Taichi Yamada "Strangers" Again

Ijin-tachi to no Natsu

This is the comment by Mina: I just watched the movie three days ago. My first impression is that I like the script better. Maybe it is because the movie is a 80s production. In this day, many techniques may seem out of fashion. I have read the novel by Yamada Taichi. It was great and I like it. All in all, I think I am a person who appreciates words more than image. I am more sensitive to the impact words and letters have on me. But the movie, I can't yet just say it is a disapointment, cause I surely expected way too much out of it. I will watch it again some time. And if I gain new thoughts or new perspectives, I will share with you then.

This is my replying comment for Mina: I was glad to hear that you finished to watch the movie. And I laughed to read your comment because I had also got same feeling to watch it recently. It is typical 1980's like. When I watch it at first time, I moved and didn't get such feeling. It means I grow old^^ However, for my ages in Japan, it is good thing to give us sort of nostalgia for our good days. In any case, thank you very much for your comment.

Strangers by Japanese Edition

The most heartfelt part is a farewell scene between Harada and his long-dead father and mother at a sukiyaki restaulant. The script is here:

"Now listen," my mother said, shifting his head in her seat to a more formal position. "I'm feeling pressed and can't say it very well, but we both care about you so much."

"You're not leaving  already, are you?"

I had a feeling that they were.

"It was really good meeting you again," my father said. "You're a fine son."

"Yes,you are a fine son."

"No, I'm not," I protested. "I'm nothing like the man you two seem to think I am. I failed as a husband, and I wasn't much of a father, either. You two are fine folk -- not me. You're warm, so warm I was surprised. Everyone should have parents like you, my son included. And though I've played the devoted son with you, there's not telling how I might have treated you if you'd lived all these years. My career? I've never produced anything truely great. I'm just a hack competing for --"

I broke off mid-sentence.

Something was happening to my mother. I could see the shape of her shoulders clearly enough, but I realized I could also see right through them.

Stunned, I turned to look at my father. His shoulders and torso were beginning to fade as well.

This was what my mother meant. This was how they were going to leave me. The shock was so great that I just sat there, unable to speak.

"It's all right, son," my father said. "Don't say another word."

"We're so proud of you," my mother said.

"So proud," my father ehoced. "Do us a favor and stop being so hard on yourself. A man's gotta stand up for himself, you know. No one else is gonna do it."

"Please don't go," I pleaded, my voice suddenly like a small chirld's.

"Look like that's not for us to decide," my father said. "I was hoping we'd have at least a little more time..."

"No!"

"Take care of yourself."

"I don't suppose we'll ever see you again."

My father's shoulder had disappeared, and my mother's face was growing dim. I knew I could do nothing to stop it. I dared not look away. My father was about to go. 

"Thank you," I said. "Thank you! Thank you Mom and Dad!" My voice was hushed. The last thing I needed now was the attention of the waitless or other guests.

"Good0bye," my mother said. I could hardly see her.

"So long," my father said. I couldn't see him at all.