Although I cry pretty frequently during movies, few have struck me as profoundly as Departures (Okuribito). The relatively recent deaths of my parents may make me more vulnerable to such a film, but Yojiro Takita's poignant film well deserves its Oscar for best foreign film. Adapted from Shinmon Aoki's novel Coffinman, the film deals with universal themes by deftly showing how the Japanese deal with death. Reminiscent of Kurosawa's deeply moving Ikiru, the characters here anticipate death and accept its inevitability and show great respect for the departed.

That doesn't always happen in the U.S. (and there's a scene in Departures that demonstrates modern western society has made inroads into Japanese culture in this domain as well). My dad certainly would have benefited from the traditional services illustrated here—much better than dealing with impatient funeral home workers who just wanted to seal up my mom in a plastic bag as soon as they could. Japanese "encoffinment" is a carefully choreographed ceremony that gently prepares the deceased for burial, and more importantly allows mourners to adjust to the transition and lovingly say "goodbye" to them.

Protagonist Daigo (Masahiro Motoki) plays cello in a classical orchestra that promptly goes broke, so he is out of a job and owes a great sum on the professional quality instrument he has just purchased. Only in his mid thirties, Daigo and his young wife Mika (Ryoko Hirosue) decide to move back to his childhood home that has been willed to them by his recently deceased mother. At least they have a low cost home, and Daigo figures he can find some type of job even though he'll have to put aside his dreams of being a professional cellist.

He answers a job ad for "Departures," thinking that it must be with a travel agency. Instead, he soon discovers that the job entails preparing the dead for their final journey. The elderly owner (Tsutomu Yamazaki) has let go four previous employees, but he feels that Daigo was born to do this job—indeed his musical talents and sensitivity prove this to be true. Initially shocked and ashamed (the occupation is regarded as “lower class”), Daigo cautiously apprentices with the old master of the craft, observing how carefully and respectfully he cleans and prepares the bodies to make them look their best. He sees the reverence practiced and how cleansing this ceremony proves to be for the surviving loved ones.

Despite the seriousness of the film, it contains a great deal of humor. Daigo doesn't want to let his wife know about his new job, so comic moments arise from this. We also learn early on about Daigo's issues with his father, who left his wife and infant son 30 years ago for another woman. Director Takita makes an intriguing cinematography choice during a significant flashback when Daigo and his father spent their last moments together, with a blurred effect on the father's face. We expect Daigo to come to terms with his father issues, and the film delivers most elegantly… effectively… and poetically.

Full of sentiment, the film delivers its message realistically and methodically without overplaying its message. The acting, narrative structure, pace, and cinematography all work together flawlessly. It's like the unfolding of a Mozart concerto—one where you're familiar with the phrases to come, but inevitably pleasing when performed by master musicians.