Circus 1936

Marion Dixon, a celebrated white American circus artist, is forced to flee for her life with her black baby to escape a lynch mob in a rural town. The fate of the baby’s father is left unstated, but it is heavily implied that he was killed. Dixon finds shelter with Franz von Kneishitz, a sinister German theatrical agent whose imposing mustache and commanding demeanor echo the era’s fascist rhetoric. Kneishitz exploits Dixon, coercing her into becoming his lover while using her fame to serve his own ambitions.

Dixon survives, sustained by her deep love for her son, [Jimmy] (the infant at the center of the story). When she travels to Moscow as a guest performer, the arc of her life appears shattered; the Soviet heartland sees her as spiritually worn, a perception shaped by her past hardships. In Moscow’s bustling circus scene, the troupe’s director, Ludvig, proposes a new, dazzling act to outshine Dixon’s famous “Trip to the Moon.” To achieve this, he enlists the Arctic explorer Ivan Petrovich Martynov to design the show’s centerpiece, a spectacle meant to push the boundaries of what the crowds expect from the ring.

Within this charged atmosphere, Rayechka—Ludvig’s fiery daughter—sparks a tumultuous relationship with Shurik Skameykin, a worker in the circus who is drawn into a tangled personal web. As Dixon and Martynov’s collaboration deepens, a forbidden love blossoms between them, igniting Kneishitz’s fury. The agent retaliates with a brutal, punitive lash, a stark reminder of the power he wields over everyone around him.

Dixon yearns to stay in Moscow with Martynov, believing she has found real happiness again. But Kneishitz manipulates the situation by diverting a love letter Dixon means for Martynov to Shurik Skameykin, turning the circus into a powder keg of jealousy and heartbreak. Rayechka’s anger flares against Skameykin, while Martynov’s sorrow deepens at the apparent eclipse of his romance. In a moment of wild improvisation, Skameykin slips into a lion cage and must calm the roaring beasts with nothing but a bouquet, a risky act that underscores the precariousness of the troupe’s world.

As Dixon’s feelings for Martynov intensify, she becomes increasingly reluctant to leave Moscow. When Martynov does not respond to her letter, she teeters on the brink of joining Kneishitz again, only to be saved by Rayechka, who finally reveals the truth and helps her escape the coercive grip of the agent. The circus, meanwhile, must press on. Late for the night’s show, Ludvig forces the program forward and delivers the crowd’s long-awaited spectacle: the top act of 1903, the “miracle of technology,” designed to awe the audience with daring machinery.

The climactic moment arrives when Martynov and Dixon appear in tandem to perform their joint act, now titled the “Trip to the Stratosphere.” Kneishitz interrupts the performance, threatening to reveal Dixon’s secret unless she returns to him. Dixon refuses, provoking a Hitler-like tirade from Kneishitz that the audience immediately recognizes as an exhibition of racial hatred. In a powerful reversal, Ludvig declares that the people of the Soviet Union do not share Kneishitz’s obsession with racial purity; Dixon’s family—especially her black son—receives warmth and acceptance from the crowd.

As Kneishitz makes a last, desperate grab for Jimmy, the audience unites to protect him. In the resulting stand against bigotry, a chorus of courage erupts from the theater’s seats. Red Army soldiers in the audience help block Kneishitz, who retreats in fear, his plan thwarted by a community that refuses to let prejudice win. The film moves to a poignant, unifying finale: a lullaby is sung to Jimmy by representatives of various Soviet ethnicities, each taking a turn to voice the comforting lullaby in different languages.

The lullaby’s lyrics, sung in multiple tongues, resonate as a declaration of inclusivity and shared destiny. The International Lullaby asserts a hopeful message of belonging where differences are celebrated, and the scene is underscored by a striking image: a Black American man dressed in a Soviet naval officer’s uniform, accompanied by his white Russian wife, symbolizing solidarity beyond race. The moment reinforces the film’s core idea—that the Soviet Union embraces diversity rather than fear it.

As the lullaby fades, Dixon and Martynov declare their love for one another, while Rayechka and Skameikin become engaged, signaling a personal reconciliation amid the broader social shift. The movie closes with a public testament to unity: Dixon and Rayechka march together in the May Day parade, proudly carrying banners bearing the faces of Lenin and Stalin, a final tableau that ties personal redemption to a larger national narrative.

Sleep comes to your doorstep/Sleep very, very soundly/A hundred paths, a hundred doorways/Are open to you.