Kazuo Inoue's documentary on the director Yasujiro Ozu, I Lived, But ... (1983), is a stunning achievement. It represents a comprehensive and compelling summary of his filmography and a touching portrayal of the director's personal life. The mystery surrounding the kanji mu (embedded on Ozu's grave) is also nicely explored.
Through clips of actual behind-the-scenes footage, interviews and thousands of photos, Inoue manages to build a truly brilliant biography of the great director. Especially the interviews of the stars of his films are essential and Sugimura's interview gives the film the required sentimental touch which makes it more unforgettable than any other documentary. There's also a great deal of imagery used a bit like Ozu's pillow shots accompanied with great music. They serve in a nicely cathartic way along with giving the documentary a relaxing pace and mood.
The name is not only a clever reference to Ozu's early filmography, but it also captures the possible internal conflict of the director's loneliness. Inoue employs a number of little subtle things like this to get under the viewer's skin and manages to move us by the end of the film by giving Ozu the respect he deserves.
Score: 10 out of 10




I think it tells a lot about the "nature" of this film that there is almost no dialogue. If you dont count the dialogue coming from the film(s) they watch, there are roughly 10 lines spoken- in fact, it might actually be less than 10 lines. The ticket woman's slow movement and the silence emphasize the "death of cinema" (or the death of cinema-going experience) Tsai tries to portray in this film.
Despite being so calm and silent, there are a few moments that are absurdly hilarious. It is Tsai's trademark to have these moments of comedy gold in middle of a quiet film. Most of these funny bits come from the lack of communication (or failed attempts to communicate) between the characters in the film.