What plays the greatest role in determining who we are: politics, family, or religion? István Szabó's Sunshine has an answer, though it takes a long time to deliver it. An ambitious and self-consciously epic film—it even has a sweeping score by Maurice Jarre—Sunshine (written by Szabó and playwright Israel Horovitz) follows three generations of Hungarian Jews through the tumult of the 20th century, dwelling on social strife and familial upheaval to uneven but generally captivating results. Driven by Ralph Fiennes' incessant narration, Sunshine opens just before 1900, with its family happy and well-off thanks to the success of its trademark tonic "Taste Of Sunshine." Life goes downhill from there, however, as Fiennes, playing his grandfather, marries his cousin (the strong Jennifer Ehle) and spawns several miserable scions (some also played by Fiennes, who impressively alters his hair, mannerisms, and carefully modulated performance to suit each new generation). At three hours, Sunshine is long but the storytelling surprisingly swift, which ironically proves problematic. The film has so many dramatic peaks—political uprisings, consistent conflict (both internal and external), a harrowing concentration-camp sequence, and frequent affairs—that viewers barely have time to let events settle before the movie lurches forward again. Scattered throughout are moments of great beauty, horror, and passion, as well as some awkward passages: Sunshine is equal parts groaner and grandeur, even when presented by such reliable actors as Fiennes, Ehle, Rosemary Harris, and William Hurt, among many others. Still, it's always nice to look at, shifting from vibrant colors to muted tones when times get tough, and the didactic conclusion proves oddly satisfying.