Foreign films can be a mixed bag of sweets, from crusty saccharine affairs to genuine glacé gems like Departures (Okuribito).   Directed by Yojiro Takita, this film gently probes at our modern contemplations of death.  It follows the journey of Daigo Kabayashi (Masahiro Motoki), an ex-cellist who finds himself, accidentally, employed as an encoffineer (a funeral professional who prepares deceased bodies for burial and entry into the afterlife).  His personal epiphanies and intimate encounters with death are subtly and mirthfully used to explore the meaning of life and living.

Despite all the attention and accolades accorded to it, including a nod from the Academy Awards panel, there is nothing explosive or flamboyant or even garishly eccentric (in the way of paisley-clad-demented-great-aunts) about ‘Departures’.  Nor is there any need for it to be.  Departures stands firmly with its combination of fluid storytelling, sublime cinematography and a poignant score. The film is intelligent and philosophical without the pitfall of ambitious pretence.

The film is distinctly Japanese.  The mood is sensitively captured but never embalmed with trite sentimentality.  It is refreshing to watch a film that doesn’t assume an audience with the intellectual functioning of a six year old – the ideas are explored lucidly and with enough scope and ambiguity for personal interpretation.  Although the scenery veered into the territory of tourism campaigns, its symbolism more than atones for its postcard-worthy prettiness.  Rural Japan, complete with turquoise bathhouses, uncanny populations of indoor pot plants and squirming salmon (albeit suspiciously prop like), is used fittingly.   It evokes a modesty and humanity which resides at the heart of this film’s success.

For most part, the acting is skilful.  Motoki balances comic relief and solemnity perfectly, giving rise to a protagonist (Daigo) who is easy to sympathise with.  Daigo’s boss and mentor, Ikuei Sasaki, is perfectly portrayed by Tsutomu Yamazaki, whose mere presence earns the film extra kudos.  And one can hardly forget the mildly batty secretary Yuriko (Kimiko Yo).  The only disappointment was Daigo’s wife, Mika (Ryoko Hirosue) whose attempt at geniality is grotesquely contrived and kitsch (with neither the charm of re-engineer dodos nor the ardour of UFO advocates).

Of all its merits, it is the film’s respect for our emotional boundaries which sets it apart from all others. It doesn’t attempt petty tear-thievery with hyperbolic drama and injected sadness.  Instead, it creates an atmosphere where the audience could actually FEEL something.  Whether we cried or not was irrelevant.  But you’d have to have a stony heart (or very  dysfunctional tear ducts) to not succumb to at least a muffled sniff.