Review #74: 'The Sun' (2005)

Similar to Oliver Hischbiegel's Downfall (2004), The Sun follows Emperor Hirohito during the final days of World War II. While American soldiers invade the land after dropping the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the Emperor remains holed up in the bunker of his palace, existing in a kind of daze. He wanders the hallways, followed by his servants who hang on his every word and action, awaiting his instructions. He quietly ponders the situation and attempts to negotiate a peace treaty with his advisors, wondering what effect it will have on his legacy. General Douglas MacArthur calls for him to dine with him, and the two almost share a strange bond while discussing politics, determining the Emperor's fate and smoking cigars.

Director Aleksandr Sokurov, who was responsible for the hypnotic Russian Ark (2002) and criminally under-seen Alexandra (2007), adopts a similar style to that of the former. The digital image glides along the steel corridors of the bunker, following Hirohito's every move. The darkness and the grain of the image allowing a more grounded feel to the proceedings. This way, it feels less like a period piece based on real events, and places you more in the time. It's a similar approach to that taken by Michael Mann in the over-rated Public Enemies (2009). Though Michael Mann's almost emotionless biography of John Dillinger used it in a desperate attempt to look cool and edgy (something that Mann seems to do with every new film he does - surprising given the effortless cool of the likes of Heat (1995) and Manhunter (1986) - anyway...), here Sokurov adopts the style to create a very real atmosphere.

The almost constant soundtrack, too, adds to the atmosphere of the piece. As the Emperor slowly paces the corridors, quietly discusses matter with his board and quietly reflects on his actions, the music and camerawork gave me the overall impression of doom. Not that the film is heading that way, I felt that it more represented the internal struggle of the Emperor, where his fate is seemingly out of his hands, and his country could be facing ruin. Two of the largest cities in  the country have been obliterated by the U.S., who are now crossing their borders and invading. Being the Emperor, he is of the belief that he is a God. Is this the legacy of a God? What will his people remember him for?

I can't end the review without mentioning the computer generated sequence that breaks up the film. Dazed and delirious after being taken ill, the Emperor sits open mouthed at the edge of his bed, imagining scores of giant flying fish soaring through the air. The country below them lies in smoky ruin, and the fish begin to drop more bombs, the sounds of the fish's 'engines' groaning terribly. The fish by the way, just to put it into context, represent Hirohito's love for marine biology, which he persists in researching even as the Americans invade. It's a brave, interesting move in the film. It initially jarred with the quiet, controlled drama that unfolds before, but it becomes an interesting and unnerving experimental set-piece.

A cold, tightly-directed biography that cares less about the politics of the time, and more with the humanistic aspect of a powerful ruler in a troubled time, with a mesmerising lead performance by Issei Ogata.


Directed by: Aleksandr Sokurov
Starring: Issei Ogata, Robert Dawson, Kaori Momoi
Country: Russia/Italy/Switzerland/France

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #36: 'Russian Ark' (2002)

When I first heard about this film back in 2002, it sounded like something of a gimmick. Using digital technology and a team of highly-talented cinematographers and lightning technicians, the film took place in one location and featured one long 96-minute steadicam shot through the Russian State Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg. I'm embarrassed but somewhat happy to report that I was completely wrong, and that the technique is not a gimmick, but instead a powerful tool used to conjure up a feeling of state and atmosphere. It's also so technically impressive that even if this was not the case, it would still be an awe-inspiring achievement.

We, the audience, are locked inside the head of the narrator (voiced by director Aleksandr Sokurov) who awakens amongst a party of excited party-goers dressed in historical gowns and suits making their way inside of the then-Winters Palace, which between 1732 and 1917 was the home of the Russian tsars. Out narrator is somewhat disillusioned and confused, and wonders why is he is there and if he is in fact dead. He is soon joined by the mysterious Stranger (Sergei Dontsov), a French aristocrat who knows he is long dead and is somewhat much more comfortable with his surroundings than our humble narrator. The two swoop from room to room, which contains some of the most beautiful and impressive art I've ever seen, and they discuss and ponder both the art and Russian history. As they travel the palace, they also travel through time and through some of the key events in Russian's past.

What makes this film so impressive is not just the 96-minute shot. It is also the dreamlike state I found myself placed in when viewing the film. It was a similar feeling to the one I had when watching Andrei Tarkovsky's Mirror (1975) and Stalker (1979), as although often I didn't fully understand exactly what was taking place or what the director was getting at, the film was so beautiful I just let myself become entranced by it. A 96-minute philosophical and academic Russian history lesson won't sound like much to a lot of people, but the director's deft touch keeps the film moving along nicely. The Hermitage Museum is absolutely stunning, and Sokurov uses its beauty to take us on this journey, as the Stranger waltzes from room to room gazing upon its sights, and often interacting with historical and modern figures.

It becomes apparent early on that the main metaphor the film stands for is Russia's involvement with Europe. The Stranger is supposed to be channelling the Marquis de Custine (or may even be him, it is not made clear), who was a travel writer best known for his writing during the rule of Nicholas I in 1830's Russia. He often mocks Russia as the Marquis did, and the Narrator, who clearly represents Russia, is often anxious to move on without him, representing the ability of Russia to carry on without the support of Europe. There is so much more than this going on the film, far more than I can describe in a few hundred words. It is a meditation on art, history, culture, and also on the power of film and editing.

A few attempts have been made to create something similar to this, notably Hitchcock's Rope (1948), which used clever editing to create the illusion that it was all one shot. Although a very good film, it wasn't entirely successful in that department. Not to criticise, obviously the technology wasn't available to Hitch back in the day, but even if it had, it would not have had the same lasting effect that Russian Ark had on me. And just when you think the film couldn't get any more impressive, the final scene comes along with a cast of thousands all dressed in full costume in one climatic glide down the Grand Staircase. Absolutely beautiful.


Directed by: Aleksandr Sokurov
Starring: Sergei Donstov, Mariya Kuznetsova, Leonid Mozgovoy
Country: Russia/Germany

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie