My Neighbour Totoro (1988)
Letting Imagination Run Loose
It’s been decades since My Neighbor Totoro has been introduced to the public. Older audiences today can still recall Hayao Miyazaki’s infamous film as pleasant, perhaps downright satisfying, which compared to animated children’s films now, feels even more impressive. Unlike its peers, 1988’s fantasy chooses the moment over the traditional storyline, meaning that more emphasis is placed on small bouts of drama, rather than the lengthy story. A world of childish innocence is created, and in it, are two young girls exploring it. There is no need for good guys or bad guys, just reminders for how peachy our childhood used to be. For nearly 90 minutes, we invest ourselves into this memory, an area untouched by the problems of the real world.
Animated films, including the simplest cartoons such as Tom And Jerry, strive to bridge the gap between reality and fantasy. They take advantage of the fact that nobody believes that they’re actually real to make the impossible slightly more believable. Ratatouille is a strong example as well. Indeed, our tastes in film embellish and spiral to various degrees, testament to us growing up and shedding the cocoon of childhood. With that, we slowly forget how thoroughly we enjoyed animated films, the sphere of innocence that they carried, along with their important messages.
Fundamentally about two sisters, Satsuki and Mei, the film follows their journey with their dad to a house in the countryside. Everything is normal except for the fact that their neighbour is apparently a spiritual tree guardian known as Totoro. The new home is not fancy and feels depressing even, but this does not hinder the girls from exploring with their one-track, avid curiosities. One day, while she is out playing, Mei comes across a small white Totoro, and is soon introduced to a larger Totoro. She adorably falls asleep on the belly of the larger one. Soon, Satsuki returns home from school to find her younger sister sleeping alone in an open field, none of the previous mystical creatures to be seen. On a completely different day, their dad has to work later than usual, and had forgotten to take his umbrella with him earlier. A heavy downpour coincides with this. The sisters decide to pick up their dad at the nearby bus stop with an umbrella, which, to their surprise, a Totoro arrives before their dad does. The girls realize that it doesn’t have an umbrella and offers their dad’s umbrella, which Totoro gratefully accepts. As a token of gratitude, it gives the girls a pouch of seeds and nuts, a sort of trail mix. Made even better, their long-anticipated dad finally shows up, leading to a very heartwarming parade in the rain. Further later, the girls receive news via telegram that one of their visits to their mother is cancelled due to a setback in the recovery. The girls are frightened, they end up getting into an argument and Mei storms off in a huff. Mei decides to take a piece of corn she picked earlier that day and go to the hospital on foot. Her long absence is felt around the household, and distressed, Satsuki goes to Totoro for help in finding her younger sister. Immediately, Totoro summons the catbus and guides Satsuki in, the catbus takes her straight to Mei. That is about it. Everyone is happy by the end of the film, the mother is cured and returns to the family.
Essentially, the film contains no plot per se. My Neighbour Totoro happens in one of those worlds that poses neither threat, nor danger. It would suffice to say that beyond the glaring truancy of a traditional villain, the film focuses only on the good things, literally. Not once do the spirits mentioned in the background feel intimidating and this world’s characters certainly feel more enchanting than haunting. The most significant character(s) would obviously be the Totoros, some kind of homogenous mix between bear and rabbit, multiplied in size tenfold. Despite the fact that these fuzzy creatures are nocturnal, there is no indication of a dark vs light dualism. The lack of light doesn’t signify evilness or malevolence. The Totoros just enjoy sleeping during the daytime. Children are often subject to believing that monsters only come creeping out at night, but what if this idea was never implanted in their minds? The director, Miyazaki, fervently considers childish innocence and imagination to be good virtues, untainted by the outside.
Once again, My Neighbor Totoro stays away from anything remotely resembling negativity. It doesn’t mean that such instances are unnecessary or even nonexistent. Audiences don’t have to pay attention to any plot elements bottled into an easygoing story just to make it more “conventional” or better yet, “commercial”. Few films, this statement extending to cartoons, can don the “rated G: general audiences” label as fluently as this simple piece does. No critic can doubt the “appropriateness” of Totoro’s impetus. It’s just an oversized animal after all.
Once we allow our very valid fears to penetrate our minds, that is often the time when we realize that we’ve grown up. It consumes us, not to an extreme extent of course, but still apparent enough. Miyazaki’s film reminds us about family and imagination, both of which in their purest forms. Better still, where real world concerns exist, magic can coexist as well. It can sound cringey, but yes, the world is your oyster. For children, when such fears and responsibilities don’t apply, “Totoros” can appear out of thin air. Everything is there for a reason, and this conversation between director and audience teaches acceptance. These are indeed, realities that we all come across. By accepting, children (and adults) open themselves up to discover the inspiring aspects lying around. The Japanese director has taken a bold approach in his story, and his firm belief and reliance on children cements his filmmaking.
Having it sound genuine is the ultimate test of animation films. It has no meaning, no forum to work against, products of not having a sense of truth inside an animated film. In order to show his profound humanism and greater creativity, Miyazaki brilliantly blends the specifics of his characters and their actual life, as well as his respect for an audience who can consume a film such as My Neighbor Totoro and understand its density. Inside the film, the real family and its scenery feel so overwhelmingly tangible that the appearance of the Totoro is all the more incredible for its distinction. Inevitably, this is one of the happiest, most charming films ever made, completely capable of pulsating the audience and making them laugh at the same time. That said, the film risks being a diversion, free of deep emotional attachment to its viewers because the medium introduces a world of “just cartoons”. The artistry and magic of Miyazaki thrive as he takes animation back from the inherent detachment of the medium and re-engages the audience with the strength of his storytelling.
Until then, we shall continue to let our imaginations run loose.
