There is really no true evil in Hayao Miyazaki's "My Neighbor Totoro". This is a movie made out of pure love for the art form. Miyazaki is a parent to these ideas, painting each frame by hand. His is a love understood only by him, deep personal thoughts and appreciations exteriorized in everything we see, hear and feel in this movie.
When two girls, Satsuki and Mei move to the countryside with their father, Tatsuo to be close to their ailing mother, Yasuko which is in the hospital, they pass by a river. The two girls look down on how the water flows and there was a bottle--so detailed--just sitting there. This is just one of many less obvious details that Miyazaki carefully planted in his visual landscape. But he never draws attention upon any of them. Often times, the beauty of Eastern Cinema is in its ability to slow down, to take its time focusing on one frame, and really, asking the viewer to stay awhile and think what he just saw up to a certain point. It is also a moment of respect, reflection, and inner peace.
A particular scene for which I thanked Miyazaki out loud while I was watching this alone, was when the two girls were waiting at a remote bus station for their father to arrive from work in Tokyo. It was already dark, and it was starting to rain. The mystical Totoro and his minions came and waited at the bus station alongside the two girls as well. But not for a moment was it scary. The amount of warmth these characters evoke through their design instead created a moment of serenity and peace. So many times, Western movies tend to excite, shock, instigate in order to function--and often they do it well, don't get me wrong--here, through its modesty, this static scene, in which only the rain was moving evoked an almost guilty feeling of coziness, comfort, peace and safety.
Only when I felt like I owed Miyazaki for the complacent state in which that scene brought me I realized why I love this movie so much. Because it's focus is almost therapeutic--it brought back an inner peace and stability that we didn't even realized we need, no, we deserve in a world whose pace is getting more and more hectic. But "My Neighbor Totoro" takes place in an idealistic world we all aspire to reach. The father is very responsible, present, patient, understanding, an exemplary paragon, and a model which is annoyingly ignored in artistic representations around the world. Only when I saw this movie did I realize how much I miss art whose path to greatness is defined not by complexity, bluntness or moral dilemmas, but by targeting our deepest, most fervent wishes.
Take the ending, for instance, in which an expected tragedy does, actually, not occur and it's quickly disarmed. How often do we long for moments in which we were children and we imagined banal issues as life-altering problems, worrying in our lack of knowledge about the world around us just what on Earth will we do only for our father--a hero--to appear and seamlessly ease our burden. For those of you who've seen the movie, you know what that potential tragedy is.
Remember when our biggest problems in life came and went in half a day? When our imagination crafted an uncounted number of "totoros" for us to sleep on their bellies and not worry about betrayal or distrust? When no matter how big your fear was, yelling and turning the lights on would destroy all the darkness in the world? And when the world was full of opportunity? I hope you do, because Hayao Miyazaki wants to convince you it still is and that your best days are not necessarily behind you.
When two girls, Satsuki and Mei move to the countryside with their father, Tatsuo to be close to their ailing mother, Yasuko which is in the hospital, they pass by a river. The two girls look down on how the water flows and there was a bottle--so detailed--just sitting there. This is just one of many less obvious details that Miyazaki carefully planted in his visual landscape. But he never draws attention upon any of them. Often times, the beauty of Eastern Cinema is in its ability to slow down, to take its time focusing on one frame, and really, asking the viewer to stay awhile and think what he just saw up to a certain point. It is also a moment of respect, reflection, and inner peace.
A particular scene for which I thanked Miyazaki out loud while I was watching this alone, was when the two girls were waiting at a remote bus station for their father to arrive from work in Tokyo. It was already dark, and it was starting to rain. The mystical Totoro and his minions came and waited at the bus station alongside the two girls as well. But not for a moment was it scary. The amount of warmth these characters evoke through their design instead created a moment of serenity and peace. So many times, Western movies tend to excite, shock, instigate in order to function--and often they do it well, don't get me wrong--here, through its modesty, this static scene, in which only the rain was moving evoked an almost guilty feeling of coziness, comfort, peace and safety.
Only when I felt like I owed Miyazaki for the complacent state in which that scene brought me I realized why I love this movie so much. Because it's focus is almost therapeutic--it brought back an inner peace and stability that we didn't even realized we need, no, we deserve in a world whose pace is getting more and more hectic. But "My Neighbor Totoro" takes place in an idealistic world we all aspire to reach. The father is very responsible, present, patient, understanding, an exemplary paragon, and a model which is annoyingly ignored in artistic representations around the world. Only when I saw this movie did I realize how much I miss art whose path to greatness is defined not by complexity, bluntness or moral dilemmas, but by targeting our deepest, most fervent wishes.
Take the ending, for instance, in which an expected tragedy does, actually, not occur and it's quickly disarmed. How often do we long for moments in which we were children and we imagined banal issues as life-altering problems, worrying in our lack of knowledge about the world around us just what on Earth will we do only for our father--a hero--to appear and seamlessly ease our burden. For those of you who've seen the movie, you know what that potential tragedy is.
Remember when our biggest problems in life came and went in half a day? When our imagination crafted an uncounted number of "totoros" for us to sleep on their bellies and not worry about betrayal or distrust? When no matter how big your fear was, yelling and turning the lights on would destroy all the darkness in the world? And when the world was full of opportunity? I hope you do, because Hayao Miyazaki wants to convince you it still is and that your best days are not necessarily behind you.