Ikiru

What would you do if you knew you were going to die in 6 months? This is the question that Akira Kurosawa’s 1952 film Ikiru asks of the viewer—one its protagonist finds himself grappling with after a stomach cancer diagnosis. Realizing he has left behind no real legacy, public affairs director Kanji Watanabe decides to make an impact by coordinating an effort to reconstruct a local park.

Replicated countless times since (Breaking Bad, The Fault in Our Stars, etc.), the theme of finding purpose in the face of death is a concept not exactly foreign to the screen. But what is most emotionally compelling is how the film trades the scope and existentialism of discovering meaning in mortality with a resonant and actionable message about being greedy for the enjoyment of life. It is impossible to watch the film without being pestered by the question of “What would I do in Watanabe’s situation?” and luckily for the audience, a solution is offered. For Watanabe, this solution comes in the form of emulating a young ex-employee of his office, Toyo Odagiri. As Watanabe is drawn to the young woman’s constant laughter and unbridled authenticity, the audience considers what is actually important in the grand scheme of things. Despite Watanabe’s relative “success” in his career, it is the unemployed yet joyous Odagiri who is truly living the more valuable life. And just as she has affected him, Watanabe seeks to make an impact in the lives of others.

What Ikiru does best is turning the deeply personal story of a man grappling for meaning onto its audience. And if the first half of the film sets up for its viewer this idea of exhibiting a greediness for life, the second half depicts the potential of its effects. (Spoiler alert) Abruptly in the middle, the film cuts to seven months in the future—Watanabe has died, the park has been built, and his funeral is underway. It is through discussions and flashbacks of Watanabe’s peers (12 Angry Men-style) that we piece together the events of the past months and find out that Watanabe was indeed successful in his mission. Here, the effects of Watanabe’s transition are separated into three camps, each with their own lesson associated.

It is in Watanabe’s coworkers where Ikiru instructs that a greediness for life will not be understood by all. Indeed, in many cases, those who do not understand will seek to discredit, as the other city officials brush aside the effort put forth by Watanabe. The film instructs us of the personal nature of our own search for meaning and how fulfillment should not (and perhaps cannot) come from the recognition of others. Yet that is not to say it won’t do external good. In the second camp are the women of the neighborhood where the park was built. Moved by his death and in appreciation of his effort, they attend the funeral with quiet respect and profound understanding of the time and effort Watanabe poured into their community. They show us that while our own search for meaning will not be understood by all, there are still those who will be deeply impacted by the example we set.

In the final camp, and perhaps most importantly, is Watanabe himself, who, via flashback, is shown spending his final few moments singing Life is Brief as he sits on a swing in his newly built park. Earlier in the film, this exact song served as the culminating moment of Watanabe’s despair. He drunkenly sings it alone in a bar as he realizes he hadn’t followed the song’s advice to live life to the fullest. Yet now, at the very end of his life, the song’s meaning changes—as against all odds, he was able to follow its teachings and make an impact. He contentedly sits alone with this realization, conveying to the viewer that the most important effect of the search for meaning is felt personally. It’s not the newly built park that is Watanabe’s legacy; it's his success in making an impact ultimately on himself.

Conveying this sentiment is my favorite moment in the film, which occurs as Watanabe is physically threatened by competing interests who do not want to see the park built. They ask, “What’s the matter? Don’t you value your life?” Watanabe only smiles to himself, and we, the audience, know it’s because, at last, he finally does.