This review may contain spoilers
The film quietly suggests that death is not an ending, but the beginning of something new
With the gentle, lyrical sound of the cello as its backdrop, Yōjirō Takita's Departures tells the story of Daigo, a Japanese cellist left without work or a means of supporting himself after the dissolution of his orchestra, which had failed to attract audiences largely indifferent to classical music.
Then, in one of life's unexpected twists, fate leads the unsuspecting Daigo to a funeral home. Its wise and compassionate owner has transformed the ritual of preparing the deceased for burial into a refined art form, and he hires the timid former musician—who has never even seen a dead body—as his assistant almost on the spot.
The film quietly suggests that death is not an ending, but the beginning of something new. This idea is conveyed through scenes in which Daigo gently washes the bodies of the deceased, carefully wraps them, delicately applies makeup to their closed eyes, and dresses them in beautiful garments. He prepares them not simply for burial, but for a graceful passage into another existence—as though they were brides entering a new chapter of life in magnificent wedding gowns.
Apart from its subject matter, the film's style of storytelling deserves special praise. First, its pacing is remarkably calm and unhurried. Long, meticulously composed shots allow the audience to absorb every detail of the encoffining ritual: every movement of the hands, every careful stroke of the brush carries meaning. Watching these scenes, one feels less like a distant observer behind a television or computer screen and more like a silent participant standing among the grieving relatives, witnessing the final preparation of their loved ones for the infinite journey beyond.
Then, in one of life's unexpected twists, fate leads the unsuspecting Daigo to a funeral home. Its wise and compassionate owner has transformed the ritual of preparing the deceased for burial into a refined art form, and he hires the timid former musician—who has never even seen a dead body—as his assistant almost on the spot.
The film quietly suggests that death is not an ending, but the beginning of something new. This idea is conveyed through scenes in which Daigo gently washes the bodies of the deceased, carefully wraps them, delicately applies makeup to their closed eyes, and dresses them in beautiful garments. He prepares them not simply for burial, but for a graceful passage into another existence—as though they were brides entering a new chapter of life in magnificent wedding gowns.
Apart from its subject matter, the film's style of storytelling deserves special praise. First, its pacing is remarkably calm and unhurried. Long, meticulously composed shots allow the audience to absorb every detail of the encoffining ritual: every movement of the hands, every careful stroke of the brush carries meaning. Watching these scenes, one feels less like a distant observer behind a television or computer screen and more like a silent participant standing among the grieving relatives, witnessing the final preparation of their loved ones for the infinite journey beyond.
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