My Neighbor Totoro | DAVID DUNN

Learning how to live.

We open on a dark, harrowing image — a young boy racing to save his mother. That boy is Mahito Maki (Luca Padovan), and as the sirens go off and the sky seems to catch on fire, the only thought he can focus on is that his mom is in danger. As he races through the village toward the hospital where she’s staying at, all of the details surrounding him seem to blur like a watercolor painting. The people he passes by are mere flashes of color and light that distract from the path ahead of him. The embers surrounding him flicker and fade away like the lives they take. He barely even feels the heat that’s consuming the town. But when he stops at the hospital and sees it set ablaze, all he can focus on is the flames reflecting in his own eyes.

And just like that, Mahito was alone.

This opening shot is so imperative to The Boy And The Heron because it informs everything that motivates Mahito throughout the film. As his father Shoichi (Christian Bale) remarries and has another child with his wife’s sister, Natsuko (Gemma Chan), he politely asks Mahito to call Natsuko “mother.” Of course, he refuses, because in his heart, he only has one mom. Or rather, had.

As Mahito adjusts to a new life away from the war, he keeps noticing a grey heron (Robert Pattinson) pestering around his estate. At first, the heron taunts Mahito by repeating his name, almost as if he’s mocking him like a parrot. But as Mahito continues to seek him out, the heron claims that his mother is actually alive and needs Mahito’s help.

But how could this be? Mahito saw his mother die in the hospital. Surely the heron is lying. Or is he? Mahito doesn’t know whether to trust the heron or to be wary of him, but regardless, he clings to the hope that his mother may in fact be alive. Only by going on this journey with the heron will Mahito discover if his hope is in vain or not.

This is the 12th film by Japanese animation legend Hayao Miyazaki, who has produced several magical works over the years including My Neighbor Totoro, Kiki’s Delivery Service, Princess Mononoke, Howl’s Moving Castle, and Spirited Away, which won the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature in 2002. All of his works capture the mystery and magic of the worlds they belong to, whether they involve spirits, witches, mermaids, warriors, or dreamers — sometimes all of the above.

The Boy And The Heron is just as magical as his previous films are, from the stunning and captivating animation to the gorgeous and alluring worlds he paints like an artist and his canvas. When Mahito begins his journey, he’s swept away into a strange world filled with brave explorers, spirits, birds, wizards, pyrokinetics, and even murderous cannibal pelicans. No, I’m not exaggerating when I say that, and it’s every bit as bizarre and funny as it sounds.

But it’s not just wonderful, joyful, imaginative, and spellbinding — it’s also incredibly profound and thought-provoking. One of the very best things about this movie is its emotional complexity. While other movies spell out everything you’re supposed to feel and make it so literal and on-the-nose that you can’t miss it, The Boy And The Heron is much more contemplative and open-ended with its art and its messaging. It is not a fast-moving film by any means. In fact, it’s very gradual and spends a lot of time developing this world and the people who inhabit it. Some viewers might be frustrated by this film’s slower pacing. I myself appreciate that the film took its time to invest in its characters and what they’re experiencing because the truth is there’s nothing simple about their emotions. How do you explain to a child that people just die? No, even bigger — how do you explain to a child that dreams die?

When Mahito travels into the realm where his mother is supposably at, part of it is to discover if she is still alive. But another part of it is that he needs to escape from the prison that is his life. He’s tired of being with a father who is always working and never around. He’s tired of living with a mother who isn’t really his mother. And he’s tired of playing second fiddle to a younger brother who isn’t really his brother. For the first act of the movie, he’s caught in a whirlwind of tormented emotions, yet he bottles all of them up and pretends his world isn’t crumbling just because he’s expected to be on his best behavior.

So when Mahito is swept away into a magical new world and all of his troubles seem far away, it makes sense that Mahito gets a little mesmerized by it all. Wouldn’t you be? We may not all have lost a parent, but all of us have felt like Mahito at one point or another, with our emotions screaming inside of us all while we’re expected to bury and silence them. So we go to a place to escape. For some people, it’s in books, while for others, it’s in music. For me and for many others, it’s in the movies.

Going into that escape feels so freeing, but then we face a conundrum — do we remain in the pleasant fantasy, or do we return to the harsh reality? I must admit, I have struggled with this question on numerous occasions. After I graduated high school, I almost always spent my time at the movie theater, immersing myself in countless adventures and the many wonders that they held. But was that good for me? Did I benefit from watching other people’s stories unfold, or was I hindering myself by not experiencing my own?

This question is at the heart of The Boy And The Heron’s conflict, and ultimately, it’s what sets it apart from its peers regardless of whether they’re animated or live-action. I watched this movie back in December, and several months later, it’s still at the forefront of my mind. I don’t know if every single creative decision in the film works for me. I don’t even pretend that I understand most of the film’s dream logic. But what I do know is that the film resonated with me, deeply moved me, and made me think about my own life and the path I want to forge moving ahead. And ultimately, that’s more important.

I have one complaint, and one complaint alone, and that is the film’s title. The Boy And The Heron is as misleading as it is inaccurate, because the emphasis isn’t on Mahito and the grey heron’s relationship. In fact, the grey heron is barely a presence in the movie at all. As eye-catching as it is, calling this movie The Boy And The Heron would be like calling Star Wars “The Farmer And The Droids,” or The Lord Of The Rings “The Wizard And The Eagles.” There’s much more going on in the film than just two characters, and ultimately, the title does a grave disservice to the story Hayao Miyazaki is trying to tell. The weirdest part is the Japanese version already has the perfect title, releasing in theaters as How Do You Live? Sure, it’s not as much an attention-grabber as The Boy And The Heron, but it is more true and relevant to the story. And if American audiences don’t like it, they can get over themselves. They need more lessons in subtlety anyway.

All that is to say that The Boy And The Heron is an incredibly conflicting experience, but it is a very true experience, and that’s what I think audiences need to latch onto more. By the time the movie ended, I thought very deeply about Mahito’s journey, the many tragedies he endured, the exciting new adventures he got to have, and all of the growth he’s experienced along the way. By the end, I’m left facing the same question that Mahito has to answer — do you spend your life living in a fantasy or in reality? When I have a child, I hope I can teach them that you don’t have to choose and that you indeed experience the most of life by embracing both. How do you live? By living.

My name isn’t Totoro, kids. It’s Hayao Miyazaki.

Now this is what we’re supposed to get when we go in to see an animation picture. My Neighbor Totoro is everything you expect it to be, and equally as much everything you don’t expect it to be. This is definitely a kids movie, intended to fulfill the needs of the most innocent and simple-minded of younger viewers. But this is a rare treasure for adults too, a film that is equally fulfilling and emotionally appealing to older audiences as it is upbeat and joyous for the younger ones.

Taking place in 1950’s Japan, My Neighbor Totoro follows the story of two young sisters named Satsuki and Mei (English dub by Dakota and Elle Fanning), who are moving into their new home with their father Tatsuo (Tim Daly) in order to be closer to their mother in the hospital, Yasuko (Lea Salonga). Their mother has been sick with an unknown disease for quite some time, and it really concerns the girls because they can’t even get her home for a visit. Most affected is Satsuki, because her father is always busy, Mei is painstakingly afraid that her mother will leave them, and Satsuki is forced to be the strong one during this time of hardship.

Deep in the forest though, the girls encounter strange beasts of wonder and splendor. There are these small, darkly black fuzz balls called soot spirits, who hibernate from one dark spot to another. There are two bunny-like creatures, one white young one who can phase through objects like a ghost, and an older blue one who carries a knapsack of acorns with her everywhere. Most fascinating though, is a giant, loud, gray beast called Totoro (Frank Welker), a gentle-hearted forest spirit who loves nothing more but to sleep and play on his flute in the silence of the night. The girls are at first afraid of Totoro’s large, intimidating appearance, but through his gentle, kind-hearted spirit, learn to appreciate him and become friends with Totoro and the forest creatures.

Written and directed by Hayao Miyazaki, My Neighbor Totoro is a rare animated film where the characters are as vibrant and colorful as the beautiful animation that is being expressed on screen. You really just need to see these little girls in action: they’re one of the most energetic, emotional, endearing, and inspiring little characters I’ve ever seen. I knew from the first moment I saw them that I would like them: they are these little oddballs of energy, two cute girls who are literally exploding with energy and enthusiasm as they run across the front lawn, or explore the mysteries of their upstairs attic.

The best moments, however, come from when the little girls encounter Totoro. Looking from a straightforward perspective at Totoro, its a case of what you see is what you get. He’s a big, fluffy creature who loves to eat, dance, fly, talk (and by talk, I mean roar loudly), and more than anything else, sleep. If this were any other animated film, I would say the character was another interpretation of Garfield.

I, however, think Totoro is required for more fervent analysis. I can’t help but look at Totoro like an emotional recompense for the girls, almost like an imaginary friend to distract them from the pain they experience everyday through their sick mother. Kids with only one parent will know what I’m talking about: when the one you love is in pain or worse, they want everything in the world to distract them from the reality of what they are experiencing. Its simply too painful for them to take in all at once. They need something to distract them, to divert them from reality, and so the younger ones try to focus on something fictional that will put their mind at ease, like an imaginary friend for them to talk with.

Totoro reminds me of that imaginary friend. Unlike an imaginary friend, however, Totoro is real, and this is proven through the interactions he has with the girls. He is not just a simple-minded, unintelligent forest animal. He is considerate towards the girls. He cares for them. He expresses real and genuine affection for the girls, and he shows this by dancing with them in the middle of the night, growing trees with them in their backyard, or by letting them ride his Cat Bus in cases of emergency. Even though Totoro is fictional, he’s the most real thing in the movie, taking the girls story filled with hardship and tragedy and filling it with energy, enthusiasm, and life that cannot be faked in a movie.

Every single fiber of me wants to look at this movie and say it is a perfect film, but something stops me. What is it? It certainly isn’t the characters, the animation, the story, or the emotion being expressed on screen. What is it then, if its none of the above?

Of course, I think. Accessibility. The weakness with this film, much like the stark foreign language films and the ancient black-and-white silent films, is that it strictly appeals to a certain audience. You know what I’m talking about: what is the typical american viewer going to see, a boisterous and explosive action movie with big name actors starring in it, or some independent animated film made by some guy whose name they can’t even pronounce? The weakness here is this: people who don’t like anime won’t like it, and probably shouldn’t see it, because this film mainly appeals to that same audience and culture through its story and through its execution. Because of that, Totoro will lose some viewers in its audience.

But even then, is that the fault of the filmmaker for not conforming to their tastes, or the audiences for not being open about it? Regardless of what you think, My Neighbor Totoro is a magical little film, an uplifting and wonderful fantasy that taps into the inner child in all of us, and in many ways reflects the behavior of children: animate, lifelike, endearing, sincere, and visually expressive. It’s a movie whose characters are so precious and lifelike that a live-action portrayal couldn’t have been as real as this. It’s a film that allows us to believe in miracles, even if we don’t necessarily believe in them. And at the heart of it all is Totoro, a warm, fluffy forest spirit that only loves children more than he does sleeping on his favorite moss bed.

DAVID DUNN

Film Critic. Analyst. Devotee.

Tag Archives: My Neighbor Totoro

“THE BOY AND THE HERON” Review (✫✫✫1/2)

“MY NEIGHBOR TOTORO” Review (✫✫✫✫)