Satoshi Kon says goodbye
18th September 2010
To call Satoshi Kon an anime director is like calling the Beatles a band: accurate but completely inadequate.
With animation for a sledgehammer, he has broken down the walls between worlds: fantasy has become real and reality, fantastic.
A truck pulls alongside a woman riding a scooter. The truck bears a painting of a girl on a plane. The woman is no longer on the scooter – she’s astride the plane, it flies off the side of the truck, over a night city. The plane is gone, the woman is gliding through a billboard, in a computer screen, out of the screen…only she’s not a woman but a character’s alter ego.
You can’t look away for a second if you’re to have any hope of keeping up.
But for all the wild invention of Kon’s visuals, his focus is squarely on humanity. Whether portraying the history of Japanese cinema, Tokyo homeless or technology that takes you into someone’s dreams, his works are stories about people, how they lose and find their way.
And his standing as one of the great storytellers of the modern age rests on just four films and one television series.
There is a fifth movie – Yume Miru Kikai (Dreaming Machine) – but he will never finish it because he died of pancreatic cancer last month. He was 46.
On Aug 25, a day after he died, a long blog post entitled ‘Sayonara’ appeared on his website. It’s a message from an award-winning artist who, at the height of his creative powers, is told that he has only months to live.
The pain, the prospect of leaving those he loves, the despair at a story unfinished: he never hides how hard any of it is. But he also tells us – repeatedly – that he is fortunate, blessed, grateful.
Arigatou appears over and over again in the piece.
This is a translation:
May 18 this year – impossible to forget.
A doctor from Musashino Red Cross Hospital delivered this news: ‘Pancreatic cancer, an advanced stage. It’s spread all over to the bones. You have at most half a year left.’
My wife and I listened to this, unable to take in this twist of fate that seemed to make no sense at all.
I’ve always thought that I could drop dead at any moment and if I did, it couldn’t be helped. But this – it was just too sudden.
You could say the signs were there though. For the past two or three months, I’ve had intense pain in my back and the joints of my legs. My right leg grew weak and I had trouble walking. I started visiting an acupuncturist and chiropractor but it didn’t help. And after being examined with MRI, PET-CT and other high precision scanners, the unexpected announcement of the number of days I had left.
It was if death had suddenly appeared behind me – I could do nothing about it.
After the diagnosis, my wife and I looked for ways to extend my life. Desperately. We also gained the support of reliable friends and strong allies. I rejected medication for the cancer and tried to put my faith in a world view different from the norm. It seemed in keeping with someone who has always rejected what is common and normal. I’ve never felt like I had a place in the crowd. That might as well be the case with medical care too…
‘Why don’t I try living according to the beliefs I chose?’
But just as when you’re creating something, you can’t always make things go as you wish.
The illness progressed every day.
Having said all that, as a member of society, I do subscribe to at least half of what it decrees. For one thing, I pay my taxes. I’m hardly a fine, upstanding citizen but I am a full member of society. So apart from doing what I could to lengthen my life given my particular view of the world, I wanted to make the “proper preparations” for death. I couldn’t pull it off though.
Still, one of the things I did manage to do was to, with the help of two trustworthy friends, set up a company to manage the copyrights of my work, for whatever that’s worth.
Another thing was to make a will so that my assets – not that I had much – would pass to my wife without any trouble. Of course, I don’t think a fight will break out over my assets but I wanted to take at least one care away from the wife I’ll leave behind in this world. And it’d also make the one leaving for the other world feel better.
Neither my wife and I are much good at finding out what needs to be done in situations like this and or at paperwork. But wonderful friends got it done for us fast.
Later, when I contracted pneumonia and became critically ill, I signed the last signature on my will and thought, if I die now, well, that’s that.
‘Ah… At last I can die.’
After all, an ambulance had carted me off to Musashino Red Cross Hospital two days before and the day after, I had to be taken back to the same hospital. Naturally, I was thoroughly examined. The diagnosis: pneumonia and fluid accumulating around the lungs. When I asked the doctor point-blank about my prospects, he replied in a businesslike manner, which in a way I was grateful for.
‘Let’s see… One, two days… Even if you recover from this, you probably have until the end of the month at most.’
It’s like he’s telling me the weather forecast, I thought. But the end was pressing in.
That was July 7 – a rather grim
Tanabata.
And so I reached this conclusion: I want to die at home.
Even though it might mean a lot of trouble for those around me, I asked them to help me escape so I could go home. And I did, thanks to my wife’s efforts, the hospital, which cooperated even though it acted as if it had given up on me, the great support of other medical facilities, and innumerable coincidences I can think of only as divine intervention. The way everything fell into place was unbelievable. It’s not even as if this was Tokyo Godfathers.
My wife ran around to get me out. For my part, I pleaded with the doctors – ‘Even if I’m at home for a day, no, half a day, I can get something done!’ – then waited alone in that dismal sickroom for death.
It may sound morbid but I thought, maybe it’s not such a bad thing to die.
I had no real reason to think this though perhaps I needed to. I felt so calm I surprised even myself.
But one thought wouldn’t stop bothering me: ‘I just don’t want to die here.’
As I thought this, something came out of the calendar on the wall and started to go round the room. ‘Jeez, a procession from a calendar? Now there’s an original vision.’
It made me smile – even in that situation I was still thinking like I was at work. But it was also then that I might have been closest to dying. Death felt so close by.
But thanks to many people – it was like a miracle – I escaped from the hospital and made it back home, swathed in death and bed sheets.
Dying sucks.
I’d like to point out that I have no criticism of, or ill feelings towards, Musashino Red Cross Hospital, so please don’t misunderstand me.
I just wanted to go home. Home to where I live.
One thing came as a bit of a surprise. It was like a bonus. As I was carried into my living room, I felt as though I was looking at my body from a high point – just like in near-death experiences. It was as if I were hovering a few metres up, right over the entire scene, looking through a wide angle lens. The square bed in the centre of the room seemed unusually large; the me that was wrapped in sheets was laid down in that square. It didn’t look too carefully done but I won’t complain.
So all that was left for me to do was to wait for death in my home.
However.
It appears that I somehow got past the pneumonia.
Wha -?
I sort of had this thought: ‘I forgot to die (laughter)!’
After that, as I kept thinking about death, I felt as though I had already died once. Vaguely, at the back of my mind, the word ‘reborn’ kept flickering.
Energy mysteriously returned to me after that. I really believe that it’s due to, first of all, my wife, those who visited me and shared their strength, the friends who supported me, and the doctors, nurses and care managers.
With the power to live back in me, I couldn’t just lie around. I had to make the most of the extra life granted to me. I decided to try to meet at least one of the responsibilities I was abandoning in this world.
To be honest, I’d told only a few people about the cancer. I didn’t even tell my parents. For reasons to do with work, I kept things quiet. I did want to make an announcement on the Internet about the cancer and keep people updated on my remaining days. But if it had become known that Satoshi Kon was about to die, there would have been repercussions, however small. So I kept those who had a right to know in the dark. I really am sorry for this.
There were so many people I’d have liked to see at least once before I died, even if it was just to greet them. Family, relatives, friends from elementary school and junior high, high school classmates, university buddies, the many people I met in the world of manga with whom I exchanged ideas, those in the world of anime whose desks marched beside mine – they were the people I drank with, competed against and went through thick times and thin with. The countless people I got to know because I became a director, those all around the world who call themselves my fans, friends I made over the Internet.
There were so many I wished I could see (well, there were also those I’d rather not) but I felt that if I did, I’d think, ‘I’ll never see this person again’, and I wouldn’t be able to face death with composure. And though I was better, I had little energy. It would take a great deal to meet people. The more I wanted to see someone, the harder it would be. Talk about irony.
Besides, my lower half was paralysed because the cancer had spread to the bones, which left me prone most of the time. I didn’t want people to see me so wasted away. I wanted most of those who knew me to remember the Satoshi Kon who was alive and well.
So I’d like to take this opportunity to apologise to my relatives, friends and all those who knew me. I hope you’ll understand that it was just Satoshi Kon being self-centred again. Because that’s the kind of guy he was, wasn’t he?
When I imagine your faces, smiles and good memories come to me. Thanks to all of you for the great memories. I love the world I lived in. Just being able to think this is a blessing.
The many people I met over the course of my life helped, for good or bad, to make me the person I was. I am thankful for all the encounters. Even though I’ll end up dying in my mid-40s, I’ve accepted it as my fate. In any case, I have so many good memories. To die now – well, all I can say is, there’s nothing that can be done about it. Really.
Though there are many responsibilities that I have no choice but to abandon, I keep thinking about my parents and Madhouse’s [studio co-founder] Maruyama-san: Satoshi Kon’s parents and the anime director’s parent. Though it was rather belated, I had to confess everything to them. I had to beg for their forgiveness.
Maruyama-san came to visit me. As soon as I saw his face, I could hold back neither my tears nor my sense of shame. ‘I’m sorry, ending up in such a state…’ Maruyama-san said nothing; he just shook his head, took my hands and held them.
Gratitude filled me. Like a wild wave, thankfulness – no, joy – that I’d been able to work with this person swept over me. I might have had no right to think so but I felt like I’d been forgiven.
My greatest regret is the film Yume Miru Kikai.
I’m also worried about its staff because the work we poured so much of ourselves into may never reach an audience. After all, Satoshi Kon carried the story, the script, characters, settings, storyboards, the kind of music – he was the one who envisioned it all.
Of course, I shared many things with the animation and art directors and the staff but the film’s basically something that can only be understood and made by Satoshi Kon. You could say that it’s my fault for having things turn out this way but I did try to explain and share my vision. Still, I feel that I’ve failed. To the entire staff, my heartfelt apologies for my irresponsibility.
I hope you’ll be able to understand. After all, Satoshi Kon was ‘that kind of guy’ and maybe that’s why he could come up with anime that was a bit different, a bit odd.
It may sound like an arrogant thing to say but I hope that you’ll put it down to the cancer and forgive me.
It’s not like I’ve just been lying around waiting to die. With whatever I have, I’ve been trying to figure out a way for the work to continue even after I’m gone. But it was no good.
When I told Maruyama-san about my fears for Yume Miru Kikai, he said: ‘It’s all right. We’ll do whatever it takes so don’t worry.’
I cried.
So hard.
In my previous films, I didn’t do everything I should have when it came to the budget and production matters but I always had Maruyama-san to come sort things out.
And it’s the same now. I haven’t grown at all.
I was able to talk to Maruyama-san at length. He made me feel – just a little – that Satoshi Kon’s talents and skills were of worth to his industry.
‘It’s a shame – if only you could leave us your talent.’
If Madhouse’s Maruyama-san says that, I can leave for the underworld with a bit of confidence. Of course, I know without being told that it’s a pity to lose an ability to produce strange ideas and detailed drawings but it really can’t be helped. This comes from my heart: I am grateful to Maruyama-san for enabling me to take these things into the wider world.
Thank you so much. Satoshi Kon the animation director was happy.
Telling my parents was – hard.
I’d wanted to visit them in Sapporo to tell them about the cancer while I still could but my illness progressed so frustratingly fast. I ended up having to break the news to them over the phone from a hospital room where I lay close to death.
‘I’m in the last stages of cancer and about to die. Dad, Mum, I was really fortunate to have been born to you. Thank you.’
It must have been a great shock to them but I really was convinced that I was going to die soon.
On the contrary, I went home and somehow overcame the pneumonia crisis.
It was then that I decided to see my parents. They wanted to see me too. Though it would be hard, though I didn’t have the strength, I wanted to see their faces. I wanted to thank them in person for bringing me into this world.
I’ve been blessed.
But I’ve lived a little faster than most people and for that I must apologise to my wife, my parents and those I love.
Indulging my selfishness, my parents left Sapporo the next day to see me. I’ll never forget what my mother said when she laid eyes on my bedridden self. ‘I’m so sorry for not having given you a stronger body!’
I was flabbergasted.
I could spend only a short time with my parents but it was enough. I had a feeling that if I could just see their faces, everything would be understood – and it really was so. Dad, Mum, thank you. It’s been my good fortune – above all else – to have received life as your child. My heart, so full of memories and gratitude. Happiness is important but for having taught me to appreciate happiness, I am more grateful to you than I can ever say.
Thank you so very much.
It’s the height of filial impiety to leave before one’s parents but in the past 10 years or so, I’ve been able to stretch myself as an animation director, accomplish my goals – and met a reception that wasn’t too bad. It’s a shame the films didn’t really make much money. Still, I think that what they received was fitting. I feel like I’ve lived more intensely than others – particularly in the last 10 years – but I think my parents understood what was in my heart.
It was a huge weight off my shoulders to be able to speak to my parents and Maruyama-san directly.
Lastly, a word to my wife, whom I’ve leaned on till the end. I worry about you the most.
Since we learned how much time I had left, we’ve wept together so often. We went through terrible days together, wrecked in body and spirit. I can barely describe it. But I somehow made it through those draining, despairing days because of what you said to me right after that pronouncement of death: ‘I’ll walk beside you to the end.’
You kept your word – you stepped over my fears, dealt with the demands that swept in like a whirlwind and learned to look after your husband so quickly. Your deftness touched me.
‘My wife is amazing.’
What am I going on about at this stage, you say? No. I’ve always thought this but now more so than ever before. I believe that after I die, you’ll do a great job of sending me off. Come to think of it, after we got married, it’s been ‘work, work’ every day and it’s only with the cancer that I’ve really been able to spend time at home. What a waste.
But you understood that I was someone who buried himself in work and that was where my talents lay. You stayed by my side anyway. I’ve been fortunate, truly I have. Whether it’s to do with living or dying, I can’t thank you enough. Thank you.
There are, of course, other matters – more than I can count – weighing on my mind but there needs to be an end to things.
Finally, to Dr H, who agreed to look after me at home until the end even though this isn’t done much these days, and to his wife, nurse K-san, I would like to convey my deepest gratitude. There are few things as inconvenient as giving medical care in the home but you tried all kinds of ways to take away the pain of cancer and make the journey towards death as comfortable as possible. How much you helped me. What’s more, though you had a troublesome and arrogant patient, you not only did far more than your jobs required but also treated me and my wife with such humanity. I can’t say how much you supported, saved us. It’s beyond comprehension. I am so, so grateful.
Lastly – and this really is the end – I have to mention two friends who, ever since that death pronouncement in mid-May, have been extraordinary in their mental support and help both in my personal and professional affairs. To T, member of the company KON’STONE and a friend since high school, and producer H, my heart-felt thanks. Thank you – I really mean it. My wife and I are so much in your debt that I can’t find the right words in my limited vocabulary to express my gratitude.
Without the two of you, we would have found it so much harder to face my death. I am indebted to you for everything. And I’m sorry to be making yet another request but could you help my wife see me off?
If you do, I’ll be able to board that flight with peace of mind.
From my heart, I ask this.
To those of you who’ve kept me company throughout this long piece, many thanks. With gratitude for all that is good in this world, I put down my pen.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be leaving first.
Satoshi Kon
The original blog post can be found
here. Writer Makiko Itoh was probably the first to translate the whole piece into English and make it available online. Thanks to
her efforts, those who can't read Japanese have had the chance to hear Satoshi Kon's last words.
