Last night we viewed a movingly affecting film that left us feeling haunted about the human realities it portrayed. The film brought to mind a few of those we'd seen by the acclaimed Japanese filmmaker Akira Kurosawa; Rashomon and Dreams in particular. But the film we saw was a German production, titled "Cherry Blossoms".

It portrayed the dilemma of a family, parents and three children, in their mature years A woman is informed by her husband's doctors that his medical condition has left him with a very short time left to live. She is devastated by this news, and though she wants to inform him the opportunity doesn't arise; she urges him to take time off work and they would visit with two of their children who live in Berlin, far from their countryside upbringing.

Reunited briefly with their son, his wife, their two young children, and their daughter who also lives in Berlin it becomes abundantly clear that the parents' sudden desire, motivated by the mother's silent mourning and a wish to capture the past, has severely inconvenienced their children. Their busy lives leave no space to spare for their parents. They resent their parents' sudden visit, and neither can see their way clear to spare the time to spend with them. In the end, the female partner of their Lesbian daughter sacrifices the time to usher the parents around the city. She offers them kindness and understanding, affection and lively interest that the two children deny the parents.

Between themselves, the two adult children discuss their past grievances, their belief that they were short-changed as children while their brother who lives in Tokyo was always the favourite. They are disgruntled at the spontaneous visit by their parents, resentful of their presence, anxious to see them gone because their presence drives them to distraction.

Sensing this, the parents are confused, wondering why it is that the children they lavished so much love on, spent so much time with, exposed to so many family holidays of shared experiences, have become these perfect strangers who appear hostile to their presence. In a bid to recapture something of the past they leave Berlin to re-visit an old watering-hole, and there the mother -- who had always wanted to visit Japan, to see its spring-flowering cherry blossoms, and to view Mount Fuji up close, but has been unable to convince her husband who reminds her he is set to retire in a year, and then they'll travel -- dies quietly in her sleep.

Her bereaved husband, anguished and in pain over his devastating loss, is then surrounded by the three children and the situation is no better; the awkwardness and isolation remain. The desolate husband mourns his wife's absence, and finally decides he will take her along spiritually with him on a visit to Japan. His reluctant son puts his father up in his cramped apartment, surrendering his bedroom while he sleeps on the living room sofa.

It is the father's gradual acquaintance with Tokyo, gaining the courage to expose his timid sense of adventure to the bustle, crowds and colour of an electrifying city that the story pivots on; his introduction in a city park (Ueno?) to a Japanese girl who publicly performs her very private dances in memory of her deceased mother. The girl is an orphan, and she is homeless. An emotional bond of mutual need forms between the two, and the girl accompanies the old man to a ryokan, a traditional Japanese inn close to Mount Fuji. There the spirit of the man's dead wife joins him in a last dance, before he collapses and dies.

We were reminded of our own life in Tokyo twenty-five years ago. And brought out some albums to view a memory of when our oldest son visited with us over a summer's length of time. This film, I believe, will remain with us for a very long time, shadowing us, recalling our own experiences, and reminding us of the inescapable verities of life, including death.