You probably don’t need the help, but these movies will get you in the mood -either to pack your bags and go away, or to lie in bed on a summer afternoon, listening to the cicadas.
* But before you start scrolling, hit play on this playlist, because everything reads better with some summery tracks in the background.
Stella’s
There is nothing I rewatch more than my favourite summer films. At the end of July, right after we stop working but before I leave the city, I just crave to rewatch those summer movies that really get me in the mood for a chill summer break (in the same way “Home Alone” gets me in the mood for Christmas). I don’t really have to get in the mood, but I want to, you know?
The Scent of Green Papaya (1993)
There’s no soundtrack in the film — or maybe there is and I simply don’t notice it — because the only thing that holds my attention is the constant song of cicadas throughout. I don’t remember watching a more soothing, delicate, and tender movie, where the soundscape plays such a central role.
We follow Mùi as she takes a job as a servant in a wealthy merchant’s household. She observes everything around her as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world — and somehow makes you want to do the same: a drop of water trembling on a leaf, a line of busy ants, a self-important frog in a puddle left by the rain, sunlight filtering through green leaves outside a window, the scent of green papaya.
Summertime (1955)
I can’t recall how many times I’ve watched this film every summer. Something about it just speaks to me. Is it Katharine Hepburn’s impeccable summer dresses? The nostalgically romanticized Venice? Or that little trace of melancholy lingering in this David Lean classic? Probably all of the above.
We follow Jane Hudson, who, after deciding to take a holiday alone, is faced with her insecurities and gradually learns how to enjoy her own company. She explores Venice, takes photos, befriends a feisty 10-year-old, and falls in love — first with a pair of red Venetian glasses, then with an Italian shopkeeper named Renato. Oh, and she also falls into a Venice canal! (Not-so-Fun fact: after that scene, she was left with an eye infection for the rest of her life.)
The Swimmer (1968)
My shock when I first watched this film! I was expecting something like La Piscine (but with Burt Lancaster) and instead, I got a surreal, existential film about goals, self-discovery, persistence, and the hollowness of masculinity. It has a Twilight Zone-esque storytelling style, as we follow Ned carrying out his peculiar plan.
Ned is middle-aged, yet youthful, athletic, and full of adventurous spirit —the kind of man who simply can’t lounge around like his friends and neighbors. From the lofty vantage point of his friends, the Westerhazys’, yard, he maps out a chain of swimming pools stretching below — a 'quasi-subterranean stream that curved across the county' — which he dubs 'the Lucinda River' after his wife. He decides to swim his way home by “conquering” every swimming pool in Connecticut’s suburbia.
With every swim, Ned meets another neighbour, and while his journey begins on a lighthearted note, the tone of these encounters quickly shifts. Conversations become tense, uneasy —echoing the storm brewing above. Each interaction, whether hostile or kind, offers a glimpse into a tangled personal history where Ned is cast as either the villain or the victim.
Bonjour Tristesse (1958)
The film, almost single-handedly set the tone for our S/S ‘19 “Roussillon” collection. Seemingly a carefree summer film, but without a dark turn, it wouldn’t be a French film, would it?
Otto Preminger’s Bonjour Tristesse lingers long after the credits roll — much like the melancholy woven into its very structure. Jean Seberg stars as Cécile, a privileged teenager whose carefree, indulgent life with her playboy father is disrupted when he becomes engaged to a cultured, intimidatingly poised fashion designer (Deborah Kerr).
The film moves between black-and-white scenes set in present-day Paris, where a hollowed-out Cécile looks back on the past, and vivid, sun-soaked moments on the French Riviera that reveal her calculated attempt to sabotage the future and cling to her illusion of happiness.
Valisia’s
It’s summer. Whether you’re on vacation or simply pretending to be (because, as we agreed last year, summer in Athens is its own kind of holiday), a good film can set the tone. To ease into the season, where rest is essential and overthinking is strictly forbidden, I’m gravitating toward lighthearted comedies from the ‘80s and early ‘90s. And, of course, a little horror for balance, but only the kind set under a merciless summer sun. Call it summery goosebumps.
Dirty Dancing (1987)
This one made a serious impression on me as a kid and how could it not? A summer resort in the early ‘60s (filtered through ‘80s eyes), a smoldering dance instructor, forbidden moves, and plenty of drama. It’s remembered for the iconic lifts and undeniable chemistry between Baby and Johnny, but Dirty Dancing endures because it’s quietly radical: a coming-of-age story that’s unafraid to be sexy, emotional, and politically aware. Beneath the choreography, it touches on class, autonomy, and desire —with a killer soundtrack to boot. And yes, nobody puts Baby in the corner.
Weekend at Bernie’s (1989)
The ultimate summer movie. Sure, it is not an intellectual masterpiece, but who cares. Yes, the premise is absurd (two guys dragging around their very dead boss to keep the party going), but the execution? Hilarious. It’s the kind of film you put on when the heat’s too much and you need something that asks nothing of you except to laugh. No lessons, no deep messages, just pure slapstick chaos by the beach. And honestly, Terry Kiser deserves an award for playing a corpse with such commitment. Long live Bernie.
Overboard (1987)
Karma is a beach - and rarely as hilarious as it is here. Goldie Hawn, the ultimate ‘80s sweetheart, is pure icon in her red swimsuit, matching flower headpiece, and those space-age sunglasses. What begins with a closet remodel (and a very unnecessary shoe rack) aboard a yacht quickly spirals into amnesia, revenge, and unexpected domestic bliss. It’s completely bonkers, a little morally questionable, and totally irresistible. Goldie’s comedic timing is flawless, and the whole thing is soaked in that breezy, pastel-tinted ‘80s charm.
Jaws (1975)
The quintessential summer movie. And an extremely American one at that. It opens with a moonlit swim, a flash of nudity, and then: terror. Set over 4th of July weekend, Jaws is more than just a beach thriller with a freakishly determined shark. It’s the film that changed the way we swim, vacation, and hear two low cello notes in succession. Only Spielberg’s third feature, it launched his career, terrified an entire generation, and sparked a wave of marine conservation. A true classic that proves sometimes the real summer troublemaker isn’t sunburn, but nature itself.
Alexandra’s
Summer movies have to feel like summer. Hot, sweaty and aimless. And for me, where you watch a summer movie matters almost as much as the movie itself. Watching one in the comfort of your bed with AC on and blackout curtains drawn, to be honest that’s not summer, but hibernation. An open-air cinema is the ideal for me. If you don’t have one nearby, here’s an idea: projector + balcony + blank wall = instant summer ritual. A garden works too. Just aim it at whatever’s flat and empty and watch the movie spill out into the night. Try it! Now let’s start with my favourite 4 (+1 short).
La Collectionneuse (1967)
No one does summer quite like Éric Rohmer, and La Collectionneuse is the essential one. I’ve written about it too many times, screenshotted every frame, used it for references, essays, texts, group chats. It never runs out.
The setup is pure wish-fulfillment: Adrien, a smug art dealer, ditches Paris after his fiancée leaves for London and heads to a seventeenth-century villa on the Riviera to do absolutely nothing. “I could easily see myself spending a whole month this way.” Yes. Exactly. But he’s not alone. The house already has two people: Daniel, another pseudo-intellectual on vacation from life, and Haydée, a young woman accused of being a “collector” of men. Adrien fixates on her, not out of love or lust, but because he can’t stand that she’s not paying attention to him.
That’s the dynamic: two guys playing mind games and moralizing about Haydée while circling her like insects, all to avoid confronting their own boredom. And one woman who just wants to be left alone.This is a summer movie about control, ego, and male fragility. The heat, the stone, the sandy shore, the breeze, the slow pacing, it’s all perfect. Every scene looks like it was made to be paused. Rohmer didn’t invent the art of not giving a fuck in August, but he made it cinematic.
Céline and Julie Go Boating (1974)
Jacques Rivette. 3 hours and 13 minutes. No break. Just give me long, weird movies that go nowhere in a straight line. Céline and Julie Go Boating is surreal, looping, and playful. It might be more spring than summer, but the light, the colours, the park scenes, it’s all summer to me.
It starts in a park. Julie, a daydreaming librarian, sees Céline, an enigmatic magician, wandering through a Paris park and decides to follow her. That’s the beginning of a friendship. Τogether they become the heroines of a time-warping adventure involving a haunted house, psychotropic candy, and a murder-mystery melodrama.
The plot is a mess on purpose. It feels loose, silly, and totally uninterested in normal structure. Two women meet, drift into each other’s lives, and start taking over old stories. They step into a male-coded melodrama full of dead wives, creepy children, and possessive men, and just start messing with it. Retelling it. Reclaiming it.
There’s a park scene where Céline dresses up as Julie to meet Julie’s childhood crush. She delivers the most ridiculous romantic lines, “red mouth smeared, strawberries crushed in milk… sugared kisses, 4 o’clock snacks…”, then shuts it all down with: “go jack off among the roses.” I LOVE IT! The whole scene is trolling romance and the witless idea that women are supposed to fall for this stuff.
Du côté de la côte (1958)
Of course this had to be on the list. Agnès Varda made the coolest, most artistic, most brutally honest tourist ad of the French Riviera ever (surprisingly, it was actually commissioned by the French tourism office). This short film is basically a scathing critique of everything summer tourism has come to represent.
Shot in 1958, it already sees what’s coming: the crowds, the overpriced resorts, the destruction of nature for the sake of luxury. Varda moves through the coastline with a sharp, playful tone, showing off the fake-exotic architecture, the branded “paradises,” the beaches packed with bodies like sardines. It’s beautiful and ugly at the same time.
She runs through the region’s history, its celebrity visitors, its trees and monuments and always with irony. The bright clothes, the pointless trends, the rituals of summer leisure. Nothing escapes her gaze. And it’s not cynical. It’s just true.
There’s a perfect moment, where she talks about the use of “Eden” as a place name. She says paradise might only really show up after everyone is gone. Maybe only on a remote island. Maybe only when the spectacle collapses. I’ve never agreed with a line more.
Zabriskie Point (1970)
"What's your name?"
"Karl Marx.”
Speaking of collapsing spectacles, here’s another one, sunburnt and pissed off. Zabriskie Point, directed in the Death Valley by Michelangelo Antonioni, is a blistered portrait of late ’60s America. Everything is scorched; the land, the dreams, the politics, the people.
Daria is an anthropology student helping a real estate mogul build a fake paradise in the middle of the desert. Mark is a student radical on the run after allegedly shooting a cop during a protest. They meet in a ghost-world. Wide desert shots, empty highways, corporate ruins. Daria says, “It’s peaceful.” Mark replies, “It’s dead.” That’s the whole film. Two kids wandering through the wreckage of a broken system, trying to feel something. They're not rebelling. They’re already outside the frame. So they spiral into a strange, heat-soaked romance, that they know it’s doomed before it even begins.
Antonioni didn’t come to understand the U.S., but he came to dissect it. What he found, he didn’t like. So he blew it up. Literally. The ending is still one of the greatest “fuck you” finales ever filmed. Capitalist architecture slow-exploding in midair to Pink Floyd.
Dazed and Confused (1993)
Last day of high school, directly means first day of summer. If there’s one movie that captures the aimless magic of that in-between time, it’s this one.
Nothing really happens, and yet everything does. Teens drive around suburban Texas looking for a party, for trouble, or for something to break the boredom. That’s the plot. No big revelations, no moral lessons, just cruising, flirting, getting high, wasting time. The freedom of youth, right before the world starts asking you for answers.
We follow Randall “Pink” Floyd, a high school quarterback caught between being a good athlete and just wanting to be a stoner like everyone else. His coach wants him to sign a no-drugs pledge. He doesn’t. McConaughey’s iconic Wooderson floats in and out, mid-20s, with a Bob Marley T-shirt and blonde bangs. “Alright, alright, alright.” He’s not trying to grow up.
There’s Milla Jovovich in a fringed vest and braids framing her face, looking like she walked out of a music festival time capsule. The fashion is ‘70s, but the mood is timeless. The older girls are impossibly cool, the freshmen are terrified, and everyone’s just trying to make it through the night. You can feel the heat off the pavement, the boredom, the electric hum of possibility.
“The older you get, the more rules they’re gonna try to get you to follow. You just gotta keep livin’, man. L-I-V-I-N.”