A SUMMER PLACE
D: Delmer Daves (1959); with Sandra Dee, Troy Donahue, Richard Egan, Dorothy McGuire, Constance Ford, Arthur Kennedy.
Movies like Peyton Place, Imitation of Life, and Written on the Wind define the term “potboiler.” This one is right up there with them, oozing with angst over both young love and adultery, and featuring incredibly racy dialogue and plot contrivances for its time. It has to do with a family — Helen and Ken Jorgenson, played by Ford and Egan, and their bubbly yet repressed daughter Molly, played by the maniacally cute Sandra Dee — that pays a surprise visit to a Maine resort at which the now-affluent Ken used to be a lifeguard. Ken’s wife, Helen, is mysteriously anxious to appear oh-so-proper, and we quickly learn that Helen is a scheming, frigid, malignant wife given to phobias and obsessions. Ford is marvelously chilling as the demented Helen — a character that should be voted into the Camp Hall of Fame. Egan is the kind of actor they don’t make much anymore — he plays Ken as the craggy, understanding, Uncle Bill-ish kind of father, who can be sensitive and still remain butch. The Jorgensons impose themselves upon the family that owns the resort, husband-and-wife Sylvia and Bart Hunter, played by McGuire and Kennedy, and their wooden twit of a son, Johnny, played by Donahue. Known in the business as “the other white meat,” Donahue is hopelessly inept, and recalls the rueful words from A Chorus Line, which lament “If Troy Donahue can be a movie star, then I can be a movie star.” McGuire plays her usual sort of character — cool exterior with passions that run deep — while Kennedy is virtually unrecognizable as Bart, the drunken dilettante whose family now lives in reduced circumstances and must take in boarders. Young Johnny and Molly fall in love the first time their binoculars meet, and we become aware very quickly that Ken and Sylvia have been around the block together before. Ken and Sylvia rekindle their love affair, making love in the boathouse, while Johnny woos Molly with such tripe as “We’re all alone on this Earth.” Bart goes on drinking and Helen goes berserk. When Johnny and Molly survive the sinking of their boat and spend the night on a deserted beach, Helen orders Molly to undergo an examination to see if she is still a virgin. Things go from bad to worse, and recriminations and name-calling abound. Helen brings the whole soupy mess to a boil by shrilly referring to Sylvia as Johnny’s “harlot of a mother,” while Bart calls Sylvia a “common slut,” and divorce decrees are served all around. Johnny and Molly are sent off to faraway schools, as the ugly divorces mysteriously dominate headlines all over the Northeast. The children arrange a tryst over Christmas break, after which Helen and Molly get into it, and Helen slaps Molly into the Christmas tree, doubtlessly inspiring John Waters’ Female Trouble. After a suitable amount of time, Ken and Sylvia get married and acquire a swank, moderne deluxe split-level ranch home, but they miss the love of their Molly and Johnny, who, though separated, blame Ken and Sylvia for their unhappiness. Distressed at the estrangement, Ken refers to “the loneliness, hunger, impatience and waste” of unrequited young lust — just like he himself had — and tells Sylvia, “I want them to come to us when they need us.” Molly and Johnny agree to meet up at the newlyweds’ home, where, predictably, Molly gets “in trouble.” There’s lots of talk about “being good” and “being bad.” The plot is riddled with scenes of inclement weather that bring about lurid situations — like when they go to Johnny’s drunken dad for help, who tells them “Sinners pay, one way or another” and “They need to be put in juvenile hall to cool off.” Fortunately, the troubled teens find love and acceptance at the home of the Original Sinners themselves, Ken and Sylvia, and, of course, everything works out wonderfully in the end. It is turgid and tawdry, and enhanced by Max Steiner’s famous score — you know: “deet deet deet deet deet deet” — but campy and hysterical. “If you liked this title, we recommend” … an icepick and a shot of whiskey to dull the pain.
This article appears in June 15 • 2001.