Last Life in the Universe

Few films on my list exist because of their collaborative nature, since most derive from a single auteur. Yet Thai director Pen-Ek Ratanaruang’s Last Life in the Universe (2003) is the exception, allowing four divergent creative voices to prefigure into the film’s construction. Beyond Pen-Ek, we have the dominant yet understated performance of Asano Tadanobu, the cinematographic artistry of Christopher Doyle, and the anarchic third-act presence of Takashi Miike. What is significant, though, is that these disparate influences embody the film’s mise en scène with minute exactness, weaving the age-old “opposites attract” genre together with a bittersweet rumination on life, symmetry, and chance.

Kenji (Asano Tadanobu) is a librarian who avoids any and all relationships and instead cleans everything around his apartment with mechanical precision. Noi (Sinitta Boonyasak) drifts through the day smoking pot and leaves behind a cluttered, emotional mess. When tragedy unites them, they enact an odd pairing as a combatant against their collective overwhelming sorrow. Yet this pairing is localized and given enough characteristics that classic clichés become imbued with something more profound.

This is a funny film, but the humor of the film is often dark, since Kenji wants to commit suicide, thinking that death rather than life “is bliss.” As a result, there are recurrent fantasy sequences where Kenji imagines his own death, and it is here that the film marks Kenji’s psychopathology. Yet his interest is piqued around Noi, even though he continues to reveal a pathological mindset, holding conversations with Noi even as he projects Noi’s dead sister, Nid, onto her body. This intersection between the two sisters creates a thematic element that doubles with Kenji’s own life, and Nid’s appearances become psychologically valuable to understanding Kenji’s inner-state.

It comes as no surprise that at the very core of Kenji’s need for cleanliness lies a need to cleanse his past. Though the narrative outwardly makes no mention of this fact, Kenji’s dragon tattoo on his back hints at a larger trauma where he was part of the yakuza, much like his murdered brother early in the film. Fascinatingly, this narratological renunciation gives a hint of Kenji’s paralysis. As such, his interest in the redemption found in Noi exists not just at the level of romantic interest, but at the more profound level of psychological recovery from his respective earlier paralyses.

The aspect of cleanliness, which of course has its debts to Shakespeare and Freud, comes to fruition in the film’s climax. While others might feel that Miike’s presence derails the film’s structure, I see his introduction into the narrative as explicitly bringing to the fore the past that has long been suppressed. Kenji can either relinquish the past and begin a new life or he can expose himself and commit inner-suicide. Pen-Ek handles the final decision with enough irony that we understand the tragic humor, yet the actions are always fully humane and in character. As a result, the ending overwhelms with its wistful hope, understanding as it does that hope is the last thing that Kenji can cling to. What’s important, though, is that he does choose hope.

Last Life in the Universe: 9.5/10