Most Iranians are used to role-playing, because they must go out everyday pretending
they don’t hate their oppressive government. However, every few months,
thousands finally express their true feelings, at which point the regime rounds
up and executes the dissenters. Consequently, all these “game” players are
experienced role-players, but in this case, they are doing it for money in
director-screenwriter Amirali Navaee’s Sunshine Express, which screens
at the 2026 Santa Barbara International Film Festival.
Players
must refer the game as the “trip.” To win, they must be the last on the train,
successfully reaching Hermania, which is described like a Persian Erehwon.
Obviously, that means they need to get their competitors off the train before
the last “stop.” It is just a detailed set, with rear-projection windows, which
will never leave the sound stage—so wouldn’t it be a shock if they found
themselves hurtling down the tracks, somewhere out in parts unknown?
Indeed,
the game takes an ominously method turn. That puts the “Train Guard” in an
awkward position, since he is supposed to be the other players’ primary link to
the organizers, while still competing against them. “The Judge” is supposed to be
the main in-game authority figure, but his performance will be compromised by his
reaction to prescription drugs. “The Prisoner” might appear to be at the greatest
disadvantage, given the handcuffs, but the “Agent” escorting him is a neurotic bundle
of nerves.
For
roughly the first half of the film, the players play the game. During the
second, the game plays the players, or something like that. It definitely looks
like you must take a detour through the Twilight Zone to reach Hermania.
Regardless, players struggle to keep in character, because that remains their
dominant strategy.
As a
result, Sunshine Express could be a fitting addition to the lesson plans
for game-theory classes. It also perhaps serves as a slyly oblique allegory, in
which the role-players try to ignore or “play through” chaos erupting outside
the train.
One of the worst things about oppressive regimes is the way they corrupt and break
people. When Perla Adamova fled Czechoslovakia after the 1968 Soviet Invasion,
she never looked back (for reasons that will be painfully understandable). Yet,
she remained deeply damaged. Her former lover Andrej didn’t get away. He represents
a hefty share of the crushing guilt she carries. Consequently, it is hard for
her to refuse when Andrej demands she bring their daughter Julia for a visit,
even though she knows she shouldn’t. Indeed, going home will be emotionally and
physically perilous in director-screenwriter Alexandra Makarova’s Perla,
which screens at the 2026 Santa Barbara International Film Festival.
Adamova
is a bit of a neurotic wreck, but that is perfectly acceptable to the Vienna
art scene. Marrying Josef Hoffmann also brings some stability, even though she met
him when he was dating her close friend. Then Andrej calls. She tries to
deflect her guilt, credibly arguing everything she did, she did for their
daughter. Then he plays his fatal tumor card.
Except—not
really a spoiler alert—Andrej admits he lied as soon as she arrives with
Hoffmann and Julia. Thanks to her husband’s resources, she entered the country
with forged Austrian papers. Obviously, they need to keep a low profile. It is
also increasingly evident that the trip is not healthy for Julia. Yet, Adamova
displays a dangerous rush of excitement for the old sights and sounds of her
Slovak homeland, including Andrej. If you suspect it will end badly, you have at
least a basic grasp of the nature of early 1980s Warsaw Pact Captive Nations.
Makarova
dedicated the film to her grandmother, but Adamova is unambiguously modeled on her
mother, an expat artist who lived in Vienna. Both she and Andrej often act in
selfish and even rather awful ways. Yet, Makarova always finds ways to remind
viewers that their actions are the direct result of abuse they suffered.
Indeed, there is an important scene that provides the key to unlock the entire
film, but it is uncomfortable to watch because of its brutality, despite
Adamova’s murky lighting and framing.
