By all counts, Pawel Pawlikowski’s “My Summer of Love” should have been something that I’d have enjoyed: the English countryside, an English pub, horses, a cello, Saint-Saëns’ “The Swan”, loads of wine and fags, Nietzsche, Edith Piaf…
Plus. There was an evocative scene where Tasmin stands at her bedroom window, eating an apple in all Eve-in-Eden glory, staring out at, planning the seduction of, Paddy, the born-again Christian character.
But by the end of the show, I was seriously physically pukey. Couldn’t understand why. Was it the shakey cam? Was it chemical mix off the new furnishings at GV Vivocity? Was it the deceit perpetuated by the conniving Tasmin? Was it that honest Mona demonstrated that she’d imbibed the lessons on the power of fakery in that last river scene? Was it the mocking of something near and dear?
And really, is everything in life (relationships, beliefs, turning over a new leaf etc) nothing but spin, nothing but illusions weaved from the manipulative selfishness of others?
