Hovering Over the Water

Synopsis: Laura Rossellini, a widow from Rome, vacations on the Algarve coast one hot summer. One day while sunbathing, she finds a wounded man named Robert drifting in the surf on a rubber raft. She takes him home, and, after he is revived, learns his story. As they talk, their mutual attraction grows, until a group of armed men suddenly arrives looking for Robert.
Genre: Drama, Romance
 
IMDB:
7.6
Year:
1986
143 min
4 Views

Hovering Over The Water

Director, producer,

writer and screenplayer

If I had my own way,

I would add nothing to it.

Not even bacon.

It's fat as it is.

I would put it into the oven

right away, serve it almost plain.

A pinch of salt,

I won't say no,

a trickle of the best olive oil,

a spring of parsley...

And that's all, Amelia.

Too seasoning

will spoil its sea taste.

As to the rest,

the fire is the master.

Have no illusions.

This one's not meant for you.

Go find yourself a she-cat.

New York Herald Tribune.

Come in.

- I brought you the newspapers.

- Leave them on the chair.

Wouldn't a bit of fresh air

do you good?

I don't see the good it would do

but you can open the window.

Blasted light!

I thought I'd find

my happiness in you.

How's the world?

It might be a good idea

to ask senhora Amelia to tidy it up.

The bird who fouls his own nest

can't be a good one.

Besides, senhora Amelia

has other things to do.

Baked snook for dinner.

A good snook does

deserve a tidy room.

My God:
when You created the world

You knew very well where to start...

- I'll help you.

- I still can do what's to be done.

Bring me some flowers,

if you remember.

No. Don't.

If I'll pluck up some courage,

I'll go for a walk through the fields.

Carlos invited us

for a trip on his boat.

- Would you like to come along?

- Just like that...

- Can I give an answer after dinner?

- You can.

- Turn your head a little bit.

- What for?

You've got an oil spot on it,

little sister.

It must have been the bycicle chain.

I'm so sweaty!

I'm going to take a bath.

I've still got salt on my body.

Silvestre, my fool, my cat:

have you never seen

a naked girl washing herself?

And if you were a charmed prince?

I would blush with shame,

hide from you.

Do you think I'm beautiful?

Is it because the sun

tinted my skin with gold?

Because my mouth is like a fruit that

seems to be always offering itself?

I made myself beautiful

for your sake

and, in the reflexes in your

cat's eyes, I fell happy.

Do you know what this is?

It's a black fig

that isn't black but blue

and pink inside

and from it trickles a honey tear.

Did you call aunt Sara?

Yes, we did.

It makes one's mouth water.

It looks magnificent.

I congratulate you for it.

When the fish is good

it gives you almost no trouble.

Are you sure you don't want to stay

for dinner, senhora Amelia?

I'll taste a bit tomorrow.

I'd rather go home now to cook

dinner for my son, who's waiting,

if you don't need me anymore.

- No, you can go.

Is Sara coming down?

I thing so,

but one never knows.

I think we'd better start.

Could it be the fuses?

It seems one of Sara's jokes to me.

It's not Sara:
it's Callas.

I bet aunt Sara

will appear in a disguise.

In what disguise?

Disguised as Norma?

What about that famous snook?

I'm starving.

What's the idea of going around

barefooted?

Shouldn't you be in bed?

Maria asks if aunt Sara is really

coming on the boat trip tomorrow.

Aunt Sara has already said yes.

Mama said yes, Maria said yes,

senhora Amelia already said yes.

Everybody said yes.

Does Maria need carrier-pigeons now?

Maria is a girl and mother knows

quite well that a girl is a girl.

Now that the message is delivered,

you can go back to bed.

And I don't want to see you

here barefooted again.

They go past us,

untouched by what

we project upon them.

It is new life affirming itself

regardless of our own life.

We get frightened by the smallest

trifle, we loose countless nights,

we consume ourselves

so that they grow.

You're the only serene mother I know.

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João César Monteiro

João César Monteiro Santos was a Portuguese film director, actor, writer and film critic. He was born in Figueira da Foz on February 2, 1939 and died of cancer in Lisbon on February 3, 2003. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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