Pushing Up Daisies

Today, boys and girls, the topic is Death. Not because I or anyone dear to me is dying. Actually, of course (dramatic pronouncement by Captain Obvious) we all are. I don’t know about anyone else, but I don’t spend a lot of time dwelling on that fact. At least I didn’t used to; each passing year seems to make the concept a little less abstract, a little more personal. I’ve been fortunate in the fact that, unlike many others, I’ve not had to face the passing of many beloved friends or relatives, except for elderly ones. The age thing always seems to make Death more palatable, or at least more understandable.

When Curt saw I’d put the foreign movie Departures—yes, as in departing this world for the next—in our Netflix queue, he naturally thought I’d confused it with The Departed, starring Jack, Leonardo and Matt. My taste generally runs to comedies with soul (think Best in Show, Napoleon Dynamite, and The Invention of Lying) and occasional documentaries. Though I’ve quite willingly watched a lot of movies, I’m not what you would call an aficionado; if you ask me whether I’ve seen a certain one I usually can’t remember without some serious memory jogging. They just don’t linger in the memory bank. (I could fill a thousand pages writing about what I can’t remember if I could remember it.) But I digress. I reassured Curt that Departures won an Oscar for Best Foreign Film, and it came recommended by a friend whose opinion I value. Even though it’s in Japanese, with subtitles.

Lacking his usual enthusiasm (but buoyed by a large vodka martini with three feta-stuffed olives), Curt cranked up the DVD player (I’m still unsure of how to work it). Gramps the 18-pound cat settled contentedly on Curt’s belly and we reclined our respective ends of the sectional, ready to be creeped out.

Instead we were treated to a moving, fundamentally beautiful depiction of how, in caring hands, death can be treated sensitively and respectfully—up close and personal—to bring great comfort to the bereaved. There was an intimacy and a sense of closure that seems to be missing in our 21st-century American treatment of the subject. By treating it as an almost taboo topic, we’ve invested it with a sense of the macabre. Well, we agreed afterward, in this movie at least, death wasn’t creepy at all.

Moral of the story: If at some point you tire of Hollywood blockbusters and venture to try a foreign film, first make sure your pantry is adequately stocked with specialty olives.