From
the renowned Hungarian director Istvan Szabo comes this epic tale of
four generations of Sonnenscheins (literally meaning sunshine), a
Hungarian Jewish family, and their experiences of the interpersonal and
societal upheavals spanning the Twentieth Century. With romantic visual
boldness, Sunshine explores each generation’s ideals and
illusions, inspired and controlled by the centuries of European
tradition and its stormy political scene. The film shifts between three
interwoven themes; the crisis of identity, the crisis of the heart, and
successive reigns of oppression based in anti-Semitism. In each
generation, the Sonnenscheins sacrifice more of their religious,
cultural, and personal identity as it becomes an impediment to their
ambitions. Their romantic involvements also ensue against Jewish and
moral restraints.
We
were awe struck with the camera work and development of visual and
thematic poetry as the beauty of Budapest and Sonnenschein compound is
lovingly, if not at times ironically, brought to the screen. We were
intrigued with the acting performances of many of the principals.
Unfortunately, the film takes on too much, and its dramatic intensity is
weighed down by the demands of setting up proper context for each
generation. The story especially lags in the development of the
“affairs” that made us wonder why people would make such seemingly
disastrous choices that brought them scant satisfaction.
Ralph
Fiennes takes on the challenge of portraying the son, grandson, and
great-grandson of the Emmanuel Sonnenschein, the poor boy who grew up to
make a fortune by selling the tonic based on an old family recipe. In
each generation, Fiennes plays a character with a different outward
personality but the same inability to find a sense of purpose and
integrity in his social and personal life. First, he plays Emmanuel’s
son Ignatz who changes his name from Sonnenschein to Sors to ensure his
advancement as a judge. Ignatz then marries his first cousin Valerie
(Jennifer Ehle), who was raised as his sister, despite the scandal and
strident opposition of his mother. Ignatz is rewarded by high judicial
and military rank but doomed by his rigid faithfulness to the Emperor as
Hungary joins the losing side in World War I.
Again
played by Fiennes is Ignatz’s son Adam, who rises as an aspiring
fencing master. To get to the top, Adam converts to Roman Catholicism so
that he may join the anti-Semitic military club and become the world
champion at the 1936 Olympics. Adam also allows his sister-in-law to
bully him into an affair. Perhaps, the affair was meant to show Adam’s
spiritual as well as cultural decline, but the whole segment plays out
in a flat, distracting tone.
Adam
ignores the obvious signs of the coming Holocaust and eschews the chance
to escape to America. In a scene of amazing power, the family
desperately holds on to the belief that their status as converts,
descendents of a World War I decorated officer, and relatives of an
Olympic Champion will protect them from the horrors of WWII. Of course,
the worst transpires, and quickly, the identities and lives based on the
glory of and pride in ambitious achievements are shattered in the lack
of a deeper spiritual and personal power. The only survivors of the
Holocaust, Adam’s son Ivan, Valerie, and Ivan’s great uncle, reunite
in the old Sonnenschein home to witness the rise of communism.
Fiennes
then appears as the disoriented and ashamed Ivan who becomes a
passionate Communist mentored by a Jewish officer and prompted by his
great uncle. As a tenacious Nazi hunter in his lust for revenge for the
brutal death of his father, Ivan incorporates some of the techniques and
abuses of his former persecutors. Like his grandfather Ignatz, Ivan pays
a heavy price for deriving his life’s meaning from a devotion to yet
another iron booted “ism”. Ivan also faces a disaster in his affair
with the wife of a high party official, again a romance that ultimately
distracts from the social and interpersonal turmoil in its odd
implausibility.
The
only character to successfully balance the swirling currents of the
place and era is Valerie. As a woman guided by her heart and passion,
she finds her fulfillment in beauty and connection that transcend
religion, culture, politics, and convention. Time and time again, even
in old age, her face glows with the sunshine of individuality, an aspect
of humanity that everyone else in her family has sacrificed to
ideologies and personal glory. Perhaps,
when Valerie takes back her family name of Sonnenschein, there is little
in the name that the 20th century has not decimated, but
symbolically, giving up the name was a form of personal and spiritual
capitulation that robbed subsequent generations of their true heritage.
Surely, salvation requires a little more than a name, but sometimes, a
symbolic act of beginning anew gives us the courage that we might have
forgotten.
We
applaud Istvan Szabo as the director and writer for the nuanced weaving
of visual, verbal, and action metaphors. He deserves special credit for
directing Ralph Fiennes through gradually increasing layers of
emasculation and then bringing him out with the startling illumination
of newfound identity. Despite its few dry spells, Sunshine is a
milestone achievement that continues to haunt us with intricacies of its
intimately human dimension.
