Synopsis
What is the one memory you would take with you?
After death, people have just one week to choose only a memory to keep for eternity.
1998 ‘ワンダフルライフ’ Directed by Hirokazu Kore-eda
After death, people have just one week to choose only a memory to keep for eternity.
Wandâfuru raifu, Wonderful Life, 원더풀 라이프
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I'm a pretty happy-go-lucky guy. In general, I live for now and try not to concern myself with the past; I learn from my mistakes and move on with my life. At least that is what I always tell myself. Once in a while something like After Life comes along which makes me reconsider that which has come before.
There is honestly not a tonne to the film aside from the concept, and at times it even feels like a documentary since there are a lot of camera-facing, individual interviews, but the topic is a fascinating one. You are about to leave this Earth forever; what is that one memory you would take with you? You would lose all else…
If you had to distill your life into a single moment that defines you, that made you happy, that you were proud of, could you do it? If this is the end of your life, and this moment is the only one you could take with you beyond, could you do it?
This is the question that Hirokazu Koreeda poses in After Life. It’s a gentle, sweet, and strangely peaceful tale that is filled with poignant moments and stories, and raises more spiritual questions than it answers.
A true gem.
I wonder if they let them rate their memory films on Letterboxd before they go.
The film ended 5 minutes ago and already it means so much to me. With one of the most fascinating premises I’ve ever seen, executed with precision, handled with care, and filled with so much insight regarding film, death, life, memory, acceptance, and more, After Life is one of the few films that finds comfort in everything.
With so many beautiful moments and scenes beckoning for retrospection, I don’t want to lessen their impact by translating them into text, but I’ll say this: what a picture!
I’M NOT AFRAID OF DEATH ANYMORE 9
My transparent bus pass twinkled in the light.
memories… why do we trust them?
they have a quality unlike any other to transport us, to envelope our minds within another reality and place in time. we can shift between personas, ideas, perceptions all with the quick flicker of a roll of film that lies in our minds, maintaining everything from our pasts within them.
the problem with memories is that we can become whoever we wish to become with them. i know that they can be beautiful, i know that they can offer us peace, but they can also be dangerous. they can make us think of ourselves in derogatory ways, in terms with which have no correlation to reality. …
kore-eda!!!!! it feels very hard to give this a rating. so much of it's impact lies in the ripple it creates within you. the introspection; how it forces you to look at your own life and memories, and think about which one is not only the most important to you, but that you want to cherish for eternity. what moment sums everything up for you?
it also seems to be a love letter to cinema. suggesting that we often see our memories in a different light & the way they become sort of cinematic. how we can see memories outside of our own bodies and become the director of things that already happened to us. how cinema allows people to capture a moment in time and come back to it as a way to remind us of who we were... who we are.
After Life is my absolute least favorite movie from Hirokazu Koreeda by a long long mile. When it comes to ambitious premise with a relatively stripped-down budget, you either get Alphaville, or Dogville, and After Life is for sure stuck in the limbo state, as every single character is in the movie.
With a premise as intriguing as it's supernatural, After Life is oddly naturalistic in its approaches to present the supposedly quirky ghost world, with a large portion of the runtime being amateur performers taking about their personal stories a la interview style. It's objectively mind-numbing to sit through a bunch of deceased individuals' life stories when most of them are not charismatic enough to carry the narrative forward…
this is my 1,000th review on here so let me explore a thought real quick…
do you ever think about how infused film & art become with our lives? i vaguely remember a time when i believed they were supposed to be kept separate, something you could make small talk about but not something you were meant to carry with you like it was a part of you. but it is a part of me. and i’ve sent people paragraphs on jeff bridges’ posture in a film and ran up stairs parallel to an escalator my friend was on, talking with my hands about a film i just came out of and i’ve been endlessly annoying about films i’ve had to…
“The moon is fascinating isn’t it? Its shape never changes, yet it looks different depending on the angle of the light.”
I must have been 9 or 10 years old. My parents used to send me to summer camp for a week in July (well, more accurately, it was my grandma who sent me, as the weekly fees were much too high for my family to pay). I went every year in the summer; sometimes early July, occasionally later in the month. The year in question had to have been earlier, as it wasn’t quite as hot as it would have been if it’d been closer to August. The Maryland heat was humid and unrelenting, even in the cooler part…
I’m a recent uni grad. Your typical post-grad thrust into a highly competitive job market with little-to-no turning point on the horizon, funnily enough. Hardly a particularly unique woe, granted. But if there’s one thing that would make times more personally palatable when wading that foggy limbo between academia and adulthood, it’s to go through it amongst good people. And the real crime of my student days coming to a close isn’t that I may have to send in an extra dozen applications, it’s that I’m no longer around those very people I’ve become inseparable from. Even if we turn a blind eye to this whole global pandemic thing, the odds of getting all the gang back together for as…
Ephemeral; our thoughts, our emotions and our memories. Each possess their own intrinsic euphoria, a lucid security to a time of rapture. They're vestiges of what once was, a moment of purest appeasement. A nostalgic sensation to times of absolute jubilaton, yet what about the limbo of melancholy?
It's hard to move on when your life fades away in regret, how can we choose a perfect juncture if you never got the privilege to experience one? The eyes capture everything in 60 frames a second for a lifetime, yet how can we expect to easily choose one ostensibly eternal moment for 24 frames in such short duration?
In the film After Life by Hizoku Kore-eda, the dead have to choose a single memory to take with them into the afterlife. After the dead have chosen their memory, the workers at the purgatorial memory-choosing center recreate and film the memory, and the dead move on.
I have a strange relationship with memory-or at least I think I do. My mother died when I was five, and I last saw her when I was three years old. Essentially, my memories of her aren’t memories; my memories of her are photographs. Posing with her dog outside a Paris cafe, her head tilted just so. Laying out with my father by a public pool, a carefree smile on her face and a…