Buenos Aires / Culture – (Solntse, Russia-Italy- Switzerland-France. Director: Aleksandr Sokurov) It premiered in only one cinema, on the very same week the flu was at its highest peak, but it will be soon released in DVD, The Sun is truly a remarkable film, worth highlighting. Its author is Aleksandr Sokurov, the artist of Mother and Son and Russian Ark, to name the only two films which had been commercially distributed in our country. To start with, we must clarify that it is more similar to the first than to the second one. Few actors, few scenarios, environments that are skillfully strained through the soundtrack and colorless image, suspended time, concise and sometimes beautiful dialogues, in a nutshell, chamber work. But this time he does not deal with the helplessness of two people confronting death, but with the bewilderment of an important character facing tremendous historical facts which he must assume, face and, if possible, overcome.

The facts he refers to correspond to decisive months in the life of Emperor Hirohito: from August 1945 to January 1946. When we meet him, he is the sun of the empire, the incarnated god, for whom thousands of Japanese are ready to sacrifice themselves. For him, too, many others commit atrocities. But he is in a bunker somewhere, submitted to the daily rites of his ceremonious servants, telling his cabinet, indirectly, in poetical terms, that the war must end, that it has already been lost. Mumbling rather than speaking, like an old man, growing smaller facing the nightmare of Hiroshima or an etching by Durero, innocent, at times almost angelical, diligent when it comes to his studies in biology, respectful and thoughtful with a hungry scientist, unarmed and friendly towards the vulgar American invaders, wise as a child in front of the higher and omnipotent opponent, who at the beginning despises him and takes his time to understand him, willing to put a small statue of Napoleon, but of keeping another one of Darwin in plain sight, privately tender when looking at a photograph of his mother and discreet regarding that of an actress, Hirohito, as Sokurov depicts him, is by no means the war criminal who is forced to allow a new country to rise, as many historians say. He is rather the symbol of continuity and harmony that General MacArthur saw and whose respect he imposed after the mutual killings; the god who, through a decision of his own, for the good of his nation and his people, whom he hardly knew, five months after announcing the end of the war also announced the end of his "divine nature" and happily reunited with his wife and children.

We don’t know which is true, but this is the image Sokurov uses to close his exceptional trilogy of the powerful men of the 20^th century, with Moloch (Hitler in his cloud, imagining impossible), Taurus (a senile Lenin, believing he is still in power) and the one we see now, The Sun (Hirohito, the man who helped his country to come out from the ashes he himself had caused). In our country Moloch was only exhibited in the Festival de Mar del Plata and Taurus in the Buenos Aires Festival, but we won’t sulk about that now. The Sun is good on its own, it can be seen by itself, and we could say it speaks for itself.

Worth mentioning: the composition of Issey Ogata, until then a comedian; Hirohito’s nightmarish Hiroshima, with fish flying over the fire; Russian Ark’s art director Yelena Sukova’s production design; the soundtrack by Sergei Moshkov, and old collaborator; and Andrei Sigle, the musician who plays fragments of Wagner (of course, "Twilight of the Gods"), and Bach (two movements of Suite Nº 5 for cello, played by Mistislav Rostropovich); photograph in the semidarkness, fogs and pastels by Sokurov himself; the argument of the War Minister Korechika Anami (who committed suicide on August 14th, 1945), and the end, that unexpected finale that falls like a heavy blow and says so much with just a four-line-dialogue and two puzzled faces. A work of art.

PSs

PS 1. The character of the War Minister, tense, firm, with small drops of sweat running down his bald head, insisting in fighting till the end, refusing to even think of surrendering, reminded us of the image of that official who informed the Japanese people by radio about the surrender, but who before he finished reading the news broke down and cried as he bashed his head in front of the microphone. An amazing image, which closes down Lionel Rogosin’s documentary Good Times, Wonderful Times (1962) with painful irony.

PS 2. Sokurov said: "I didn’t make films about dictators, but about three men who showed an extraordinary personality in relation to all those around them. That made them appear as the persons with the highest decision power. But, more than their exceptional conditions and the circumstances they lived, their actions were influenced by human weakness and passion. Human qualities and character are more important than any historical circumstance". The observation confronts certain basis of Marxist psychology, but it also corroborates the difference between The Sun and the other two films: in The Sun, the leader overcomes his own weakness and he comes out of his own confinement because he questions himself and is willing to listen to the others, to dialogue with and learn from them (and fortunately, the person across the table is capable of appreciating him and rescue from him whatever is for the benefit of humanity).
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Daniel Sendrós. Article published in Criterio magazine, www.revistacriterio.com.ar