After Life is
unlike any movie I’d ever seen before.
Watching it suffused me with happiness, and I’m taking a lesson from it.
The film, by Japanese filmmaker Hirokazu Koreeda, is set in
a way station between this life and the next.
The souls of the newly-dead file in to a reception area, give their
names, and take seats in a waiting room.
When called, a friendly and efficient counselor tells them they’ll be
staying at the way station (which looks an awful lot like a college dormitory
the production company rented) for five days.
They’ll have three days to review their lives and choose one memory
they’d like to carry into the next world.
On the fourth day, the staff will recreate that memory and film it. On the fifth, the souls will see their films
and depart, off to spend the rest of eternity in moments of their choosing. The staff, it seems, gets one day off and one
day to prep for the next batch.
The counsellors are kind and patient. One helps a teenager dig more deeply after
the latter goes with a trip to Disneyland, presumably the first thing that
popped into her mind. Another helps a
man who argues that life is pain and best forgotten. This is a narrative film, so there is a plot,
but the plot seems beside the point.
The point, I think, is to inspire viewers to browse their
own memories as they ask themselves which one they’d take with them. The effect: roughly ninety minutes of
reviewing one’s personal highlight reel.
While watching this film, I found myself beginning at my earliest
memories and reliving those moments in which I felt the most loved, or in love,
or triumphant, or elated, or joyous, or content. Whenever I thought I’d settled on an answer,
another memory would crowd in to take its place.
This was a powerful experience.
I tend not to dwell on the past. When I see old friends, I steer the
conversation away from reminiscence.
When people refer to some shared experience from long ago, I often smile
and nod, having forgotten the moment to which they’re referring. I didn’t have a particularly traumatic
childhood. I’m just more interested in
what’s happening right now.
This film, however, taught me that my past is a rich trove
of memories, one worthy of attention and reflection. It reminded me how very fortunate I am to
love and be loved, to be an adventurer, to have achieved some modicum of
professional success and fulfillment.
This film taught me to look back and choose what
matters. And if the end came right now,
the choice would be clear. My most
cherished memory may seem mundane, but it’s precious to me: hanging out on the
couch with my wife and children, doing nothing in particular, living in love.
