Station master Oto (Takakura) is devoted to his lonely mountain post, so completely focused on the responsibilities of his role that he leads a hermit-like existence. When the dwindling popularity of the station means closure is just weeks away, Oto begins to reflect on his life and the sacrifices he has made for his beloved job. As he ponders the death of his baby daughter and wife he finds precious solace in the shape of a young schoolgirl who still uses the station and an ex-colleague whose life he saved. The impending closure approaches and Oto is left to contemplate which direction his life should take, but continues to rue the mistakes of his past.

The delicate, thoughtful pacing of 'Poppoya' is the perfect way of telling this story of bitter regret and retrospect. The near two-hour running time delicately glides along unrushed, giving an insight into the loneliness of its lead character. Asian cinema has often been so good at exploring themes of isolation and quiet despair with a gentle, unfettered manner of telling the story. Japanese cinema in particular can point to great masters of cinema like Ozu who proved how powerful a carefully developed atmosphere can be. 'Poppoya' isn't 'Tokyo Story', but it still exerts its power of the viewer.

Some reviewers have attempted to critique 'Poppoya' as an ode to the fabled work ethic of Japanese society, a mindless polemic about the need to be hopelessly devoted to your role no matter what other external distractions there are. From the solemn opening frames of an inhospitable, yet enchanting Japanese landscape to the quiet turmoil Oto suffers throughout, such an accusation is completely unfounded and it stands as more of a plea to appreciate loved ones rather than anything more sinister. Oto's life is certainly not to be envied nor his gradual descent into reclusion admired. Ken Takakura gives Oto that world-weariness and sense of futility that the character deserves and it is the skills of the veteran Japanese actor that gives Yasuo Furuhata's work the emotional depth it needs. That furrowed brow and pensive look conveys as much tragedy as the well executed flashbacks to past sadness.

'Poppoya' is unlikely to be a film that many will feel passionately attracted to, but it succeeds because you feel drawn into the central dynamic and intrigued by what troubles the lead protagonist. Furuhata uses a subtle hand in revealing the deaths of those dear to Oto and even the twist that is reserved for the denouement. Such execution errs away from being too ponderous or self-conscious, making 'Poppoya' a dramatic work that comes recommended by this reviewer.

A railway man works at the end of a desolated railway line, at the end of his career, at the end of his life. Nothing much happens. He does his job at the one man station faithfully. He greets the old familiar commuters with the station name, shovels snow off the platform, sends the train off with a ritualistic check list. He did this almost all his life with the same mechanical precision. He had a family once. His daughter died at a very young age and more recently his wife died.

The lonely widower had a few visitors on New Year Eve. And the news were not feastive. The little town, with the younger population migrating to bigger places, would probably die of old age. The rail line, facing declining traffic and increasing loss, will be closed. And he would have to vacate the station which was also his home for most of his life.

The director, Yasuo Furuhata, handles the story with sensitivity and humility. The occasional high camera or wide angle shots only accentuates the isolation. Cutting is excellent. Scenes are allowed to sustain poignancy without allowing distraction. Quick cuts are used to enforce the ritual routine with precision. The bare story line & minimal dialogue was not a handicap. The use of flashbacks in fact creates beautiful characterisation without unnecessary ornamentation. The old method of using colour tone to delineate time events was very effective here. In one particular scene shot from a static camera position flowed with a continuous action shifted over time just by the use of colour. Seamless, masterly.

How did veteran lead Ken Takakura win so much empathy for his part is really a mystery. No strut, quiet body and very little facial expression. Yet he involves us in the internal conflicts of the character. When he said "no regrets" over the choices he had made in his career, the price he had to pay and the sadness he felt is palpable.

Don't believe a word I say. Just go watch the movie.