パンダ・コパンダ /Panda Kopanda/Panda・Baby Panda/Panda! Go Panda!

Miyazaki and Takahata have been in the anime business for a very long time. Watching Panda Kopanda, it really feels like going back to the roots of their work, but it’s also important to remember that the two of them had been working in animation for some time before it was made in 1972: Miyazaki for 9 years, Takahata for 13. Panda Kopanda is commonly referred to as a movie, but is actually two short films of about 30 minutes each, and it is very seldom mentioned by Miyazaki fans without reference being made to Totoro.

Yes, as was their custom at the time, Takahata directed the film with Miyazaki having considerable creative input, writing the screenplay, designing the characters and working as a key animator, a collaboration born from Hols in 1968. Panda Kopanda is written for young children, and there’s no escaping its utter tweeness.

The story is simple: a young girl of about five or six called Mimiko is left to live on her own. However, on her first day without her Grandma taking care of her, she finds two pandas – a tiny baby and his enormous father – in the bamboo grove near her house. It transpires that they can speak, and they soon move in with Mimiko to form a kind of surrogate family. The father panda is a gentle giant, taking everything at a slow pace and enjoying the good things in life (especially bamboo) and his little son is hyperactive and curious about everything. Mimiko is a good match for them, being inexhaustibly cheerful and optimistic, with a strange predilection for displaying her panties – often enough that I felt very awkward watching this anime on the bus lest someone should sit next to me and think that rather than a gleeful display of innocence, these endless panty shots were supposed to be titillating. Awwwkward.

Anyway, let’s leave that aside. Mimiko and the pandas get into various scrapes, for example when Pan-chan the baby panda decides he wants to go to school with his new ‘mama’, or when the zookeepers come to find the escaped animals. In the second episode, a circus comes to town and a little tiger who looks very much like what Tigger from the original Pooh illustrations would look like if drawn by Osamu Tezuka, even bouncing on his tail like the Disney version, joins the gang. Everything is brightly-coloured, happy, simple and full of slapstick laughs. No-one comes to any harm, lots of laughing is done, lots of adults are bemused by childish logic, and papa Panda looks a lot like Ou-Totoro when he smiles. It’s interesting to speculate how much closer to Totoro this movie would be if its art were more sophisticated, its dialogue more naturalistic and the pandas mute (thus scenes enacted in mime more prevalent), but so much of its identity is derived from its happy-go-lucky babyishness and the cheerful simplistic conversations Mimiko has with the animals that to change them would be to make a very different movie.

Unfortunately, the subs I have weren’t great. Some lines were just left totally untranslated, and others were nonsensical – at one point a boy says something along the lines of, ‘“Atashi no papa yo!” Baka mitei’ (mimicking Mimiko), approximately, ‘“He’s my papa!” Are you an idiot?’ (or ‘You look like an idiot’), and the subs said, ‘My papa’s an idiot too!’ They also missed a pun about kare-pan (Japanese curry bread – bread filled with curry, like a bun). Goodness knows how many more mistakes were made that my limited Japanese skills couldn’t detect.

Nevertheless, these two episodes are winsome, wholesome, babyish fun. Takahata and Miyazaki were interested in stories for young children at the time (Mimiko’s seiyuu also played Heidi in their adaptation) and this is much more childish than anything they would do now: if not for what the two men would go on to do, it would no doubt have been lost to obscurity. Nonetheless, it is still entertaining, charming and cute. And dammit, when Papa Panda finally shows how strong he really is towards the end, I don’t care what anyone says – that’s damn cool!

(originally written 14.10.06)

じゃりん子チエ/ Jarinko Chie / Chie the Brat

Jarinko Chie is another pre-Ghibli movie directed by Isao Takahata, this one from 1981. This is perhaps his most immediate and light film alongside Houhokekyo! Tonari no Yamada-kun, and is similar in many ways: based on a popular humorous manga with a focus on a slightly dysfunctional family, although the storytelling here is for the most part more conventional.

Jarinko Chie has aged well: the animation is smooth, the acting (though there are some odd choices of obviously adult actors for children) is top-notch and it still hits the right emotional notes. The plot flows quite nicely: Chie lives in a little eatery with her meatheaded father, who is tough enough to beat up yakuza but embarrasses her in school. Her mother - having wed Chie's father for an arranged marriage - is estranged from the family, and lives elsewhere. However, although tough, athletic and forceful little Chie takes after her father the most, she idolises her mother and tries to be more feminine for her. She hides the fact that she sees her mother occasionally from her father, but this secret can’t last forever.

Intertwined with this is the rather bizarre story of some tomcats with visible testicles in the same style as you see in Pom Poko, who speak in human voices (although the humans cannot hear them). It’s a typical Takahata jerk in styles, and while yes, it works okay, it seems odd to use it for the climax of the movie. The slapstick and the warmth of the family, even when the father is a total meathead, are what work here, and the little things that jerk you out of the moment, like anthropomorphised cats or a weird cameo from that hideous Peko girl, I don’t think really enhance the whole, being too unsubtle to just fit in and be noted only by those looking for them. Takahata is at his best when either everything he shows is acceptable as real or there is consistency in the unreal.

The strong, dated Osaka-ben accents here and cultural references make it perhaps not a film for the uninitiated, but the non-idealised portrayal of a family, the slapstick and the way events really have an effect on the characters make this enjoyable for anyone. No Sero-Hiki no Gauche, but fun nonetheless.

(originally written 10.09.08)

ホーホケキョとなりの山田くん/ Houhokekyo Tonari no Yamada-kun / My Neighbours the Yamadas

Tonari no Yamada-kun was the second Ghibli film I ever saw, and the contrast with Mononoke-Hime couldn’t have been greater. However, I was impressed when I saw it, by something so different from any other animation I had ever seen, in terms of both presentation and plot (or lack thereof). I was, however, aware that plenty of people would watch it with a look of utter bewilderment on their faces – although my companions at the time remembered a fair few plot points when I reminded them of the film several years since that 2001 screening in the Barbican.

While I enjoyed the film back then, it’s only really since that time that my obsession with anime has developed, and so now I feel I understand and appreciate far more, in terms of both animation and cultural reference.

Based on a classic Japanese gag strip, Tonari no Yamada-Kun is the kind of quirky, unconventional work that Takahata seems far more inclined to direct than Miyazaki does. Essentially, it follows a very ordinary Japanese family unit – the mother and father, their little daughter and adolescent son, plus the grandma who lives with them – as they do various everyday things. Drawn in the manner of the comic strip, it looks extremely simple while actually containing sophisticated colouring and animation techniques, along with some hugely impressive tour-de-force sequences featuring thrilling action, pastiches of Japanese images like traditional watercolours and one very memorable shift into a more realistic presentation. Remarkably, the animation is 100% digital, not just the excellently-integrated cell-shaded 3D that is worked into various scenes with varying levels of subtlety.

However, a lot of the elements that seemed purely random to me on my first viewing have become elucidated by the things I have learned since – folklore references to babies coming from peaches and from inside bamboo, what festival chants sound like, even the way that Japanese people beckon…all went over my head before, but all are well-understood now. Too bad there weren’t cultural notes for me on my first viewing.

Tonari no Yamada-Kun (the ‘Houhokekyo’ part, an onomatopoeia for the call some bird or other, was added only so that the character ‘Ho’ (with or without ten-ten/maru making it bo or po) could be in all Takahata’s works, as ‘no’ is in all of Miyazaki’s), like Pom Poko, is a collection of episodic events deeply infused with the Japanese way of life – but rather than the mythological, most of what we see here is the mundane, and the focus remains always on the same five characters, so there is more of a feeling of a single, consistent movie here than the slight mess of Pom Poko’s shifting focus. Japanese or not, though, these characters are instantly recognisable, and their realism, the squabbling as well as the love, makes them so likeable that it’s hard to resist their charm. It’s very much like the Ghiblies shorts in the way it takes slices of life, presents them in a very experimental way, and yet still manages to contain enough emotional content to keep the attention, and I would consider those charming little pieces the film’s closest relatives in the studio’s canon.

The scale is small, so of course this isn’t going to change lives, but it can certainly entertain, and the must be fairly few people who cannot identify to some extent with at least one of the family members. See it for the warmth of familial love. See it for the laughs. See it for the incredible way traditional techniques mix with computer imagery for something unique and yet instantly recognisable and classic. See it for the strong, understated vocal performances, the seiyuu really finding the right ground between realism and exaggerated comedy in mixed dialects (though the son struggles with any heightened emotions). But mostly, see it because it’s a Ghibli film, and one that stands entirely alone.

(originally written 18.1.07)

平成狸合戦ぽんぽこ/Heisei Tanuki Gassen Ponpoko/Pom Poko

If Miyazaki-sensei is the main-mast of the good ship Stajio Jiburi-go, his sturdy foremast has to be Takahata Isao, director of the haunting Hotaru no Haka (Grave of the Fireflies), quirky Tonari no Yamada-kun (My Neighbours the Yamadas) and this warm, extremely Japanese but highly idiosyncratic film, Pom Poko.

Named after the nursery rhyme sound effects supposedly made by tanuki (racoon dogs) as they beat their stomachs, the movie revolves around the folklore associated with the popular creatures. When I was in Japan, there were a great many images of tanuki – one at the door to our hostel, several simply on the street, numerouin the shrine dedicated especially to them in Asakusa. Every Japanese child grows up hearing tales about Tanuki, many of which (I’m told) were referred to in the movie, and they’re prevalent in anime and manga that draw heavily from Japanese tradition, such as Naruto. Drawing on typical Ghibli themes, the story revolves around the Tanuki losing their homes as the development of Tokyo reduces the forests, pitting nostalgia for an old, bucolic way of life against modernisation in a way that is one part nostalgia, one part heavy-handed preaching, but makes for a sympathetic cast and a compelling situation.

However, focussing on an entire ‘clan’, rather than individual stories, while giving an entertaining variety of situations, means there’s never really any compulsion to see what’s going to happen next, or any sense of a solid goal that may or may not be achieved. This makes the film drag at times, and at two hours, it was a little overlong.

But it was great fun to watch, and I spent most of it with a big smile on my face. The simple-minded tanuki are so amusing and so much fun that their antics are hugely enjoyable. The sight gags are often utterly brilliant, from hapless tanuki trying and failing to transform in time with the others to the surprising appearance in human form of the characters – the best being the three old masters. The characterisation was never short of perfect, and the voice actors were perfect. But, as with Tonari no Yamada-Kun, offsetting the generally humorous tone with moments of deadly seriousness worked superbly, really hammering home the fact that an easygoing lifestyle does not mean cruel truths simply vanish, or on a more superficial level, that a comedy film cannot make you think seriously.

And like Yamada-Kun, Pom Poko sometimes emphasises such changes with changes in art style. There were three main ways the tanuki were drawn – semi-realistically, as cartoon characters and as simple caricatures (though I think it would have been better without the latter, which were apparently an homage to some old manga and didn’t suit the tone of the piece…) – and this helps one think of the real animals as though they were sapient.

With its ghost parade and its numerous transformations, the film is chock-full of Japanese cultural references. Just about every monster I’ve ever heard of, from faceless women to living lanterns and umbrellas made an appearance, as did traditional icons from Shintoism and Japanese Buddhism. Even Christianity got a nod, with one choral ‘Amen’. In-jokes were also plentiful; I spotted Kiki and apparently several other Ghibli characters were slipped in.

The film was a lot of fun, and its affection for a world gone by was (as with Cars) understandable and rather sweet, if not exactly something that’s going to change anyone’s lifestyle. It was enjoyable on many levels: just because I enjoyed recognising all the different bits of Japanese folklore, doesn’t mean someone who knows nothing about it won’t be equally entertained, and I'm sure people with more knowledge of the subject would understand more than I did. I’d recommend the film to anyone. As long as they’re not offended by the idea of giant, multi-purpose testicles being used as weapons, parachutes, mats and just about anything else you can think of.

(originally written 17.8.06)

おもひでぽろぽろ/ Omohide Poroporo / Memories Drip-Drop / Only Yesterday

What I suspected is now confirmed. I’ve seen every Ghibli film directed by Miyazaki, and with Poroporo, every Ghibili film directed by Takahata, too. And yes, surprised as I am to come to this conclusion, I think that Takahata is the better director. This is of course highly subjective, but after watching this movie, there is no doubt in my mind that while childlike awe, huge setpieces and simple thrills make Miyazaki’s films the masterpieces they are, the subtle hand of Takahata shows a maturity, a delicacy and an ingenuity that only Mononoke-Hime and Sen to Chihiro can come close to, and do not match. While perhaps I enjoy Miyazaki’s films more, there is more to appreciate in Takahata’s best. It is the difference between Hollywood and Arthouse – I love both, but admire the latter more. Yamada-Kun and Pom Poko were too zany and uneven to convince me, and for all its sincerity Hotaru no Haka too sensationalist, but not so Omohide Poroporo.

Omohide Poroporo is a simple little story – an oeru (OL, or Office Lady) named Taeko takes a break from her hectic city life to visit relatives in the country. On the way, she reminisces about her childhood. Intriguingly, Takahata based this work on a series of nostalgic manga about a little girl growing up in the 60s, with lots of cute and funny stories – I imagine them being like a more serious Yotsubato or Ichigo Mashimaro; to take these little anecdotes and make a coherent movie of them in the form of a memoir is rather impressive, and it works very well – we have the 10-year-old Taeko’s daily life, from trying her first pineapple to puppy love to the mystery surrounding a talk on menstruation, contrasted with the more solemn reflections of her adult self as she joins in the harvest and comes to feel at home in the countryside. And while I expected another rather inelegant pedagogic sermon on how nature is far superior to city life, which would have been typical of Ghibli (remember Takahata directed Pom Poko, though the concept was Miyazaki’s), I was surprised to find even this dealt with maturely, the farmer Taeko befriends pointing out that even though it’s not roads and cities, everything that can be seen in the countryside is still man-made, crafted and controlled by farmers and agriculture, which was a great scene.

And oh, the animation – because this is a simple, realistic story, the art remains simple (though adult Taeko’s cheekbones are a brave but wonderful addition to her design, really defining as well as aging her face, and some of the imitative art styles of child Taeko’s imagination sequences are superb), and a lot of people who don’t care much for animation wouldn’t think much of what they saw, but that’s BECAUSE it is so well-done. Apart from one or two fantasy sequences, everything here is an imitation of real life, and I can’t express how well the animation is done. Animation was clearly done after voice recording here, for real, stuttering, quirky, believable performances are given by the excellent seiyuu cast and animated beautifully. The movements of heads while the characters speak, the way that cars bounce on bad suspension, the entire class of children that move about individually in the last scenes, the funny, perfectly-depicted awkwardness of kids putting on performances, and especially the tiny changes in expression on the face of young Taeko, with the lack of self-awareness typical of her age, are breathtaking for anyone who cares about the art of animation.

This is something special. This is something that arthouse crowds would adore. This is a story that will move you, make you laugh and make you smile with more fondness than any blockbuster. Stay away if you need fast cutting or explosions to keep your attention, but if you treasure good stories maturely told, this is the best film Ghibli can offer you.

(originally written 9.11.2006)

太陽の王子 ホルスの大冒険/Taiyō no Ōji: Horusu no Daibōken/ Hols, Prince of the Sun

Forget Nausicaa. This is where Ghibli really begins. Takahata may not have the mass international appeal of Miyazaki, but he is at least as important to the Ghibli story. With this, his first movie as director, Takahata shows how pervasive his influence is on all the work that came after him, even if his films tend to be much less conventional now. Here, too, we see the union of Takahata, as director, and Miyazaki, as key animator and ‘Scene designer’, which according to information on the Internet really means ‘Creative Consultant’. This is Takahata doing the heroic boy’s adventure, with a young hero called Horusu (Hols/Horus) fighting against an evil demon, and it starts in a way that is pure Miyazaki-helmed Ghibli, with a boy battling wolves only to be interrupted by a huge stone golem. But Takahata tends to be more subtle than the man who now overshadows him, and the film evolves into a curious study of village life and an angst-riddled relationship.

Now, these are all things that are very familiar from anime, to the extent that they could be called generic clichés. Horusu himself is the bold, simple type that can be seen in Pazu and Ashitaka, not to mention the likes of Goku, Naruto and Luffy (if you add in a fair bit more clownishness). But it’s important to remember this film is from 1968 – and that it was a disaster, resulting from a huge struggle between director and studio.

So what are the major influences here? Osamu Tezuka, certainly – you can see how Ghibli’s house style has evolved from his via this movie, and some of the background characters look like they’re right out of Tezuwan Atomu – though others are more reminiscent of European comics like Asterix and The Smurfs. Disney is more clearly influential here than in later Ghibli productions, with talking animals (a cute sidekick and then two with an angel/devil-on-the-shoulder dynamic) and a tall, skinny, pretty goofy-looking villain who could have been from an early Disney film, as could the songs.

But what’s impressive is that the film really isn’t what I had expected. I expected tweeness, bad animation, poor plotting and a lack of emotional depth. And while all those issues were present, Horusu had so much more to redeem it. The middle section in the village is remarkable, and Takahata’s direction already feels like that of a European arthouse director, with the little intimate scenes, the concern with the everyday and even the random nudity, as well as a rather hallucinatory section. And while the idea of a major character having a dark side is by no means new, I’ve seen few movies aimed at younger kids that have such a tortured sympathetic character as Hiruda. Great stuff.

Other elements are mixed. The animation ranges from terrible shots of Horusu almost motionlessly sliding down a hill on his bottom to some wonderfully fluid fights and a sequence that follows a great image of the surf breaking with a superb one of the sun behind Horusu’s back. There are also two complex scenes that just aren’t animated, a series of stills, a coloured animatic storyboard, presumably because with Takahata many months over schedule and unlikely to make their money back, Toei pulled the plug before these difficult-to-animate scenes with large numbers of animals were made. Some plotting is too brisk – Horusu just gets told where to go and what to do by the people he runs into, so there’s no real sense of a coherent, driving plot, and more than once, a small child is disappointed and upset only for it never to be mentioned again and them to be as friendly as ever afterwards.

It certainly doesn’t have the epic scale of Mononoke or the intimately recognisable characters of Mimi-o Sumaseba, but for its time, its budget and its significance on the world of anime, as well as for just being plain fun to watch, I recommend it.

(originally written 19.2.07)

火垂るの墓/Hotaru no Haka/Grave of the Fireflies

This film is beyond a doubt Takahata Isao’s masterpiece (although I may personally prefer Cero-hiki no Gauche), and amongst Studio Ghibli’s best films. Arguably it is their best.

The movie was released on a double bill with Totoro (at the time, Totoro was considered too hard to market to release on its own!), although the sole resemblances between the two films lie in character style, attention to detail and nostalgic childhood settings. They represent the opposite ways of approaching storytelling concerning childhood: the winsome idealism of a fantasy world or the brutal indifference of a cruel reality. In Hotaru no Haka, a teenaged Japanese boy and his tiny sister struggle to survive when the Second World War leaves them all alone in the world. Few films are more affecting; Hotaru no Haka is commonly spoken of (after the example of Roger Ebert) as one of the best war films ever made, regardless of being animated.

Indeed, the film would have worked well in live action – there has recently been such a version made that I’ll watch sometime in the coming weeks. Certain elements will have to be dealt with very carefully to be as effective as they were in animated form, such as the lights of fireflies cast over the children’s faces or the silent watching figure who reappears several times bathed in red light, whose presence is made more acceptable by the coherence of the art than it might be in live action. Besides, the character designs, beautiful period backdrops and the attention to detail in animation on which Studio Ghibli can pride itself make it an animated project of extremely high standing.

A simple but heartbreaking little story, Hotaru no Haka succeeds by allowing its characters some degree of happiness even in their destitution, moments that really make you smile before the seriousness of the situation is once again brought to the fore. The story develops at just the right pace to never be boring, despite the scarcity of actual events and the extremely melancholy atmosphere. Moving, beautiful, unforgettable and haunting, it is a purposefully small-scale and personal tragedy, and all the more powerful for it. I can find little to fault. The only kind of person I can envision not considering this a great, indeed a classic movie is the kind of person who only wants to be evanescently diverted and a little amused by their entertainment, never upset or made to think. If this is not you, I urge you to see this film, no matter whether or not you’re interested in animation. Unforgettable.

(originally written 17.10.06)

Additional: first impressions from July 3, 2004.

Grave of the Fireflies is an astonishingly powerful movie, a tragedy that exists simultaneously on the smallest and largest conceivable scales. I agree with Ebert when he declares it one of the best war films ever made – and yet despite being the catalyst for the events of the story, the war is almost incidental.

The characters are always children, always so real…and their flaws are understandable but paramount…it is Seita’s childish stubbornness and pride as much as tragic circumstance that brings about the final tragedy. Deeply sad, truly magical film–making with a fine voice acting cast. To have a five-year-old give that performance is nothing short of breathtaking, and the life given to the characters by the animators is inspirational. Seita is beautiful in his humanity, Setsuko so pure, showing the link between sweet behaviour and weakness.

One of the best films I’ve ever seen – and probably the saddest.

冬の日/ Fuyu no Hi/ Winter Days

The idea behind Fuyu no Hi is a very clever one, and it is one of two things that draw an arthouse audience to this short animated film – to see how that concept can be executed. The other is, of course, the big names involved, bringing together some giants of worldwide animation.

In 1684, history’s most prominent writer of Haiku, Bashou, put together a collection of poems called Fuyu no Hi. One of the poems was a renka, a collaborative work: in this case, six poets took turns to write single lines, each relating to the one before in sometimes extremely subtle ways. To reflect this, Fuyu no Hi’s director (actually working more as a producer, I would assume), the puppeteer Kawamoto Kihachirou, assembled 35 animators, each to take a stanza and make a short clip of animation based upon it. Kawamoto himself alone produces two segments.

The real draw for me was Yuri Norstein, this being his first true release since Tale of Tales. It is clear that he is held in extremely high regard here, not only with the longest segment, but opening the piece and, apparently, noted as a ‘special guest’. And it must be said that his presence is the focal point of the whole, not only providing the best of the animations, an uncharacteristically sprightly and coherent 110 seconds, but his wolf and hedgehog characters also appearing later in another animator’s piece – albeit one about a ‘spiteful’ arrow. It also means that early on, a high standard is set that unfortunately is not met by the majority of the animators who follow.

While the variations of tone are part of what make a renka what it is, and it is perfectly correct to feature funnier animations alongside more serious efforts, too often these are incongruous and seem to have little to do with their source. On the other hand several contributors, including most of the non-Japanese animators, try to follow the lines of the poem so literally it becomes unintentionally hilarious.

It’s very difficult to pitch. Too vague or experimental and there seems to be no emotional link with the source. Even Takahata Isao, my preferred Ghibli lead director and extremely capable animator, does not manage to hit the right notes. Too simplistic and there is little impact at all, which surprising affected Yamamura Kouji, who directed the ultra-weird Franz Kafka’s A Country Doctor. And trying to subvert the poeticism with simplicity or puerile humour…well, that’s what made the UK’s contribution something of an embarrassment.

Just once or twice, this compilation, this mash-up, this mix-tape is note-perfect. But I have to wonder what, given more thought, more time, more communication and more emphasis on the original poetry, this could have been.

セロ弾きのゴーシュ/ Cero-hiki no Goushu/ Gauche the Cellist

Even from Takahata, I wasn’t expecting something quite so good. Perhaps it’s because I associate his pre-Ghibli work with Horus and Panda Kopanda, but I wasn’t expecting something so mature. A large part of this is down to the deftly-woven allegorical story on which the film is based, but despite how much the anime industry has grown and developed since 1982, everything here is beautiful, intelligent and warm.

Gauche is a cellist competent enough to be in a professional orchestra in a little town, but whose skills are lacking to the extent that he seems to be holding everyone else back. In the first scene, a rehearsal for a recital of Beethoven’s sixth (wonderfully vibrant animation of the conductor unfortunately rather badly set against two-frame violin tremolo animation) is constantly interrupted for his sake, and it’s hard not to warm to him as he looks so crestfallen after being berated by the conductor. Over the course of the next week and a half, he gets visits from various creatures who ask him favours – teaching them a scale, playing a piece to help them practice, soothing a sick baby mouse (one of the cutest things ever, for not being too cutesy) with a calming melody…Gauche reacts to these anthropomorphic guests in an intriguing way – he interacts with them but retains cynicism, so that we soon realise he thinks he is imagining the whole thing, manifesting his own wishes and fears, or perhaps is being aided by the tricksy spirits of traditional Japanese lore, without any of this having to be said, a nice subtle touch that perhaps limits the appeal for international audiences who may not realise why Gauche is guarded, even cruel.

Not until he performs his recital does he realise that the animals he thought he was aiding were all actually teaching him lessons and helping him. His exuberance, realising this, is impossible not to smile through. Some of the nuanced human animation here is amazing, especially for 1982, but it’s the voice actors (a mixture of veterans (from shows like Doraemon and Sazae-san) and near-amateurs) who really shine. The mouse mother is my favourite, a real old-fashioned Japanese lady, who humbly wheedles and guilt-trips without being unattractive, and whose interaction with her beloved child may seem overprotective but then when you see them playing together, is really touching. The cuckoo, the cat and the little Tanuki are great, too, and the still shot of Mrs Owl really made me laugh.

This short hour-long animation is one of the best I’ve seen, clever, peculiar and charming. Sometime between the seventies and eighties Takahata seems to have gotten more ambitious, artistic and sensitive: though perhaps I’ll have to wait to see Jarinko Chie to really judge that!

(originally written 06.08.08)