What Photographs Protect and What Videos Shake
Even in movies, dramas, and documentaries, when watching older works, I notice that many of the performers appearing in them have already passed away. If it is someone I do not know very well, it does not bother me, but in the case of celebrities who have left behind many memories while they were alive, I sometimes momentarily forget the fact that they have died, and my heart is stirred.
Because Shohei Hino in "Nippon Judan Kokoro Tabi" is shown as he was just before he passed away, it is even harder to grasp the reality that he is now gone. When I hear the sound of his breath as he pedals his bicycle, I find myself involuntarily imagining his painful appearance at the time of his death, and a feeling of mourning wells up from deep within my chest.
Furthermore, in the case of my favorite series, "Otoko wa Tsurai yo," many of the actors, starting with Kiyoshi Atsumi who played Tora-san, have already left this world. No matter how much I tell myself that they are no longer here, the confusion in my mind does not subside, as I wonder, "Then who is this person right in front of me?" However, once I accept the fact of their passing anew, a quiet feeling of gratitude wells up, thinking, "They left behind such wonderful films."
In any case, I am not good at watching videos of people who have passed away. It is the same for my grandparents, parents, and sister. For images, a single photograph on the Buddhist altar is enough. All my memories are soaked into that one picture. To say someone has "passed away" means they have become a person in the world of memories. When I look at a single photograph, memories of when they were alive come to mind one after another. The smile in that photograph holds their entire personality, and those eyes tell me of countless memories we shared.
Photographs protect the "world of memories." They match the pace of my heart. That is why I can face them with peace of mind.
The person in a photograph has an overwhelming presence simply by the fact that they are "looking toward this side." That gaze feels as if it sees through my current heart, my lies, and all my weaknesses. Because the momentary appearance in the photograph keeps looking at me forever, there is no room for deception.
What shatters that stillness all at once is "video." The realistic appearance of someone when they were alive ignores my memories, forcibly reproduces a certain scene, and does not allow me to remain in the world of memories. It steals the margins of my memories, steps into the realm of my recollections, and forces the displayed scene upon me as a new memory.
Actors in movies and the like are, after all, "videos for showing," and the viewer is only watching the characters they played. Therefore, one is not touching the true, raw self of the actor. However, it is not the same when it comes to videos of parents, siblings, or friends.
Video forcibly shows a certain moment. It has the power to steal the margins of my memories and dictate, "This person was like this." Because it looks as if the person is alive right in front of me, the "appearance of being alive" and the "fact that they are no longer here" collide. It is that collision that stirs the heart of the viewer.
Videos reproduce the "fact that they were alive," but photographs protect the "memories."
Memories are most beautiful when they are quietly by your side. A single, still photograph is always breathing within my heart. That breath gently connects the departed and me.