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Rating: There are Ghibli films that everyone talks about (it's cliché to say "the ones by Miyazaki"). And then there's this one, the hidden gem, a Japanese box office champion in 1991, but poorly distributed in the Western market and still largely overlooked today.
"A film that only bears the Ghibli brand," this is the thought of the average viewer confined to the stereotype "Ghibli=fantasy" associating it with quirky characters, fantastic worlds, and dazzling animations. But Ghibli is also something else, the master in the shadows, animated realism, flesh, sweat. Blood. Isao Takahata is the name, "Grave of the Fireflies" is the work that marked a clear break, proving that animation could detach itself from any childish pretension, capable of being tinged with the darkest drama. But Takahata did not stop there, building a commendable career characterized by artistic honesty and the depiction of snapshots of Japan. He captured Japanese society in the bizarre and underrated 'Pom Poko', captured the most banal moments of a typical Japanese family in the little gem 'My Neighbors the Yamadas' and then constructed a time machine, diving headfirst into the archaic Middle Ages with the radiant princess, his swan song and artistic testament.
'Omohide poro poro' (literally "Memories Drop by Drop") does not escape the rule and maturely paints Japan straddling two decades, the '60s and '80s. The story is about Taeko, a young woman, single city office lady who during a vacation trip to the countryside is suddenly catapulted into her childhood memories, seemingly without any motivation. And so, with editing that completely eschews temporal linearity, we are presented with two parallel levels, the Japan of Taeko's childhood and the booming sixties, importing products from the West, from Beatles' music to food that didn't always find a proper match (as shown in the film's most iconic scene) and the '80s when traditions of a past legacy increasingly collide with impending urban modernity and where a nearly thirty-year-old Taeko must take that definitive turn in her life.
The flashbacks presented in the film (first through a stream of consciousness of the protagonist's thoughts, shared closely with the audience, and then externalized in the form of a narrative to the young farmer Toshio, her brother-in-law and advisor) do not apparently follow any logical sense, they are recollections emerging randomly following small details, a bunch of bananas on a stall, a snippet of a discussion between mother and daughter. However, it is impossible not to get lost in the benign melancholy that Takahata manages to imprint and the huge peaks of delicacy achieved, such as when dealing with the issue of childhood menstruation accompanied by teasing and school taunts, a delightful moment, not the only one.
These flashbacks illustrate Taeko's characterization, an ordinary child of the economic boom, spoiled and eager to appear "good" in society's eyes. A "fake" and cloying cuteness that she carries into adulthood (and from which she will inevitably have to free herself to make the big leap) when she shows frivolous enthusiasm for the countryside and the laborious farmer's work because the film does not want to be a celebration of rural nature: Takahata clearly shows how nature, from its tourist appeal, is actually artificial, the result of farmers who have modified it over time to meet their needs.
In short, it is a film that analyzes a series of very interesting themes all brilliantly tied together: a conceptual richness I haven't seen anymore in Takahata's cinema, perhaps not even in animation as a whole. The screenplay is partially his own creation for the adult part; the director builds an entire present that is in continuous communication with childhood, instead taken from a manga in which it is narrated in a fragmented manner, with different everyday scenes of Taeko's life disconnected from each other. The overall result is nothing short of excellent: as Miyazaki himself said: "The only one who seemed to have the potential to make a film out of it was precisely Takahata").
Last but not least, the visual style is noteworthy. A characteristic of Takahata that tends to be particularly underestimated is that his career has also been devoted to graphic experimentation that pursued minimalism, subtraction. A choice made to overcome a lack of drawing skills, which became a tool of great expressive potential, as demonstrated by "The Tale of the Princess Kaguya". But the seeds of this path are contained here, more precisely in the scenes concerning Taeko's childhood dominated by white colors, vague lines, and blurred edges (symbolizing the partial ineffability of distant memories). The present component, on the other hand, is characterized by a conventional Ghibli style, where conventional stands for lush landscapes and warm, bright colors. Also of great impact is the expressiveness of the characters obtained through pre-recording dialogues (the mouth and facial movements of the characters were created after). A great point in favor of the film's realism.
It's the case to say it: the eye thanks, the mind processes, the heart flutters for the dense experience had with this peculiar (for themes and story primarily, but also for music: frequent agrarian chants and melodies of Eastern European origin, another great burst of originality) and empathetic gem of Japanese animation.
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