What surprises most is the absolutely institutional and conventional aspects of this film, coming from someone who built almost all of his work through iconoclastia and formal search. It might be argued that the subject did not imply it, but as such the film is, is what it is, and can't become what it could be.
One cannot help being moved by the sad melancholy Oshima presents here, a kind rarely seen in his work. This a sad, moving portrait of an old man who loved his mother very much. Oshima is still very adamant in his political views but his process has become far more relaxed, as he comes to accept the world he came to inherited from his mother, one that has changed but still somehow remains the same in many ways.