Ivan
Bunin was the first Russian to win the Nobel Prize for literature, but that did
not exactly thrill the Soviets, since he was living in Paris at the time as a “White
émigré.” Among the White or Menshevik-affiliated exiles, Bunin was a rock star,
but it was a small group. Nikita Mikhalkov reminds us why so few dissidents escaped
the 1920s Red Terror in his fusion of Bunin’s nonfiction Cursed Days and the titular short story. Mikhalkov remains a
problematic figure, but there is no question Sunstroke is one of his best films in years, which finally releases
today on DVD.
It
is 1920. A large contingent of surrendered White officers are being processed
for their promised return to Russian society. In exchange for relinquishing
their arms and accepting the Soviet state they have even been promised the
opportunity to immigrate. It is all very depressing for an honorable officer
like the unnamed lieutenant, but his heart was already broken a lifetime ago in
1907. As he endures the boredom and petty indignities of the makeshift POW camp,
his mind drifts back to his brief, intoxicating affair with a mystery woman
while they were both traveling on a Volga steamship.
Sadly,
it would only last one mad night, but the memory still lingers. Even the day
after, largely spent in the company of Egoriy, a plucky street urchin takes becomes
bittersweet in retrospect. Indeed, the 1907 narrative is classic Bunin, somewhat
reminiscent of Chekhov’s “The Lady with the Dog.” In contrast, the 1920
storyline is all Soviet, through and through. It also happens to be the more
powerful strand. Although Mikhalkov eventually brings the twains together in a
way that genuinely pays off, the 1907 narrative really could have been handled
as one or two long flashbacks. In contrast, it is quite haunting to watch the
loved-and-lost romantic lieutenant facing the utter end of his era, with
dignity and sad resignation. (At least his comrade still has his loyal hunting
dog Syabr).
Everyone
should generally know how 1920 ended for Russia, but Mikhalkov still manages to
surprise us. He is a talented filmmaker, but there is no question he is tainted
by his friendship with Putin and his own unprecedented consolidation of power
within the Russian film industry. We give him credit for calling for the
release of Oleg Sentsov, which he really didn’t have to do, but by defending
Russian aggression and imperialism in Ukraine, he has become what he condemns
in the third act of Sunstroke and
throughout the Burnt By the Sun trilogy.
Regardless,
Mikhalkov’s stitching together of Bunin is truly epic in a tragically lyrical
way that totally falls within his cinematic wheelhouse. He can balance the dark
romanticism of his Dark Eyes with a
historical indictment in the tradition of Wajda’s Katyn. Frankly, this film deserves more attention, but it is
Mikhalkov’s own darned fault it has not enjoyed the festival love bestowed on
his earlier films.
In
addition to his bravura filmmaking techniques, Mikhalkov gets the benefit of
some fine ensemble work. Milos Bikovic is terrific as Syabr’s owner, the
aristocratic naval officer, Baron Nikolay Alexandrovich Gulbe-Levitsky, Vitaliy
Kishchenko is wildly but believable unhinged as the defiant cavalry captain,
and Kiril Boltaev is wryly sardonic as the Cossack Captain. However, nobody can
withstand the furious power of Miriam Sekhorn as Rozaliia Zemliachka, a
Communist revolutionary figure and architect of Soviet mass murder. She is just
a chilling, show-stopping tour de force. Ironically, Martinsh Kalita and the
Ukrainian-born Viktoriya Solovyova aren’t nearly as engaging as the
star-crossed lovers.
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