In the new film Hot Milk, Sofia (Emma Mackey), a sensual yet hesitant woman in her twenties, travels to a Spanish seaside town with her ailing mother, Rose (Fiona Shaw), in search of an experimental cure for Rose’s mysterious—possibly imagined—illness. But the sun-drenched resort also offers Sofia a chance to explore her own desires when she meets Ingrid (Vicky Krieps), a free-spirited German tourist whose carefree lifestyle starkly contrasts with Rose’s rigid control. As Sofia—who bears a striking resemblance to Jane Birkin in her youth—embraces the sensual freedom she finds away from her mother, what begins as a story of sexual awakening takes a darker turn. Hidden resentments and a desperate need for independence push Sofia into a tense battle with Rose over family power.

Based on Deborah Levy’s 2016 novel (her 2011 book Swimming Home also explores themes of desire and family through a holiday setting), Hot Milk blends sun-soaked scenery with dark eroticism, fitting into a cinematic tradition known as “summer noir.” Unlike classic film noir, with its shadowy urban landscapes, summer noir thrives in bright, oppressive heat—where too much sunlight and idle leisure create a dangerous moral decay.

European cinema has long explored this theme, from Jean Renoir’s satires to Jacques Tati’s critiques of tourist culture. But summer noir truly flourished in the post-1960s era, where sunbaked skin and simmering nihilism reflected shifting moral boundaries.

To mark Hot Milk’s release, Vogue revisits some of the genre’s defining films—from Alain Delon’s slow unraveling on the French Riviera to Mimsy Farmer’s heroin-fueled escapades in Ibiza. These stories prove that even in broad daylight, darkness lingers—and the thrill of summer indulgence can lead to irreversible consequences.

### Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans (1927)
Though not strictly a summer noir, F.W. Murnau’s silent masterpiece lays the groundwork for tales of seasonal temptation. The opening title sets the tone: “For wherever the sun rises and sets—in the city’s chaos or the quiet countryside—life is much the same: sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet.”

The story follows a city woman who spends her summer in the countryside, seducing a restless married farmer. As they lounge by a lake, she convinces him to drown his wife, sell his farm, and escape to the city. The water, as in many summer noirs, becomes a place of moral ambiguity and lurking danger. The farmer nearly carries out the plan, but guilt stops him mid-journey. Instead, he and his wife rediscover their love during a day in the city—only for a storm to nearly claim her life on their return. After a violent confrontation with his mistress, the farmer is reunited with his wife at sunrise, their bond reforged.

Nearly a century later, Sunrise remains a visual poem—less a conventional film than a haunting meditation on desire, betrayal, and redemption.Title:

While the black-and-white visuals and dramatic shadows reflect the classic style of Expressionist and film noir, Murnau’s focus on shifting landscapes—from city to countryside, from farm to shore to lake—and his attention to natural elements (the cycle of day and night, dense fog, sudden storms, and scenes ending in sunlight) create an atmospheric depth that foreshadows summer noir’s emphasis on weather and light. Though the story’s fairy-tale tone and happy ending turn what begins as a summer murder plot into a humanist fable, it doesn’t soften Murnau’s darker warning about the perils of idle fantasies and exotic temptations—especially those that confuse a traveler’s dream with reality.

Purple Noon (1960)

The first true summer noir classic is René Clément’s adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s The Talented Mr. Ripley, about a young American who travels to Italy, murders a wealthy socialite, and assumes his identity while seducing his wife. Set in the fictional Mongibello (based on the Amalfi Coast), the film breaks from traditional noir by unfolding in bright, colorful daylight—a stark contrast to the genre’s usual shadows. As its French title Plein Soleil (“Full Sun”) suggests, evil thrives just as easily in glaring sunlight as in darkness.

The film also departs from noir conventions with its protagonist: Alain Delon’s Ripley, a handsome, almost angelic-looking killer, replaces the usual hardened, square-jawed antiheroes. It’s Delon’s chilling yet magnetic performance that makes Purple Noon a seductive and sinister summer masterpiece.

More (1969)

By the late 1960s, the Western counterculture had shifted from idealism to violence and excess as its earlier promises of utopia crumbled. Films reflected this disillusionment, sending bohemian characters into self-destructive escapes. In Barbet Schroeder’s More, German student Stefan (Klaus Grünberg) and his lover Estelle (Mimsy Farmer) flee to Ibiza, living freely—sunbathing, taking drugs, and making love without restraint. But their idyll shatters when they cross paths with Doctor Wolf, a heroin-dealing ex-Nazi hiding on the island. After Estelle becomes addicted and steals from him, Wolf takes her as his prisoner. Left alone and hooked himself, Stefan overdoses and is buried in paradise.

More captures the beauty and decay of bohemian life, showing how youthful indulgence can spiral into ruin even in a sun-drenched paradise.

La Piscine (1969)

A companion piece to More, Jacques Deray’s La Piscine is a slow-burning thriller about desire, jealousy, and violence on the French Riviera. The film’s leisurely pace and sun-soaked visuals are heightened by its stunning cast—Alain Delon, Romy Schneider, and Jane Birkin in one of her early roles.

Delon plays Jean-Paul, a narcissistic drifter whose simmering insecurity erupts when his old friend Harry (Maurice Ronet) arrives, flirting openly with Jean-Paul’s girlfriend Marianne (Schneider). Consumed by jealousy, Jean-Paul drowns Harry in the pool that had been the film’s tranquil centerpiece. Even more unsettling is Marianne and Birkin’s… (text cuts off)Here’s a more natural and fluent rewrite of your text while preserving the original meaning:

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La Piscine (1969)
Even the victim’s daughter, Penelope, seems indifferent to the murder. The weight of wealth is as stifling as a sweltering summer day by the pool. La Piscine takes a dark, seductive dive into lust, jealousy, and greed, proving that nothing is more alluring than the luxury of not caring.

Last Summer (1969)
Frank Perry Jr.’s Last Summer is a quiet relic of late-’60s America, though its tone leans European. Perry, known for counterculture gems like David and Lisa and The Swimmer, crafted a film best remembered for its shocking rape scene, which earned it an X rating. Following three wealthy teens (including a young Barbara Hershey) on Fire Island, the movie builds toward an act of sexual violence after they meet a naive outsider. Like La Piscine, it captures a shared madness where paradise brings out the worst in people. Over 50 years later, Last Summer still reflects the dark turn of the counterculture—from carefree Beach Boys idealism to Manson-family brutality.

Hotel Fear (1978)
The most obscure film on this list, Hotel Fear (Pensione Paura in Italian), is a prime example of the arthouse exploitation films Italy excelled at in the late ’70s. A mix of giallo, coming-of-age drama, and wartime chamber piece, it follows a struggling lakeside hotel run by widow Marta and her teenage daughter, Rosa. As Mussolini’s regime crumbles, the guests—lounging, drinking, and abusing Rosa (played by B-movie star Leonora Fani)—turn the place into a den of depravity. When Marta dies mysteriously, Rosa is left to endure the horrors alone.

Hotel Fear is brutal to watch, with Rosa’s suffering verging on sadistic. Yet its portrayal of the hotel as a corrupt, liminal space suggests that all travel fantasies rely on exploiting others—their land, labor, and bodies. Every guest is a trespasser; every host, a servant. Few films since Psycho have exposed the hospitality industry’s dark underbelly so starkly.

White Mischief (1987)
Based on James Fox’s true-crime novel, White Mischief explores the unsolved murder among Kenya’s “Happy Valley” set—British aristocrats who treated the colony as their lawless playground. The story follows aging Sir Henry “Jock” Broughton and his young wife, Diana, whose affair with the charming Earl of Erroll ends in murder after he publicly humiliates Broughton. Arrested but acquitted, Broughton leaves the mystery unresolved, exposing the rot beneath the elite’s glamorous exile.

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White Mischief belongs to a niche subgenre of summer noir films where white colonials indulge in romantic—or sometimes voyeuristic—fantasies under the blazing sun of the Third World or tropical landscapes. These films, like Cecilia (1982), Heat and Dust (1983), The Lover (1992), and Wide Sargasso Sea (1993), often link sensuality and desire to the white body’s encounter with sun-drenched surroundings. The heat and humidity seem to awaken primal longings, turning summer into an inescapable fantasy. As one colonial character in White Mischief groans at sunrise: “Oh, God, not another fucking beautiful day.”

### Bully (2001)
Larry Clark’s films have always exposed the darker side of teenage life, revealing the reckless rituals of youth. From his 1960s photography book Tulsa to his ’90s films Kids and Ken Park, Clark has explored how American teens from different backgrounds respond to boredom and aimlessness. Bully tells the true story of Florida suburban teens who conspire to murder one of their own during summer vacation, justifying it by claiming their victim was a bully and rapist. What’s unsettling is how their violence coexists with typical summer pastimes—joyrides in convertibles, singing along to the radio, video games, clubbing, and backseat hookups.

Roger Ebert noted that the film’s real horror lies not in revenge but in how a group can commit acts no individual would alone—a chilling glimpse into their moral emptiness. What makes it even more jarring is that this darkness unfolds in a sunny, middle-class world often seen as idyllic.

### Young & Beautiful (2013)
French director François Ozon, a master of arthouse eroticism, draws inspiration from filmmakers like Jacques Deray and Éric Rohmer to craft stories of young women coming of age in dreamy, pastel summers. But Young & Beautiful focuses on what happens after summer fades. Seventeen-year-old Isabelle (Marine Vacth) loses her virginity to an older German boy while on vacation, only for the experience to be awkward and disappointing. When summer ends, she returns to Paris disillusioned and drifts into part-time prostitution. After one of her clients dies during sex, her secret life unravels, shattering her family.

The film walks a fine line between a coming-of-age story and teen exploitation, with enough nudity to appeal to prurient interests. Yet Ozon’s delicate handling of time—marking the shift from summer to fall, innocence to experience—lends the story a haunting sense of lost youth.

### Stranger by the Lake (2013)
Alain Guiraudie’s sun-soaked thriller unfolds at a secluded gay cruising spot where desire and danger intertwine. When Franck witnesses a murder but stays silent out of obsession with the killer, the film becomes a tense meditation on lust, risk, and the intoxicating pull of summer. The lake’s shimmering surface hides dark secrets, making it a perfect setting for a noir where passion and peril blur.Stranger by the Lake draws its dark inspiration not from the French New Wave’s fascination with young women but from the queer imagery of Kenneth Anger, Jean Genet, and Rainer Fassbinder—artists whose homoerotic themes were always deeply entwined with death.

At first glance, the film seems like a typical gay getaway story, the kind where a closeted or questioning man travels to a scenic spot to explore his sexuality. But Franck (Pierre Deladonchamps), the protagonist, isn’t given a backstory that hints at some deep personal revelation. Instead, he’s as anonymous as the men he meets—returning daily to a lakeshore crowded with naked bodies, scouting for casual encounters in the nearby woods.

His attention locks onto Michel, a rugged Tom Selleck type—until he witnesses Michel drowning another man in the lake. Rather than report the crime, Franck keeps seeing him, fully aware that staying could cost him his life. Whether it’s the hypnotic sameness of the lakeside or his own moral decay, Franck can’t bring himself to walk away.

Stranger by the Lake mirrors La Piscine in a way—both films trap their characters, and by extension, the counterculture they inhabit, in a world where pleasure is fleeting and moral judgment absent. In this sun-drenched, stagnant paradise, no one wants summer to end. Why would they, when the water’s warm and the days are long?