Departures

I think it should be said to be a good film, even if not an excellent one. It is a story of people fighting with dying memory, if not so much superficially dealing with death. The protagonist had a rather unhappy childhood as his father abandoned the family for another woman. His career is also not a promising or steady one. Being forced to give up the cello, he took his wife went back to the little town of his youth, and finally got a job as decorating the dead people. As the story evolve, he overcomes the disgust first felt when the job begins, and then moves to form a kinda of empathy with the dead and their families, and finally, he learns the forgiveness and went to decorate his father's dead body. In the parallel of the protagonist's mental changes, are that of his wife, and the normal conception of the job prevailed in the town. In the end, the dead of an unfaithful father is constituted by the coming of the new life.

For me, it is too well-structured, and the narrative advances in a reasonable, somehow predictable way. However, what moves me is the slow rhythm it employs to allow sufficient time for the story and changes of characters to be convincing, and the audience enough time to contemplate. In particular, the repetitive and detailed description of the decoration rituals throughout the whole film transforms it into a ritual itself. The moment when the old man presses the button to light the fire to burn the body, I crashed. It brought up the memory of my childhood when I witnessed the burning of my grandpa's body. It was the first time that death came so close to me. It was strange that the two feelings are different. At that time, I cried mostly because of the sudden loss I felt in my life, and the sadness of not seeing a close relative any more. It was much more like a feeling can be easily alienated. In comparison, this time, the push of button brought back to me a sense of desperation, a certain sense of fear, and at the same time, more closeness to a world awaiting me, as if I can almost foresee my own future, the emptiness of my bed, my room, and the ashes of my lost physicality. But above all, I felt the longing for being with my parents. Their absence, or rather my absence, will never be compensated, or made up for. It will be a loss forever.

Too much off the point.
That's it.