Watching films in the summer is just wrong. Straight forward wrong. In Italy, where Summer truly is Summer and not a time of wailing and gnashing of teeth spent watching the long long days of rain slowly shrink, they often close the cinemas or delay releases, especially of the bigger blockbusters until the Autumn. The exception being the large screenings that are organised in parks through most towns of any size. You can often hear the sound of a movie, music and gun shots as you walk through a town at night. I do have some very specific memories of Summer movies. I remember seeing The Empire Strikes Back on a very hot day in Dublin. And Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom gave us suitably sweaty thrills one hot July. Which makes me think about hot films. There's an episode of Cheers when they have a competition to name the sweatiest film (I think Alien wins), but the same could be done about the hottest film. I'd go for Bridge over the River Kwai, but Apocalypse Now has Martin Sheen so sweaty it runs down his cigarette.
John Bleasdale is a writer. His work has appeared in The Guardian, The Independent, Il Manifesto, as well as CineVue.Com and theStudioExec.com. He has also written a number of plays, screenplays and novels.