dated back to 1929 and her husband Harry, an ophthalmologist, is Martin Balsam, one of the most versatile and recognizable of actors. We see imaginary encounters that go through her mind. The opening scene is a jaw dropper. Another of theses occurs in the New York subway station as she imagines her mother and grandparents looking at her from an escalator. I didn't find these flashbacks particularly relevant to the story and they seemed jarring in an otherwise irresistible movie.

We find Rita shopping in the streets of downtown New York near Washington Square with her energetic, 73 year old mother and then stopping off at a theatre to watch a Bergman movie. The scene shifts to a cemetery covered with brown leaves in the autumn mist as the family bickers over the estate before the deceased is even in the ground. Then on a trip to France with her husband she wanders through a muddy French village where her husband fought in the war. It is here that her husband shares stories that have haunted him for 30 years.

Silvia Sydney is superb in the first part of the movie as a mother with a youthful zest for life, a sharp contrast to her daughter. Martin Balsam is the steadying force in her life but relives his own dark shadows on returning to a former theatre of war in France. Of course, it is Joanne Woodward's role that is critical to the story and she is excellent.

Rita, the "snow queen" is another of Joanne Woodward's aging spinster virgin frumps, that she seemed to specialise in the early 1970's. Depressed and discontent, her mental state is symbolised by the nightmare plane crash that director Gilbert Cates opens the film with. Writer Stewart Stern - who also wrote Rachel, Rachel - loads on the psycho-baggage. She has a demanding mother (Sylvia Sydney), a fat daughter (Doris Brenner), a gay son, and has married a man she did not love (Martin Balsam). All this would be unbearable with anyone but Woodward playing the role since she lightens it with her natural intelligence and sly sense of humour. It's amusing to see Balsam and Woodward argue in their middle-class educated way, though Rita's wearing a mink clues you that she isn't about to scream abuse. Balsam's subtlety, in particular makes you regret his few screen appearances. The only character that isn't redeemed by the acting is that of the gay son, since he is a cypher, and Cates presents his coming out in a homophobic black-and-white expressionistic sequence. Cates is fond of these kind of theatrical flourishes. There is a death at a screening of Wild Strawberries, a spirited chase at a former European battlefield, a family bickering at a graveyard, and Rita has a breakdown in a crowded London subway, which is probably the most believable of them all. Johnny Mandel provides a lovely theme, in his understated way, and then embarasses himself with trumpets in the battlefield sequence.

This is a great movie showing Joanne Woodward and her husband in the film, Martin Balsam, dealing with their feelings and memories of the past and the events that have shaped them. I found this movie moving. Joanne Woodward's memories of she and her mother are memorable! I wish I had seen this movie when my mother was still living. Balsam's memories of his war experiences are insightful and moving. We are all shaped by our experiences!

Uptight, possibly frigid, panic-stricken middle-aged New York housewife has to learn to let go of the past, a refuge which doesn't necessarily bring her happiness but does provide her life with some kind of stability. Joanne Woodward gives a good performance here; not at all vain, and unafraid to let herself be pinchy, selfish, or even annoyingly helpless, Woodward overcomes this rather dreary "woman's picture" material with thoughtful touches and nuances. It's a heavy load however, and she doesn't have much help until the final reel when her needling, provoking matron takes a European trip with her husband (Martin Balsam, also doing fine work) and she comes to see her humanity as something she can work with as opposed to frittering it away. Screenwriter Stewart Stern's dialogue is heavy with a writer's pretensions, and often the chit-chat is pedantic, forced and unreal. Near the beginning, Woodward gets a phone call from her mother and asks, "Who is this?" A few scenes later, Woodward becomes exasperated with her husband and asks, "How many years have we been married?" These moldy exchanges are lazy outs for a writer wanting to introduce us to the characters; instead of letting us discover these people and their hang-ups for ourselves, everything is spelled out (and poorly so). We are to understand that Joanne's estranged son is gay after she has a dream in which a male dancer is caught in the boy's bedroom--in ballet tights! The 'colorless' color cinematography is a mix of putrid browns and greens, and director Gilbert Cates begins each new sequence with a big wind-up, as if the movie were starting all over again. The rhythm is off, and with lines like "You approach every new relationship like you would a toll-booth, Mrs. Santa Claus!", one doesn't know how to respond to the characters. It's possible that some of Woodward's jaunts to her past, both real and imaginary, will strike some viewers as very personal, but the film isn't especially moving, at least not until the final third. **1/2 from ****