There’s a good reason why there aren’t that many serious films about death and it’s probably that audience don’t really like to be reminded of the inevitable: that’s what we have mirrors and grandparents for after all. Flying in the face of convention however is this Oscar-winning Japanese feature from director Yojiro Takita.

Daigo (Masahiro Matoki) is a talented cellist with a bright future ahead of him playing in an orchestra in Tokyo. That would have been the case however, if said orchestra wasn’t abruptly disbanded by its owner, leaving Daigo with a large instrument but with nowhere to play it.

Facing financial ruin, he decides to return to the family home his late mother left him, with his wife. It is a small town, with very little going for it, but at least the house is paid for. In looking for a job, he comes across an advert in the paper for what he believes to be a position in a travel agency. He applies for it, only to find that the job is far from what he expected.

With little say in the matter, he soon finds himself a member of an encoffinment business. This is a ritual that sees corpses prepared for their coffins in a ceremony in front of family and friends. Despite it being a service that is accepted by the families of the bereaved it caters for, communities as a whole generally frown upon it. So much so that Daigo doesn’t reveal to his wife what he does for a living for quite some time; and when he does, it causes a massive rift.

His return home not only causes conflict surrounding his new job, but also sees his unresolved issues regarding his father, who left him as a child, resurface.

Boy, Glastonbury isn't as popular as it used to be.

As is the case with many Japanese films, the characters in Departures bury their emotions six feet under. Their culture more than most dictates that displays of emotion, either in public or private, aren’t really acceptable. Sadly this means that any really warmth between any of the relationships is suffocated immediately. You could argue that during any brief moment it does shine can prove to be even more poignant, but it just doesn’t feel enough here.

Also, a little too much is made of Daigo being a cellist. It feels the only reason for this is so the director can include a scene that finds Daigo playing his cello on the banks of a rice field. It’s a beautiful scene, but adds nothing whatsoever to the story. There’s also the small matter of the reality of someone dragging a large musical instrument to the middle of nowhere, simply to play it. Considering this film goes to great lengths to maintain a truth that dictates how Japanese people communicate with each other, it’s ironic the director plays his artistic license card over a cello in a field.

The film, like the act of encoffinment, feels far too ceremonial for its own good. With emotions so tightly bottled, audiences wait patiently for, at the very least, an explosion of unbridled grief. It never comes. It always simmers, never boils. It proves that there’s certainly a fine line between being true to life and being true to your art.

Despite its ever-present politeness, Departures at least tackles a sensitive issue with aplomb. It deals with death with the dignity it deserves. If only it wasn’t so difficult to warm to overall.