東京マグニチュード8.0 / Tokyo Magnitude 8.0

I know I periodically say this about different series – I think the last was Ika Musume – but it’s still rare enough these days to be remarkable: Tokyo Magnitude 8.0 was the first anime in a while that had me deeply emotionally invested, always eager to start the next episode and getting surprised when an episode was over, because it seemed to rush past so soon.

Tokyo Magnitude 8.0 aired a few years back in the noitaminA slot, taking over from Higashi no Eden. I remember hearing very positive things about it, but I never really gave it a chance, in small part because I somehow thought I’d be annoyed ‘Magnitude 8’ was never going to be connected with a Final Fantasy VI reference. (In very small part, I should stress!) And then the disastrous tsunami hit Japan and watching what is after all entertainment that was based on similar incidences seemed…tasteless. But then a few weeks ago a friend reminded me of it, and the tsunami is not so fresh in the mind, and after all I did watch United 93, so I can understand how entertainment can also be a harrowing, respectful reflection of reality.

The premise is simple – as scientists have predicted there’s a 70% chance of an earthquake of 7.0 magnitude or higher hitting Tokyo within 30 years, this anime follows what happens to two ordinary kids during this sort of natural disaster.

The first episode deftly shows us the two siblings, 11- or 12-year-old Mirai and 8- or 9-year-old Yuuki. Mirai is on the cusp of adulthood, getting disillusioned with the world, especially as annoying little things seem to keep happening to her. Sweet-natured Yuuki treasures the memory of the whole family going to Odaiba, so asks to go and see a robot exhibition there, but his parents are too busy, so falls to Mirai to take him. Numerous small misfortunes befall her, and she gets annoyed at adults being rude or treating her like a child, so she wishes disaster on the world. In an echo of After the Quake (which I wondered if the theme of frogs was also alluding to), that’s when the tremors begin. Buildings collapse and bridges burst into flames. People are trapped and killed. Mirai doesn’t know where Yuuki is – but with the help of a concerned adult called Mari, they set off on the arduous journey back to their homes in Setagaya.

Where Tokyo Magnitude 8.0 really succeeded was in making me care. I cared about Mirai – her brattiness at the start was obviously going to lead to her reforming, but it actually did make me think of her as more of a rounded character. I cared about Yuuki, with his happy-go-lucky fascination for robots and his stoic way of putting on a brave face. I cared about Mari, who reminded me of Balsa from Seirei no Moribito, and wanted her family to be okay when she found them. The art was mostly simple, especially when it came to colouring, but it was effective and fluid and the designs were overall very appealing. The voice acting was excellent, especially when it came to Kobayashi Yumiko, who voiced Yuuki so well I had to check he wasn’t voiced by an actual young boy, and who sounded nothing like she did as Tetsunosuke, Azuma Kazuma or Black☆Star – or, obviously, Excel. Everyone else plays their role superbly, from Mari in every episode to the grieving old man helping out in the shelter at the school whose method of dealing with loss was one of the most touching parts of the show.

Not everything was perfect, though. I had a real problem with the twist at the end: I’d figured out what was going to happen by episode 3 because – of all things – the last episode’s title made it so obvious to me. But the way it was presented – so that it was obvious certain things were only in one character’s head, but you weren’t sure it was meant to be obvious – made me keep wondering if the audience was supposed to know or if the makers were thinking they were subtle but just doing it badly, all of which just made me remember the artificial nature of what I was watching a put a big emotional block in the way. The moralising got a bit heavy-handed, the writers pushing the message of ‘you should appreciate your loved ones, because you never know when something might happen to them’ so much that it started to seem their message was actually that everyone needs to go through a horrifying disaster to make them into decent human beings. Also, very unusually and uniquely for a noitaminA show, I actually felt it would benefit from fewer episodes than its 11. There were some episodes – where Yuuki runs off towards Tokyo Tower, where there has to be a dramatic rescue of a boy trying to rescue a rescue robot – that felt like treading water to put off the inevitable ending a little longer.

In fact, what I’d really like to see would be Tokyo Magnitude 8.0 recut as a feature film, removing some of the extraneous parts, presenting the last episodes a little more carefully so that it’s either twist or tragic inevitability, not somewhere between the two, and moving at a brisk pace. Then I think the piece could get the international recognition it deserves (stressing it was made before the tsunami), and sit alongside what is in many ways a spiritual predecessor, Grave of the Fireflies. 

Старик и море and Моя любовь / The Old Man and the Sea and My Love

Aleksandr Petrov is quite unique in the modern animation scene, perhaps in the whole history of the art, not for conceiving of his way of creating moving pictures, but for actually doing it. A student of Yuri Norstein, he starts from a similar basis but his methodology is at once simpler and far more artistically challenging. Petrov uses just one pane of glass and paints upon it with oil, and for the changes between frames, he adjusts the paint where possible, and where larger changes are needed, he repaints. In other words, every single frame of this animation is an oil painting, quite literally.

I discovered Petrov through the twin prongs of Ghibli’s support of him, helping to release his work and including it in their museum library, and his contribution to the Winter Days project, where his aesthetic was unique.

The Old Man and the Sea is his most lauded work, and in my experience the best. It won the Oscar for best short animation and perfectly balances artistry, innovation and a compelling, classic story. Based on the Hemmingway novella, it is the simple tale of an old fisherman who is considered washed up by his community, having failed to catch anything in 84 days. Even his young apprentice is told to find a new boat to fish with, and has to comply despite his loyalty. The old man goes out alone and so begins a battle with a huge fish that threatens to overcome his fading strength. It’s not a novel story but it allows for powerful moments and for an impressive showcase of Petrov’s painting skills, bringing with it as it does chances to paint not just people but shifting water, grand skies and most impressive of all, the fish down in the murky deep.

My Love feels almost resentful, as a follow-up. It feels as though The Old Man and the Sea was a very sincere effort to gain worldwide fame and renown, and the recognition was not enough. Petrov returns to Russian dialogue – The Old Man and the Sea being released in English and French – which is welcome, but the art style is much more impressionistic and less realist, and while the possibilities of the medium are better-explored – the light in an open door becomes the pages of a book, the characters transform to classical lovers and poets, the ground rushes up to become a wave – it all feels forced and contrived. The plot, based on a story by Shmelyov, revolves around a 15-year-old boy coming of age and initiating a romance with two possible love interests, treating them with typical – even shocking – immaturity, could function well for this kind of animation, but it just doesn’t feel like Petrov is interested. I know this is mostly speculative, but I was gratified to learn that Petrov’s contemporaries, including Norstein, found this film to be soulless and more of a technical showcase than a sincere animation. For a story about love, it seems so distant from its characters and almost disdaining. Of course, the technical side would have stunned me but for seeing it done more to my personal tastes in The Old Man and the Sea, which strikes the right balance between painterly and realistic both for animation and for my preferences in oils.

I want Petrov to be given a real chance. I want to see this incredible art form given a feature-length film release and to be amongst the most beautiful pieces of cinema ever seen. But story comes first – and the sincerity and love with which it is told. The Old Man and the Sea was perfect for a short film. It is that side of his art I’d love to see Petrov develop.

海がきこえる /Umi Ga Kikoeru/I can hear the sea/Ocean Waves

‘I thought this was worse than a soap opera’, says the protagonist of Umi Ga Kikoeru, and while it’s not as bad as all that, I can’t say this film is a whole lot better.

I can easily find reasons for Mimi wo Sumaseba and Hotaru no Haka to be animated rather than live-action, but Umi really didn’t benefit at all from being animated, and the standard of art was a long way from Ghibli’s best - when their main team is at work. which it was not, here.

And the story really is lacking. A high school boy’s relationships with his best friend and a girl develop a bit. That is it. At seventy-two minutes including opening and ending credits, there really isn’t that much to this movie. If it were something remarkable, something beautiful and unique, the technical aspects would be good enough to support the story. As it is, there is nothing to elevate it beyond the status of absolute mediocrity.

Like Neko no Ongaeshi, this was a project designed to give the younger studio members some experience while keeping the budget low. While Neko was at least buoyed by a sense of exuberance, Umi is weighed down by its attempted realism and its lack of decent plot or likeable characters. The whole thing looks like it was a struggle to conceive, realise and complete, and as such, is probably the least pleasant of all Ghibli’s films to watch.

(originally written 30.12.06)

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)

耳をすませば /Mimi-o Sumaseba/If you Listen Carefully/Whisper of the Heart

Now, the first time I saw Mimi-o Sumaseba, it wasn’t in the best of circumstances. It’s never good to watch an achingly cute love story when you’re in the midst of an argument with your girlfriend (in fact, I think the argument stemmed from the broken promise of going to see the film together – or was that The Cat Returns?), and as such, while I remember enjoying the movie, I didn’t actually recall much about it before rewatching it yesterday. And I’m glad I did, because it’s now amongst my very favourite Ghibli films.

When the film was made in 1995, Miyazaki was considering giving up directing, and most people inside the studio expected his successor to be Kondo Yoshifumi. However, this was to be his only movie as helmsman before his tragic passing in 1998. Nonetheless, for a movie the world remembers you by, you could certainly do worse than Mimi.

Sorry, Hayao, but I have to say that the stories of Ghibli films tend to be strongest when based closely on that of a novel- or in this case, a Ribon manga, even if one heavily adapted by Miyazaki himself for the film's screenplay. While Sen to Chihiro, Mononoke and Kurenai no Buta are in my opinion the best films the esteemed sutajio has ever made, their greatest strengths are decidedly not their storylines. On the other hand, Hotaru no Haka and this film benefit enormously from having really simple yet strong, cohesive storylines to build upon. Shizuku is a normal girl with some talent for translating lyrics from English but no idea what she wants to do with her life. She meets a boy named Seiji, and while they quarrel at first, she begins to see more of him after discovering the fairy-tale antiques/knick-knack store his grandfather owns and they grow closer.

It’s a simple story, told at a slow pace, full of charming details. Time is spent on cuts that would never be seen in an average Hollywood movie, let alone animation – people waiting politely for others to pass, things getting dropped and picked up again, typical petty family squabbles. Thanks to this attention to detail, the character animation is probably the best I’ve ever seen, being so very real. Shizuku is getting out of bed, reaches for the bottom of the bunk above her, misses it and carries on unperturbed; she lets out a breath or holds back her tears; Seiji and a group of musicians play an impromptu session, and they actually look like they’re playing. It’s sublime. There’s magic in, say, Sen to Chihiro’s Yubaba literally blowing her top and surging towards the camera with her hair a mass of living, fiery tentacles, but there’s magic too in simply capturing the unconscious mannerisms of a young girl. And then there are the fantasy sequences involving the Baron – the parts that make this a project suited to animation rather than live action…and they are astonishingly beautiful.

Some minor story details seem far-fetched (Seiji’s trick with the library cards, for one) but mostly the coincidences work within the idiom, because it’s not as though coincidences cannot happen, and you feel most of the events in the story would have occurred anyway, even if not for the circumstances that brought them about here. As a story, it is sweet, simple and touching, a romance in the simplest sense – affecting rather than titillating, which I for one far prefer. Easily in my top five Ghibli movies, despite being one of their most conventional. It may not be an adventure, as such, but it’s a story anyone can recognise and understand. Beautiful.

And undoubtedly, Miyazaki’s little story tweaks worked a charm. Violin-crafting? Inspired detail.

(Originally written 10.10.06)

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.

Tokyo Godfathers

Today I watched Tokyo Godfathers, from Kon Satoshi, the director behind Perfect Blue, Millennium Actress and Paranoia Agent. And while I’ve really enjoyed all of those works, I think this is the one I’ve found most striking and enjoyed the most.

The story is simple and down-to-earth: three homeless residents of Tokyo who are closer than they care to admit have their lives profoundly changed when they find an abandoned baby and decide to take it back to its mother.

The three characters, who don’t really fit the term ‘Godfathers’ (derived from an old Western movie the plot riffs upon called ‘Three Godfathers’, also remade by John Ford), are an acerbic drunkard with a painful past, an unconvincing and rather grotesque transsexual (as usual ‘okama’ being a very difficult word to translate, especially without sounding more hateful than is appropriate) and a teenaged girl who is pitched perfectly as flawed, prickly and yet sympathetic all through her growth during the film. It plays out like a more mature, more heartfelt version of the episode of Paranoia Agent with the misfit members of the suicide club – and that was an excellent episode.

Beautiful Madhouse artwork, especially in the backgrounds, some superb, mature pacing and quirky characters make a meandering plot extremely gripping and never does the film get dull. As usual, Kon Satoshi explores some of the darker and more disturbing areas of Japanese society not often dealt with in anime, from immigrant ghettoes and child-snatchers to horrible teenagers who get their kicks hunting down and beating up defenceless old tramps, and shines brief spotlights on things like Christmas traditions, runaways and the dangers of gambling.

Normally, coincidence in plotting annoys me, but in this comedy it was not only acceptable, but an integral part of the plot because it was exaggerated to the point it became integral. Ultimately, the darkness and maturity of the tone were only spice to the sweetness and fun of the comedy and feel-good revelatory moments, making for true richness.

Everything Kon Satoshi has done I have been extremely impressed by. Must check out Paprika too…