The Man Who Cried

In the aftermath of a violent pogrom in a remote Russian village, Fegele Abramovich is thrust from the familiar rhythms of home into the uncertain currents of the world beyond. With only a photograph of her father and a luck‑bearing coin in her pocket, she boards a cramped ship bound for Britain, where an eager official assigns her a new name—Susan—and places her in an unfamiliar foster system. The early scenes breathe a restless, bittersweet atmosphere, as the echo of a beloved aria becomes a thread that ties her past to the present, hinting at music’s power to bridge language and loss.

As Susan learns English and navigates the social alienation of schoolyard teasing, a compassionate teacher discovers her vocal talent and encourages her to sing in her new tongue. The tone shifts from stark displacement to tentative hope, underscored by the quiet determination that drives her to audition for a travelling singing and dance troupe. This troupe becomes a portal to Paris, where the city’s bohemian sparkle offers both artistic freedom and the complexities of new friendships.

In Paris, Susan shares an apartment with Lola, an experienced Russian dancer whose world‑worn confidence contrasts with Susan’s fresh wonder. Their lives intersect with Cesar, a charismatic Romani horseman whose close‑knit community introduces a different rhythm of belonging, and Dante, an imposing Italian opera singer whose magnetic presence hints at both opportunity and tension. The film’s mood balances the lush allure of performance spaces and the undercurrents of cultural clash, painting a portrait of a young woman seeking identity amid shifting landscapes.

Through its evocative settings—from smoky train stations to glittering stages—the story whispers of resilience, the pull of heritage, and the yearning for connection. All the while, the lingering strains of that cherished aria serve as a lyrical compass, guiding Susan forward as she confronts the promise and peril of a world forever in flux.

Last Updated: August 20, 2025 at 17:47