Review: Once Upon A Time...In Hollywood

Once Upon A Time...In Hollywood (2019): Written and directed by Quentin Tarantino. Starring: Brad Pitt, Leonardo DiCaprio, Margot Robbie, Emile Hirsch, Margaret Qualley, Timothy Olyphant, Austin Butler, Dakota Fanning, Bruce Dern, Kurt Russell, and Al Pacino. Running Time: 161 minutes.

Rating: 3/4

**spoiler alert for the entirety of the film**

               Well. That escalated quickly.

               Tarantino's latest film comes so, so very close to being the most relaxed, most meditative, and least eventful film he's ever made. For the bulk of its close-to-three-hour runtime, it is content merely being a very thorough callback to a very specific time and place in the era of "Old Hollywood," or at least "Older Hollywood." It drenches itself in period dress and a production design so minute and detailed, that it's basically guaranteed to run away screaming with the Oscar for Best Production Design next year, along with (most likely) a bevy of other awards. Scenes and montages riffing on Tarantino's usual grab-bag of cultural callbacks range from the gentle and poignant to aggressively in-your-face, and simply occur over the course of a handful of days with no clear narrative thread connecting them.

               Until, that is, the time for some very bloody historical revisionism hits at the very end, and the whole affaid explodes into an orgy of blood and violence on par with what we've come to expect from QT. Even here, though, while the sparks are viscerally impressive, they aren't on quite the same level as some of the most shocking bits from Pulp Fiction, Django, Basterds, or even The Hateful Eight. Maybe Tarantino is growing soft and uncertain with age. Or perhaps there is only so far provocative violence can go before it starts feeling increasingly unnecessary or redundant.

               OUATIH follows Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his longtime stuntmen/handyman/best friend (only friend?) Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt). Both are seemingly on the downside after years spent atop the Hollywood totem pole, and neither seems to be processing it well. Rick drowns himself in drink, cigarettes, and tearful pity-parties before friends and strangers alike. Cliff maintains a ceaselessly laid-back, devil-may-care attitude on the surface, but there are reasons aplenty to think it's at least partially a facade, as his own history includes a supposed fisticuffs with Bruce Lee that got him blackballed and (possibly) getting away with actual murder.

               The minuteai of what their career histories are and what, exactly, they each do on-screen to try and get their careers back on track is less important than the general world they inhabit, one that their daily lives reveal to us in bits and pieces. The comittment to recreating the general vibe and feel of Hollywood in the late 60's is nothing less than slavish, and it is indeed an impressive film in how carefully it maintains this atmosphere.

               The twist ahead, however, is set up fairly early- we know right away that Rick just so happens to live next door to Sharon Tate and Roman Polanski, in the very summer where Tate and her friends were infamously, and brutally, murdered by members of the Manson family. For those who lived through it, this was an event so culturally traumatic it is still considered by most to be THE moment that the Hollywood of the 60's, the one Tarantino dedicates this entire film to, ended for good.

               Margot Robbie continutes to shine as one of the next big film stars, suffusing Tate with a confidence and joy that radiate off the screen despite having relatively few scenes or moments of dialogue. Indeed, she is almost more of an idea, or a ghost, than an actual character. While I can understand faulting the film for this approach, I myself found her scenes remarkably effective, the highlight being a moment where she goes to the theater to see her own film and takes a clear pride in how the audience responds to her work. Sharon Tate will forever be defined in the eyes of most by the tragedy that ended her life, so, personally, I am for any effort to bring her at least partially out of Charles Manson's shadow, even though doing so completely will likely never be possible.

               The other controversial parts of the film are a bit more difficult to parse, at least for me, specifically the treatment of Bruce Lee in his one main scene and the exact nature of the violence at the end of the film. In both cases, I feel particularly ill-equipped to offer moral judgment on the film. Bruce Lee is treated as a parody of himself, and while there are signs that this portrayal is something of a fantasy spun by Cliff (we "see" his fight with Lee as a memory he revisits some years later), I won't argue with either Lee's family or any other fans who consider the scene a black mark on the film.

               And then there's the ending, which is likely to be one of the most controversial film choices of Tarantino's career. Instead of the Tate murders going down as they did in reality, the would-be attackers decide to break into Rick's house instead, after an evening Rick and Cliff spent getting (respectively) stupidly drunk and fantastically high. Even in their impaired states, though, they manage to fight off and kill each of the attackers in stupendous fashion. Sharon Tate and her friends are never murdered, Rick befriends her and her husband and possibly gets a fresh start to his career, and the glorified image of a specific past is, perhaps, allowed to endure a little longer.

               Should it have endured though? Or was it necessary for the Hollywood of the 60's to, somehow and someday, go the way of the dodo? Out of all of his movies, this might be the one that is hardest to separate from what we know of Tarantino as a person. This is clealy a deeply personal film, possible his most personal; a lot about Rick Dalton's character and his fears of being left behind, overshadowed, forgotten by a new generation could be a bit of self-reflection on Tarantino's part. Plus, while he has written some of the best and most compelling female characters of the past few decades, his relationship to and statement on sexist tropes, endangerment of women, and an unwillingness to confront the darker parts of the film industry both past and present are.....extremely mixed, to put it diplomatically. In the wake of #MeToo, it is especially hard to watch this paeon to a lost age and NOT think about all the abuse and manipulation of women and minorites that is definitely happening off-screen. I'm as ready to give an artist the benefit of the doubt as anybody, but I admit I am rather sceptical that QT has ever given much thought to this aspect of his love for this particular bygone time and place.

               There is also the fact that, once again, terrible, horrific violence is visited upon the human body, specifically female bodies, in a way that easily draws laughter and even applause from many moviegoers. Here, too, as a man, I feel I would be out of my league to try and either condemn or justify the decisions made in this part of the film. I myself didn't find it funny at all, but plenty in the theater with me sure did, and I'm pretty sure most of them were men. All I can offer is some advice to my male readers; ask the women in your life what they think, and listen to them when they answer.

               And yet, despite all of this, for all the flaws inherent in Tarantino's obsession with a gaudy past he was never actually a part of and maybe doesn't glamorize for the right reasons, there is an undeniable power in his capacity for visual storytelling and the unspoken richness the people he casts bring to their roles. And I, too, fervently wish that I had the power to reach back to specific times in history and give evil its proper comeuppance, preferably via flamethrower. As flawed and and as arguably reprehensible as his revision of the Tate murders might be, the impulse to play with the Fates in this manner is one I am all too familiar with.

               That may not be a very objective, or sound, or moral reflection on myself. But it does signify that, like Tarantino, I'm only human, in the end. And time marches on.

-Noah Franc

Producers in Focus: Leon Thomas (Renegade Cut)

               In terms of his style and delivery, I find a lot of similarities between Leon Thomas and Mike Duncan, he of the invaluable History of Rome and Revolutions podcasts. Both are more soft-spoken and quieter in their deliveries, but are cuttingly smart and deeply informative, yet carry a subdued wit about them that brings more humor to their topics than one might expect.

               Renegade Cut, Leon's primary series, has been running pretty much continuously since summer 2012. It is an overwhelmingly film-focused series, though video games and TV shows make plenty of appearances, but one that differentiates itself from your typical video-review format by often focusing on a particular topic or theme in a given film or films to expound upon. Leon Thomas has, much like Lindsay Ellis, been a primary inspiration for me to think about movies beyond mere straightforward, good/bad critiques; his perspectives are always unlike anything else I've read or seen on a given topic and are always worth the time to delve into. He's done so much, including nearly all my all-time favorite films, so picking and choosing is hard, so here are just a handful of my personal favorites;

Inception (4 Parts)

               Sadly, as of right now these videos appear to be lost to the sands of time; this four-part deep dive into the details of, arguably, Christopher Nolan's greatest film came out shortly after Renegade Cut joined Channel Awesome and back when everything was still hosted on Blip. After that site got shut down, a lot of stuff from many of the creators was lost, and it seems that these were some of the casualties. Which, for me, is a travesty, because it was precisely these videos that first got me hooked on Renegade Cut. At the time, though Nolan was already one of my favorite directors, I was yet to see someone tackle one of his films in this much detail, and it was a real eye-opener for me as to just how rich proper film criticism can be. Maybe, one day, they will be made available again.

DCEU Film and Culture Analysis (4 Parts)

               Like with MovieBob's Really That Bad on Batman v Superman, Leon Thomas undertook the immense, painful task of examining just why and how the DCEU has (so far) so thoroughly failed to take off and create a successful cinematic universe. He has born these sins on his shoulders so that we don't have to; now that this 3+ hour series of his is finished, there is no longer any need to watch any of the first wave of DC movies (except Wonder Woman, which is still great) because the important stuff is all right here, laid out for easy understanding.

Christian Martyr Complex- God's Not Dead: A Light in the Darkness

               As someone raised both liberal and Catholic, the specific ways American Christianity has been twisted to serve asinine, conservative socio-political ends is something that never fails to anger and offend me on a deeply personal level. The utter tripe that is the God's Not Dead....*sigh*....”trilogy” is one of the most cynical examples of this. As such, it was especially satisfying to me to see Leon Thomas take the time to deconstruct the utter emptiness of these films.

Amadeus- Does God Control Our Lives

               Amadeus remains my absolute favorite movie of all time, an artistic work of immense power and depth, so you bet I was pumped to see Thomas' take on its themes of God, theology, and whether or not we really can argue that we have free will.

Kingdom of Heaven

               Another personal favorite of mine, a movie that, much like Amadeus, carries a lot of spiritual resonance for me personally. Like Amadeus, the movie is filled with historical errors, but that is ultimately of lesser importance, because that isn't what the film is about; it is, rather, a critical examination of the ways religion and faith are used to serve material ends, whether or not those ends actually match the spiritual ideals being professed.

Fargo

               There are so many layers to the absurdity of one of the Coen Brothers' greatest creations, especially in how it works in critical examinations of materialism and masculinity through the actions of its characters. This is one of those films that I can never get bored watching, and neither will I ever get bored of seeing others take the film apart as well.

The 20 Best Films of the Decade (So Far)

               There's nothing like a good list, and out of all the ones he's done, Thomas' look at the (in his opinion) best films of the decade is a personal favorite of mine. This is particularly because of how, while there are certainly American films here, he really does go global, spreading the word about a whole host of films from other countries most Western moviegoers have never even heard of, let alone seen. This- the elevation of that which would otherwise go unnoticed or forgotten- is the quintessential purpose of good art criticism.

Previously on Producers in Focus:

Lindsay Ellis

Todd Nathanson (Todd in the Shadows)

Jacob Chapman

Suede

Daren Jackson (Rap Critic)

Kyle Kallgren

Weekly Manga Recap

Nippon Reviews: Ikiteru Dake De, Ai (Love At Least)

Love At Least (2018): Written and directed by Kosai Sekine. Starring: Shuri, Masaki Shuda, Riisa Naka, Naomi Nishida, and Yutaka Matsushige. Running Time: 109 minutes. Based on the novel of the same name by Yukiko Motoya.

Rating: 3.5/4

               Though things have gotten better in recent years, mental illness in all its stripes remains an underappreciated and undertreated phenomenon, something with so much stigma attached that far too many people need years to come to terms with it, if they ever do at all. Seen through the eyes of one particular couple, Love At Least looks at how mental illness is handled within modern Japanese society. It is a difficult watch, but has a deft and gentle touch that makes it one of the year's best films.

               Yasuko sufferes from severe and, as far as we can tell, completely untreated depression and hypersomnia. As the film opens, she is in the midst of another long depressive patch, one that keeps her almost entirely at home, while her boyfriend, Tsunaki, provides for them both. There seems to be nothing that can shake her out of her malaise- both Tsunaki and her sister seem to have long given up on getting her to at least try job-hunting again- until Tsunaki's ex forces her way back into their lives. Finally, Yasuko makes a push to reenter everyday life by working at a local cafe, but immediately starts to doubt she can make the job work.

               Tsunaki, meanwhile, has his own struggles; though not clinically depressed like Yasuko, his job writing pulpy smut for a scandal-ridden gossip publication is way below the hopes he'd had for his life. Each and every day at a job that he finds abhorrent drags him further and further into his own rut, and like Yasuko, he too approaches a possible breaking point, not knowing how on Earth he can keep going.

               That both characters, each with different issues, are given such thorough and nuanced attention is one of the main things that give the film its power; each character, even the less sympathetic ones, are whole people, and while clinical depression and a bad job are obviously not exactly the same thing, they are both real problems with real consequences for people who have to endure them. That the film is able to give both the consideration they need, and to present both characters as having particular struggles that they need to overcome, shows an intelligence that far too many films trying to tackle mental illness tend to lack.

               If there is one main weakness in the film, it is that this nuance does not ever really extend to the character of the ex. She struck me as an intended commentary of so-called "normies," the mass of people who blithely dismiss the symptoms of mental illness as sinple laziness or some moral failing, unworthy of care or consideration. But if that was indeed the case, it does not land well; she remains entirely one-dimensional to the end, less of a character and more of a plot device to get Yasuko from her apartment to the restuarant she starts working at, whose owners and staff are far more engaging and interesting.

               The revolving center of the film, though, is Shuri's lead performance as Yasuko, and my God, is she incredible. Every moment with her is gripping in the sense that you can feel the helplessness and despair in her worst moments, and genuinely not know what she will say or do next as she continues to spiral downwards. She is a vibrant figure, treated with tender care by the camera, which offers a tactile feel to every shot, pulling us ever-closer into her world.

               This movie is hard an unyielding at looking at the daily pains of fighting one's own mind, but it is not harsh or callous. There is strength and hope to be found, even in the moments when one could easily assume all is lost. And there is always love, at least.

-Noah Franc

Nippon Reviews: Zan (Killing)

Killing (2018): Written and directed by Shinya Tsukamoto. Starring: Sosuke Ikematsu, Yu Aoi, Shinya Tsukamoto, Ryusei Maeda, and Tatsuya Nakamura. Running Time: 80 minutes.

Rating: 3.5/4

               Following a brief hiatus from his last film, cult legend Shinya Tsukamoto returns with another compact, unique, and challening work examing his favorite recurring theme; violence. The human capacity to inflict physical harm on each other, and the many avenues this opens up into the human psyche, has long been Tsukamoto's raison d'etre, whether it be through the lens of the futuristic, techno-apocalyptic hellscapes of the Iron Man franchise, contemporary underground boxing in Tokyo Fist, or the Second World War in Fires on the Plain. Here, Tsukamoto turns his gaze even further back into the well of time, to the days of the samurai in Edo-era Japan.

               The main character is a young ronin- an independent, unaffiliated samurai- named Mokunoshin, who has been living for some time in a tiny farming village in the mountain. He's grown close with one of the young boys of the village, Ichisuke, and has been teaching him the art of the sword, while also seeming to grow romantically close to the boy's older sister, Yu. We never learn exactly why, but he is incredibly restless, insisting that he will be leaving the village soon, though to what purpose and end even he doesn't seem to know.

               A reason finally arrives with another ronin, and older man played by Tsukamoto himself. He is searching for fighters for an unspecified "mission to Edo" (Edo was the name of Japan's capital at the time), and asks Mokunoshin to join him. To the clear anguish of Yu, not only does he agree, but Ichisuke insists on going as well, eager to leave the village and make a name for himself. The trip is almost immediately delayed, though, as a group of brigands appear just then on the outskirts of the village and refuse to leave, which soon leads to a major boiling point.

               By the end, the film becomes almost feverish in its tone, functioning as a reflection on the endlessly cyclical, self-reinforcing dynamic of violence and retribution. Almost every instance of fighting feels random, arbitrary, and wholly unnecessary, which was most likely the whole point. Given that we never learn the details of what, exactly, is happening in Edo that is so damn important, the "mission" Tsukamoto's character keeps talking about effectively works as the film's version of the river from Heart of Darkness, a metaphorical entryway into pain, suffering, and depravity, without meaning or purpose.

               All well and good, but I found myself struggling to parse out the character and motivations of the main character. Does he want to be a killer, or not? He clearly has some sort of emotional struggle regarding being a warrior and whether or not he really wants to go in this fateful mission or stay and live a life of quiet contentment. Is he genuinely conflicted about this, or an insane sociopath waiting for the right excuse to break down completely? Here, too, the ambiguity may well be deliberate.

               This is a small, compact film that hits hard when it needs to. It is very much a work from the strange mind of Shinya Tsukamoto, which is its own form of recommendation. Given my own attraction to stories and legends of wars and warriors, this film made me realize I need to be more careful of my own inner Monokushin. As should most, I imagine.

-Noah Franc

Nippon Reviews: Kaibatsu (Sea)

Sea (2018): Written and directed by Kensei Takahashi. Starring: Satoshi Abe, Misaki Matsuzaki, Arisa Sato, Seiya Okuda, and Seijuro Mimori. Running Time: 80 minutes.

Rating: 3/4

               Inspired by the #MeToo movement, Sea- the debut graduation film of its director, Kensei Takahashi- is a challenging work that tries to delve into the complexities of trauma and how it can haunt people throughout their lives. It is held back somewhat by its uneven treatment of what is an extremely sensitive subject matter, with moments where the filmmaking can't quite match its own ambition. Nonetheless, it is an impressive and affecting film, the sort of challenging, thought-provoking examination of a social ill more filmmakers need to tackle.

               The film focuses on Hiroshi, a young man who witnesses a classmate, Rie, being raped by the school bullies on the beach one day. Because of the specific circumstances that led up to it, he blames himself for letting it happen, and time only increases his guilt and rage. Several years later, at the graduation celebration for his class, he happens to run into one of the bullies assaulting another girl, and this time he snaps, attacking and killing him. The rest of the film then follows him years later, after he is released from prison and trying to patch his life back together, until he happens to run into Rie for the first time since her assault.

               On a technical level, the film is remarkably creative in its use of the camera. The graduation fight is captured in a viscerally powerful single-shot take, as they fight and struggle throughout a long, narrow hallway; the audience is forcefully drawn into a claustrophic, panic-filled moment alongside the two boys. Extra effort was also made to use different types of cameras, each with different levels of quality, for different scenes, an effort to silently imply what sort of mental state Hiroshi is in at a given time. This was a conscious choice on the director's part, to convey emotional states through the camera and editing rather than through music (of which there is none). At its best moments, this creates a jarring juxtaposition; a scene that starts with the shot blurry, unfocused, and shaky with suddenly cut to another shot that is terrifyingly stark, clear, and steady.

               The creativity of the technical process aside, the film stands on shakier ground when discussing the subject matter itself, given that this was a film primarily written and produced by men (though they did say in a Q&A afterwards that they spoke with the women on the production about how to handle the assault visually). I struggled for much of the film's runtime with the fact that we were focusing on a man who "merely" witnessed an assault, rather than on Rie, who was actually assaulted and (we learn later) saw her whole life upended as a result.

               This, too, the director explained afterwards, was a deliberate choice; he had initially planned to make a film focusing on a girl who is assaulted and then seeks revenge. However, as he considered the topic more, he started thinking more about his own perspective; what if he or someone like him witnessed or knew of a rape, and tried to react? What sort of aftereffects would that have?

               And, I must admit, that is itself a complex and messy idea that I don't feel has been tackled that often in film, as well as one that resonates deeply with me personally. I am a very large, physically strong, straight man who has never assaulted someone, nor been assaulted, yet precisely because of that fact I know that I need to give careful thought to how I listen and respond to the stories of assault survivors. I think I very much know what drives Hiroshi in the film. Both I and many other men instinctively want to see ourselves as the hero who would act immediately to "save" or "defend" someone being raped, or hurt, or robbed, or whatever; my gut reaction to an assault is that those perpetrating violence deserve violence themselves. Which, in and of itself, is a very human response.

               But it's not that simple. It never is. This salvation complex that I know I carry within me is, I think, why Hiroshi reacts so strongly the second time he sees the bully raping someone. Yet, as the film takes time and pains to emphasize, this doesn't solve much of anything. Yes, one less assaulter is alive and free. But Rie's assault can't be undone. Hiroshi's life is altered forever, and he will clearly carry his own trauma from both episodes for as long as he lives. Is that worth murder? I think the film is fairly clear in wanting to state that, no, it is not.

               Nor is Rie forgotten. She returns at the end, and is the focus of an incredible final sequence that leaves the audience with a gripping uncertainty about what will happen to these characters going forward. I would not dare spoil exactly what happens, but it hinges on an assumed switch in audience perspective that perfectly synthesizes the themes of the movie with its technical style. For all the quips I have with the rest of the film, that final moment is something I know I will never forget.

               Sea carries within it both the highs and lows of an extremely ambitious artist creating their first film. I can't speak for how others will react to the particular way the film chooses to handle sexual assault, but for my money, this is a brave and worthy effort that points in a direction more movies should go in examining how our preconceptions of gender roles and how society deals with sexual violence.

-Noah Franc

Nippon Reviews: Okinawa Supai Senshi (Boy Soldiers: The Secret War in Okinawa)

Boy Soldiers: The Secret War in Okinawa (2018): Directed by Chie Mikami and Hanayo Oya. Running Time: 114 minutes.

Rating: 3.5/4

               The Pacific Theater of World War II was one of the most vast and sprawling military campaigns in history, with the naval forces of Japan and the Allies traversing the largest body of water on Earth, fighting and dying over control of a thousand tiny specks of land. Okinawa, the southernmost island chain considered part of Japan proper, was one of the final major campaigns of this war.

               Since the ideology of Japan's wartime regime held that Japanese soil was sacred, and therefore worthy of especially hard sacrifice, it was always well-known that the main Japanese army would fight particularly hard against the invading American forces. What was, and remains, far less-widely known is that, in addition to the regular Japanese forces fighting on the islands, the military employed an additional, secret force to also attack and harass against American forces. These groups, led by elite commanders from the mainland, were composed of children; the young boys of Okinawa.

               The directing team of Chie Mikami and Hanayo Oya do a great service to history with this film by finally bringing this particularly horrifying chapter of the Pacific War to life. They were able to meet and interview a number of surviving members, already in very advanced age, using their testimonies to trace the activities of these covert troops over the course of the battle for Okinawa. The time jumps between the past and present took some getting used to, but once the film settles into a groove it builds to a powerful moment towards the end where survivors of the fight discuss their memories in the presence of cherry trees planted as a testiment to the boys who fought and died.

               Not that the film justifies the cause or methods that led these boys to torment, trauma, and death; this was child abuse and exploitation, plain and simple, ordered and carried out by those far too high up and powerful to ever face any real consequences for their actions. The film constantly reminds the attentive viewers that this is the eternal and recurring cost of power games played by those in power; in the end, the final cost is always, always born by regular, innocent people, who have no control or say in the decisions that shape their lives and, all too often, end them. Children are the most vulnerable members of society. Hence, sadly, they are the easiest to make victims out of by manipulating and turning them to perverted, violent ends.

               Not that the boys were the only ones to bear the load of callous decisions. One of the most harrowing stories in the film revolves around how the entire population of one of the smaller islands was forced to relocate to another, malaria-ridden island for reasons that were utter nonsense. Time and again, those in power are either not able, or not willing, to consider the true results of their actions.

               The conclusion of the film does what any great work of history must- take the events of the past and tie them to directly to their continuted effect on the present. In the case of Okinawa, they note that, as part of the increasing militarization of Japanese government policy under Shinzo Abe, military policies regarding treatment of civilians are once again being loosened or amended to echo, in truly frightening ways, the official policies that justified the mistreatment of Okinawa under the military regime so many decades ago. If history does indeed repeat itself, on Okinawa, it threatens to repeat itself as a tragedy, not a farce.

               There is strength to be found in survival, though; despite the death and destruction, enough of the boys and their families lived to ensure that their stories are not forgotten. Okinawans remember how they were treated during the War, and are not willing to acquiesce silently again, should the worst come to pass. Surviving memory is a powerful medicine. This film does its part in keeping that medicing potent and strong.

-Noah Franc

Nippon Reviews: Sending Off

Sending Off (2019): Produced and directed by Ian Thomas Ash. Starring: Dr. Kaoru Konta. Running Time: 79 minutes.

Rating: 3.5/4

               Ian Thomas Ash, an American filmmaker living in Japan, tends to use a more minimalist, observative style of documentary filmmaking. This is fitting; as he has been drawn time and again to topics surrounding mortality and death, his methods mix well with the more reflective mindset better suited to such subject matter.

               Sending Off, his latest film, follows the day-to-day work of Dr. Konta and her colleagues, who offer home services to elderly patients who are either too sick or frail to move, or who for one reason or another would simply rather pass away at home with family than in a facility. The routines for her and for the family members of these patients are filled with minute details of life during the final days. There are many seemingly simple or banal things that fill the time for the dying and those taking care of them- dressing, bathing, eating or drinking the few things left they are able to stomach- but the physical state of the people in question tends to make even the simplest routines slow, complicated, and ponderous, and dealing with this requires real dedication.

               Dr. Konta perfectly encapsulates the sort of patient empathy needed to handle this sort of work. She is gentle, careful, and extremely generous with patients, always trying to find things to make them laugh or smile. Her staff emulate this as well, and together they do all they can to make the final days of their patients as comfortable as possible. They talk to them about keeping their hair nice, encourages them to drink things like Coke if they want to, or gives them little assignments or tasks to try and help keep their minds sharp.

               The doctor herself also has her own, unique ways to make her house trips special. She is able to notice the small things all around her, often stopping to take pictures of people's garden's, beautiful landscapes, or fields of flowers. These photos, in a way, are small signs of her passing through the lives of these families.

               The biggest amount of time is spent with a particular family whose matriarch is slowly going. We see how the one son has taken over primary care at the end, and ocasionally get glimpes of his own thoughts about this. We see the family come together when the mother passes, and how the son is a bit put off by social demands that ultimately make the burial process larger and more complex than he'd like. I confess that I personally found a morbid fascination in seeing what happens after a body is cremated, though for some these images may cut a bit too close to be comfortable viewing.

               Sending Off is a concise, gentle, meditative film about the slow passing of long, old lives. It's reflective and thoughtful tone matches, perhaps, what most of us would wish our own sending off to be. I certainly found myself contemplating my own end far more than I usually do after seeing this. However, this consideration of the end need not be something depressing. The night may be dark, but is only filled with the terrors of our own making. If we're so lucky, our departure can be as simple as a blossoming cherry tree, fading into the dark with the setting sun.

-Noah Franc