Today’s Narrative Medicine post highlights a first: a movie. As part of preparation for this week’s Columbia Narrative Medicine Workshop, I watched a 1952 Japanese film, Ikiru. This movie, directed by Akira Kurosawa, outlines the life and death of a man with end stage cancer.
I happen to also be facilitating a Literature & Medicine gathering this week, where the topic is “Confronting Mortality.” In it, we are reading Tolstoy’s novella “The Death of Ivan Ilyich,” which similarly shows a man facing a terminal illness and wrestling with the meaning of his life and the nature of his painful death.
In Ikiru the protagonist, Mr. Watanabe, has not missed a day of work in 30 years at the same tedious government job. The narrator notes that “he’s only killing time, he’s never actually lived.”
I’m certainly not a movie critic, but several things stood out to me, looking at this film through a narrative medicine lens. First, his physicians insist on withholding the terminal nature of Mr. Watanabe’s illness, stating it’s a “mild ulcer” only, even when Watanabe begs them for the truth. This scene reminded me of a panel on cultural issues in bioethics I attended many years ago. On the panel was a bioethicist from Japan, and he explained the cultural influence of withholding the true prognosis or even diagnosis of an illness from a loved one; that a physician might deliver a terminal diagnosis to a patient’s family member rather than to the patient themself.
We get flashbacks in the movie to understand the central character more. His wife died when his son was young and he never remarried. Although they live together still, Watanabe and his son have a difficult relationship; they struggle to really communicate and Watanabe in fact is never able, despite several efforts, to actually confide his diagnosis and angst to his son.
Mr. Watanabe comes across a stranger who he asks to show him “how to live” and they gamble and dance and drink, but ultimately he finds little lasting pleasure in these endeavors.
The central character then turns to an old colleague, a young woman, trying to decipher her vitality, her zest for living. Through this interaction, he resolves to get a park built for the community. In the end he succeeds, battling the bureaucracy he was a part of himself for decades. It seems the completion of the park gives the dying man some semblance of peace, a legacy solidified, which produces the meaning he was struggling to find.
Writing Prompt: At one point in the film, Watanabe tells a colleague “I can’t afford to hate people. I haven’t got that kind of time.” What are the different ways you’ve seen patients who are terminally ill react to facing their limited time? Did they give up hate? Or something else? In Mark Doty’s poem “Brilliance” the patient initially gives up investing in anything he can’t finish. Why do you think Watanabe decided that the playground would be his last project, his last investment in what little energy and time remained? Write for 10 minutes.