Alexander Sokurov's austere, moody and claustrophobic chamber piece, "The Sun," takes place in Tokyo in 1945, just as the victorious American forces are overtaking the city. The focus of the film is on Emperor Hirohito (believed by his subjects to be a direct descendant of the Sun goddess Amaterasu ) who, holed up in a bunker in the royal palace, agonizes over how such an ignominious fate could have befallen his nation and his people – and the part he himself may have played in bringing that outcome about.
Hirohito spends much of the first half of the film engaging in deep introspection and personal recrimination, blaming himself for having placed too much faith in the power of the Empire and for relying too heavily on the enthusiasm of the soldiers rather than properly equipping the army. Meanwhile, he pores over old family photo albums as well as pictures of glamorous Hollywood stars of the time, suggesting that he clearly doesn't despise all things American, even if that nation has become the cause of his downfall.
In the second half of the movie, Hirohito finds himself under house arrest, where his American captors ply him with wine and chocolate bars as they negotiate the terms of his surrender. Then he's brought before General MacArthur himself, who treats the defeated emperor with outward politeness but inward condescension and dismissiveness. The result is a subtle little game of cat-and-mouse in which two of the great figures of their time vie for position and power – both personal and diplomatic.
A largely fictionalized, impressionistic account of historical events, "The Sun" is definitely an acquired taste. Its subdued tone, spare settings and desultory pacing may be off-putting to some in the audience, and the acting by the American performers is amateurish in the extreme. But there's a haunting quality to the film as well, as a man once convinced of his own infallibility, divinity and immortality is forced to face the fact that, like the rest of humanity, he has feet of clay – and finds what a truly liberating and unburdening thing that can be in the long run.
Hirohito spends much of the first half of the film engaging in deep introspection and personal recrimination, blaming himself for having placed too much faith in the power of the Empire and for relying too heavily on the enthusiasm of the soldiers rather than properly equipping the army. Meanwhile, he pores over old family photo albums as well as pictures of glamorous Hollywood stars of the time, suggesting that he clearly doesn't despise all things American, even if that nation has become the cause of his downfall.
In the second half of the movie, Hirohito finds himself under house arrest, where his American captors ply him with wine and chocolate bars as they negotiate the terms of his surrender. Then he's brought before General MacArthur himself, who treats the defeated emperor with outward politeness but inward condescension and dismissiveness. The result is a subtle little game of cat-and-mouse in which two of the great figures of their time vie for position and power – both personal and diplomatic.
A largely fictionalized, impressionistic account of historical events, "The Sun" is definitely an acquired taste. Its subdued tone, spare settings and desultory pacing may be off-putting to some in the audience, and the acting by the American performers is amateurish in the extreme. But there's a haunting quality to the film as well, as a man once convinced of his own infallibility, divinity and immortality is forced to face the fact that, like the rest of humanity, he has feet of clay – and finds what a truly liberating and unburdening thing that can be in the long run.