Aging Disgracefully

There are essentially two 'strata' of characters in the film: the counselors and the newly expired. The latter come to the table from a variety of ages and backgrounds. We are confronted by one middle aged man who led an essentially miserable life (and, he suggests, even if he had lived much longer it is unlikely that things would have improved). Another involves a man essentially dissatisfied with what he views as a life of mediocre choices, who then discovers a surprising link with one of the counselors that forces a complete re-appraisal on his part. When one thirty-something woman describes the impact of becoming a mother, her humanity becomes so real to us that we genuinely mourn her. A teenage girl who died in the midst of the Teen Idol/Hello Kitty phase of her life wants to retain a memory of the superficial thrill of visiting Tokyo Disneyworld. This is at once a commentary both of the innocent dreams of childhood and the enormous tragedy of a death so young, before one has ever really been able to develop a more comprehensive sense of the deeper corners of life. Which is not to say that her choice is inappropriate: she is a very real person to us,* and is entitled to her reasons for making the choice she did. Perhaps if she had died 20 years later she still would have made the same choice: the tragedy is in the perspective from which she had to choose (having experienced so little of this life) rather than the choice made.

The counselors are people who could not themselves choose a memory and hence were left behind to advise others about selecting theirs (it turns out that Murphy's law, like that of gravity, holds even at this way station after death). And we learn very little about them in any detailed sense (with one exception, which I will not discuss here because I don't want to ruin the moment for those who have not seen the film). However, they are enormously interesting. One in particular caught my attention: a twenty-something girl (Erika Oda). There is something at once quite fresh and, at the same time, hauntingly sad about her. She forms a special bond with the teenage girl. Perhaps she was old enough at her own death to understand how much this girl had lost, how much she would never experience? That would be terrible: the teenage girl was, at the least, young enough to benefit from the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. I think that Oda's character, slightly older, understood all too well how young she herself was when she lost her life. Maybe her refusal to make a choice is a sort of silent protest againt a life that she knows simply was not long and full enough to offer adequate options. I hope to see Oda in film again: with her ordinary (but, to be sure, pleasing) looks but genuineness, depth and emotional maturity, she is a refreshing break from the vapid sex kittens that too often dominate the Japanese (and, yes, American) film landscape.

Moving beyond the specific memory chosen, this film ponders what is really at the core of our memories. Is it an image? A sound? Smell? What is it about our memories of a cherished moment that makes them so dear to us? As we all know, memory is not, in many respects, a faithful servant. So why are our memories so important to us? Do they even need to be faithful, in the sense of being accurate in the details? Or is the real point to preserve the emotional essence of that cherished moment, and what it contributes to our sense of identity?

One of the dead is an aviator who wishes to remember the peace he felt cruising at altitude among the clouds. The staff's recreation has the feel of a second grade play: the props, however intensely and conscientiously crafted, look fake and amateurish (these people clearly don't come from Pixar Animation). And yet the aviator is taken back to that perfect moment by their efforts. And that may be the point: details aren't important. What is important is that the filmic re-creation provide the stimulus to awaken the emotional core of a memory since, to those doing the remembering, all of the small details are lost in any case. It may be far more important to remember how we felt than what actually happened.

This is an astonishingly accomplished film which, along with his earlier work Maborosi, places Kore-Eda among the ranks of the great humanist filmakers. If I ever built a list of the 50 films every young adult should see, this one would be on it. Following my first viewing of this film, I thought about what memory I would choose, if compelled to do so and based on my life to date. I made my choice and, in doing so, was probably forced to answer by revealed preference some basic questions that I, like most people, had spent most of my time avoiding. It was actually amazing how easy, and liberating, the decision was. I'm sure that my memory is far from faithful to actual historical details: what I am left with is an enduring core image, and all of the emotions that are bound up with it. When this hazy movie plays in my mind, I don't even think of what was said, or not said, at that moment, or what kind of clothing I was wearing, or what music was playing, etc. Instead this idealized image simply returns me to a time when I felt differently, dreamed differently, and believed that the world held more promise than has ever been the case since. The strangest thing of all is that years later I still think that, however my life unfolds, I am highly unlikely ever to change my mind.

* Some of the dead in the film are not actors, but ordinary people. Their insights are unscripted and based on their real lives.