Summer Love, however cheerfully titled, is essentially an angst-ridden kammerspiel. The Stranger (Karel Roden) rides into town with the Wanted Man's corpse and gambles away his bounty before he can even collect it. Most of the action is confined to a miserable one-room saloon amusingly named the French Palacea place of buzzing flies and perpetual rain, where grizzled plug-uglies mumble into their vodka and make leering passes at the tough, ample barmaid (Katarzyna Figura). Space is elastic, with exterior locations cleverly constructed out of an abandoned quarry and what appears to be a stretch of Baltic beach doubling as the desert. The twangy musical score takes a respite from faux Morricone-isms to incorporate the deadpan insanity of Lorne Greene's 1966 ballad "I Am a Gun."
The western trappings become increasingly alien as the movie evolves, spasm by spasm, into a ritual played out around and about Kilmer's increasingly mutilated bodythe drama's written in blood, sweat, and tears, among other bodily secretions, on the faux desert sands. With its scaffolding and half-wrecked buildings, Uklanski's set comes to resemble a derelict performance site. The artist has a sardonic sense of apocalypse: Summer Love reaches its sodden climax when the gallows under construction for most of the movie comes crashing through the French Palace roof, and the Sheriff reduces the reward for the Wanted Man to a frugal $250.