Quintus Horatius Flaccus, better known simply as Horace, was a revered Roman poet, a man responsible for formulating a phrase that has survived millennia: “Carpe diem.” We’ve all heard it, from teachers and parents (or Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society) urging us to “seize the day,” to self-proclaimed “life” coaches and personal trainers whose entire philosophy has been built on a Jordan Peterson self-help book, and even from the rough-looking, heavily-inked bald man sitting in some dingy basement bar with the Latinate phrase so tastelessly emblazoned across his exposed chest… no ‘ragrets,’ bro.
MOVIEWEB VIDEO OF THE DAY
These idioms have a habit of initially being phrases of hefty weight, evocative in nature, before hitting a crossroads where they can either die out with integrity intact or live long enough to become another meaningless cliché. “Carpe diem” is an aphorism that’s certainly morphed into the latter. However, in Oliver Hermanus’ film Living, based on Akira Kurosawa’s exceptional 1952 movie Ikiru, the overused, worn-out expression undergoes a polished rejuvenation that quietly and unassumingly makes its point without the need for cliché. Featuring a sure-to-be Oscar-nominated performance from Bill Nighy, here’s why Living is the 2022 movie capable of making “seize the day” mean something real again.
Living is a Remake of Ikiru
Lionsgate UK
Remaking a beloved and ardently eulogized film is hazardous territory even for the most adept of filmmakers. Yet, Living willfully takes on that challenge, and while it incorporates the narrative of its brilliant predecessor Ikiru (a title which means “to live,” and one of the best Kurosawa films), modern screenwriter Kazuo Ishiguro is up to the challenge. The Nobel Prize Winner and author of Remains of the Day and Never Let Me Go adapts Ikiru so that it translates just as well when set in post-war Britain rather than post-war Tokyo.
The film tells the heartbreaking story of Mr. Williams (played by Bill Nighy), an elderly civil servant trapped in the miserable, dispirited existence of bureaucratic frustration. “Is he usually that cold?” asks newbie Peter Wakeling to his colleagues when referring to his boss, Williams, during his first day on the job. Set against the backdrop of 1950s London, Nighy’s Williams is the office patriarch, a stiff-upper-lipped, stoic Brit whose doctor informs him of the devastating news that he has between six and nine months to live due to a terminal cancer diagnosis.
Despite the humbling revelation, Mr. Williams, a man of measure and absolute composure, somehow manages to muster up a miraculous new lease on life (with the help of the radiant Margaret, played by Aimee Lou Wood of Sex Education), which was otherwise buried under the misery and prosaic predictability of his everyday work life.
Bill Nighy’s Portrayal of Mr. Williams
Bill Nighy has always been effortlessly cool. He’s the kind of guy you’d happily replace your grandad with. There’s something uncomplicated about his demeanor and performances. Unassuming and non-judgmental, he possesses this inexplicable gravitational screen presence. Yet, in Living, Bill Nighy brings this new, heretofore unseen dimension; it’s a departure from his appearances as the whimsically carefree Quentin in The Boat That Rocked and the loving, charming father figure in About Time.
There is an air of absolute vulnerability to his performance, with a shallow wispiness to his voice that lacks power and conviction, a frailty and fragility to his figure, and a real acceptance of his own mortality. He portrays a deeply contemplative man who is played a death-dealing card. Yet, it is not the stance of not wanting to die that is poignant, but his frustration with himself as he looks inward and realizes the days, months, and years have simply passed him by joylessly. Nighy’s rendition of Mr. Williams is so gentle and disarming, and it comes to a head when he breaks out in a moving song, as he recites ‘Rowan Tree’ (which is only the second time Nighy has sung on-screen, with the first being in Love Actually) in one of the film’s final scenes.
Living’s Portrayal of Mortality
Living is a lesson in the temporality of life. Arguably the saddest scene in the Japanese Ikiru, when Kanji Watanabe frantically attempts to retrace the events of the last 30 years only to realize he’s done nothing of considerable note, has been omitted from Hermanus’ screenplay. Though, it is replaced with a comparably heart-rending moment, when Mr. Williams, who is equally distraught, likens his existence to a young child sitting around waiting for his mum to call him in, while he should have been playing right up until that moment.
There are several other disparities between the two pictures, with Ikiru perhaps edging it in terms of the unrestrained freedom the terminal prognoses give its main character. One of the more important lessons Living delivers is this remarkable sense of freedom — it’s a movie that pleads with you to seize the day, not to sit around in this permanent state of passivity. It’s a sorrowful demonstration that life (if you pardon the pun) is for living and that our mortality is very real; time waits for no one. Cinematographer Jamie D. Ramsay captures the film’s sentiments brilliantly, with some aesthetically stunning close-ups of Mr. Williams in this halo-like incandescence.
Living is expertly concise; the film makes its point without distastefully ramming cheesy platitudes down our throats. It is a stunningly moving portrayal glued together by Nighy’s career-defining performance, the beautiful shot composition, and the overarching message: seriously, seize the day. With all the chaos of 2022, Living is a quiet, perfect breath of fresh air.
