Simply enchanting

Rating: 10/10 (22 September 2015)

The original Japanese audio is imperative to My Neighbour Totoro and I highly recommended it. Not that the English dub isn't sufficient (Ghibli films tend to attract a certain amount of care), but it doesn't do justice the lovely representation of childhood and innocence that the master Miyazaki conjures here. The sisters Satsuki and Mei discover these dust bunnies, little black fluffballs with tiny legs and eyes (this design later revisited in Spirited Away), and they may exist or not, but the adults in their father and Granny certainly indulge them. They delight in this discovery of their 'haunted' house and scream out shrilly and cackle for the bunnies in a way that only the original Japanese can fully justify. And in the animation their eyes grow wide and their grins grow massive - even more massive than say, the arguing men in Castle in the Sky, and that is truly a mark of great emotion when considering Miyazaki's work. That is again revisited in the bathing scene amidst a harrowing storm, where the father ushers in this silliness and over the top laughter to scare away the evil spirits. He's a thoughtful and caring and accommodating character like so few fathers in fiction are today - he isn't the problem, but his career and absence merely a symptom of life. Hisaishi's lovely track "Obake Yashiki" (or Haunted House) aids this discovery process; the eager plucks of the synthesizer create such a nervous excitement and curiosity that Satsuki and Mei clutch with their hands and eagerly embrace. I am reminded of this same track being used in this Chinese cartoon from my childhood, about a similarly gigantic tree amongst small trees in peaceful serene forest, until loggers arrive.
But within those moments of pure delight in their childhood there is a significant blemish, their mother's illness which continually keeps her in hospital. The film does not focus on her plight as some sort of impending doom, but rather its implications and effects on the rest of the family. It is simply a fact of life. And so Satsuki has been forced into a role older than her years, a motherly comfort for Mei when she sulks and cries. She is, because of the unfortunate circumstances, pushed into the brink of adulthood. So it is the singular Mei who discovers the Totoro creatures, in a very delightful sequence where the white bunny-like one nervously rushes ahead and out of her eager palms. When she indignantly claims that she is not lying about her encounter (after the hilarious incident with the bushes), the adults nod in agreement after initially laughing at her. But Satsuki is also swept up in these tales, because even for her remarkably maturity, she collapses from things asked of her that are beyond what a little girl should be forced to face. And so we have two girls who are devoid of parental attention, and in this they find comfort and serenity in Totoro's adventures, playfully imitating Hisaishi's title theme with recorders atop the gigantic mystical tree.
My favourite segment has to be the middle part where the two sisters go to the bus-stop with an umbrella for their father. Miyazaki lets us experience the rain and cold and impatience they feel, but it isn't sinister for no good reason. The giant Totoro joins them, and without a second thought Satsuki offers her the black umbrella, leading to the iconic and strange composition of the pair waiting in the rain for a bus, each with their own way of brandishing the umbrella. And sound design is used so weirdly and wonderful to establish Totoro as a gentle and mysterious giant; the heavy drop of rain that splatters against the umbrella, coupled with the adorable animation of the hairs standing up to attention and the wide lopsided grin. That grin is later copied by perhaps the strangest creature of them all, the cat-bus, with its multiple rapid legs and its pair of rats illuminating its destination. When its door magically widens, we hear a peculiar metallic sound effect, the only ones apart from the sisters to witness this. The magical friendship here is strengthened, though we are still somewhat baffled and amazed.
My Neighbour Totoro is an extremely poignant and magical and strange exploration of the sort of childhood curiosity and imagination that children, but in particularly these two, can conjure. They play their recorders atop the giant tree, but it vanishes in the morning. Do they weep and moan? No, they rejoice and dance, imitating the same movements from last night to urge the little seedlings to burst forth once again. It's not the sort of tale that is ramped up to the extremities to promote some internal change - we get an inkling that is already happening with Satsuki, but it's not something that she is entirely ready to handle. And that's okay. Are these forest spirits a coping mechanism, or a fantastic comfort in a world that's a little scarier each time the sisters are told that their mother will not return home quite yet? Many films would have the children approach from a distance, cautious and apprehensive. The father, upon hearing of such a creature, would cynically berate such lies and establish himself as a sort of antagonist, but more importantly as an adult. Miyazaki makes the children squeal in delight and chase after such creatures. The father beats his chest in the most absurd way and cackles madly with his daughters. And later a weeping Satsuki collapses into the chest of Totoro, clearly overwhelmed by the burdens thrust upon her. She finds comfort and assistance. Everything will be okay.