‘Death Hall’…A procedural acceptance of (life and) death.
Also translated as ‘Ministry of Death’ or in romaji as ‘Shiyakusho’.
Mild spoilers ahead…
Unlike the spirits in Hong Sisters’ Hotel del Luna who get to rest at a grandiose hotel before heading towards the afterlife, the spirits in Death Hall find themselves at the Ministry of Death (Shiyakusho in Japanese), having to fill forms processing their demise before being accepted into heaven. This, at first glance, seems like quite an unimaginative way of conjuring up what happens to us after death; an office, with cubicles and staff and paperwork is the last option on anyone’s list of how the afterlife might look like. But the drama isn’t as interested in the designing of this mythical world, as it is in the acceptance of one’s passing away. If you accept death, you accept life, says Shimura Masamichi (played by Matsuoka Masahiro) and that is what the forms do, help the spirits come to terms with their own death.
Every person (or customer, as they are called) we meet, has had their life cut short. Suicide, stillbirth, murder, accident, abuse, disease are the causes of their deaths and while some are able to accept their demise pretty quickly, some aren’t so ready, questioning, why? Why, when their lives had just begin? The answer — there is none.
Neither do we see heaven nor are we shown hell. We don’t meet the man, the person or God behind this operation. There doesn’t seem to be such thing like fate or destiny where a customer’s life or death is a part of a larger, grander scheme. It is what it is. That’s also why in most cases we don’t get to see what happens to the customers’ loved ones after their death. How do the parents react when they find out about their son’s suicide? How does the pregnant wife cope after witnessing her husband murdered right in front of her eyes? Does the other half of the comedic duo ever find success? We never find out, because the customers can’t as well. We get a sense of life moving on, but once you are dead, it is impossible to know what happens on earth.
That’s when you see how the simple process of filling in a form; writing down your name, nature of death, life history in solid back ink, can help you process your reality sooner. The interior of the office too, with a low ceiling, grey walls, and dim lighting, with no visible entries and exits, feels claustrophobic, forcing the customers to come to terms with their situation. Instead of being distracted by this new world, it helps them to quickly move onto heaven and be reborn.
The drama is short, with just ten episodes, each a mere thirty minutes, perfect for a subject matter so grim. The first half is a little jittery because of one particular character, Miki Michiru (played by Kuroshima Yuina), who for some reason goes snooping around the ministry, instead of processing the formalities for her demise. I understand that she was our eyes and ears into this new place, but her curiosity felt misplaced, especially when none of the other customers are half as curious as her, to where they had landed up at. After her exit, the show fares much better, as it dedicates undivided attention to the episodic customers, their lives and their deaths, which in turns raises the emotional intensity. My favourites were the episodes with the comic duo and the little girl, where I did shed a few tears.
Death Hall ends quite abruptly, mimicking the lives of its customers, but it is left open-ended, as a sign that life, even in death, moves on. The drama is unique in comparison to other mythical/fantasy/afterlife dramas in that the spirit staff are as helpless as humans when it comes to death. They can’t intervene to help or deliver justice. The paperwork is as much for them as it is for the person sitting opposite them. If you accept death, you accept life.
