Ikiru

How do you wake up from a slumber that has lasted thirty years? Kanji Watanabe is a gray civil servant who has spent decades stamping papers without ever truly living. It is only when he learns he has terminal stomach cancer that the clock actually begins to tick. Akira Kurosawa—the master of samurai epics—here trades the sword for a razor-sharp, human portrait of the search for meaning.

Watanabe first tries to numb his impending end in the city’s nightlife and through the infectious energy of a young colleague, but finds no peace there. Redemption only comes when he decides to defy the endless red tape of his own office to leave one small legacy behind: a playground in a poor neighborhood. It is a battle against the indifference of a system he helped sustain for a lifetime.

IKIRU (Japanese for ‘to live’) is an ode to the power of action. In the film’s most famous scene, Watanabe sits on a swing in the falling snow, singing of life’s brevity. It is a hauntingly beautiful image of a man who, while his body fails him, has finally learned what it means to truly exist.