I was lucky enough to see Mirai, the latest film from animation master Mamoru Hosoda in a theatre -a small theatre, but a theatre nonetheless -the environment in which the film was clearly meant to be seen in. Like his other works it’s an obscenely visual movie, improving on previous effort Summer Wars in its CG effects, and echoing Wolf Children and The Boy and the Beast in its overwhelming beauty and its core theme of family. At the last Oscars, in one of the few good decisions made by the Academy this year, it became the first non-Studio Ghibli anime to be nominated; and while you could argue what other animes also deserved that recognition you can’t deny this one doesn’t, a sentimental yet chaotic portrait of a toddler’s relationship to his new infant sister.
The film is about a young family in Yokohama living in a modernist home with a great tree in the courtyard. After the birth of their second child Mirai (which literally means “future”), older brother Kun has difficulty adapting to the presence of a sibling stealing his family’s attention away from him, lashing out and being a brat, and refusing to take any responsibility for her. However he begins encountering a teenage Mirai apparently from the future in the courtyard, setting him on a journey into his familys’ past and future to learn the importance of their values and of Mirai herself.
Even in animation it’s uncommon to see a movie about characters this young. It’s a period of childhood many might assume doesn’t yield interesting stories, certainly not ones that can resonate with adults on the same wavelength as children. But Mirai proves this isn’t the case by combining relatable facets of early childhood, particularly the adjustment to a new sibling and the different family dynamic that creates, with a strange fantasy adventure marked by significant insight and character development. Kun is depicted with a lot of the intense bitterness, irrationality, and inconsolable temper many parents would recognize, moving, behaving, and speaking much like real toddlers do. Hosoda and the animators (many of whom I suspect are parents) lean into this true-life observational aspect immensely, from emphasizing the scrunched up red face of Mirai forewarning an outburst after Kun hits her, to the steady way Kun descends stairs one foot at a time. And because this characterization and central conflict come from a place of tremendous honesty, it grounds those parts of the film while giving authentic weight to the supernatural detours.
While the primary thrust of Kun’s character journey is coming to terms with his baby sister, the larger theme of the film is about the greater importance of family through the lens of interconnectivity across generations and time. There’s a conscious pattern implemented where Kun’s journeys directly tie into his experiences in the present. After he gets in trouble for his messiness he’s transported back in time to see his mother behaving even more maniacally at his age; after an upsetting failure to ride a bike without training wheels, he’s inspired by his great-grandfather riding a motorcycle after a severe leg injury sustained during World War II. All of them add up to give him a better appreciation and understanding of his family, each of whom he disowns at various points in the movie. The episodes are actually a little reminiscent of A Christmas Carol, but for the absence of a present tense scene. Linked to these is a strongly conveyed sense of Japanese family tradition. The teenage Mirai is extremely concerned that her Girls’ Day ornamental doll set is taken down on time, otherwise prolonging her ability to marry, which leads to an extensive comic relief sequence. The idea of the family tree is a core concept of the movie as well, and I’m sure the interesting nature of the family dog Yuko has some connection to Japanese tradition or folklore. One’s family is tied to their sense of belonging, their identity, and their choices, and it’s a vital part of the films’ provocative and stylistically ambitious climax.
The visual brilliance of this film doesn’t just stem from its animation alone, but for how it is –for lack of a better word- shot. As in some of his previous films, Hosoda occasionally utilizes a particular transitory technique where he literally pans from one scene to another within the same environment to illustrate the passage of time. It’s an imaginative and necessary way to define the sense of space most of the movie takes place in. The film also uses graceful match cuts and continuity editing to enhance a mood, really invigorating the films’ pace and style. But of course the animation itself is pretty impressive, the melding of artistry in the climax works well, there’s a real elegance to how certain scenes are composed, and a few moments in the finale are even breathtaking.
It shapes up into a wonderfully joyful experience, a fulfilling character journey out of something that appeared to just be “Lisa’s First Word” with time travel (not to knock that Simpsons episode by any means, it’s one of my favourites). Hosoda proved himself a brilliantly moving storyteller and craftsman with Wolf Children, and Mirai continues to express that talented sensibility (it’s also a thematic continuation of Wolf Children and The Boy and the Beast which were respectively about motherhood and fatherhood). A fairy tale-morality tale that finds new ways to talk about family and responsibility, Mirai is a delightful and meaningful adventure from one of Japan’s finest contemporary filmmakers.
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/Jordan_D_Bosch
Letterboxd: https://letterboxd.com/jbosch/
Comments
Post a Comment