Proudly conventional schlock, much lacerated after winning—through no fault of its own—the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film over Waltz with Bashir and The Class. Yôjirô Takita’s feature is broader and more affecting than its reputation allows; with its comedic double-takes and cathartic dead-body disposal, it’s the Japanese counterpart to Sunshine Cleaning. When easily flummoxed cellist Masahiro Motoki loses his orchestra gig (gasp!), the new job he finds in his hometown classifieds turns out to be preparing corpses for cremation (whaa?), an ignominious profession he ultimately finds noble (hmmm…). This maturation unfolds extremely slowly for a film with no discernible artistic ambitions, though some of the pauses are for peaceful scenes of domestic record-spinning and string-playing (with the evocative compositions courtesy of Miyazaki vet Joe Hisaishi). It’s hardly objectionable, especially with old mortician Tsutomu Yamazaki proving himself the Martin Sheen of Japan, all wise eyebrows and knowing smile. I almost want to see the softcore pornos Takita made before he got all awards-worthy. PG-13. AARON MESH