As glimpsed in the enticing trailer, the opening of Hungarian period piece, Sunset, is classic cinematic allure. Visiting an illustrious hat store, our protagonist, Írisz Leiter (Juli Jakab), head bowed, slowly lifts, revealing to us her pensive, striking face. An enigmatic visage that barely leaves us in the following two-hour-plus running time of the picture. A woman whose immediate mystery already informs us of a pending journey of self-preservation.
The story wheels of Sunset have already started rolling. But this will be an enduring journey, for us, but especially Írisz. The heiress is returning to the department store once owned by her parents. Whom we soon discover perished in a fire, under what unravels to be closer to corruption than accidental. The current manager of the store, Oszkár (Vlad Ivanov, the almost unrecognizable Romanian actor), has done well for himself with the business. Not just in financial terms, but also in the concealment of a much disturbing background.
Írisz is initially greeted, somewhat coldly, by the hat store’s senior clerk, Zelma (Evelin Dobos), believing she is a customer trying on hats. When Irisz snaps out of a daze to state she is here for the position, the discourse alters. But not as swiftly as when she reveals her name to be Leiter – that of the store’s legacy. From that moment, one so brilliantly subtle and impacting at the same time, Írisz is treated like something between untouchable and infectious. And not in a good way.
“Sunset is very much reminiscent, and yet so affectingly far away from, Nemes’ astonishing, powerful 2015 Holocaust drama, Son of Saul.”
Írisz is a stranger in a strange land, surrounded by beautiful, young women, in the decadent arena of head attire. But one she was born into once upon a time. But times sure have changed. And as we perch on Írisz’s shoulder for the most part, we too share a kind of limited viewpoint of this 1913 Budapest. A restrictive perspective complying with a grave unknown. With knowledge of the Leiter family and the troubled Hungarian capital, gloomily fresh to Írisz’s senses.
László Nemes, the director, has set an incredibly simple premise right from the get go, with the film’s cautious pace. But it is a premise brimming with discomfort and a weight of anticipation. You could almost say haunting. Sunset is very much reminiscent, and yet so affectingly far away from, Nemes’ astonishing, powerful 2015 Holocaust drama, Son of Saul. For which he picked up the Jury Prize at the Cannes Film Festival. Before winning the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film.
No question, given the more mannered approach for this feature, that Nemes warrants the tag of stylistic in his approach with Sunset. In comparison to Son of Saul, or not. The filmmaker wanted a clearer, more restricting portrayal, to essentially limit what the audience soaks up.
The central character, Írisz, has the camera right in her face or pursuing focus on the back of her neck. This will be tiresome for many. But not I. Nemes has an abundance of technical prowess, as well as an awareness of classical cinema, to construct such artistry, and make it compelling.
“Sunset breathes a chilly, albeit exquisite, gush of air to the historical drama we think we know.”
Sunset does not rely heavily on dialogue. In fact there is seldom conversations to be had here. Nemes co-wrote the screenplay with Clara Royer and Matthieu Taponier. And the words on the page serve as minimal insight, in line with the film’s prolonged essence of intrigue and tension. There is no need, Nemes knows, to sprinkle unnecessary plot cues or lazy reveals from the mouths of the characters.
Atmospheric, with a fluctuating whiff of doom and uncertainty, Sunset breathes a chilly, albeit exquisite, gush of air to the historical drama we think we know. The film is gorgeous to look at, no doubt about that. These effectively detailed costumes, production design, serve the purpose of the era perfectly. And also show the wear and tear of a pre-war society in a history-defining time. You can see the crowds in the background, horse and carts, trams. The attention to detail is awe-inspiring.
Much of Sunset’s visual aesthetic is attributed to the absorbing cinematography from Mátyás Erdély. The same soul that augmented hefty chunks of the claustrophobia in Son of Saul. The varying levels of danger that Irisz might bump into are almost literally around every corner. We are crammed into the rustic beauty and self-destruction of the Budapest streets.
“Sunset might be grounded, and marvelously sluggish, but there are bouts of genuine shock moments.”
The motion and tempo is not only dictated by the chaos, but by the intricate eye of Erdély and Nemes. Írisz is shrouded in darkness, a form of shadowy abyss, in many scenes. And in contrast, splashes of light emerge off-shot. A thrown torch omits a fiery glow, for example.
This was 1913, with the Hungary-Austria attempted revival following the industrial revolution. Prior to further turmoil approaching with World War I. Sunset might be grounded, and marvelously sluggish, but there are bouts of genuine shock moments. Made all the more wounding because of the film’s strategic under-playing.
Depicting such social upheavals, a nation at a crossroads, is no mean feat on celluloid. But the choreography offers a delayed admiration – the varying conflicts between anarchists, the elitists, the socialists, Austrian royalty, communists, nationalists – is right there happening in front of your eyes. Yet creeps up on you or spills directly into your psyche.
As a viewer, watching, there is naturally a wonder about where Sunset is taking you. Some will get lost (I’ve heard some reviewers fall into despair), and some will engage in the correlation with the character of Írisz. Her journey is greater than ours (not better). Strengthened by her defiance, driven by a morbid curiosity and paranoia, perhaps ultimately defined by her blind bravery. Walking herself from one unknown, harrowing experience, to the next. Írisz is almost sexually assaulted, held captive, constantly told she should leave and go back to Trieste. But her determined walk continues.
“Nemes is a smart, controlled filmmaker, crafting a remarkable motion picture.”
With such raw, relenting exposition, Sunset wouldn’t work without an actress capable of carrying layers of bleak emotion. With hardly a smile, or snippet of joy too be seen. Getting the part of Irisz in a 10 month audition process with near-enough a thousand ladies, Juli Jakab truly proves her worth here. And is a front-runner for movie face of the year.
From a kind of naive presence in the opening moments of Sunset, Jakab conveys, through mostly facial expressions, piercing glares and the temperament of a revolutionary in the making. It’s a superbly understated performance. One that holds a hefty burden of trauma and quiet audacity.
Whether you believe that Nemes overstretches his story timeline, Sunset is darkly enriching, beautiful film. Not just technically masterful, Nemes’ film is a rare slow-burner in its hypnotic narrative progress. Luckily, the film manages to find its legs again after a late dip. The 140 minute runtime may well have its downside. But I am nitpicking.
Sunset, with its underlying soundscapes, and nervy hum of László Melis’ score, forms a disorienting aura throughout. Nemes is a smart, controlled filmmaker, crafting a remarkable motion picture. Which sensibly holds your hand, rather than pulls you through the mud. A film’s greatness is not necessarily measured by how long you thought about it afterwards, though this reviewer thinks of Sunset fondly.
