Bleakness Serves Sun Don't Shine Well

We begin Sun Don’t Shine, the directorial debut of Amy Seimetz (who also wrote this film), in media res. Crystal (Kate Lyn Sheil) and Leo (Kentucker Audley) are already on the run in Leo’s car, though we don’t know why. They talk vaguely about the urgency of their mission and Leo insists that Crystal doesn’t talk to anybody. Eventually, we learn that Crystal and Leo have gotten the corpse of Crystal’s abusive boyfriend in the trunk of the car. They’re now on a car ride to dispose of the body. The clearly disturbed Crystal is constantly turning to Leo as a potential savior. The fact that we first see him strangling Crystal makes it clear he’s no knight on a white horse. He’s just yet another toxic male figure in the hellish life of Crystal.

In my Japanese cinema class, I learned that in, Japanese cinema, water is seen as a place where change occurs. In a film like Ugetsu, it can be a place where you go from the mortal world to entering a fantastical realm. In another film like Sansho the Bailiff, it emerges as a pond a tortured character walks into to transform from a living being into a corpse. It seems like Crystal believes in the idea of water being a place for change too considering how often she turns to it during Sun Don’t Shine. After all, the destination of her journey is a river where she and Leo can  dump the body and cover up this horrific crime.

Additionally, Crystal is enamored with an underwater Little Mermaid stage show at a local wildlife park. Seimetz never has Crystal say her reasons for loving this show out loud but it makes total poignant sense why this story would resonate so deeply with her. Little Mermaid is a  story of transformation, a mermaid who becomes a human and finds a better life in the process. Why wouldn’t a woman, whose entire existence has been spent in abusive relationships, live vicariously through this aquatic tale? Water even factors into the final scene of Sun Don’t Shine as Crystal takes a dip into a strangers pool. As she plunks underwater, she’s, temporarily, escaping the brutalities of the real world. Water cannot change her permanently, but it offers a temporary escape.

The thoughtful use of water is one of a number of intriguing ways Seimetz explores the haunted mind at the center of Sun Don’t Shine. Proving similarly insightful is recurring patches of voice-work that see Crystal expressing her inner thoughts. These play over on-screen footage depicting Crystal being either silent or distracted in a task. Much like the flash-forward narration in Y tu Mama Tambien. Sun Don’t Shine uses voicework to lend greater context to what we’re watching on-screen. There isn’t much time when you’re on the run to deliver dialogue exploring who you are as a person. Through voice-over work that’s detached entirely from any sense of time and space, we get to discover more about who Crystal is.

The voice-over dialogue also tends to have a reflective quality to it as Crystal reminisces on all the desires she’s had and wants to still fulfill. The viewer, and maybe even Crystal deep down, realizes that these ambitions will never become a reality. The juxtaposition between Crystal’s quietly hopeful voice-over and the grim on-screen imagery ends up instilling a wistful nature to the entirety of Sun Don’t Shine. Lending further insight into the psyche of Crystal is the sound work, particularly a series of scratching noises Crystal swears she hears coming from the trunk. Every bump on the road sends Crystal’s anxiety into overdrive. The sound work in Sun Don’t Shine manages to capture a similarly overwhelming quality.

These qualities help to ensure that Sun Don’t Shine is a remarkably gripping affair. Also aiding its compelling nature is the tight pacing and the two lead performances. Playing Crystal, Kate Lyn Sheil is utterly haunting. Her eyes alone vividly convey the idea that this character has endured so much, you can see the pain reflected on her pupils. It’s also impressive how well Lyn Sheil communicates the idea that violence has become a commonplace part in Crystal’s life. There’s a tavern-set scene where Crystal retails Leo with a yarn about how she got into a fight with a co-worker at her job. She tells the tale like it was all so harmless, but the words she’s saying reflect a scenario that was anything but.

As for Kentucker Audley, he takes a subdued approach to portraying Leo. One of his earliest lines sees him calmly gaslighting Crystal over how violent he just acted towards her. From there, Audley portrays Leo as someone with a pervasive sense of worry. His response to any difficulty is to lash out at Crystal in ways big and small. This quality informs Audley’s way of speaking as Leo, which sees the character talking like he’s always at the end of his rope. There is also an unpredictable quality from Audley’s performance that stems from how the behavior of abusive individuals can be totally arbitrary. You never know what Leo is going to do next and you’re even less sure how Crystal will response to his behavior. This feat exemplifies how Sun Don’t Shine uses a thoughtful exploration of the perspective of Crystal to create a superbly-made thriller.