Playing emperor
Asmall audience in Tokyo sat down last week to watch a preview of a Russian film that could be one of the most provocative movies of the year. But there is a good chance The Sun will never be shown in commercial theatres here: it breaks a longstanding taboo against showing the emperor in works of the imagination, such as movies.
The Sun depicts emperor Hirohito in late 1945 and early 1946, as he made the decision to surrender and face the occupation of his land. Because of the taboo, Japanese filmmakers have been scared off such projects in the past, by nationalists and right-wingers. This movie was made by award-winning veteran Russian film director Aleksandr Nikolayebich Sokurov, 54, in a joint effort with Italian, French and Swiss interests.
Sokurov recently made films about Lenin and Hitler; the movie on Hirohito completes his trilogy on three powerful men of the 20th century. The Sun caused a critical storm at the Berlin film festival, Berlinale, in February, and won the grand prix at the Saint Petersburg international film festival last month.
The role of Hiroto is played by the popular Japanese actor and comedian Issei Ogata. His Hirohito is a sensible man, wracked by pain over the fate of his people. Solemn and serious, Hirohito follows the regimented imperial rituals as divine head of state - with the occasional glimpse of a sense of humour. He is shown meeting MacArthur, as he did in reality, and he ends the film with his famous public announcement: he was not a God, but human.
Sokurov said this year that the emperor embarked on the war with Hitler, but that he later regretted it, then made the difficult decision to surrender to save his people. Ogata said last week: 'I played one man facing a situation too difficult to imagine.' The actor made no attempt to project his own perception of the emperor, to interpret history or to address the issue of war crimes. In short, this is a non-political closeup of a humanised Hirohito.
Japanese filmmakers have occasionally braved the threats from right-wingers and - very carefully - presented the emperor on celluloid. In one case his face was not shown; in another, a respected kabuki actor played the role so low-key that viewers got no sense of a personality. Ogata's friends cautioned him about taking the part.
The Tokyo audience saw nothing objectionable. Perhaps the Japanese mindset needs to see a variety of images of the emperor, including such mild versions, to free it gently from the archaic taboo. It may open the way for even bolder cinematic excursions into the mists of Japanese imperial history.
