apan's Studio Ghibli had a banner year in 1988, with the simultaneous release of Isao Takahata's Grave of the Fireflies and Hayao Miyazaki's My Neighbor Totoro. The two films were financed together (with Grave, an adaptation of a well-regarded novel, shouldering the financial burden of proof for Totoro, which was considered a riskier bet) and made simultaneously, and they initially screened as a double feature. Perhaps as a result, they have several noticeable similarities. Both center on two siblings who rely a great deal on each other; in both cases, the remarkably responsible older child serves as a surrogate parent to the willful younger child. Both films feature the loving Ghibli focus on nature and the Japanese countryside, and both concern themselves with a grave threat to a parent.
But they still could hardly be more different. Where Grave explores dark themes of pride, grief and inhumanity, Totoro is a lively, cheery romp through the little intimacies of childhood imagination. As Totoro opens, its young stars, Satsuki and Mei Kusakabe, are moving out to the country. Their mother is in the hospital with an unspecified illness, but will reportedly be better soon, and the girls' jovial father is preparing their new house for her homecoming. While Satsuki starts attending a new school, Mei wanders the area, picking flowers and chasing pollywogs.
While exploring, she spots a transparent shape that looks something like a cross between an owl, a bear and a bunny. Chasing after it, she ultimately tumbles into a hole and lands atop a much larger version of the same creature, which rumbles and growls out a noise that she assumes is its name: Totoro. Later, Mei reports the encounter to her father, who suggests she met "the king of the forest" and should feel privileged. Soon, Satsuki has her own encounter with the giant fuzzy beast, who gives her a gift in exchange for a favor and begins showing Mei and Satsuki wonderful things. But the story takes a darker turn when the girls' mother has a setback, and Mei runs off alone and is lost. Ultimately, Satsuki has to call on the forest king for help instead of fun.
Minimal plot yields maximum joy
Given Grave of the Fireflies' recent re-release, it was high time for the long-awaited DVD version of Totoro to arrive. But this release is sure to disappoint collectors. It contains no extras except for a few Fox movie trailers; the English-only audio track is the same one used in Fox's 1993 VHS release, and there's no subtitling option. (Which could be worse; Fox's voice actors are excellent, and it's a good dub track, although the translation deliberately alters a few things that Fox apparently found a bit too real for American audiences.) Apart from the DVD-standard interactive menus and scene-selection "extras," it's just the VHS release in a new form.
Which means the movie has to stand on its own. Fortunately, it does. Totoro is one of Studio Ghibli's best films; it's virtually tonally flawless. Jo Hisaishi's lovely score sets a series of recognizable moods without pushing too hard at the audience, while Miyazaki's gorgeous animation ensures that there's always plenty to look at. Meanwhile, his simple plot gives the kids plenty of room just to be themselves. Totoro lacks a hard-driving storyline; much of it is simply observational or environmental, as Miyazaki follows his characters at play, at school or interacting with each other and their supposedly haunted new house. A minor subplot involving a local boy named Kanta, who seems to like Satsuki in a blisteringly shy way, provides a few gentle laughs.
But mostly Totoro is a wonderful film simply because it's so unpretentious. Infectiously cute and completely devoid of insincerity, it beats out most children's films simply by being energetic and authentic, without attempting to manipulate or steer its audience. It works well as an instructional cultural film for young children, who may wonder why the Kusakabe family bathes together in a wooden tub, or why there are roadside shelters with statues in them. But it can also be appreciated as a simple, winning adventure. Totoro is nowhere near as complex and adult as other Miyazaki films, like Spirited Away and Princess Mononoke. But in its own way, it's just as good: It's sweet but not cloying, emotional but not melodramatic, and, above all, it's just plain fun.
The scene between Satsuki and Totoro in the rain in front of the bus stop is one of my favorite sequences in all of anime. I may never be able to get over the sheer creepy alien joy that crosses Totoro's face when he finds out what rain on an umbrella sounds like.
— Tasha
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