Sokurov's evocative account of Hirohito's fall from Heaven is mesmerizing in terms of narrative structure, photography and Ogata's performance. Ogata quite literally puts his life on the line by taking this role; he clearly feeds off that tension to provide a quite stunning portrayal of one of the 20th century's leading figures, one whose absence from artistic portrayal stands in juxtaposition to the pivotal role he played in leading his country through world war, nuclear destruction, to revival as an economic superpower. Think about Hitler, Mussolini, Churchill, Eisenhower, Stalin and Hirohito. Which one do you feel least able to describe? Sokurov and Ogata play on that enigmatic image. Ogata chooses to take the physical aspects of Hirohito that we know - the twitches, stiffness, child-like expressions - and amplify them to heighten the unreality of the situation, complementing Sokurov's other- worldly sepia tinted grainy photography.
The film does not strive for historical accuracy. It is unlikely that Macarthur's interpreter would have been a nationalist zealot. The casting of Robert Dawson as Macarthur is the film's biggest failing - the man is more wooden than Sherwood forest. And the American photographers look like American students studying in Russia trying to earn a few rubles as extras - which is probably what they are. It is a shame that budget limitations and casting errors detract from what could have been a sublime artistic achievement. Ogata, in particular, should have been served better for the riveting performance he gives here.
The Sun polemically considers what might have happened when God became man. No future attempt to portray the life of Hirohito on celluloid can avoid referring to this film. Few will emulate it. The genius here is in exploring Hirohito the man and his inadequate attempts to comprehend the momentous events that engulf him at the end of the war. By staying with him, and not pausing to bow one's head before Hiroshima, Nagasaki, or the fire-bombing of Tokyo, Sokurov provides a glimpse of a man who remains, even after his death in the late eighties, a complete enigma. The transition from deity to man happens briefly, but palpably, at the end, when Hirohtio the figurehead is shown to also be husband and father. The Sun is food for thought on a much neglected man.
The film does not strive for historical accuracy. It is unlikely that Macarthur's interpreter would have been a nationalist zealot. The casting of Robert Dawson as Macarthur is the film's biggest failing - the man is more wooden than Sherwood forest. And the American photographers look like American students studying in Russia trying to earn a few rubles as extras - which is probably what they are. It is a shame that budget limitations and casting errors detract from what could have been a sublime artistic achievement. Ogata, in particular, should have been served better for the riveting performance he gives here.
The Sun polemically considers what might have happened when God became man. No future attempt to portray the life of Hirohito on celluloid can avoid referring to this film. Few will emulate it. The genius here is in exploring Hirohito the man and his inadequate attempts to comprehend the momentous events that engulf him at the end of the war. By staying with him, and not pausing to bow one's head before Hiroshima, Nagasaki, or the fire-bombing of Tokyo, Sokurov provides a glimpse of a man who remains, even after his death in the late eighties, a complete enigma. The transition from deity to man happens briefly, but palpably, at the end, when Hirohtio the figurehead is shown to also be husband and father. The Sun is food for thought on a much neglected man.