Childhood Romanticism

As much as it may seem that Makoto Shinkai, forever known now as the master animator/director in crafting the wonderfully emotional and detailed Your Name, is taking the ‘mantle’ as the top Japanese animation director from Hayao Miyazaki, who’s currently delving into animation in moulding a Studio Ghibli film named How Do You Live?, one name that can’t be misplaced – especially amongst those who follow anime carefully – is Mamoru Hosoda. While my personal introduction to the said directors work came in the form of Digimon: The Movie, an apt film at the times of its release which tried to rival the mass popularity of Pokémon: The First Movie, it’s arguable to state that Hosoda’s real auteurist plunge came years later in the shape of The Girl Who Leapt Through Time; a film which meticulously blurs the line between reality and fantasy and elaborately highlights the importance of family. It’s this very motif which has shaped Hosoda’s enriching filmography and has, in itself, detailed relatable themes for audiences to understand; as seen in the perfect Wolf Children which explores the complexity of parenting through Hana’s questioning in raising her kids. This is proudly carried on in Hosoda’s latest film of Mirai; an intimately kaleidoscopic anime feature film which delves into similar troves of childhood wonder and growth. With Mirai fairly reaching the gaze of those who’ve come accustomed to the aforesaid film-makers work, how much does Hososa’s latest animated-outing fair in comparison to his other whimsical and emotional workings?

Life for four year-old Kun was a simple one; he lovingly played with his beloved trains and always had the attention of his affectionate mum and dad. However, once Kun one day meets his younger sister, Mirai (meaning ‘future’ in Japanese), he must come to terms with the fact that he’s not always going to be the centre of attention ever again. Knowing this, he reluctantly spins-off into loud tantrums, often throwing toys on the floor or storming off in disdain. However, with every weeping outburst, Kun soon finds himself traversing into otherworldly fantasy realms; whimsy spaces featuring his recently deceased great-grandfather, the Byronic spirit of the family’s pet dog and a teenage Mirai of-the-future who all provide Kun insightful perspectives and memorable lessons…

Eclipsing what was stated in the introduction, what’s common-place to see from Mamoru Hosoda’s filmography, starting with his first Studio Chizu full length animated feature of Wolf Children, is how much the said director specially emphasises the importance of family around his stories which acutely mirage reality and fantasy together. Whether it’s Hana’s internal struggle of contemplating whether she’s raising her feline son and daughter in the right way in Wolf Children, or Kyūta in The Boy and the Beast departing from his anthropomorphic father-figure in search for his real dad to find purpose and reconciliation, there’s clearly a fathomable undergrowth of identifiable authenticity to each one of Hosoda’s fantastical outlooks which gives the respective films a memorable sense of emotional ease and satisfaction. This is certainly the case in the said directors film of Mirai, where we’re presented with a realistic family scenario of an only child in the form of Kun begrudgingly coming to terms with the fact that he now has a little sister in the form of Mirai and consequently bursts into attention-seeking tantrums; forever wanting recognition from his father and mother but ends up in fantastical settings which teach him important values. Drawing (mind the subtle pun) from his own experiences as a father, Hosoda presents us with a rather sweet and innocent story of an innocent boy’s passage from being spoilt only-child to doting and mature older brother. Consistently drifting into lavish and abstract-looking fantasy worlds, from eye-piercing gothic ruins to claustrophobic train stations, Mirai essentially marks its story in a rather Christmas Carol-esque fashion; forever plunging young Kun into different worlds and meeting different and estrange family members of future and past in helping the young protagonist understand something about himself and sibling-hood. In each of the instances when Kun traverses from reality into a fantastical space, the vision begins in Kun’s family courtyard; with the frame swaying horizontally to the space where the adventures become more epic in scale every time Kun steps into the dream-like voids. What awaits him are unearthly visitors ready to pass on their knowledge. Whether it’s Kun helping future Mirai retrieve a ceremonial baton stuck to the dad’s back trouser-pocket, or the evolving four year-old meeting his great-grandfather and his love for riding bikes – which subsequently results in Kun learning to ride a bike without the need of stabilisers – it’s these specific sequences where Kun learns from these fantastical escapades that are subtly poignant and correlate to the mind-set of a toddler; showing Hosoda’s intuitive understanding of the matter. From the illuminating shifts of tones, which don’t hinder the experience whatsoever, we’re presented with another heartfelt tale that’s told with clear insight and is further admired considering how bottled-in these experiences feel in accordance with the setting taking place in a cramped five-tier house between two large suburbs. 

As fairly as it can be mentioned that Mirai doesn’t necessarily have the wondrous grandeur or narrative-mastery as something like Your Name, with Hosoda’s film occupying both a simplistic yet episodic contextualisation and a simplistic artistic style in comparison, it’s a feature which equally shows a welcoming romanticism; a sense of hidden magic which is interwoven with everyday life and neatly echoed by the varying piano and jazz musical scores. As much as it doesn’t blow its story wide-open into a grand adventure, it subtly executes its homely confinement – a slim, stepped row of glass and wood squeezed between two suburban homes – in a way that feels distinct and bottled-in. What’s more impressive however, is Hosoda’s retention in perfectly utilising slick-camera techniques to convey the passage of either time or space. His most infamous example of this is seen within Wolf Children, where a lateral tracking-shot is enveloped to cleverly show Hana’s children’s progression in school and how, over time, each Yuki and Ame naturally change personalities. Although it’s not executed to the same emotional degree, Hosoda’s employment of cinematography is paramount to perceive. From virtual tracking shots of Kun’s family home to the swift lateral rotation of the camera moving to Kun’s point-of-view of the fantasy realm he’s about to explore, it’s these rather minute yet effective framing techniques which adds to the emotional impact of this urban fairy-tale; once again synchronising fantasy and reality into one whole. One sequence which particularly sticks-out like a sore-thumb is the moment in which Kun looses his bearings in a train-station, with Hosoda and his artistic-crew sketching strangers with lackadaisical expression; gestalting this sense of being lost in a crowd as a child. If there’s one discrepancy to be had in relation to Mirai’s visuals, it’s to do with the rather frantic editing. While the many cut-to-black transitions cement it’s conveyed ‘episodic’ story-telling, it’s these very cutaways which feel weak and rather disjoints the structural flow that was initially established. 

As is the norm with every anime film that opens for a limited time, Mirai opened in both Japanese and English dub; meaning specific audiences will naturally glean toward one or the other. For myself, I wanted to see whether or not the English-version of Mirai provided anything in contrast to the original Japanese (English Subtitled) since translations between the two versions can often vary in meaning and understanding. For the most part, when it came to the English voice-cast portraying their respective roles, the voice-acting itself felt natural by the time the credits rolled-over. While Rebecca Hall’s interpretation of the mother did sound a little disjointed at the beginning of the tale, it soon didn’t bother too much. The same can be said of Crispin Freeman’s contribution as the father, a synonymous anime actor known for his voice-work in the likes of Hellsing and The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya. On future viewings, it’ll be interesting to see how differential the English and Japanese versions are; since there are little moments Japanese domesticity and tradition mentioned in the English version that could have been misinterpreted. 

From the infamously and classically known animations of Walt Disney’s era, to the beloved and rather complex nature’s of Hayao Miyazaki’s wondrous films, great animations have a knack in visually and emotionally interpreting reality; whether it’s of a human feeling or an experience which resonates to audiences on a relatable level. While his filmography doesn’t necessarily compare to the longevity of the aforementioned animators of old, it’s rather reasonable to suggest – in looking at his works of Wolf Children and The Boy and the Beast – that Mamoru Hosoda is one of the more noticeable anime auteurs of this contemporary age and that’s perceived through his latest film of Mirai. Almost effortlessly, Hosoda’s efforts in illuminating the importance of family-life is not only charming and whimsical, but it’s an archetype which comes across as a reality to a select few cinema-goers. Although the untimely cut-to-black transitions rather halt the pacing of the episodic structure, it’s a film which subtly distinguishes itself from the said directors past cinematic endeavours by being a magically bottled-up film; seamlessly delving into painterly worlds that are poignant and intuitive.

On that note, it’s time for me to end this week’s film review. As always everyone, thank you for reading my latest Film Review of Mamoru Hosoda’s Mirai and if you happen to have watched the film or have an opinion on my review, you’re more than welcome to share your thoughts down below. For next week, considering that I’ve not had the chance to review every film I wanted to see this year, I thought it would be a good chance to watch/analyse a film that I’ve been meaning to watch for a while…With that said, thank you once again for reading my latest Blog Post and I hope you’re all having a nice week! Adieu! 😊👋👦👧🌄⛆

★★★★☆ – Alex Rabbitte