Bill Nighy Shines in a Slow but Poignant Mortality Study

The camera lingers on Bill Nighy’s face as he stares out of a train window, his reflection superimposed over the passing London landscape—a visual metaphor for the existential crisis at the heart of Living. Director Oliver Hermanus’ 2022 adaptation of Akira Kurosawa’s Ikiru is a meditation on mortality and bureaucratic ennui, elevated by Nighy’s masterful performance. Set in the drab, post-war London of 1953, the film follows Mr. Williams (Nighy), a civil servant whose life unravels after a terminal diagnosis forces him to confront his emptiness.

Hermanus’ direction is understated but deliberate, allowing Nighy’s performance to dominate the frame. The film’s opening shots of Williams at his desk, surrounded by towering piles of paperwork, establish the monotony of his existence. Hermanus’ use of natural lighting and muted colors reinforces the film’s somber tone, creating a visual palette that mirrors Williams’ emotional state. The director’s restraint is both a strength and a weakness; while it allows for moments of quiet introspection, it also makes the film feel sluggish at times.

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Nighy is the undeniable heart of Living. His portrayal of Williams is a masterclass in subtle acting, conveying volumes with a raised eyebrow or a fleeting glance. The scene where Williams attempts to tell his son about his diagnosis is a standout moment, with Nighy’s performance oscillating between vulnerability and resignation. The camera lingers on his face as he struggles to find the words, capturing the raw emotion of a man confronted with his own mortality.

The supporting cast adds depth to the film, particularly Aimee Lou Wood as Margaret Harris. Her character serves as both a foil to Williams’ melancholy and a catalyst for his late-life awakening. Wood brings a refreshing energy to her role, and her chemistry with Nighy is palpable, especially in their scenes at Fortnum’s. Alex Sharp as Peter Wakeling and Tom Burke as Sutherland also deliver strong performances, adding layers of complexity to the film’s exploration of bureaucracy and human connection.

Kazuo Ishiguro’s screenplay is faithful to Kurosawa’s themes but struggles to fully escape its source material’s shadow. The film’s resolution—Williams rallying his colleagues to build a playground—feels earned but also slightly formulaic, lacking the raw emotional punch of Ikiru’s climax. Ishiguro’s dialogue is often sparse, which works in the film’s favor, allowing the performances and visual storytelling to take center stage. However, this sparsity occasionally leads to scenes that feel underdeveloped or rushed.

The film’s pacing is deliberate, mirroring Williams’ bureaucratic trudgery. Hermanus lingers on moments of quiet despair, such as Williams’ futile attempts to connect with his son or the stifling atmosphere of his office. These scenes are powerful in their own right but can feel drawn out, especially when contrasted with the film’s more dynamic moments, like Williams’ night out with Sutherland. The contrast between these elements creates a tonal whiplash that detracts from the overall flow of the narrative.

The score, featuring Ralph Vaughan Williams’ Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis, adds a layer of elegiac beauty to the film. The music underscores the film’s melancholy but sometimes feels overly sentimental, threatening to overshadow the subtlety of the performances. This is particularly evident in the film’s more emotional scenes, where the score can feel intrusive rather than complementary.

Living is a film that will resonate with audiences who appreciate character-driven dramas and nuanced performances. It is not a film for those seeking fast-paced action or explosive moments of drama. Instead, it offers a quiet, introspective exploration of themes like mortality, bureaucracy, and the search for meaning in life.

The film’s strengths lie in its performances and direction, with Nighy delivering a standout performance that anchors the narrative. Hermanus’ restrained approach allows for moments of quiet introspection but can also make the film feel sluggish at times. The supporting cast adds depth to the film, particularly Wood as Margaret Harris, whose chemistry with Nighy is palpable.

However, the film’s pacing and tonal shifts can be problematic. The deliberate pacing mirrors Williams’ bureaucratic trudgery but can feel drawn out, especially when contrasted with more dynamic moments. The score, while beautiful, occasionally feels intrusive, threatening to overshadow the subtlety of the performances.

Living is a poignant character study that lingers in the mind long after its final frame. It may not be a perfect remake of Ikiru, but it stands on its own as a powerful exploration of mortality and human connection.