Un Suris In Plina Vara - -1964- - De Geo Saizescu...
At its core, the film follows a classic comedic premise: the impersonation. Two Bucharest intellectuals, Radu and his friend, arrive in a serene Danube Delta village. To impress the local beauty, the schoolteacher Corina, Radu pretends to be a famous, world-weary actor named Florin. This lie, born of male insecurity and romantic ambition, becomes the engine of the plot. Saizescu uses this deception not merely for slapstick, but as a scalpel to dissect the masks men wear in courtship. Radu is not a villain; he is a recognizable figure of vanity. The film’s genius lies in making us root for him even as we wince at his fabrications. We recognize that his invented persona—the melancholic artist—is simply a more romanticized version of the man he wishes he could be.
Visually, Saizescu and cinematographer Aurel Kostrakiewicz bathe the film in a luminous, almost Mediterranean light. The title promises a smile, and the screen delivers a near-constant radiance. The Danube Delta is not just a backdrop but an active participant: a lush, lazy labyrinth of reed beds and still waters that seems to exist outside of time. This setting creates a hothouse atmosphere where emotions intensify and social rules loosen. The city dwellers, stiff in their formal wear, are gradually undone by the humidity, the slow pace, and the earthy directness of the villagers. Saizescu contrasts the artificiality of Bucharest’s intellectual salons with the visceral reality of the Delta—where fish are caught, wine is poured, and a smile is worth more than a theater review. UN SURIS IN PLINA VARA -1964- - de Geo Saizescu...
The film’s true protagonist, however, might be the summer itself. The season is a catalyst for transformation. Under the relentless sun, inhibitions melt. The film captures a specific existential truth: summer romances are potent precisely because they are temporary. The pressure of an impending autumn return to the city lends every glance and touch a heightened urgency. Corina, played with intelligent vulnerability by Irina Petrescu, is no simple country girl waiting to be seduced. She senses the lie but is intrigued by the performance. Her smile—the film’s central image—is not one of naive happiness but of knowing complicity. She smiles because she sees the game, and she chooses to play it, at least for the season. At its core, the film follows a classic
