Issei Ogata ... Shouwa-Tennou Hirohito
Robert Dawson ... General Douglas MacArthur
Kaori Momoi ... Empress Kojun
Shirô Sano ... The chamberlain
Shinmei Tsuji ... Old servant
Taijiro Tamura ... Scientist
Georgi Pitskhelauri ... McArthur's warrant officer
Hiroya Morita ... Suzuki, Prime Minister
Japanese history from a Russian perspective, Aleksandr Sokurov's The Sun takes a look back at the ever struggling Emperor Hirohito (later Showa) and his ever increasing problematic dilemmas during World War Two. The film, like the main character we find ourselves presented with, is quiet, slow moving, and internalized. Every emotion comes from inside, and actor Issei Ogata's performance doesn't project out, but pulls us in; the actor is on the same wavelength as the film. We observe a man conflicted and upset, but God forbid he ever let us on to his persistent troubles. He walks through life giving orders he doesn't wish to give to people he rather not be associated with. It's not that he doesn't respect his Japanese people, just that with his role comes expectations he cannot even begin to live up to. As emperor, he is regarded as a holy child of the sun goddess (his servants are mortified when he refers to himself as human), a man who can call himself Japanese but certainly not mortal. He wants to be loved, not feared. As portrayed deftly in this film, he's an emperor desperately in need of some less flashy and expensive new clothes. The Sun shows a person less concerned with being a myth than a man. In a way, the film is more inspiring when he loses the war than when he's fighting it.
Hirohito isn't so much closed off from the world as much as the world is closed off from him. It's like when someone is so in love with you that they say yes and agree with everything you say. They aren't really listening, they're just nodding out of infatuation. His people are emperor fetishists. You may ask, what is it Hirohito really wishes to do with his life? The film implies that his real passion was marine biology, and it is the scenes which take place within his specialized laboratory where Hirohito is able to talk on and on about sea life and their origins. He goes into such detail that his stenographer recording his words quickly dozes off. Now that is unacceptable. One may assume that Hirohito is least happy in his military outfits and most content in his lab coat.
The first half of The Sun focuses primarily and quite efficiently on Hirohito's daily procedures, routine to him as they may be. In the very first scene, one of his servants reads to him his schedule for the day, and thank goodness a one hour nap is penciled into the proceedings. He suits up and heads to his first order of business which will leave some men in tears — Japan is crumbling underneath him. He then exits and heads to his next order of duty.
It is around this time that we realize the film will take place almost exclusively in the confines of interior settings. Yes, there are some important moments outdoors, but by and large this is a film closed off like its characters. The passageways from room to room are very dark, drab, and ugly, and while placed primarily underground for obvious safety purposes, the environment is, well, not fit for a king. Intense sirens and explosions heard up above only help to reinforce the idea of the seclusion of royalty. And what's ironically the only room to have windows? The bio laboratory.
Sokurov goes to great lengths to try and humanize such a legendary figure, and he accomplishes an ample characterization via interesting variations. Hirohito, after having a nightmare involving the destruction of his country — aircrafts, swishing above like serpents, drop bombs below (on Hiroshima?) — sits down at his desk and looks over photos of his family. This is therapeutic; reminiscing helps the time go by.
He then takes out another photo album, but this one, though filled with familiar faces, doesn't include his beloved relatives. No, this one is filled with headshots and posed photographs of famous American movie stars like Humphrey Bogart (and Adolf Hitler, but he was once in the movies too). He is enthralled by the freedom of the actors, or at the very least, the characters they so often play. When an American solider almost mockingly refers to Hirohito as Charlie Chaplin — the Emperor likes to pose for photographs and reenact the Tramp's movements — Hirohito is flattered and takes it as a compliment. His acceptance of these iconic (usually American) figures may have something to do with his surrendering to American forces.
I'd like to have a word about those Americans. Hirohito is fluent in multiple languages but is informed by a Japanese translator to speak only in his native tongue. It will one up his counterpart, General Douglas MacArthur, and give him more control over the conversation. Hirohito disregards this advice and speaks in English, therefore surrendering his power over to the other side. With this one choice, you could say that Japan's presence in the war was unofficially over. Hirohito's dominance was willingly (and consciously) given away.
Before this review starts to sound too much like an uneducated view of Japanese politics (at this point, I know only what the movie tells me), let's dive into the technical aspects of the craft itself. The film has a soft look to it, undefined and lacking richness in texture, and I questioned the film stock being used. This is of course assuming that the movie was shot in film to begin with. It isn't blurry exactly, but it does appear to be lacking something. Given that many of the scenes are darkly lit in the first place, the movie appears washed out and dried. Even the scenes that take place outdoors in broad daylight appear as if viewed through an unkept filter. Does the theme of Japan's decay have anything to do with the down and dirty decay off the cinematography? Or does its brown glow give off the sense that we are merely viewing the scenes as a — yikes — romanticized distant memory? Maybe the film is all a flashback, as most historical films are in a way, as we receive a current filmic view of the past. Food for thought if you're hungry.
More signs of an old style: there are many dissolve edits signaling scene transitions, a technique used not as frequently as it once was. I mean, they're out there, but this film's use of them calls attention to itself, although not in a distracting manner. As already noted, the film is slow paced, but the dissolves cut us right to the action, i.e. eating a fancy dinner with politics-talking American generals. And yet, there is a more modern approach to some elements. There is some CGI, some noticeable and some questionable, to depict Hirohito's nightmare and occasional overhead shot of the withering city below. It gives these moments a foreign, exotic feel that may or may not have been what Sokurov was going for. Nonetheless, they are what they are.
The Sun is a movie that you have to be prepared for, not for content but for style. Scenes tend to go on signaling nothing but character traits, and I think that's what the film is definitively about. It's a biopic about a character that is, on the surface, inexpressive. There's a reason for that. He wants to be reunited with the family he was separated from due to the dangers and risks of being a leader of Japan. When he finally surrenders, his wife greets him in his study and tells him that the children are waiting for him in the other room. He grabs her by the hand and runs to see them. The whole film has been building up to this moment, and we end on a feeling of joy. Hirohito had been chosen by the sun goddess, but he did not choose her.
The 411: The Sun is a quiet movie that I found very rewarding in its stillness. The film takes on the attitude and stature of its main character and while that may frustrate some, it works for the man's internal conflict. It's very Japanese, if that means anything. The film is very well acted and photographed (albeit in a peculiar way), and the film has an exotic feel to it that only makes the visual style more alluring. Will this work for everyone? Of course not. It's seen at a distance, like Hirohito himself. It's a movie about a man that never wanted to be what he became. You know what they say, it's lonely when you reach the top.
