4.5 stars. Rated PG, for dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.22.20
The spirit of Studio Ghibli lives on in writer/director Makoto Shinkai’s Your Name, a mind-bending romantic fantasy steeped in the Japanese culture, tradition and mysticism that are hallmarks of Hayao Miyazaki’s best films.
 |
| Mitsuha, center, can't begin to explain to her best friends — Tessie, left, and Sayaka — why she isn't quite herself at the moment. |
On top of which, the lush hand-drawn animation, at times approaching photo-realism, is so gorgeous that it almost hurts the eyes. Indeed, at times the visuals virtually overpower the narrative: ordinarily an ill-advised distraction, but in this case merely a welcome excuse to watch the film again.
Shinkai’s story is so carefully composed, so deviously cunning, that almost any plot description is guaranteed to spoil the viewer’s sense of elated discovery, as each fresh twist is revealed.
If your curiosity is sufficiently piqued, best to stop reading here, until afterseeing the film (which is available via Amazon Prime and other streaming services).
High school-age Mitsuha (voiced by Mone Kamishiraishi) lives in the rural community of Itomori, in Japan’s mountainous Hida region. She and her younger sister, Yotsuha (Kanon Tani), are being raised by their grandmother, Hitoha (Etsuko Ichihara); the elderly woman has schooled them in venerable Japanese traditions such as kumihimo (thread weaving) and kuchikamizake (sake fermentation), the latter taking place during a lavishly costumed kabuki ritual.
Both practices have symbolic significance that factor into what will follow.
Mitsuha, bored and restless, yearns for a more exciting life anywhere else: a desire she confides to best friends Tessie (Ryo Narita), a construction worker; and Sayaka (Aoi Yüki), a nervous girl too shy to acknowledge her crush on Tessie.
Elsewhere…
High school-age Taki (Ryunosuke Kamiki), living amid the hustle and bustle of Tokyo, works part-time in an Italian restaurant while studying to become an architect; he’s also a gifted pencil artist. He has a crush on restaurant co-worker Miki (Masami Nagasawa), a slightly older university student, who is amused by his somewhat clumsy attention.
To the consternation and confusion of their respective friends and family, Misuha and Taki haven’t been themselves of late; each has acted disoriented, out of place, out of touch. The penny may drop faster for cinema buffs who recognize echoes of a sub-genre that stretches back to 1941’s Here Comes Mr. Jordan and 1964’s Goodbye Charlie, but it takes awhile for Misuha and Taki to figure out what has happened … although they cannot begin to comprehend why or how it happened.
At first, these events are written off as bad dreams (a suspicion that we share, because it’s difficult to know where the story is going).
But we get visual hints, most notably the frequent, low-angle images of sliding doors opening and closing, separating an inside from an outside (which prompted memories of 1998’s Sliding Doors, in its way a distant cousin to this scenario). The symbolism goes deeper: a tomato visibly sliced in two, a brilliant sunset with a lens flare that bisects the cinematic frame.
We begin to sense that Misuha and Taki are two halves of a separated whole: somehow incomplete without each other.
Shinkai has a lot of fun with the resulting gender dynamics, starting with the respective dismay (and delight?) of anatomical surprises. There’s also the essential need to maintain appearances, because nobody else would understand or believe the reality of these unreal circumstances.
The “trading” back and forth seems random, prompted by sleep and kataware-doki (twilight, regarded by Misuha’s literature teacher as “the magic hour”). Misuha and Taki eventually become more adept at “passing,” and their respective influence helps both become better versions of themselves. They also begin to communicate by leaving scrawled notes on each other’s hands and arms, and — eventually — lengthy messages on their respective phones.
Misuha “pushes” Taki into a date with Miki; we wonder if, in turn, he’ll somehow help Misuha re-connect with her coldly aloof and long-estranged father, Toshiki (Masaki Terasoma), who has abandoned his family’s rich, centuries-old traditions for an uncompromising career in local politics.
But such low-level machinations cannot obscure what must be the primary objective: that Misuha and Taki somehow find each other. Or are they doomed to remain connected only mentally, never physically?
And just when you think Shinkai’s story is moving in a specific direction, he pulls the rug out — hard — and leaves us gasping. After which, without pause, we zoom into a third act fueled by increasingly frantic, tick-tock suspense.
None of this would resonate, were we not emotionally invested — whole-heartedly — in these characters. Credit the precise balance of expressive animation and perfectly nuanced voice talent: a blend that generates more authentic human sentiment and passion than routinely gets called up by many live-action actors.
(Which is why you absolutely, positively must watch this film with subtitles, in order to appreciate the sensitivity that Shinkai encouraged from his cast. The dubbed English version doesn’t come close.)
Kamishiraishi’s Mitsuha is every inch an impatient young woman at the crossroads of adulthood, yearning both for answers and fresh questions; we hear the angst and sense of wonder in every syllable. Kamishiraishi also gives her a mischievous side, particularly as Mitsuha attempts to thrust Taki into Miki’s arms.
Kamiki, in turn, initially shades Taki with the masculine bluster and bravado that often conceals insecurity. His character shifts noticeably in the second act, when Kamiki injects a note of quiet determination, as Taki makes a fateful decision.
It’s also fun to watch — and hear — how Kamishiraishi and Kamiki re-cast their performances during the swapping sequences: Taki’s mannerisms bursting from Mitsuha’s mouth, and vice versa.
Narita and Yüki supply gentle comic relief, as the forever bickering Tessie and Sayaka; and Tani is a hoot as Yotsuha, who can’t figure out why her older sister gets so weird at times.
Considerable credit also goes to animation director Masashi Ando and character designer Masayoshi Tanaka; there simply aren’t words to describe the totality of their efforts here.
My sole complaint: the title song and three interior songs by Yojiro Noda and his Japanese rock band Radwimps. All four tunes are much too aggressive for this thoughtful fantasy; the fourth song’s placement, in particular, rips us right out of the story.
That aside, this film is a game-changer, much the way Spirited Away was, back in 2001. Upon release in 2016, Your Life quickly became the highest-grossing animé film and Japanese film of all time. Although shown that year in a few American film festivals, it was granted only spotty U.S. release in 2017, and remains largely unknown in this country.
Time to correct that.
No comments:
Post a Comment