The Worst Film Ever

For all the hype it got I was expecting a lot more!

An Exercise In Nonsense

what a terribly boring film. I'm sorry but this is absolutely not deserving of best picture and will be forgotten quickly. Entertaining and engaging cinema? No. Nothing performances with flat faces and mistaking silence for subtlety.

To paraphrase Nobu-san, our guide around the Okunoin cemetery at Koya-san: "In Japan, when we are born, we have Shinto rituals. When we die, we have Buddhist rituals. My mum got married in a church: New Caledonia." Buddhism in Japan is often associated with death. When one dies, the ceremonies that take place will often be Buddhist, but as Donald Richie explores, these could be as much for functional purpose as religious belief. But, obviously of course, no one knows what actually happens when you die. Or do we? It depends whether one is thinking about it from the perspective of the body or the soul. Yojiro Takita's Oscar-winning 2008 "Departures" see cellist Daigo's (popular hair model Masahiro Motoki) orchestra disband in Tokyo, leaving him doubtful of his talent and so his future. On a whim, he convinces his wife - with little coercion - into moving back to his small hometown in Yamagata, moving into the cafe his mother left him. Needing work, he responds to an ad with few details, but nice pay packets, and is immediately hired. It soon turns out that his job will be as an "encoffinfer", performing the Japanese noukan ritual of preparing the body before it is placed into the coffin (and then burnt, of course). Not an easy job, he struggles to cope at first and soon feels society's evil eyes once his new job is learnt: perceived as a dirty man for his handling of dead bodies. As the film progresses, so does his skill, winning over his doubters, including his wife, and finding what would appear to be a true calling: sending the bodies of the recently deceased on their final journey, coming to terms with some of the opportunities missed in life. Ten years earlier, Kore-eda Hirokazu released his second feature film: 1998's "After Life" (or perhaps its more appropriate Japanese title "Wandafuru Raifu"). Here, there after life probably isn't quite what you expected. Upon dying, you enter a somewhat New England-esque academic building, taking a ticket as if a doctor's waiting room. On this "Monday morning", you are assigned a counsellor who will pose you the situation: You have a week to choose the one memory of your life which you will take with you for eternity. This memory is recreated by a somewhat haphazard film crew, starring your good self, and the film is then shown to you in a cinema. Once viewed, you disappear for eternity, locked in that memory. Somewhat fanciful, the counsellors are all people that were either unable, or refused, to make the choice, and thus stay in a purgatory of administration and archiving, forever reliving Monday morning. A series of interviews are conducted with the various recently deceased, with now long-experienced - but still youthful in look - Takashi (Arata) given the task of counselling the man who married his fiancée after he died. Opening up some old wounds, Takashi spends the week contemplating his own favourite memories and finally makes his choice.The outlooks of the two films are quite different in their thoughts on death. "After Life" plays little on the sadness of having died. Those that enter are quite chipper, one must say, on learning that they've just kicked the bucket. As the Japanese title suggests, it's very much about celebrating the most precious, and wonderful, memories that we have of our lives. This could perhaps be down to Kore-eda's combination of actors and real-life ordinary folk discussing their favourite memories. Using his documentary skills, this is as much an exploration of memory than a mourning of death. "Departures", however, is very much aware of the sadness of death. Very reminiscent of Shunji Iwai's "Love Letter" in numerous ways, there are moments of sentimentality, tugging at the heartstrings, as well as plucking on the cello strings. Tears and emotion run throughout; the sadness of the families a key theme. A shot of a young child's body being prepared for their coffin accompanied by their smiling photo, hitting home the sadness in the simplest of ways. Though family tears and timely music perhaps dominate, going for more conventional crowd-(dis)pleasing. This is absent from "After Life", laying people's memories out before them to celebrate and chew on; more philosophical than sentimental. If death hurts those left behind, "After Life" is the memories of life for the deceased; whereas "Departures" is the final memory for the mourners. If we're looking at religion in Japanese death, however, "After Life" perhaps lacks any religion. Death is a bureaucratic process than a passing over. As seen in other films, such as Tim Burton's "Beetlejuice", death is likened to the administrative Hell on Earth of waiting rooms, form-filling and box-ticking. It's also a strange film in that it's very much of its time, serving as a time capsule, with the provision of lo-fi VHS cassette tapes for "clients" to view moments from their lives to help them in their choice. Surely the after life's administrative team can come up with a less archaic system! The recreations also seem to be more "human" and of the "real world", made to a seemingly small budget and limited time frame, far from Hollywood glitz and glam that many of the dead may have wished to achieve in the film of their life. A theme running throughout Kore-eda's body of work, this is perhaps as much a comment on the modern nature of memory and how we try to recreate it in permanent form rather than live in the moment of emotion. A comment as relevant now as ever. "Departures" features the religious ceremony of the noukan, placing the body in ritual dress, with accompanying make-up. But with even this dying out with the elderly, it perhaps reflects Richie's doubts as to the true religious nature of these "performances". Making the dead look their best is perhaps purely for aesthetic purposes, giving mourners one last perfect memory. Daigo's skill is very much in-line with Japanese aesthetics: The almost perfect folding with due care and attention of the deceased clothes, creating an intimate one-on-one with the body. "After Life", with its counsellors getting deep into their clients personal lives and directing them towards their perfect choice: Ones who struggle are probed to search deeper; those who go obvious, are challenged to look more inwards, creating an intimate one-on-one with the soul. Mono no aware, the Japanese sense of the fleeting nature of beauty and the impermanence of all things is alive in both films. Daigo's hard work and skill is - for want of a better word - in vain; the bodies made beautiful, only to be burnt at cremation soon after. "After Life" forces the choice of the single moment that defines a whole existence (and they only give you a week!). The last memory for the living versus the eternal memory for the dead; and perhaps a more Japanese sense of religion than any organised belief system.politic1983.blogspot.co.uk

The dead arrive at a way station where counselors guide them to choose one memory to live with for eternity. The place is an overgrown administration building. After the counselors help the arrivals pick their memories, the film crew recreates the memory and the arrivals watch the tape. After watching the tape, they disappear into the next stage. The counselors await for the new week and the next arrivals.I love this idea. It's got great potential. However it feels a little like watching some kind of government bureaucracy. No matter how touching it gets. This has a DMV type of pacing. There is one fun section where they are recreating the memories. It could funnier but I like that section. I love this movie idea but two hours is a stretch.

Every so often, a film is made that allows the viewer to take his or her own life and experiences into consideration while watching. After Life, a film about a place beyond death where the recently deceased are tasked with choosing a memory in which to spend the rest of eternity, is that kind of film. Shot in pseudo-documentary style with actors and non-actors alike, many of the film's characters spend a lot of time thinking about the best and worst times of their lives.Simple, almost beautifully drab visuals never pull from the movie's main focus, figuring out what experience had the most meaning in one's life. These stories are sometimes scripted and sometimes real memories told by real people, ranging from a fun trip to Disney Land to dancing as a little girl. The simplicity of this film won't knock your socks off with visual appeal, but the weight of its message will surely stick with you long after viewing, while you think about what memory you might choose to spend the rest of time reliving.

I would like to observe the character arc of counselor Mochizuki and how he grew within the one week period at the afterlife institution. He is introduced as a seemingly "average" individual; one who does not attract much attention let alone curiosity. In fact, my attention was originally geared heavily towards Watanabe's story simply because his struggle to choose a favorite memory evoked a lot of interest and mind participation. Contrariwise, Mochizuki seemed to possess no inner conflict that was worthy of inquiry, although his outer conflict, too, at first seemed mildly intriguing (i.e. having to help Watanabe find a memory). Ironically, however, as the beauty of Watanabe's character unraveled, it carefully led to the discovery and beauty of Mochizuki's character.Both of their worlds merged together during private interview sessions, creating long awaited answers and long lost harmonies between their pasts. They learn in one particular session that they both share the same dilemma: the battle to choose a perfect memory. In addition to sharing the same dilemma, they also share the same generation as well as lover (Kyoko). With these discoveries, they both become, in a sense, the symbol of overlapping ovals portrayed on the institution's flag; a metaphor for how it takes two people earnestly involved in the other's life to discover self-identity. Each needs the other and each becomes part of the other person's discovery of happiness.Given these revelations into Mochizuki's past, his character suddenly becomes incredibly dynamic and provocative; one who is on the same empathetic level as Watanabe. We learn that he is not simply at the institution to help others find their memories, but that the entire staff, including himself, is placed in counseling positions because they themselves never chose a memory to live with for eternity. It would seem, then, that the staff is being poetically revealed by the director as restless beings living in purgatory.The idea of restlessness and inner turmoil (in the staff) is illustrated by the contrasts of camera movement. In the beginning, most of the shots are static and evenly framed. We are observing the majority of shots through the staff's eyes, which gives the film a documentary type lens (especially during the interviews). As a result, this type of camera-work creates the illusion of making the audience think that the staff is well-balanced and in control, both internally and externally. After all, they are the ones with the camera and choose how to focus the shots during interviews. The irony of this, however, is later exposed when we learn that each staff member's progression towards heaven is stultified because they never chose a memory—hence their positions as staff members. As soon as we learn this (which if I recall happens on Thursday) the camera-work becomes more hand-held, shaky and off kilter.This contrast in camera-work becomes even more beautiful and poignant because it also reflects the two stages that the staff undergoes during both preproduction and production of those whose lives they wish to change. In preproduction, they gather all the material they need from the recently deceased (via interviews) in order to recreate their memories on film. The preproduction sequences (the interviews) are shot with well balanced and controlled frames (perhaps an expression of the more controlled side of film-making). As the staff travels into the actual production of recreating their guests' memories, the camera-work then turns towards the more shaky and imbalanced frames (perhaps an expression of the more difficult and chaotic part of film-making: the actual shooting itself).It was as if the camera was making a philosophical commentary on the nature of freewill and its relation to heaven and hell. That is, to choose explicitly one's destiny (or in this case, one's memory) means to live a well balanced, evenly framed existence; and contrariwise, to explicitly not choose one's destiny, but to neutrally balk on the sidelines means to live an existence of uncertainty and imbalance.This leads now to the reason I chose Mochizuki. Unlike most who surround him, he willingly chooses to end his inner pain by realizing (with the help of others) that true happiness is not found by dwelling upon one's own memories, but by being a part of some else's memories. When asked about his earliest memory, he recalls an intense and vivid memory of snow. Snow is a symbol of his rebirth; the delicate and soft coat that whitens out his previous life and gives birth to his new life—a life that he was only able to discover through the people he met at the institution, and more especially his relationship with Watanabe. The memory he chooses, then, becomes his realization into the insight of what happiness is; a simple moment that came full circle into his mind as he sat on a nostalgic park bench thinking about those in whom he loved.