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| Images courtesy of Kino Lorber |
Russian writer-director Alexander Sokurov, one of the few
Soviet filmmakers to successfully transition to the modern era while also continuing
to push the cinematic envelope technically and narratively, remains one of the
world’s most important contemporary visual artists whose works echo the
brilliance of Andrei Tarkovsky (who he was personal friends with), Carl Theodor
Dreyer, Ingmar Bergman and more recently Lars Von Trier.
Mixing in a unique brand of docudrama
filmmaking that pushes a conventional narrative construct into the realm of
abstraction and musicality, the 2011 Golden Lion winning filmmaker’s most
recent splash on the silver screen came in the form of a surrealist deep faked
WWII set fever dream Fairytale which saw four central historical figures
Churchill, Hitler, Mussolini and Stalin comingling in this ethereal void trying
to determine the fate of the world.
While a revolutionary work of animation and digitally altered historical
footage to create a never-before-seen cacophony, little did I know this wasn’t
the first time Sokurov’s cameras were turned on pivotal historical figures in a
deconstructive manner.
In fact, starting in 1999 Sokurov began unveiling a loose
trilogy of films about the final days of three key historical figures in the
waning days of WWII: Moloch in 1999 about Adolf Hitler, Taurus in
2001 about Vladimir Lenin and lastly The Sun in 2005 chronicling the
final days in power of Japanese Emperor Hirohito. Co-written by English writer Jeremy Noble and
Mister Designer screenwriter Yuri Arabov, this French-Italian-Russian-Swiss
coproduction spoken only in Japanese or English set within Emperor Hirohito’s
palace and bunker is at once an attempt to humanize the man who fancied himself
a god while furthering the director’s own obsession with the so-called “madness
of kings”. A non-judgmental character
study, an expressionistic snapshot of history and a lyrical odyssey of accepting
defeat, The Sun further cements Sokurov’s status as a wholly unique
historical dramatist inviting his audiences to look closer while thinking a bit
deeper outside of the box of conventions.
Near the end of WWII, Emperor Hirohito (Issey Ogata the
inquisitor from Scorsese’s Silence) whiles away his time in his palace
surrounded by a dedicated staff of butlers, politicians and military commanders
tending to his every need and move.
After receiving a telegram from military reports of imminent defeat, the
Emperor briefly shuts down with an air of detached indifference while
ruminating on Japan’s historical footings. Occupying his time with marine biology right up until the bombs start
falling and his doorstep is accosted by American troops, shown through an
expressionistic animated montage of sperm whales besieging a war-torn Japan,
Hirohito finds his position of power coming to an end after US military
commander General Douglas MacArthur (Robert Dawson) invites him over for
dinner, cigars and acceptance of Japan’s defeat. Most of the rest of the film from here
consists of Hirohito coming to terms with no longer being a god worshipped by
his servants while trying to rebuild his mostly destroyed country.
Shot by Sokurov himself with an eerie ambient score of
subtle orchestral rumblings by Andrei Sigle, this digitally photographed
production largely takes place in dimly lit corridors of Hirohito’s palace and
elaborate protective bunker as its troubled and oddly childlike protagonist
wanders through empty halls and resides within his neatly kept room being
changed in and out of elegant outfits by his staff. A nonjudgmental attempt to humanize a controversial
figure still unseen in Japan out of fears the portrayal might provoke with
(initially) the actor Issey Ogata’s name kept from the credits to protect the
actor from violent reprisals, The Sun doesn’t answer all the questions
people have about the ill-fated Emperor so much as it tries to put us in his
shoes for a little while.
Methodically paced seemingly in real time as the Emperor
sees his way of life being ripped out from under him, The Sun for all
the upheaval being depicted is rather restrained and modestly paced. The performance itself by Issey Ogata is
startlingly sympathetic and presents the man as enmeshed in the newfound
luxuries of the Taisho period while also downplaying the details of the Tokyo
tribunal to mostly try and give audiences an inkling of what the Emperor may or
may not have been thinking at the time. After
its premiere in theaters and on television, The Sun went on to garner
awards such as the Grand Prix of the St. Petersburg Film Festival, the Golden
Apricot for Best Feature at Yerevan’s Armenian film festival and Best Film, Director
and Music at the 2005 Russian Guild of Film Critics Awards.
More of an ethereal mood piece than an outright historical
dramatization of key events concluding the Second World War, The Sun is
a fascinating and occasionally engrossing deep dive into the mindset of one of
the world’s most controversial historical figures. Refraining from taking sides, remaining an
apolitical study of the man and his own sense of detachment from the
proceedings all around him, The Sun humanizes Hirohito while also
leaving ample room for interpretation of the man’s complexities and the actions
that ultimately led to his downfall. Moreover,
it begs the question what sort of reality the Emperor will turn to now that his
days of being godlike are over? Where
other more conventional narratives would’ve tied everything up neatly in a bow,
Sokurov and his film lets you the viewer make up your own mind about how to
feel about the man behind the Emperor.
--Andrew Kotwicki
