Combing through lists of anime films in the hope of stumbling upon overlooked gems is a process which becomes tedious rather quickly, but it is the occasional discoveries of films like Junkers Come Here that continue to push me back on track when the effort becomes tiresome.  While televised anime often build cult followings to keep some semblance of awareness alive, it seems more common for films to fade into history unless associated with a company or famous director, which hasn’t been the case for films like Junkers and Mai Mai Miracle.  It doesn’t help that this film is somewhat poorly represented by its promotional artwork, which tends to feature playful shots of the namesake, Junkers, a friendly-looking dog.  What this doesn’t convey is the gentle drama of the film underneath.  Junkers is a film which tells a satisfying albeit familiar story in a quiet manner which is likely to please fans of Studio Ghibli’s human dramas, though the occasional usage of familiar anime tropes keeps it from reaching quite the same level.

The story centres entirely around the life of Hiromi, an eleven-year-old girl who lives in the Tokyo suburbs with her parents, a maid, and her tutor, who teaches in exchange for room and board.  However, Hiromi’s parents are often away for work, and thus Hiromi hardly sees them nor can she recall the last time all three of them spent any time together.  She instead finds solace in her pet dog as well as Keisuke, the aforementioned tutor who ends up, for better or for worse, becoming the dominant male figure for her in the absence of her father.  The conflict of the film arrives as Hiromi discovers her parents considering separation, and while she has been able to hide her emotions from her parents despite their absences, this seems to be the breaking point of her feelings of loneliness.

Junkers can talk to Hiromi, but much like in My Neighbor Totoro, this depiction is more or less a key into the mind of the main character and the way she copes with her surroundings and predicament.  Just as the boundary between reality and imagination was never spelled out in Totoro, it is questionable if Junkers ever truly speaks (in fact, explicitly questioned by the film itself), and ultimately this is a component of the fact that we view the film entirely from Hiromi’s eyes.  The latter fact is greatly satisfying, as the character of Hiromi represents a wonderfully multi-faceted and believable portrayal of a conflicted age and a conflicted situation.  The desire to be treated as an adult, the wall standing between you and the adult world, and the strange contradictions which somehow make all too much sense to the young mind certainly elicited a feeling of familiarity in me.

Junkers is not a perfect film, as moments throughout the film feel overlong and there are a few scenes which borrow from generic tropes found in television anime (such as one where Hiromi follows Keisuke around while wearing a cartoonish disguise).  Although the animation and character design is pleasantly realistic and low-key, the film is bogged down slightly by a soundtrack that has not aged too well due to its heavy reliance on synthesized instruments (though some may find it pleasantly nostalgic).  The appeal of the film is otherwise fairly simple to explain (as this rather concise review shows) – buried within the sometimes rough edges is a rather touching story about coping with loneliness and the longing for parent’s love.  Though it may not match the greatest of anime films, it makes an admirable effort.

Hotarubi no Mori e is based on one of the earlier works of Midorikawa Yuki, a mangaka primarily known for her more recent Natsume Yuujinchou – a series that I often hold as an example of commercial success falling upon a work that wholly deserves it.  Natsume Yuujinchou is part of a relatively rare breed in the world of televised anime – a series that can be enjoyed by any viewer of any age and communicates admirable messages about kindness, friendship, and various other facets of life in a simple but frequently beautiful way (while maintaining a factor of accessibility required for the audience for televised anime) .  The Natsume formula is well-established at this point, and it is not particularly far-fetched to consider Hotarubi to be the precursor to Natsume, and Natsume to be a refinement and repackaging of Midorikawa’s earlier ideas (the original manga for Hotarubi was published in 2003).

The core idea of Hotarubi is a simple exploration of a possible relationship between a mortal human and a timeless spirit, and the overall effect of the film will be familiar to those who have followed the Natsume series, which I will use as a benchmark regularly from here on.  The main character is a young girl, Hotaru, who recounts her first meeting with Gin, a spirit within the forest who guided her to safety when she was lost.  As time goes on, she begins to realize the differences between her and Gin, such as the fact that she ages and grows old while Gin does not.  Such ideas have been covered from several angles in the Natsume episodes, so if one was approaching this film with the hope of seeing a more crystallized or powerful delivery of the Natsume formula than what is provided by Natsume itself, they may be disappointed.  The first reason is simply that the story is quite clearly an initial effort – we can recognize the beauty of the ideas Midorikawa presents, but they are presented in a rather direct and expected manner with slightly forced pacing, as opposed to the elegance and creativity of several of the Natsume collection of stories.  The second is that the film does not particularly use its format to a greater advantage, as the story is a fairly concise one (roughly 40 minutes) preventing the substantial character development or story progression that a full length film can offer.

However, though the story itself may not exceed the best of it’s spiritual successor Natsume, for the film itself to be on par with an average episode of that series is itself a compliment towards the film, objectively speaking.  Newcomers who are unfamiliar with Brains Base’s adaptations of Natsume will likely be equally captivated by the charming style they have adopted for Midorikawa’s stories, a style which I sometimes refer to as “fleeting sentimentality”.  Sentiment is a double edged sword, particularly when it is exploited in such a manner than it becomes melodramatic.  Brains Base have never disappointed in this regard, as they have developed a wonderfully sincere method of presenting the sentimentality of Midorikawa’s stories in a manner which never lingers past its welcome and fades quickly into the viewer’s memory, where the thought of it is often more potent and poignant than the continuing visual depiction would have been.  For the most part, this is similarly done in Hotarubi.  Expect this subject to be explored further in later articles on this site.

If the comparisons to Natsume until this point haven’t become tiresome, it  is also worth mentioning that the composer for that series, Makoto Yoshimoro, also contributes his music to this film – which will be rewarding for followers of his Natsume scores, as the series has been reusing earlier compositions for some time, while this film (of course) has entirely new material.  For the most part, his work is immediately recognizable with an organic sound which makes frequent use of piano, light strings, and woodwinds, although the score does not really exceed his previous work nor does it form a cohesive whole.  The bonus here is that he has the opportunity to compose a vocal song for the songs credits, a relatively simple but emotional ballad for piano and vocals.  Though it may not be among the greatest of anime themes, it is a gentle, enjoyable ode to the quietly bittersweet tone of the film.

Although most of the traits which make Hotarubi an enjoyable film are found in Natsume Yuujinchou with either equal or superior presentation, there is still value to be had in this film for both fans and newcomers to Midorikawa’s works.  Newcomers may find it preferable to use this relatively short film to guage their interest in what is ostensibly the Natsume formula of storytelling – simple, poignant stories with bittersweet overtones and restrained sentimentality – though again, Hotarubi only provides a simplified version.  Fans of Natsume, however, have likely already made their plans to view the film based solely on its similarities to their beloved show, and it is for those viewers that I advise some restraint in expectations.  Remember that the story of Hotarubi was written nearly a decade ago, and though it lacks the polish or elegance of later stories within Natsume, it carries a similar sort of charm despite its shortcomings.

 1/2

Over twenty years ago, amidst the backdrop of a rural Japanese town, My Neighbor Totoro explored both the boundless imagination and the underlying fragility of childhood, setting the standard for the genre.  Mai Mai Shinko to Sennen no Mahou  (released as Mai Mai Miracle in English) takes many cues from that earlier work, but diverges from the established path to present something fresh and worthwhile while simultaneously feeling like a spiritual successor.  The influence of the former thus takes away no credit from Mai Mai Shinko - which earns itself a place for consideration alongside the greatest works in its category for its delightful and often poignant exploration of the wavering emotions of childhood.  Though released in 2009 to a commendable run in Japanese theatres, the film remains somewhat obscure in the English-speaking community, presumably due to the humble plot description and unassuming art.  I can safely say, however, that like-minded readers of my reviews will almost certainly find a hidden gem in this charming little film.

The film is set in a quaint countryside village during the post-war years of Japan, a time and place where a box of coloured pencils could evoke awe in the school yard, while televisions were still a rumour.  In this homely setting, a young girl named Shinko, a creative and friendly child, pursues the friendship of a new transfer student from Tokyo with curiosity.  This transfer student, Kiiko, is initially reclusive and somewhat frightened at her new classmates, but Shinko makes her best effort to transfer her bottomless pit of imagination into her new friend and welcome her to the fold.  Shinko’s particular obsession is with imagining her town as it was a thousand years earlier – when it had been the capital of Japan, according to her grandfather, and when there almost certainly must have been a girl of the same age.  Shinko and her group of friends bond over this shared interest and support each other despite the moments of tragedy which come.

A variety of narrative threads are weaved throughout the film, but its core strength is the endearing treatment of its characters and not any suspense within the plot.  Shinko in particular is a strongly realized character, a realistically exuberant child with a mind that is constantly in the skies, and all of the characters are handled with a similarly sensitive touch.  The film shifts perspective occasionally between its characters as it explores a variety of miniature stories, one of which even takes Kiiko’s imagination back to the feudal era, where she imagines what life would be like as Japanese royalty, while the others are more firmly rooted in the daily lives of the characters (and in the climax, their personal tragedies).  Despite the constant shifting of this plot, the film manages to avoid a feeling of aimlessness due to its elegant pacing and strong writing – a scene never outstays its welcome, and a character never feels like padding.  Much like My Neighbor Totoro, there is a very satisfying sense of minimalism in this film, and our focus on a few small stories of a small cast amidst the vast fields of the Japanese countryside is a very enjoyable contrast.

What the film also does extremely well is present how the sometimes harsh realities of life are filtered through childhood innocence in a remarkably nostalgic and believable manner.  Concepts of familial conflicts, respect, and even death, appear in the movie at various times and are captured perfectly in the curious manner that a child would interpret and respond to such things.  The climax in particular is a very satisfying depiction of how a child would deal with a personal tragedy they do not yet fully understand, and I was very impressed by it.  With that being said, not all of the narrative threads are equally polished – the aforementioned recurring flashback to a similar girl who lived a thousand years back clearly intends to build to a finale, a merger of the stories of past of present, and while the film does attempt this towards the climax, the final resolution is just a few steps short of the poetic merger that such an idea could have achieved.

The director of the film, Sunao Katabuchi, was an assistant director on Kiki’s Delivery Service, so it isn’t a surprise that many elements of Hayao Miyazaki’s style of direction have found their way into this film as well, particularly in the quieter moments of the film.  For Mai Mai Shinko, Katabuchi chooses a very elegant and minimalistic style of direction.  The art style is beautifully simple with any flourishes reserved for character expressions rather than flights of fancy.  The music, though sometimes lacking in variety, complements the film well, dominated by charming orchestral strings, crisply recorded, with occasional piano and vocal interludes.  The final song which closes the credits, though it has a somewhat familiar sound and makes use of contemporary “breathy” singing, is pleasant, and more importantly, works very well to close off the story.  Indeed, while there may be minor flaws at plenty of moments in this film, what is important is that Katabuchi knows how to put together a film in a cohesive, natural, and flowing manner, something which does not always come easy to inexperienced directors whose films often wander or feel unsatisfying.

Once again, I am left with the conflicting feeling of satisfaction for having a discovered a little-known gem along with disappointment that it it not more well-known in the first place.  As I mentioned at the start of this article, I have often championed My Neighbor Totoro for being the greatest exploration of childhood – of both the joys and fears of being a child.  Mai Mai Shinko, though it may make a few missteps along the way, is a fine film which hits many of the same notes with equal care and sensitivity.  Katabuchi has earned himself a follower.

1/2

The quirk of reviewing longer series is that their appeal so often depends on the slowly developed attachment they allow you to form with their characters and setting – something which is often hard to communicate in words, and is a direct result of the gentle pace that these series can afford.  Kemono no Souja Erin takes full advantage of its length of fifty episodes – it takes us though many years in the life of its protagonist, Erin, allowing us to watch her develop slowly in a variety of situations until finally the world around her is turned upside down, and we see the result of all this development.  It is not a series for those looking for constant action, plot twists, or gritty realism, as although there are occasional moments of almost brutal honesty and grim violence (both implied and shown), at its core, Erin is a warm and wonderfully told coming-of-age story.  The series intentionally keeps itself friendly to younger viewers through the use of overt narrations and flashbacks, making it a true “family” series, yet also retains a certain subtlety in its ambiguity towards its ideological dilemma and in certain relationships.  The story may take on the quality of a fable at times, but it should not be treated as a simple fairy tale.

Kemono no Souja Erin begins with a brief prologue in Erin’s childhood – a batch of episodes with a light tone and a predominantly younger cast which I suspect is the primary reason why many viewers abandon the show before it shows its true potential.  These early episodes center mainly around Erin’s daily life with her mother, who is a breeder of Touda (one of the two central beasts in her world which have been tamed by humans for political and warlike purposes).  There is an almost ecological tone in the way we delve into the care of these beasts, and though the setting and Erin herself are charming from the beginning, viewers may be hesitant to invest a full fifty episodes worth of time at this point.  I myself had this feeling when first sampling the show, and it was at the recommendation of others that I continued with it.  As I feel I should pass on this favour, I will inform you that the first major dramatic event occurs around the seventh episode, and I recommend giving the show a trial until at least this period.  It is there that the story really begins, the main plot threads gradually begin to emerge, and we recognize that the first arc of the story is only an introduction for greater things to come.

As with Seirei no Moribito, the other fantasy story written by Nahoko Uehashi and subsequently adapted into an anime, Kemono no Souja Erin has two threads which drive the story forward – the first, a character-centric story involving Erin and the bond she tentatively forms with these beasts (which have had only master-slave relationships with humans until that point) while the second is a larger political story revolving around the fragile alliance of two factions, loosely analogous to the royalty and the army, which control the country.  However, as the beasts referred to in the title are captured and raised by these factions for political purposes, the second thread is very deeply connected to the first, and the two threads merge into one by the end of the story very cleanly.  In this way, I feel Kemono is superior to Moribito, as I found myself invested in both the character subplots as well as the overarching politics – whereas in Moribito, only the character moments interested me (though very deeply at that).

Also like Moribito, the show is clearly focused on its characters (both human and beast) first and its politics second.  Erin is a wonderful, distinctive character – beginning the story with a great deal of optimism (as many child characters would be), but growing into a multi-faceted, intelligent, and admirable person who retains her fundamental optimism while being able to recognize contradictions in her morality and confront them.  Apart from the political conflicts in the series, the fundamental question the series is built around is whether humans and beasts can coexist without one taking advantage of the other, and in many ways Erin’s journey is her quest to try and resolve this question.  The series does not present a cliched or predictable conclusion to this ideological conflict, either – as I have said, there is a sense of ambiguity and pragmatism that the show should be commended for.

The other characters in the story are more of a mixed bag, with some, such as Ial – a bodyguard for the Queen who forms a subdued bond with Erin from afar – adding a great deal of poignancy to the proceedings, while others, such as the two comic relief characters, contribute only a sense of humour for younger viewers (they did not appear in the original novels).  The most significant character apart from Erin herself is undoubtedly the beasts with whom she forms an attachment, as the growth of their relationship is the core of the series and that relationship retains its complexity and realism (in other words, the beasts are never humanized in order to facilitate a bond with Erin – they retain their individuality to the end).  The Ohju – majestic winged creatures with the heads of wolves – are also brilliantly drawn with a fantastic sense of presence on-screen, owing, perhaps, to the fact that their size and nature usually allow only one to be drawn on screen at once (unlike the massive army of Toudas, which are often drawn using computer techniques in order to depict large groups of them).

As I said in the opening paragraph of this review, this is not an anime centered around dramatic plot developments (until, perhaps, the final arc), and a taste for slow-moving but rewarding and warm-hearted stories is required to truly enjoy it, as it will often go for many episodes at a time without any significant movement with the plot.  I have mentioned in my earlier posts about Kemono that the show embodies my oft-repeated quote that “a children’s story made with sincerity will appeal to everyone”.  I don’t know if I would still claim that Kemono is entirely a children’s story now, as the aforementioned ambiguity with which it targets the man-and-beast conflict avoids the idealism one would otherwise expect, but it does have a sincere charm that fans of Studio Ghibli films may recognize.  Despite this, the show is one of the most pertinent examples of underrated anime I have seen, with very little activity in the English language community, even while shows which are essentially seasonal rehashes of common anime formulas seem to generate double the interest.  Yes, Kemono is not without flaws, yet I feel a sense of responsibility to focus on its positives in order to counter the relative obscurity it has found itself in.  My only request, however, is that if you are going to give the series a chance, allow it time to show what it truly has to offer – I took that advice, and was deeply rewarded for it.

Note: posts which contain episode numbers in the title may contain spoilers – read reviews instead for spoiler-free opinions.

Though the majority of this arc featured gentle development of Erin and her raising of Lilan, the end of episode 39 appears to signify that the show is ready to approach the resolution of the overarching plot.  The various threads of the story thus far – Erin, the Grand Duke, the Queen, Damiya, and Ial – are merging due to the Queen’s visit to Kazalm and the subsequent attack on the Queen (which is rather obviously hinted at being Damiya’s doing).

The moral implications of what Erin has done in episode 39 really stood out to me – it was a very different kind of scene that what one might expect from idealistic fiction.  Rather than a majestic scene of rescue, her quest to rescue the Queen becomes a a sickening massacre, something that one would never have associated with Erin prior, and one that I would imagine will definitely shake the foundations of her beliefs.  There are a myriad of contradictions in her mind right now – on the one hand, she wishes for Lilan and the others to live as they do in the wild, yet when situations like these arise, she cannot help but rely on the powers of the beast lords for human gain.  She has done exactly what she had previously criticized – manipulate the beast lords for human purposes.  Though those purposes may be noble in this particular case, these differences only have impact to her and other humans, not the beast lords.  Lilan and the others have no stake in human politics, yet Erin, caught up in her desire to save the Queen, seems to have expected Lilan to understand this context in some way.

Furthermore, Erin has revealed herself, and it seems that Damiya now views her as the incarnation of the founding Queen or some sort of divine presence (or, more cynically, someone who can be molded into that role) due to her riding on Lilan.  I would be surprised if she could continue her existence at Kazalm or continue as a teacher in the same way – particularly after the children have seen her at the helm of this gruesome event, though it’s hard to be sure.  Regardless, I am very impressed by the way this anime has maintained its shades of gray with regards to Erin’s bond with Lilan rather than allowing it to devolve into a predictable partnership.  Although Erin’s initial optimism about raising Lilan worked in the beginning, as we go on, we begin to see the value of the Mist People’s pragmatism.  Speaking of which – that is the one remaining plot point that I still hope will become a significant thread before the show ends, as it has always been the most intriguing part of the series for me.

Finally, the conversation between Ial and Erin towards the end of episode 40 was one that I welcomed greatly for its restraint – their words to each other were few but with much weight regardless.  Ignoring the other major plot developments that have occurred, I feel the way that Erin and Ial have grown to appreciate one another from afar has been done superbly in this anime, and the subdued culmination of sorts that occurs here is something that I liked very much.

Note: posts which contain episode numbers in the title may contain spoilers – read reviews instead for spoiler-free opinions.

I think I have a somewhat firmer idea of where the plot of Kemono no Souja Erin will be heading with regards to the overarching conflict, which will no doubt intersect at some point with Erin’s personal growth thusfar.  Much time has been spent building up the background between the Queen and the Grand Duke, and the factions which cause trouble between them.  Although the beasts are involved in this conflict through their use in warfare (in the case of Touda, at least), the more personal plot thread involving Erin herself with regards to the creatures is still rather far away from being connected to those political overtones.  We are still in the stage of allowing Erin to develop what will clearly grow into a talent for caring for and handling them, and what role she will play in these overarching conflicts probably won’t be considered for some time.

There was a moment where I wondered whether this was going to become an ensemble show, the way that the classmates at Erin’s new school were introduced one by one.  After the relatively long period of idyllic isolation with John the beekeeper, it was slightly jarring, but that phase seems to have passed rather quickly, and we appear to be focusing once more on a smaller group – Erin, Tomura, Ial, among others.  Hopefully this is not the end of John, though his “arc” has clearly passed.  There was a nice sense of culmination when he refers to her as his “daughter” towards the end, with no ambiguity, and I still feel as though there is area to be explored in that relationship.

The cloud of mystery that still hangs over the show is the story of the Mist People, who have not made a significant appearance in quite a while.  The show hints that they have a different relationship with these beasts than the others do, perhaps less of a domineering one and more of a reciprocal one, though that is just my interpretation.  If it were true, though, it seems very much in line with Erin’s dislike for the treatment of the creatures by even the “good guys” – the school which she has studied hard to become a part of.  The moment around the twentieth episode where the teacher warns Erin that she should not attempt to form sympathy for the beasts – as they will never truly befriend humans – almost seems like a guarantee that this is indeed what will take place, and that Erin will be able to a form a unique relationship.  But to what end,  in terms of the main plot?  At this point, it’s still a mystery.

When it comes to anime, there will always be that special batch that cause me to actually anticipate coming home just to watch another episode , and Kemono no Souja Erin has earned itself a spot in that batch.  ”A children’s story made with honesty will appeal to adults” – is a mantra that I often repeat on this blog, and this series embodies it quite well.  Although there are some moments that may remind you of common tropes from other stories geared to younger audiences, there is a sincere and heartfelt sense of emotion behind the storytelling and character building, and this allows those significant moments to really hit home.

Or to put it in a less verbose manner, I am still really enjoying this anime.

Note: posts which contain episode numbers in the titles will likely discuss plot developments during those episodes – read reviews instead for spoiler-free articles.

I first sampled “Kemono no Souja Erin” some time back, when it had first begun to air.  As I was following another show at the time, I wasn’t able to give it more than a brief trial (one episode) and it drifted away from my mind.  However, it is one of those shows that I have gotten multiple recommendations for by people with roughly similar tastes, so I decided to revisit it, and what a good decision that was.  Although I can’t possibly give a reasonable opinion on a 50 episode series based on having seen roughly ten, I can at least say that there is indeed something worthwhile here, and a lot of potential for Erin to transform into a beautiful coming-of-age fantasy tale.

The first batch of episodes give the impression of a relatively idyllic slice-of-life show, but all of this is turned upside down by the climax of the seventh episode.  After this point, Erin no longer enjoys the safety and harmless joys of being a child -nor the protective aura of her mother – as she did earlier.  I’m not quite sure yet where the series wishes to go from this point – I assume, based on the 50 episode length, that Erin herself will grow up throughout the story.  I also assume that John, her current mentor, will remain with her for at least another batch of episodes, since it has been hinted that he has a deeper past which will no doubt be explored at some point.  I also assume that at some point, the limit to what he can teach her will be reached, and she will seek out the Mist People and become more acquainted with their society and abilities.

In some sense it is a very familiar pattern of storytelling that is being used here, where a child is cut off from their parents and forced to grow up prematurely, but it has been executed so well that I hope it will grow into something exceptional.  Long series like this aren’t very common anymore, outside of long-running shounen franchises, but their strength is the ability to slowly make you attached to the characters and world, and that’s already happening for me.  I hope the remainder of the show lives up to its promise so far.

Studio Ghibli,which for decades has been dominated by the “old crowd” – Suzuki, Miyazaki, and Takahata – has made occasional attempts at cultivating younger talent in the past.  Ocean Waves was initially envisioned as an exercise for younger staff, and occasional films such as The Cat Returns or Tales from Earthsea have all been attempts to bring new directors into the forefront.  However, the studio has never really managed to find a proper spiritual successor to Miyazaki, who is the man most associated with the company worldwide.  Many Ghibli fans might even say that Miyazaki himself has been unable to recapture the magic of the early films (Nausicaa, Totoro).  With the old crowd quickly reaching retirement age, it is now plain that without proper successors, the company may be in trouble very soon, and thus the company has dedicated three out of five years to new talent.  Karigurashi no Arrietty is the first result.

While Miyazaki had a presence in the background work (and is credited as such), the director is Hiromasa Yonebayashi, who has worked as a key animator at the company since the days of Princess Mononoke.  Whereas Tales of Earthsea felt irregular among the Ghibli canon, Arrietty has a familiar tone, feel, and look.  The story has shades of Kiki’s Delivery Service: a young girl who happens to be a “little person” (as in, small enough to fit in your hand) is reaching an age where she must learn how to “borrow” items from the larger house in which they live.  Without this skill, she will not survive for long, as her parents are two of the only “little people” she knows in the world, and without them, she would be helpless.  Unfortunately, they must also avoid being spotted by humans, which has become more difficult due to the presence of Sho, a young boy awaiting surgery who has been brought alone to live in the house they occupy.  His father has passed away, and his mother, a workaholic, has no time for him.

I must admit that Sho and Arriety are not exactly the most distinctive of the Ghibli characters.  Arrietty is a somewhat milder version of Kiki, less rebellious but with a similar amount of energy and curiosity, while Sho himself is subdued and gentle, owing to a fragile childhood of sickness.  Despite his seemingly harmless exterior, which threatens to become a cliche at times, his upbringing appears to have given him a sense of cynicism about the world, which manifests in one scene where he informs Arrietty solemnly that her kind, few that they are, cannot possibly last long in this world of several billion humans.  However, the climax of the story is relatively tame, and Sho does not undergo much in the way of conflict or resulting development and thus remains more of a secondary character.  Unlike several other works in the “little people” genre, it is the humans and their world which are alien to this film, and the “little people” are who we identify with.

The film is abundant, however, with small moments that are individually a joy to observe.  A scene of rainfall, with Arrietty stepping through the grass while splotches of rain drop  on the foilage above, is a wonderful sight and sound.  In one moment, Arrietty sits, depressed, in the garden, and a small bug wanders by.  When she picks it up, it curls into a ball in fear, which she momentarily plays with, smiling, before settling it back down gently.  It’s a scene with no real purpose except to give the audience a moment to grin- the kind of small, inconsequential details that give life to many of Ghibli’s other films.  After all, Ghibli has achieved its level of fame due to the careful and beautiful execution of the little moments, the scenes of life, which make up the whole.  Yonebayashi understands this, and is able to weave these moments convincingly throughout his film.

Where the film falters, unfortunately, is with its music.  Ghibli’s films have nearly always had beautiful and primarily orchestral soundtracks.  Joe Hisaishi’s captivating melodies for Miyazaki’s films are well known, but secondary composers like Nomi Yuji (Whisper of the Heart, The Cat Returns) have also provided a fine orchestral character to the films that have given them a timeless feel.  With Arrietty, we instead find a soundtrack which, though occasionally remaining within an enjoyable Celtic quality, too frequently begins to resemble pop music, particularly with the sugary female voice which dominates the theme song.  Unfortunately, this aspect of the film makes a great effort at robbing it of any of the aforementioned feeling of timelessness and feels far too manufactured in comparison to the organic theme songs of Mononoke, Ponyo and Spirited Away.

On the whole, Arrietty is a relatively light, breezy film – it does not have the weight of the grander fantasies like Laputa or Mononoke nor should you expect it to.  What it does have is a trace of the gentle magic of Totoro, that certain Ghibli character which is difficult to express but easy to recognize.  Is it of the same caliber?  The answer is a resounding no – but this is not unexpected.  For a first work, Arrietty is proof enough that Yonebayashi has the talent and the ability to produce Ghibli features in the future which maintain the level of quality, but also that particular Ghibli character, of the company’s past productions, two things which I felt to be utterly lacking in Tales from Earthsea.  It is impossible to tell if Yonebayashi will be able to produce classics the way that Miyazaki and Takahata have done – films which will be remembered for decades.  Perhaps in the future, we will look back fondly on the Ghibli golden age, which some will even claim as having ended earlier, perhaps after Spirited Away. Nevertheless, with Yonebayashi, the company has a plan for the future.

The next step in the Ghibli road map is the new film by Goro.  I have made it clear that I did not like Tales from Earthsea, nor am I a fan of the way Goro has been fasttracked into the director’s chair without any experience presumably because of a marketing tactic by Suzuki.  Nonetheless, the story for the new film, which I have written about a few posts ago, seems well-prepared to capture the tone and feel of Whisper of the Heart – my favourite Ghibli film.  We will see if he can prove himself the way that Yonebayashi was able to do with Arrietty.

1/2

I’ve often claimed (with some degree of hyperbole) that Planetes is one of the best kept secrets of anime.  While it does not enjoy the same level of awareness and popularity as some of its monumental brothers in the same genre, tucked within this 26-episode series is one of the most satisfying character-oriented shows you will find.  This is an important aspect of Planetes – the show is about characters, unlike sci-fi shows which derive their drama from the large scale of their intergalactic conflicts or technology.  In fact, when larger conflicts do erupt towards the second half of the series, they manifest directly in a smaller scale between members of the cast familiar to us.  Though the vision of the future in Planetes is quite interesting on its own and a great attempt is made at realism, the show is a human drama first (though with plenty of lighter moments in the first half).  It is primarily for this reason that I feel the need to convince others to try the show – while I can understand that some people will dislike sci-fi shows, the approach that Planetes takes has a far broader appeal, if given the chance.

If I had to summarize Planetes, I would probably borrow from this review, which describes it as “blue collar workers in space who get caught up in something far bigger than they are“, though the latter part of that sentence becomes truly dominant only in the second half of the series.  We begin the story by meeting Tanabe Ai, an optimistic and idealistic young woman who has been assigned to work in the not-very-prestigious Debris Section within a space station.  What is the Debris Section?  The world of Planetes occurs in a near future scenario where mankind has only partially taken to the stars in a believable extension of modern space flight – there is nothing stereotypically futuristic like teleportation or light speed travel.  However, debris caused by this expansion poses a danger to travelling spaceships, and the Debris Section is tasked with cleaning it up.  Tanabe takes her new job with pride despite being looked down upon by most of the other sections, but immediately clashes with a young, gruff and pessimistic co-worker, Hoshino Hachirota (nicknamed Hachimaki).  Much of both the tension and comedy of the early episodes are a direct result of their difference in viewpoints.

Along with these two main characters is a large cast of secondary ones of different nationalities, motives, and status.  The early half of the series primarily serves as an introduction to these characters and the world around them, with self-contained stories which develop relationships while providing jointly playful and inspiring vignettes about different facets of space life.  However, even if this does not appeal to you, do not make the mistake of giving up on Planetes early on.  Around the half way point, the series becomes increasingly more tense and plot-oriented, gradually building to a gripping and powerful climax which shakes the very foundations of those same characters.  It is a familiar pattern of storytelling that has been executed perfectly in Planetes: if you allow the audience to form a bond with the characters in a relatively carefree atmosphere, the shock when they are thrust into previously unimaginable conflict will be even more resounding.  Indeed, when Tanabe herself begins the show, her optimism and idealism are both a source of sentiment as well as outright humour (due to her clashes with Hachimaki).  Yet the feeling is very different when she finds herself in a life or death situation where she must question that same idealism.

The show also benefits from the aforementioned feeling of realism thanks to a relatively sturdy backbone in terms of the believably of its physics.  Little details such as the hand-grips provided for drifting travelers within the spaceships adds an natural sense of authenticity to the world, as does the absence of sound during scenes in outer space itself – the silence is cleverly covered through key character dialogues during these scenes.  The key conflict of the series is also heavily based upon themes relevant to us today regarding inequality throughout the world.  It’s worth mentioning, though, that the show does not preach or force any opinion onto its audience regarding this conflict – the events play out as they do, and it is up to the audience to decide to what extent they will sympathize with either side.  The reason that Planetes is able to maintain this level of detachment is because, as I have mentioned earlier, it is – at its core – a show about characters, and politics are secondary.

The supporting aspects of the show are all done well.  The music in particular does a fine job of underscoring both the tense moments as well as the more comedic ones, and the full orchestra is usually pulled out for the most dramatic scenes.  As for the theme songs, the OP, “Dive in the Sky“ remains a personal favourite of mine, with an energetic and optimistic tone that suits the series perfectly along with visuals that chart the progression of space flight in an enjoyable manner.  As for the art, I found the visuals to be excellent – crisp and detailed, particularly when within the space environments.  Small details and movements as characters traverse the space station – or moon surface – added a great deal to the ambiance and believability of the show as a whole.

I would wager that there are quite a few people who will dismiss this anime merely because of its sci-fi wrappings.  While it’s understandable that people have their own genre preferences, I can’t think of any anime better suited to bridging the gap than Planetes due to its humanist story and likable cast of characters. Whether your preference is for comedy, romance, or drama, there will most likely be something here for you to enjoy, and hopefully by latching onto that, you will also be able to enjoy the remarkable development of the story in its second half.  This is an anime that makes excellent use of its 26-episode format to give a satisfying sense of development and closure that wouldn’t be possible in a shorter time length.  I have been evangelizing this series for years now, and I still have not come across many series that gave me the level of satisfaction upon completion that I found in Planetes.  It is one of those few stories which were engrossing enough that it stayed in my mind after its finish – something very few anime manage to do.  Give it a try.

Sword of the Stranger is a 2007 film by BONES centering around a young boy and two warriors who are drawn to him due to various circumstances.  The film is set in feudal Japan, with more than a few similarities to Seirei no Moribito in attempted plot and characterization.  Both involve warriors with dark pasts who find themselves compelled to protect a young boy while being pursued by hostile factions.  With that said, the resemblance to Moribito extends only to that superficial level, and Sword felt more, to me, like a story “going through the motions” than one that is believable, compelling, and memorable.  One major difference is that Moribito kept its fight sequences sporadic, with the increasing tension providing weight and dramatic effect to their inevitable appearance.  Sword, on the other hand, is not quite as picky when it comes to tossing out moments of violence and gore – they are essentially the defining element of the film.  As I am not particularly a fan of violent anime, I avoided this film for a long time for this reason, finally caving in after reading many positive reviews.  Sadly, while there are some good qualities to the film, overall, my mind hasn’t really been changed, and I would personally recommend it only to fans of heavily action-oriented films with a very basic, Hollywood approach to narrative.

The storyline is fairly straightforward.  Villainous factions attempt to acquire a certain young boy, Koutarou, in order to proceed with fulfilling an ancient prophecy that deems his sacrifice a requirement.  At the beginning of the film, the boy meets up with the main protagonist of the story, a nameless former warrior, and they form something of a chummy relationship.  When the boy is later tricked and kidnapped, the warrior goes after him and rescues him in the inevitable grand climax of blood and sword-clanging.  In the midst of all this is a fairly uninteresting villain character, a Western assassin working for one of the pursuing factions who has no personality beyond adoring a good battle.  As you may expect, the final battle consists of the nameless hero and this assassin going head to head, after the assassin purposefully ruins an earlier chance to defeat the hero on the grounds of wanting to battle a “worthy enemy”.  Again, if you’re trying to get away from common tropes, this isn’t really the film for you.

There is a hint of something likable about the relationship between the hero and the young Koutarou, familiar as it may be, but it isn’t really given much time to grow organically (particularly as the film is happy to spend much time on stylish action scenes instead of the necessary development).  It was enough to provide the minimum emotion required to make the final rescue scenes plausible and mildly rewarding, but never really managed to approach the depth of the similar relationship in Seirei no Moribito. For a film with a relatively thin plot, there is also a rather large amount of time spent following plot-incidental characters, though often it was merely to see them die in a gory battle scene afterwards.  As you would expect in this genre, there’s a lot of random swordfighting which contributes nothing to the overall narrative or characterization.  This isn’t really a criticism, as I suppose it would be a little silly to blame an action film for having a lot of action.

I would assume that a great deal of this anime’s popularity is at least partly due to the animation quality.  There was clearly a high budget and a lot of talent which was poured into Sword, and the result is a very high quality visual coating that will impress many.  Since I don’t find watching violence particularly appealing, I never really reaped the benefits of this high quality coating, but I can see why it gets the praises it does in that regard.  The music is another matter entirely.  The early portions of the film have a very minimalistic approach to background scoring, but the latter half of the film relies so heavily on one primary pentatonic melody (the film’s main theme, I suppose) that it borders on overuse – seeming to pop up every few minutes.  However, the lush orchestral sound, like the visuals, once again gives a certain slick sense of presentation that probably boosted the impression of quality to most viewers.

There isn’t really anything terribly egregious about the film, but what I was missing from it was a sense of natural cohesion binding together all the various scenes.  Sword felt more like a collection of ideas that sounded good – and would probably be effective in a better-written film – thrown together in a simple manner and dressed with a lot of flashy violence and sweeping music.  For example, the idea of a warrior who refuses to draw his sword due to his past is a pretty compelling idea to me, since I have a liking for those sorts of pacifistic themes.  Yet Sword treats this more like a technicality than any moral decision, as the main character freely kills others using other means for the sake of gory fight scenes, which sort of diminishes the impact of such an idea.  It seems clear, though, that the focus of the film was meant to be the swordfighting rather than any emotional catharsis, so perhaps these complaints are redundant.  I will, however, close with a recommendation for Seirei no Moribito, which I’ve mentioned numerous times already.  The general story arcs have similarities, but Seirei no Moribito is more dedicated to its storytelling than it is to action for the sake of action, and ends up being far more memorable for it.

1/2