Summer of 85

There is a specific kind of arrogance that only 16-year-olds possess: the belief that their first heartbreak is the literal end of the world. In François Ozon’s Summer of 85, this isn't just a metaphor. The film opens with a teenage boy named Alexis telling us, point-blank, that he is obsessed with death. It’s a bold, slightly macabre way to start what looks—at first glance—like a typical sun-drenched nostalgia trip. But Ozon, the director who gave us the twisty Swimming Pool and the stylish 8 Women, isn’t interested in a simple walk down memory lane. He wants to show us how we rewrite our own histories while they’re still happening.

I watched this on my laptop on a Tuesday night while nursing a lukewarm cup of peppermint tea that I’d forgotten to add honey to, and that slight bitterness felt strangely appropriate for the story unfolding on screen.

Grainy Film and Golden Hours

Released in the middle of the 2020 pandemic, Summer of 85 missed out on the typical Cannes fanfare it deserved, eventually finding its audience through the streaming-to-living-room pipeline. It arrived during a moment when we were all stuck indoors, yearning for the outdoors, which made its 16mm cinematography feel like a tactile, reachable dream. By shooting on actual film stock, Ozon avoids the "Instagram filter" look that plagues so many modern period pieces. The colors aren't just bright; they’re saturated with the heat of a Normandy July.

The plot kicks off when Alexis (Félix Lefebvre, who looks like he was cloned from a 1984 teen magazine) capsizes his small boat. He’s rescued by David (Benjamin Voisin), a slightly older, much more charismatic force of nature who seems to have stepped out of a James Dean fever dream. Their connection is instant and intense, the kind of "best-friend-slash-lover" whirlwind that feels like it will last forever and yet, as the flash-forwards to a somber courtroom suggest, is destined to crash. It’s essentially 'Call Me By Your Name' if Elio had a leather jacket and a preoccupation with morgues.

The Performance of Obsession

The chemistry between Lefebvre and Voisin is the engine of the movie. Félix Lefebvre plays Alexis with a fragile, wide-eyed sincerity that makes his eventual spiral feel earned rather than dramatic for drama’s sake. On the flip side, Benjamin Voisin is a revelation as David. He plays the role with a reckless, almost predatory charm—you can see why Alexis would follow him anywhere, but you also see the red flags waving in the salty sea breeze.

Then there’s Valeria Bruni Tedeschi, playing David’s mother. She brings a frantic, unsettling energy to the screen that hints at the cracks in David’s domestic life. In one of the more awkward, "I-want-to-hide-under-my-blanket" scenes, she essentially forces Alexis to strip down and wear David’s clothes, a moment that is both funny and deeply weird. It’s these touches of "Ozon-esque" strangeness that prevent the film from becoming a generic coming-of-age story. Even Melvil Poupaud, a regular in Ozon’s filmography (check him out in By the Grace of God), shows up as a teacher to add a layer of grounded, adult perspective to the teenage chaos.

Stuff You Didn't Notice

One of the most interesting things about the production is how much it leans into the era without becoming a costume party. Apparently, François Ozon had wanted to adapt the source material—the 1982 novel Dance on My Grave by Aidan Chambers—since he was seventeen himself. He waited decades to make it, and that patience shows. He didn’t want to make a movie about the 80s as we see them now; he wanted to make the movie he would have made in 1985.

The soundtrack is a huge part of that. The use of The Cure’s "In Between Days" isn’t just background noise; it’s a character. Turns out, Robert Smith himself gave permission for the song’s use, but only after making sure the film wasn't going to be a total downer. There’s also a sequence involving a Walkman and Rod Stewart’s "Sailing" that is easily one of the most heartbreakingly clever uses of diegetic music I’ve seen in years. It’s a moment of pure internal fantasy that perfectly captures how music acts as a shield when reality gets too loud.

Summer of 85 is a gorgeous, haunting look at the way we mythologize the people we love. It understands that when you’re sixteen, love isn’t just a feeling—it’s a performance, a pact, and sometimes a tragedy. While the "mystery" elements of the plot are a bit thinner than the emotional ones, the atmosphere is so thick you could practically feel the sand between your toes. It’s a sun-drenched nightmare disguised as a teen flick, and it proves that even in an era of big-budget franchises, a small story about two boys on a boat can still hit like a tidal wave.

I went into this expecting a light summer romance, but I walked away thinking about the promises we make when we don’t know any better. If you’ve ever been young, stupid, and convinced that a pop song was written specifically about your life, this is the film for you. It’s a reminder that even if the summer has to end, the way it changed you stays on the record forever.