A Summer Place

Synopsis: The Hunter family has long owned a mansion on Pine Island, a summer resort located off the Maine coast. Bart Hunter's now deceased father was able to open the mansion for free when Bart was younger, but current owner Bart, a drunkard and weak man, must now live there year round for financial survival with his wife Sylvia and their late teen-aged son Johnny, the family who are barely able to eke out a living with the mansion now as a year-round inn which is in an extreme state of disrepair. Bart and Sylvia are in a quietly unhappy marriage due largely to Bart's drinking. The Buffalo-based Jorgensons - husband Ken Jorgenson, his wife Helen Jorgenson and their late teen-aged daughter Molly Jorgenson - have rented rooms at the inn for the summer, while Ken looks for a summer house on the island. Ken lived on the island twenty years ago, he actually a working class lifeguard for Bart's father at that time. Ken is now a self-made millionaire as a research scientist, who had never been back t
Genre: Drama, Romance
Director(s): Delmer Daves
Production: Warner Home Video
  Won 1 Golden Globe. Another 1 win & 3 nominations.
Rotten Tomatoes:
130 min

Hi, Johnny.

How are reservations coming in?

Coming in slow, Claude.

Mail's in.

Stretch the paint, Todd.

All we wish to do is put up a good front.

It ain't the only thing running thin

around here.

- Mail seem any heavier?

- I think so, Dad.

"Paint it thin," he says, Johnny.

Quality don't mean nothing no more

around here.

When your grandpa was alive,

things was different.

That veranda, full of elegant guests

all summer long.

Real guests, not them paying kind.

Yeah, but Grandpa was rich,

and we're not.

Oh, Sylvia?

This is very amusing. Almost hilarious.

Remember that fellow my father hired

as a lifeguard and tutor...

...about 20 years ago, Ken Jorgenson?

What ever made you think of him?

Well, he's turned into a millionaire.


"Dear Bart Hunter, I am chartering

the yacht Ramona at Nassau...

...and taking my wife and daughter

for an extended cruise.

I'd like to end up at Pine Island

for the summer."

You see how he worked that in?

The mention of the yacht

and the extended cruise?

It's hilarious, isn't it?

- What is?

- Well, isn't it obvious?

He wants to come back here

after 20 years just to gloat.

He's heard I've been wiped out

and running this place as an inn...

...so he gets a bright idea.

"Well," he says, "what a triumph.

I'll just go and stay there.

Maybe Bart Hunter will carry my bags.

I might even give him a tip."

- Obviously I'm turning him down.

- For the love of God, why?

I just don't feel in the mood

to be triumphed over all summer.

Bart, this isn't a hobby any longer.

We need the money desperately.

He asked for accommodations

we don't happen to have.

Two bedrooms

with a connecting sitting room.

- Let's give them our room upstairs.

- Where would we sleep?

In the gardener's cottage out back.

In the servants' quarters...

...where he even slept himself before

with the hired help?

That's ridiculous.

Three people at $20 a day

for room and meals is $60 per day.

Times 90 days is $5400.

And as of now, we are flat broke.

Because we're broke doesn't mean

we have to lose our dignity.

Dignity? The whole place is run-down

for lack of money.

Our credit's evaporated,

the garden's gone to seed, the roof leaks.

Our son has to go to college this year...

...and you'd give up $5400

because of dignity?

Bart, we're fighting for our lives.

You never seem to realize that.

Those are the clothes I bought for you

in Nassau.

Forty-four long. Put them on.

If you think I'll wear this yachting cap,

you're crazy.

- The man in the store said...

- I don't care what he said.

I'm not a yachtsman.

And you have to belong to

the Nassau Yacht Club to wear this insignia.

I think we're past the point

of pretending we're something we're not.

We charter a whole yacht

to arrive in Pine Island in style.

The yacht was your idea.

The point is, there'll be people on the island

who'll remember me when.

And I'm not putting on any dog.

Let's plan to try to make them forget

you were an employee there...

...not remember it, shall we?

Pine Island off the port bow, sir.


There she lies, baby.

- I see a big house in the trees.

- There's 12 big ones on the island.

- One of them's for sale.

- You wanna buy it?

- How'd you know?

- Mama told me.

Well, I'd hoped to spring it

as a surprise if...

Now, there's a big "if."

Those 12 houses on the island

were built by the founders of Pine Island.

They incorporated.

And now their descendants run the island

like an exclusive club.

You have to be looked over

and voted on and all that.

The islanders are still "they" to you,

aren't they, Papa?

Then why are you coming back?

Maybe I just wanna check...

...and see how much

memory can exaggerate things.

To most people, I guess the island's

just another summer place.

It's a lot more than that to me.

And I hope it will be to you.

There's a boy up there watching me.

There he goes.

Funny feeling,

being looked at without knowing it.

Remember that family

that lived next door to us back home?

- Yeah.

- Their son used to look at me.

Without you knowing it?

Well, his bedroom was right across

from mine.

And one night, I felt naughty...

...and went right on undressing

so he could see.

And then all of a sudden l...

I got terribly ashamed,

and I ran to pull the curtains down.

I'll never forget, I had hot and cold flushes

all over me afterwards.

Wasn't that awful?

Well, I guess every human being on Earth's

got a few things he's ashamed of.

All right, you two,

come below and dress for shore.

- Daddy, do I have to?

- Do you have to what?

Wear this middy blouse ashore

like a 12-year-old.

She says I have to wear

this armor-plated bra to flatten me out.

And a girdle.

She says I bounce when I walk. Do I?

- Do I?

- In a pleasant and unobjectionable way.

When we arrive at the inn,

I want her to look completely modest.

She means like a boy,

flat like a pancake.

This thing even hurts.

And I couldn't blast my way

into this cast-iron girdle with dynamite.

I've had just about enough rebellion

for one afternoon.

First you...

Molly has a lovely, healthy figure.

- Why do you try to destroy it?

- I don't want her stared at.

So you insist on desexing her...

...as though sex were synonymous

with dirt.

- She isn't flying any owner's pennant, sir.

- Then it must be the Jorgensons.

I'll take the wagon down.

Oh, if he tries to tip you, spit in his face.

There he is.

And wearing just what a Midwesterner

thinks a yachtsman should wear:

- Blue coat, brass buttons, white...

- Please be cordial, Bart.

- A gentleman.

- Of course.

A gentleman is one

who never insults one unintentionally.

I have a headache.

I'm going to our room.

Make my apologies.

Apologies to Ken Jorgenson?

You're out of your mind.

Mrs. Jorgenson, Miss Jorgenson,

I'd like you to meet my father, Mr. Hunter.

Welcome to Pine Island, ladies.

Young man.

Weren't you the lifeguard here

a while back?

I was, Mrs. Hamble. Quite a while back.

- Jorgenson, aren't you?

- Yes.

- Living in the gardener's cottage in the rear?

- Oh, not anymore, ma'am.

- We're here as guests this time.

- We?

Did you marry that pretty thing

you were always teaching to swim?

You didn't fool anyone, you and she.

Not me anyway.

No, I didn't marry her, ma'am.

I met Mrs. Jorgenson in Buffalo.

Buffalo. That's out west, isn't it?

- New York, ma'am.

- Oh, yes, Niagara Falls place.

Are you a lifeguard there now?

- No, ma'am. I'm a research chemist.

- Ken, please.

Greetings, Ken.

- Would you like to escape to your rooms?

- Thank you, Bart, yes.

You'll have to find out all about Buffalo

later on, Aunt Emily.

Thank you very much.

Oh, Bart, is that pretty young thing

his daughter?

I remember him well.

Hardly proper to be so pretty.

Seems to me that all the nice girls I know

are either too fat or too thin...

...or have bad skin and thick ankles.

- This is the sitting room.

- Charming.

Utterly, utterly charming.

And this is the master bedroom.

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Sloan Wilson

Sloan Wilson (May 8, 1920 – May 25, 2003) was an American writer. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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