The Last Samurai

I watched Tom Cruise’s “The Last Samurai” today, and I cried like a baby at the theatre. Towards the end, I had to, and when I cry, I know the movie was good. It was not good, at all, it was great. I mean great as a means of expressing a superlative achievement in art, not as an interjection, or “how-are-you-doing? — great!” kind of great.
It makes me want to grow roots again, and be respectful of my tradition.
It makes me rue the fact that, far from fighting like a man, I don’t even go to the gym regularly.
It makes me bow my head with the collective shame that comes from being a human being, for whose pleasure the past has worked meticulously and mercilessly to build a “better”, more “convenient” world, for humans’ greed, of which I am guilty too, considered alone.
I did not quite feel the chill in the air after I came out of the theatre, though I was wearing only a shorts and a thin white T shirt. I shivered sitting in the car. The movie was that good. Go watch it, and if you regret not being born earlier, or as in Japan, China or Korea, then know that you are not alone.

Tom Cruise is a alcoholic captain in the US, who is a hired mercenary to suppress “native” rebellions, hired by the Japanese to suppress Samurais, and in Japan he finds redemption.

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