Ikiru

Kanji Watanabe discovers that he has cancer, and tries to seek some sort of meaning in his final days, he becomes aware that he's operated as a cog in the giant domestic machinery, and fights against the system.

I've been working my way through The Kurosawa films, and thus far I've been impressed with the lot, I'll be honest, I expected a Samurai film, and when it became apparent that that wasn't the case either, I thought it may have been a mystery, it wasn't that either, instead it turned out to be a rather intimate, absorbing character study.

It shows that despite being essentially part of a machine, Kanji has a very human side, only he realises it too late.

This film moved me to tears on occasion, it had me laughing, it certainly had be captivated for the whole running time. That moment where Kanji explains what's happening to his son, it was phenomenal.

I am learning more about Kurosawa with each film I watch, but I must admit, this one threw me totally off guard, it wasn't what I was expecting, it further enhances my realisation that Kurosawa was a genius.

Remember all work and no play! There's a really meaningful message in this film.

9/10.

Akira Kurosawa knew how to get in touch with human nature through his art. With his visual expressiveness and storytelling, he could pierce through his subjects, even in his big and occasionally comical samurai films, and find the elemental things do work. What he probably learned off of Rashomon probably helped out with Ikiru (To Live), a story of an old man who finds out he will die within a year, as both stories deal with perceptions of the significance of a life spent and a life wasted. Though that was to a different degree in Rashomon, with Ikiru Kurosawa expands into full-on existentialism.

The old man Kanji Watanabe (in a wholly believable and often heart-breaking performance by Takashi Shimura) knows his life hasn't amounted to much as a (chief) clerk for the city. He knows he hasn't had a great kinship with his son. He's accepting his fate with a heavy soul. One of the tenets of existentialism is that there's free-will, and the responsibility to accept what is done with one's life. Kurosawa might've (as I speculate, I don't entirely know) caught onto this for his lead, and it works, especially with the little details.

Such little details, unforgettable ones, have been expounded upon by other reviewers and critics, such as the drunken, sullen singing of "Life is short, fall in love my maiden" in the bar. A scene like that almost speaks for itself and yet it's also subtle. But one scene that had me was one not too many talk about. It's when Watanabe is in the Deputy Mayor's office, asking for permission so that a park can be built. At first the Mayor ignores him, but then Watanabe begs, but not in a way that manipulates the audience for sympathy with the old man. The mayor must be sensing something in his eyes, desperate and weak, however determined, and it's something that probably most of the audience can identify with as well, even if they don't entirely identify with the character.

But aside from the emotional impact Ikiru can have on a viewer, composition-wise (with the help of Asakazu Nakai, wonderful cinematographer on less than a dozen Kurosawa films) and editing-wise the film is ahead of its time and another example of Kurosawa's intuitive eye. There are some to-tomy shots sometimes (which could be called typical via master Ozu or other), but everything appears so precise on a first viewing, so descriptive. I think I almost can't go into all of them without a repeat viewing, but there were two that are still fresh in me. The first was right as Watanabe was about to sing in the bar, and there were these bead-strings looming in front of the camera. Perhaps mysterious, but definitely evocative.

The other was when Watanabe and one of the other clerks are on a bridge during a dark part of the day. Both characters are in silhouette, and Watanabe gives an indication to the character that he will die soon. But for me, I wasn't even paying a terrible amount of attention to the words. The way the two are lit as they are, with the light in the background and darkness in the foreground, it could maybe give an indication of what Kurosawa's trying to say: we're all not in the light of life, but it doesn't have to be an entire down-ward spiral if the will is good. Whether you're into philosophy (ies) or not, Ikiru won't disappoint newcomers to Kurosawa via his action pictures. A+

Ikiru ("to live")is a Kurosawa film devoid of samurai or Toshiro Mifune. It is an oddity in his canon, neither an adaptation, nor an epic, or even a detective story. Instead, it is the simple and touching story of the last months of the life of a man, Watanabbe, public official, who decides to give a meaning to his life by transcending the obtuse and stiff mind of government bureaucracy to get a small public children's park built. As a parable for the soulless workings of modern bureaucracy, the goal is set pretty high, and Kurosawa goes even further, giving this story a lot of character, frequent humor, life and, most of all, heart. And going beyond the strengths of the direction and script, is the central performance by Takashi Shimura (later Kambei in Seven Samurai). Shimura gives his character such a transparently good heart and such great pain that every second of Watanabe's plight and struggle tugs at your heart, not in an overwhelmingly sentimental manner, but in one than feels honest and pure. If even many hardened souls will be drawn to tears, it is not for pity, but, admirably, because of envy for Watanabe's beautiful human dignity in the end, and for a film to have such power is beyond pure accomplishment, as the need to see this and, more importantly, feel it, goes beyond pure necessity...

Probably one of the most difficult aspects a film like "Ikiru" has to overcome is the very rough march of time. To actually find someone these days, let's say a crowd of regular movie-goers to sit down and watch a film about an old Japanese man dying of cancer would be too much to ask.

Long held shots, hardly uplifting subject, to westerners very foreign. An array of reasons not to see it. And yet, once you actually start getting into the picture it doesn't let you go. Which is why it may be rightfully considered to be a classic.

Of all of Kurosawa's films this is probably the one movie that works perfectly on a universal level. Because at its core it is about one of the most basic desires of human existence...namely to be able to look back on your life and say "It was worth it."

In its starch and unforgiving black-and-white form the movie records the time of one man's life in such a beautiful and yes, colorful way, that by the time the final moments of the film play out, it will be very hard for anybody not to be touched. A glorious moment in 20th century cinema, that will hopefully be preserved for decades to come.

I too have seen all the Samurai films. It was gratifying to watch this tender little film. How would we act if we knew when the end was coming? There are so many terrifying and tender moments in this film. The scenes with the young office mate went from charming to cold-- we knew there was no more than companionship, but she can't really even give him that anymore. The scene when he is about to tell his son about his condition and the young man goes off on a rant about how embarrassingly his father has been acting actually brought me to tears. Of course, it's the price he pays for his cold distance all those years. Then there's the whole bureaucratic nightmare of the office. Even at the wake they don't want to give credit. All the buck passers want a share of his legacy. Maybe families who are living on the edge should watch this movie. Even after more than 50 years, it wears extremely well.