DEPARTURES/OKURIBITO
Directed by Yôjirô Takita. Starring Masahiro Motoki, Ryoko Hirosue Club, IFI, Dublin, 130 min
WHEN, DESPITE various desperate reforms in voting procedures, this Japanese film won the 2009 Oscar for best foreign- language picture, it seemed as if the time had finally come to bung that award in the same disreputable category as “rear of the year” and “decade’s best Lolcat”.
It’s not, you understand, that Departures is a bad piece of work. Like so many films that have won this discredited gong, it expresses agreeably humanistic philosophies in the most tasteful visual language. (Too tasteful, maybe?) But it was just not in the same league as fellow nominees such as The Class and Waltz With Bashir.
Departures begins with Daigo (Masahiro Motoki), a talented Tokyo cellist, being informed that his orchestra is being disbanded. Daigo’s supportive wife reacts with admirable fortitude to the news and, without too much griping, approves his plan to return to his hometown.
Jobs are sparse in the rural locale, but, following a weird misunderstanding, Daigo somehow wangles a position working for the local undertaker. Ashamed to tell his wife that he is dressing corpses, the poor chap euphemises his new profession as the “ceremonial occasions industry”. She assumes the job has something to do with weddings.
Buoyed by a characteristically lush score from Joe Hisaishi (renowned for his work with Hayao Miyazaki), Departures pretends to toy with stubborn social taboos. Daigo has, you see, traded a higher calling for the sordid business of stuffing up weeping orifices and plastering make-up on blemishes. When, his wife inevitably discovers the truth, even she, despite her habitual tolerance, demands that he quits.
The undertaker’s work is presented in such respectful and tasteful fashion that we are never in much doubt that all concerned will come to recognise it as an honourable business. Along the way, the film – Hollywood-friendly in its gentle, neat narrative arcs – encounters some dry comic asides, adeptly handled family crises and the odd slightly clunky metaphor.
In short, it’s a decent piece of work, but it’s never going to win any Oscars.
Oh, hang on a moment . . .
