After Life vs. Departures

To paraphrase Nobu-san, our guide around the Okunoin cemetery at Koya-san: "In Japan, when we are born, we have Shinto rituals. When we die, we have Buddhist rituals. My mum got married in a church: New Caledonia."

Buddhism in Japan is often associated with death. When one dies, the ceremonies that take place will often be Buddhist, but as Donald Richie explores, these could be as much for functional purpose as religious belief. But, obviously of course, no one knows what actually happens when you die. Or do we? It depends whether one is thinking about it from the perspective of the body or the soul. 

Yojiro Takita's Oscar-winning 2008 "Departures" see cellist Daigo's (popular hair model Masahiro Motoki) orchestra disband in Tokyo, leaving him doubtful of his talent and so his future. On a whim, he convinces his wife - with little coercion - into moving back to his small hometown in Yamagata, moving into the cafe his mother left him.

Needing work, he responds to an ad with few details, but nice pay packets, and is immediately hired. It soon turns out that his job will be as an "encoffinfer", performing the Japanese noukan ritual of preparing the body before it is placed into the coffin (and then burnt, of course). Not an easy job, he struggles to cope at first and soon feels society's evil eyes once his new job is learnt: perceived as a dirty man for his handling of dead bodies.

As the film progresses, so does his skill, winning over his doubters, including his wife, and finding what would appear to be a true calling: sending the bodies of the recently deceased on their final journey, coming to terms with some of the opportunities missed in life.

Ten years earlier, Kore-eda Hirokazu released his second feature film: 1998's "After Life" (or perhaps its more appropriate Japanese title "Wandafuru Raifu"). Here, there after life probably isn't quite what you expected. Upon dying, you enter a somewhat New England-esque academic building, taking a ticket as if a doctor's waiting room.

On this "Monday morning", you are assigned a counsellor who will pose you the situation: You have a week to choose the one memory of your life which you will take with you for eternity. This memory is recreated by a somewhat haphazard film crew, starring your good self, and the film is then shown to you in a cinema. Once viewed, you disappear for eternity, locked in that memory.

Somewhat fanciful, the counsellors are all people that were either unable, or refused, to make the choice, and thus stay in a purgatory of administration and archiving, forever reliving Monday morning. A series of interviews are conducted with the various recently deceased, with now long-experienced - but still youthful in look - Takashi (Arata) given the task of counselling the man who married his fiancée after he died. Opening up some old wounds, Takashi spends the week contemplating his own favourite memories and finally makes his choice.

The outlooks of the two films are quite different in their thoughts on death. "After Life" plays little on the sadness of having died. Those that enter are quite chipper, one must say, on learning that they've just kicked the bucket. As the Japanese title suggests, it's very much about celebrating the most precious, and wonderful, memories that we have of our lives. This could perhaps be down to Kore-eda's combination of actors and real-life ordinary folk discussing their favourite memories. Using his documentary skills, this is as much an exploration of memory than a mourning of death.

"Departures", however, is very much aware of the sadness of death. Very reminiscent of Shunji Iwai's "Love Letter" in numerous ways, there are moments of sentimentality, tugging at the heartstrings, as well as plucking on the cello strings. Tears and emotion run throughout; the sadness of the families a key theme. A shot of a young child's body being prepared for their coffin accompanied by their smiling photo, hitting home the sadness in the simplest of ways. Though family tears and timely music perhaps dominate, going for more conventional crowd-(dis)pleasing.

This is absent from "After Life", laying people's memories out before them to celebrate and chew on; more philosophical than sentimental. If death hurts those left behind, "After Life" is the memories of life for the deceased; whereas "Departures" is the final memory for the mourners. 

If we're looking at religion in Japanese death, however, "After Life" perhaps lacks any religion. Death is a bureaucratic process than a passing over. As seen in other films, such as Tim Burton's "Beetlejuice", death is likened to the administrative Hell on Earth of waiting rooms, form-filling and box-ticking.

It's also a strange film in that it's very much of its time, serving as a time capsule, with the provision of lo-fi VHS cassette tapes for "clients" to view moments from their lives to help them in their choice. Surely the after life's administrative team can come up with a less archaic system! The recreations also seem to be more "human" and of the "real world", made to a seemingly small budget and limited time frame, far from Hollywood glitz and glam that many of the dead may have wished to achieve in the film of their life. A theme running throughout Kore-eda's body of work, this is perhaps as much a comment on the modern nature of memory and how we try to recreate it in permanent form rather than live in the moment of emotion. A comment as relevant now as ever.

"Departures" features the religious ceremony of the noukan, placing the body in ritual dress, with accompanying make-up. But with even this dying out with the elderly, it perhaps reflects Richie's doubts as to the true religious nature of these "performances". Making the dead look their best is perhaps purely for aesthetic purposes, giving mourners one last perfect memory.

Daigo's skill is very much in-line with Japanese aesthetics: The almost perfect folding with due care and attention of the deceased clothes, creating an intimate one-on-one with the body. "After Life", with its counsellors getting deep into their clients personal lives and directing them towards their perfect choice: Ones who struggle are probed to search deeper; those who go obvious, are challenged to look more inwards, creating an intimate one-on-one with the soul.

Mono no aware, the Japanese sense of the fleeting nature of beauty and the impermanence of all things is alive in both films. Daigo's hard work and skill is - for want of a better word - in vain; the bodies made beautiful, only to be burnt at cremation soon after. "After Life" forces the choice of the single moment that defines a whole existence (and they only give you a week!). The last memory for the living versus the eternal memory for the dead; and perhaps a more Japanese sense of religion than any organised belief system.

Every 14 Days...(44)

Eleven (Mark Watson)

Monsieur Watson, the formerly Welsh-voiced comedian, often states his first two novels, which I have read, are to be ignored. "Eleven", his third, therefore, is the starting point he'd like us to acknowledge. With that the case, you can see a more professional and accomplished narrative forming. But this more mainstream style also loses a little something with it.

Radio DJ and agony uncle Xavier Ireland (an assumed name for a fictional character) having moved to the UK from Australia in mysterious circumstances goes about his life helping people solve their problems by night and avoiding his own by day. Along the way, a chain of events involving ten others gradually begin to come full circle, as Xavier starts to come to terms with his own problems and tries to look forward to a new start.

The cause-and-effect subplot that works its way through the novel perhaps shows a maturing as a writer, but is also a little more conventional in its structuring. "Eleven", while perhaps better written, lacks some of the intrigue of "Bullet Points" and certainly the humour of "ALight-hearted Look at Murder", and as such, breezes by nicely, but soon blends into the background on a bookshelf.

Despite a nice enough read, this isn't quite a Spinal Tap amp, and "Eleven" isn't one louder.

Days to read: 9

Days per book: 15.0

And Then (Natsume Soseki)

Sorekara, I read...That's a Japanese joke.

It was one of my challenges to read all of Natsume Soseki's translated works this year. That probably won't happen, but I'm moving along with them anyway. So far this year I have read "The Miner", and then I read...well, that's an English joke.

Daisuke is doing jack little. From a wealthy family, since completing his education, he has chosen to live on his father's income, absorbing himself in his reading and his arts, unable to decide what the next step in his life should be. Rejecting his family's help to marry him and try and force some purpose into his life, his idleness and "selfishness" soon begin to put strains on his relationships with his family, and indeed some of his friends.

As ever with Soseki, "And Then" is a depth exploration of the human condition. Daisuke's actual desires are clear to us, the reader, but social convention and possible scandal prevent him from making them known to others. Fear of revealing his true desires and holding back stunt life's progress, as can often be the case. But in a time where social conventions must be met, his failure to go with the flow see him more ostracized than if he simply came out with his true, socially unacceptable intentions.

One can sympathise with Daisuke's plight: wanting to live his own life, free of society's restrictions. But it is just as easy to fear for him in his failure to grow up and accept the need to provide. Soseki's deliberately open ending sees Daisuke suddenly alone and like a rabbit in the headlights as the reader asks "What next?"

Days to read: 14

Days per book: 15.0

The Damned United (David Peace)

I'm always a little unsure as to fictional novels based on real life individuals. Fiction set during certain historical events, that's fine. But, basing a work of fiction of an actual person and specific events that happened in their life is a controversial decision and is likely to off a few pisses.

"The Damned United", made into a rather good film with Michael Sheen as "Ol' Big Head", certainly did ruffle some feathers upon its publication, focusing as it does on the career low point of one of English football's best managers. Getting so into the head of Brian Clough, Peace has obviously had to do his research into the man, the legend for a fateful forty-four days that occurred when he was around seven years old.

Switching between the past - his days winning the Division 2 and then Division 1 titles with Derby County - and the present, with the big leap to taking the Leeds United job, a picture of a determined, but obsessed man is painted. Peace's Clough wants nothing more than to outdo Don Revie's achievements at Leeds. Repetition fills the pages of the book, building and building the angst within him.

In terms of getting into the head of Clough, Peace certainly achieves this. Unconventional structure in his writing makes this more snippets of thoughts, rather than narrative flow, with the repetition emphasising the obsessive nature Peace wishes to convey. As such, this is a good, if somewhat fractured, characterisation.

But, whether Peace's Clough is an accurate representation is another debate. Of course, the results are factually accurate, and many of the minor details can be shown to be true. But "The Damned United" is set firmly within the head of one Brian Howard Clough, and only one man could comment on how true it is.

Days to read: 13

Days per book: 14.9

Seventeen (Hideo Yokoyama)

What better way to mark a flight from London to Montreal than reading a book about the largest single aircraft accident in history?!

However, Hideo Yokoyama's "Seventeen" is less about the Japan Airlines Flight 123 crash in 1985, but more about the pains of the North Kanto Times' reporting staff tasked with covering the biggest event to happen on their doorstep.

Yuuki, an ageing reporter, delaying moving into a management position, is appointed Crash Desk Chief, forced to take charge of the situation. An anti-hero, this causes problems for those both above and below in the chain of command. Big decisions need to be made, and Yuuki isn't always the right man for them, particularly when caught in the middle of hierarchical politics and the shallow world of journalism, where depth and reliable coverage of facts are shunned for attention-seeking front page headlines.

Placed alongside the somewhat bland new challenge facing Yuuki seventeen years on of climbing a local ridge with the son of his long-departed friend, Yuuki is again put in a situation where he is out of his depth, his life now comfortable in small-town reporting.

Perhaps due to the translation, but the writing of "Seventeen" is far from award-winning. Somewhat stating the obvious, it lacks any real sense of poetic license and despite some moments, is far too simplistic. Blandly stating facts might be part of reporting, but when reading a novel, one wants something a little more absorbing. As such, you fail to fully engage or sympathise with the characters as it moves towards its inevitable conclusions.

Days to read: 14

Days per book: 14.9

Blues Harp

The intros are among some of the best pieces of cinema Takashi Miike produced around the late-Nineties and Millennium period. The brutal baseball attack to kick-off "Fudoh: The New Generation" and the film within a montage that introduces us to the "Dead or Alive" Trilogy. Coming a year earlier than the latter, 1998's "Blues Harp" also shows a whole condensed into a rock montage, with clips from throughout the film interspersed with Atsushi Okuno's performance on stage to get the octane levels up. Seeing Miike's lower-budget works as forerunners for ideas in his larger-scale pieces, "Blues Harp" is another, more minor, work that would see similar themes explored later on.

Chuji, born in Okinawa to a Japanese prostitute and African-American soldier, is a barman in a dive bar and music venue in the US navy base town of Yokosuka. A low-level drug dealer, he chances upon Kenji, an ambitious young yakuza in the alley behind the bar, saving Kenji from a beating from his rivals. For this, Kenji is eternally grateful, and chooses to lookout for Chuji as much as he can.

But Kenji is also a man out for himself, and wishes to dethrone is family head, using an affair with his wife to give him the opportunity to seize power. Chuji also sees a bright future ahead: his dabbling with a harmonica, encouraged by the house band, gets heard by a talent scout who wants to offer him a record contract, his bosses' approval pending; as well as his girlfriend announcing she is pregnant.

Things come to a head on one fateful Thursday. Yakuza (and their women's) double-crossings rife, Kenji's plans are soon thwarted and the jealousy of his younger "brother" sees him use Chuji's drug dealing past to blackmail him into being the lacky in Kenji's plans, potentially damaging his future music career, and future full stop.

While a violent film, this is not typical Miike: here the violence is more straight, compared to the more extreme and comic cases seen in his other films. At face-value, this is a fairly standard yakuza tale of backstabbing, teaching us to never trust a yakuza. But the character of Chuji, played by Kiroyuki Ikeuchi, adds a little something extra to the film.

Mixed-race, Chuji represents something of a changing face of Japan. Kenji comments that Chuji is an old-fashioned name, but his lifestyle is anything but. A more Westernised, low-level street dealer, he is a far cry from the organised, "business" face of the yakuza. An early incarnation of the slacker staple now frequent in Japanese cinema, as critiqued my Mark Schilling, he lives in an area populated by graffiti, immigrants, back streets and the homeless, and dreams of a career in blues music. Adopting a homeless, black US soldier as a surrogate father figure, he is a lost soul in an industrialised cityscape emerging from the Nineties decline.

Kenji also offers a twist on yakuza meat and drink, with his affection for Chuji more than simply friendship. Catching an early glimpse of his young rear end, Kenji's hidden homosexuality manifests in his looking out for Chuji and aggressive teeth-brushing following each sexual encounter with his boss' wife, showing a touch more subtlety from Miike.

Music is also important to "Blues Harp" with live performances essentially shown in full alongside storylines, with a mix of rock, blues and hip hop on stage at the bar where Chuji works.

But, as an earlier work in Miike's post-V-cinema career, this is a film not without its flaws. The less established cast, incorporating musicians, naturally, doesn't always mean particularly classic acting. Chuji can come across more funny than funky in his live performances, Ikeuchi perhaps overdoing his blues harp miming a little.

But typical of this era, it also sees Miike experimenting throughout, with ideas and themes that would be reprised later in his career in bigger-scale projects. As such, while not a particularly standout work, this is in some ways Miike at his best, and more low-key works such as "Blues Harp" would have been welcomed in a career that has often gone to extremes.

Every 14 Days...(43)

The World Goes On (Laszlo Krasznahorkai)

One thing I know when I pick up a Krasznahorkai book off a shelf is that I'm in for a couple of weeks (I hope) of unrelaxing Tube journeys. A series of shorts - some much shorter than others - this isn't quite in the same vein as "Seiobo There Below".

However, while not being a series of self-contained stories that somehow come together under a theme, there feels a lineage across all of what you read (I've had a beer). All (or at least most of) the stories follow the theme of man hitting a moment of truth; something that may seem insignificant, but can be a huge turning point for the individual. From a man about to set-out on a journey to a Chinese translator waking up hungover in the centre of a network of overpasses, Krasznahorkai digs deep to deliver an in-depth analysis of a single moment.

"The World Goes On", therefore, seems like a collection of extensively rambling haikus, which is probably a huge contradiction in terms, but captures a collection of points in time that could form a single lifetime as man laments, laments and laments. References to his earlier works, notably "The Melancholy of Resistance" crop up from an uncertain lecturer.

Rambling in both sentences and geographical location, as appears Krasznahorkai's life, "The World Goes On" is again a work of obscurity, thought and long sentences...contained largely between Tooting Bec and Goodge Street stations if you're me, where I fail daily to come across any moments of truth...and then I got off the bus (Tube).

Days to read: 14

Days per book: 15.0

The Book of Dave (Will Self)

Will Self appeared a lot on "Have I Got News for You" in yesteryear. Apparently he's written a book. Several in fact. And for a long while I've been trying to bring myself to read one. £2.99 in the Balham Oxfam for 477 pages eventually got me there.

To start, I was mighty confused. "The Book of Dave" is perhaps both an excellent and terrible starting point for Self at the same time. We start in a future, where London is divided by both extensive waters and dialects. It is almost written in "that foreign," and as such, is a rather irritating read to get into to make the 0.63p per page seem justified. But then we get to the second chapter, and things start to become a little clearer.

Taxi driver Dave, left by his wife and son, descends into middle age world-weary and bitter. He pens a rambling book as to his worldview of how families should be structured for his son, but after being committed and having therapy, decides to write it off as drivel. However, unwittingly, the book becomes a holy text of the future; his views on family structures followed to the letter by future generations.

With the splitting between the present and the future, "The Book of Dave" is an inconsistent read: The present the more enjoyable half; with the future more a ramble of nearly incomprehensible words that become a struggle to follow. However, the nature of the book means that this is necessary, not that makes reading these chapters any more enjoyable.

As such, it becomes quite easy to drift in and out of the long read, at times a good social commentary, at others a dull struggle. Whether or not I choose to take the plunge with another Self-penned (haha) book is undecided, but the more surrealist elements of his work may prove something of a barrier.

Days to read: 28

Days per book: 15.1

The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13 3/4 and The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole (Sue Townsend)

Born in 1983, Adrian Mole is one of those things that I recognise but can't actually recall. For me, Adrian Mole is a book with a tube of toothpaste on the cover and the theme song to the ITV adaptation. But, I don't remember actually having read any of it. Adrian Mole was only ever a teenager (aged 13 3/4 to be exact) in my memory, though I do also seem to remember something about "Dan!" from Alan Partridge.

In fact, Sue Townsend mapped out a whole lifetime for Adrian Mole over a series of books; the image of him as a perennial teenager perhaps coming from 1980's television, though the BBC did adapt one of the later books ("The Cappuccino Years") starring Stephen "Dan!" Mangan. But what of the books? Well, starting with the first two, we see Adrian in the first half of his teens getting to grips with spots, sex and the Falklands War.

Reading them now, aged 34 and several months, the first thing that strikes is the comic timing. Written as diaries with a paragraph or so serving each day, what seems an innocuous comment one day, builds up the laughs for several days in the future. His teenage naivety as the world around him is in chaos, his mundane, self-absorbed obsessions see him unable to detect his mother's affair, his parents' separation, his mother's subsequent pregnancy and dad fathering an illegitimate child.

Throughout, we are not laughing with the young "intellectual", but thoroughly at him, in much the same way many comedians bring out their teenage diaries on stage to recount what massive bellends they once were (and still possibly are). A mother at a young age, Townsend clearly draws on her experiences with her own children, and as such, these are very much books for those a little older than 13 3/4, though can be appreciated by any age.

The early teenage angst is the Adrian Mole I have non-existent nostalgia for. But, will I like the man he will become? Perhaps I'll try volume three, or leave the idiot where (I believe) he belongs.

The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13 3/4

Days to read: 6

Days per book: 15.0

The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole

Days to read: 8

Days per book: 15.0

Isle of Dogs

Wes Anderson's "The Grand Budapest Hotel" didn't feature one shot of the Hungarian capital, so it was much to my further annoyance at the director's geographical ignorance that his latest animated feature, "Isle of Dogs", didn't go anywhere near E14. In fact, it's set in a fictional city of the other side of the planet!

Resulting from an age-old family feud, Mayor Kobayashi (voiced by co-writer Kunichi Nomura) of Megasaki, a cat-lover, paints dogs out to be a diseased species and banishes them all to Trash Island; an island as its name suggests. The Mayor's nephew Atari, a dog-lover, seeks his pet dog and bodyguard Spots and flies to Trash Island. The islands new natives do not trust humans and their English is incompatible with Atari's Japanese.

The Mayor angered, he sends in the troops to bring Atari back. Though with a band of newly found "man's best friend" voiced by a list of star names, Atari flees and locates Spots, but finds he has started a new life on the island as its mythical leader. Back in Megasaki, Kobayashi seeks to destroy evidence of dog serums created by dedicated scientists to bring all canines back; to much protest from a group of student activists.

Returning, Atari delivers a rousing speech to shame his uncle, releasing the serum and reviving the dormant dog-lover in the citizens of Megasaki. The end.

One word to describe "Isle of Dogs" is "nice." The animation is well-executed, though you don't feel it anything too innovative; it looks very nice, but is far from delivering anything too dramatic; a nicely put together, extensive ensemble cast creates a lot of draws, though the delivery at times can be a little flat, perhaps due to actors taking on voice acting roles. The film is not greater than the sum of its parts, with the aesthetics giving a feel of style over substance, with no real depth when you wash away the level of trash.

In an interview at Berlinale, the writing team suggested that a dog trash island was the starting point for the film; the Japanese setting coming later. The decision to set the film in Japan seems aesthetic as much as anything. References to the films of Akira Kurosawa are made throughout and acknowledged by Anderson. But it could easily have been set in France.

"Isle of Dogs", therefore, would appear a more Tarantino-style homage piece than cultural appropriation that has caused debate. The incorporation of a Japanese to the writing team gives some additional authenticity in cultural reference points, as well as a Japanese cast delivering Nihon-go, giving a Japanese audience a little something extra.

However, much like last year's "Ghost in the Shell", the intended target audience means that American voices still dominate. The student protest is driven by foreign exchange student Tracy (Greta Gerwig); and while a stylistic choice, simultaneous translators talk over much of the Japanese dialogue. The inconsistency of the direct translation of text versus none for dialogue could perhaps irk some viewers also.

Though, in general, the film feels good-natured and too light-hearted to intentionally create the controversial debate which arose - though this is perhaps an unconscious given in Hollywood in this day and age. In fact, that is perhaps where the film falls short: Perhaps aimed at a younger audience, the storyline is a little too light and breezes through with ease and little in the way of real bite.

August Without Him

Hirata Yutaka, as a public figure in Nineties Japan, probably represented a lot of mainstream Japanese society's fears: an openly gay man diagnosed with AIDS, he would probably not have been welcome in many households; his outspoken nature would have seated a few uncomfortably as well. Probably the sort of challenging character a young documentary maker would relish.

In terms of entertainment, this isn't a documentary to keep you excited. As the title suggests, Kore-eda spends the August looking back at memories of his time with his subject, now that he has gone, though the majority of the film sees Yutaka bedridden, discussing his daily thoughts and opinions as he approaches death.

Though despite his illness, he is able to publish a final book, celebrating it with a beer and able to laugh at the title ("I Want to Live a Little Longer") which he chose to reject, but somehow ironically reflects his feelings. Throughout he maintains a childlike enthusiasm with a charm that keeps the camera engaged. He is still very much a child at heart - though quite understandable in his position - he relies heavily on the support and help of others around him, such as his dutiful flatmates, almost taking a glee from it. Though this again is all part of his charm, with a playful spirit shining through, despite approaching death.

Though this childlike enthusiasm is a double-edged sword, revealing a man who simply can't help himself. Despite being near death and his body sapped of energy, he still calls on call boys to visit him. He also travels to his hometown to visit his father's grave, though avoids visiting his surviving mother; perhaps his outspoken nature causing difficulties within the family.

These points, however, are not fully explored. Instead the focus is still very much on Yutaka's discussions with the camera, which he appears to thoroughly enjoy. The crew simply seem to enjoy spending time with him, noting how they break the fourth wall to help out here and there where they can. This approach was also seen in "Without Memory"; the crew offering to be filmed to help the subject with his loss of memory.

As a documentarian, Kore-eda is an ethnographer, becoming a part of his subjects' lives. This breaking of the fourth wall is perhaps what gives Kore-eda's films a realism; exploring characters in depth, as opposed to more out-and-out storytelling.

Hana vs See You Tomorrow, Everyone

Limited, small community settings are more the focus for television soap operas than cinema, well, more commercial cinema at least. Lacking in action and excitement, two films that look more at the inner workings of the human condition rather than delivering out-and-out entertainment are Kore-eda Hirokazu's 2006 "Hana" and Yoshihiro Nakamura's 2013 "See You Tomorrow, Everyone".

"Hana", Kore-eda's sole dip into the period drama, is set in a small community of early Eighteenth Century row houses. Souzaemon moves into the community as an obvious outsider: a middle-class samurai, he has no place being among society's low reaches. But his reason for being there is to seek out the man who murdered his father: the head of his clan.

Souzaemon, however, is far from his father, clearly as out of place as a sword-carrying samurai as he is in the Edo milieu he finds himself in. Despite having located the murderer, he stays where he is, teaching the neighbourhood children and gradually integrating himself into part of the community, much to the chagrin of his clan back in Matsumoto who demand action for the regular funds supplied to him.

Nakamura's "See You Tomorrow, Everyone", an equally slow-paced film, follows Satoru and his seemingly meaningless life living in a Tokyo project. Since leaving school, Satoru has spent his days doing his patrols, essentially keeping tabs on all the other inhabitants of the artificial community. One-by-one, those close to him move away to start new lives, leaving him alone, unemployed and with little prospect of a life beyond idolising his karate heroes.

Feigning purpose with his daily rounds of his neighbours, his meddling soon upsets those around him and he is forced into making choices: he starts a job at a cake shop within the complex; gets engaged; and befriends a young Brazilian girl with a troubled home life, though again his interfering is unwelcome.

Both are films set in low-income housing, though at different periods in time. "Hana" is set in a peasant dwelling, where people just about scrape enough money together to not pay the rent. These are people seeing little hope of a better life, and so accept the lot of where they are. "See You Tomorrow, Everyone", however, is a modern day equivalent: once seen as the artificial community of the future, it is now becoming a baron wasteland populated by single mums, the elderly and immigrant workers. People only see their future in escaping from it, something which Satoru cannot face-up to.

The two leads are reluctant heroes: their situations both caused by a single violent act. Souzaemon is expected to follow the samurai tradition and seek revenge for the murder of his father, but never a swordsman of any skill, he stands little chance of carrying out his proposed destiny, as well as lacking any will to cause harm to his fellow man.

A social problem in Japan, Satoru imprisoned himself at home in the projects after a school knife attack left him fearful of the outside world. Life has become theory that fails to ever get put into practice until a meeting with a young Brazilian girl who is outcast by her mother's Japanese boyfriend sees him look after their home and stand-up to the bad guy.

Both have a villain to face, but where Satoru finally learns to stand-up to his enemy, Souzaemon makes the decision to befriend his father's killer and build a new path for his life. Both have found themselves in situations in which they were comfortable in life, too comfortable. Souzaemon found it easier to teach local children, living off the funds sent to him - funds for him to enact revenge. He hides from his social status as samurai and suffers from the inner conflict of his desire to be kind-hearted against his clan's expectation that he will fulfil his duty.

Satoru's fears of the outside world keep him trapped in a prison of his own making. Ever since that day at school, he has been unable to step outside his self-imposed boundaries, oblivious to what is actually happening around him, despite believing himself to be the guardian of the complex. The world will move on until he is left behind and alone.

Souzaemon's actions are considered and he is becoming a man - though different from what is expected - who chooses to lead his own life. Satoru, however, is unconscious in his life. His fears have seen him create his own world and his place within it, and while he insists on staying inside it, everyone else has chosen to leave. The act that sees him eventually break free from this world is an unconscious reaction without a moment's thought.

Despite being a different setting for Kore-eda, "Hana" fits his usual slow-paced style, though perhaps with a bit more tomfoolery than usual. "See You Tomorrow, Everyone" is very slow in pace and development, though the timing of revelations are well worked and is a strong point of Nakamura's developing of the story.

But being a period piece, there is a little less social comment at work than one would expect from Kore-eda. "Hana" looks at close community and as the film develops, Souzamon's friends increase in number. This is the opposite for Satoru, however, who can count the numbers reducing by the day. Nakamura comments on the gradual loss of community: the sad result on what was once considered to be the bright, hopeful environment of the future. People only want to move away and escape with little or no real knowledge of those who live around them. Those still there are the ones ignored by society and hidden away.

Perhaps reflecting the difference of the period settings, "Hana" sees Souzaemon find a home, as well as himself; while "See You Tomorrow, Everyone" finds Satoru needing to escape the prison modern society has created.