Review: A talking flower nearly derails otherwise pleasant-enough The Last Blossom
An elderly yakuza lies on a thin mattress on the floor of his prison cell, the cell that has been his home for decades. He can feel that the end might be near, so he starts to take account of his life, the choices he made that led him here, the people he hurt, the ones he loved. Some of the memories are painful, some painfully beautiful: he still remembers the clear view of fireworks he had from his hillside apartment, at least before the high-rises went up, effectively stealing that view from him and his makeshift family. And there are, of course, memories of violence, including one violent act that forever changed the trajectory of his life (and the lives of a few others close to him). In The Last Blossom , we're constantly pulled between the past and present, walking the line between what was true, what could have been, and what is. Akutsu, despite spending such a huge part of his life behind bars, doesn't live with as many regrets as you might expect. He lived a hard life, ...
