Matt Cooper Films

Erased (2016) by Yuichiro Hirakawa

Satoru (Tatsuya Fujiwara) has the ability to travel back in time to prevent disasters happening. Unable to control this, he must look for anything out of place in order to stop the impending tragedies. He finds himself transported back in time 18 years, to his primary school in Hokkaido, before one of his classmates Kayo (Rio Suzuki) was murdered. The young Satoru (Tsubasa Nakagawa), investigates clues and tries to work out what happened, not only to prevent Kayo’s death, but also to prevent his mother’s death in the present after she is targetted by the same killer. He is helped by his classmates in the past and his pizzeria co-worker Airi (Kasumi Arimura) in the present.

Based on the manga series by Kei Sanbe, with a script by Noriko Goto, “Erased” is a fantastical time-travel film with a dark central tragedy. The whimsical tone of much of the drama is in stark contrast to the paedophilia and murder that lie at the heart of the mystery. For the most part the film manages to pull off these disparate tones, but the final moments leave an uncomfortable feeling as it attempts to affix a hopeful, if bittersweet, ending onto a desperately bleak situation involving multiple murders and child abuse. The time-travel mechanism that drives the narrative goes unexplained, simply being something that Satoru has from the beginning. This is a minor problem as the mystery is compelling and well-crafted, giving us plenty of time to enjoy the characters and excellent performances. Fujiwara Tatsuya and Kasumi Arimura are fun as the co-workers, and Tsubasa Nakagawa, who plays young Satoru with the wisdom of his older self does an incredible job at making this believable.

The film’s idea that someone could travel back in time to right a historic wrong is alluring and Satoru’s mission manages to maintain the tension throughout. It is interesting to see a child tackling this dangerous and difficult criminal case, albeit one who is inhabited by the wit and wisdom of his older self. The film also has a strong message about it being the responsibility of everyone, no matter how seemingly powerless, to prevent these tragedies from happening. Forgoing the usual grimy basements and dark lurking figures, the film highlights the sad reality that these crimes often happen in broad daylight. We see an attempted kidnapping from a playground, where the bright, colourful surrounds masks the dark reality going on just out of sight. “Erased” is a unique take on the amateur detective, managing to balance the investigation with time-travel and mystery.

Matt Cooper Anime, Films

A Letter to Momo (2011) by Hiroyuki Okiura

Following the death of her father, Momo (Karen Miyama) moves with her mother Ikuko (Yuka) to the small island comunity of Shio, moving in with Ikuko’s aunt and uncle. Momo is still dealing with the regret of arguing with her father before his untimely demise in an accident; carrying with her an unfinished letter from him reading only ‘To Momo’. She soon has other things to worry about as three guardian spirits Iwa, Kawa and Mame (Toshiyuki Nishida, Koichi Yamadera, and Cho) arrive from Heaven to watch over Momo and her mother, taking the shape of yokai from a picture book in the attic.

“A Letter to Momo”, written and directed by Hiroyuki Okiura, is aimed squarely at children with a powerful message about loss and regret following the death of a parent. The animation is well-done, capturing the characters’ movements and the beautiful summer island scenery. In particular, the weather is depicted in stunning style, with darkening skies presaging rain, and the incredible force of a typhoon is palpable. Mina Kubota’s enjoyable score captures the youthful energy of Momo and the monsters. The puerile humour will no doubt appeal to young children, but often seems out of place given the dark subject matter, switching from contemplative drama to fart jokes rather than more character-driven comedy. There are several inexplicable elements to the plot, such as the yokai’s voracious appetites and kleptomania, and their reason for being there at all requires suspension of disbelief that may be beyond some older viewers.

The film deals with a young girl processing her father’s death; struggling with her guilt over her harsh words to him the last time they met. It is an important message for children and yet the film seems to struggle to examine this central tension outside of a few key scenes. The comic relief of the yokai, intended to break up the downbeat tone, is awkward and more emphasis on the other human characters, such as Momo’s new friends on the island, or her mother’s aunt and uncle may have provided more meaningful relationships for her. The film suffers in comparison to “Okko’s Inn” which had a similar theme and fantastical elements, but managed to bring them together in a more cohesive way. “A Letter to Momo” often feels unsure as to what age of child it is aimed at, failing to fully satisfy for either young children or older teens.

Matt Cooper Anime, Films

Wolf Children (2012) by Mamoru Hosoda

While at University, Hana (Aoi Miyazaki) meets the love of her life (Takao Osawa). This man, who is actually not enrolled at the university, harbours a secret: he is a werefolf, and the last of his kind. The two start a family, with Hana giving birth to two children, a daughter named Yuki (Momoka Ono/Haru Kuroki), and a son named Ame (Amon Kabe/ Yukito Nishii), so named for the snow and rain prevelant at the time of their births. Yuki and Ame inherit their father’s ability to transform into wolves. Following the tragic death of her partner, Hana is left to raise the children alone, moving to a remote, abandoned house in the mountains in the hopes of remaining safe from prying eyes.

Directed by Mamoru Hosoda (Summer Wars), from a screenplay by Hosoda and Satoko Okudera, “Wolf Children” is a beautiful tale about raising children and the various joys and sorrows that entails. Despite their peculiarity, Yuki and Ame present many of the same issues for their mother as any young siblings: they fight; they stubbornly refuse to listen to their mother; they get ill; and make numerous other demands on her time and patience. But throughout it, Hana’s affection and desire to protect her offspring make any temporary struggle worthwhile. The film lacks a traditional narrative and instead shows us the daily lives of Hana and her two children, with the action being narrated by Yuki. The film’s stunning depictions of nature and the changing seasons, along with the everyday scenes of rustic life are charming and give a real sense of getting to know the characters as we see them grow, as well as their relationship to their environment. The art and animation do an incredible job with the children in both human and wolf form, making this fantastical transformation appear natural. Masakatsu Takagi’s score of melodic strings provides an exquisite accompaniment to the emotional drama that is filled with several highs and lows.

“Wolf Children” gives equal time to Hana and the children, giving the film an inter-generational appeal. We see Hana’s struggles as a single-mother attempting to raise two children; the tragedy of losing her husband; and the difficulties in attempting to learn about mothering without being able to ask for help. In one amusing scene we see her debating whether to take her sickly child to a paediatrician or a veterinarian. She is always sympathetic in her attempts to bring them up, protect them, and allow them to follow their own hearts. Likewise, the children are enjoyable and relatable, with the boisterous older sister Yuki and her introverted younger brother Ame providing a number of memorable moments. The children’s journey includes them learning about the dangers of the wider world, exacerbated by their circumstances, and discovering their own will: with each making a choice about their true nature. The film’s final scenes, in which Ame and Yuki forge their own paths, while their mother looks on both proud of their achievements and sorrowful of their growing independence, are sure to strike a chord with parents and children alike.

Matt Cooper Anime, Films

Princess Mononoke (1997) by Hayao Miyazaki

After bringing down a rampaging boar that threatens his village, Prince Ashitaka (Yoji Matsuda) sets off in search of the evil that is poisoning the forest. Cursed himself by the mysterious plague that turned the boar wild, Ashitaka has only a short time to live, unless he can lift the curse. He soon reaches Irontown, ruled over by Lady Eboshi (Yuko Tanaka), who has destroyed large areas of the forest in order to mine for ore to manufacture weapons. When a young girl, San (Yuriko Ishida), who lives with the wolf god Moro (Akihiro Miwa), attempts to destroy Lady Eboshi and the humans who are damaging the forest, Ashitaka is forced to choose between the worlds of men and nature.

“Princess Mononoke” is a thrilling, fantasy adventure, following the central protagonist on a hero’s journey of sorts. However, the film is far from straightforward, with a number of subplots, including Lady Eboshi’s war against rival samurai Lord Asano’s forces; the magical Lord of the Forest which is being hunted; San’s history as a girl whose soul was taken by the wolves and who was transformed into a feral guardian of the forest. All of these characters and stories lend a sense of scale to the world and allow for the exploration of various themes. Even the central narrative of nature versus the predations of human society is not black and white, as we see Lady Eboshi caring for lepers and women saved from forced prostitution. The dynamics between the various factions carry real weight and it feels as though Ashitaka faces a genuine dilemma in who to protect. The animation is stunning, showing a true love of the natural world, from torrenting rivers, wind sweeping the grasslands, and vast mountain ranges. The wolves, boar and the red elk that Ashitaka rides are also given as much personality and motivation as the human characters. The action sequences are kinetic and oftentimes brutal with no shortage of blood, severed heads and limbs. Joe Hisaishi’s majestic score, filled with heroic themes and mysterious melodies, is the perfect accompaniment to this incredible film, nuanced and uplifting, yet at times dark and troubling.

The film’s central theme about mankind’s destruction of the natural world and their violent natures is brought to life here in grisly detail. The bloody battle sequences and industrial Irontown are in stark contrast to the beauty and tranquility of the forest. However, as mentioned before the film shies away from characterising all the human characters as evil. Even Lady Eboshi, the ostensible antagonist, is shown as caring and democratic in her running of the town; while the animals are not averse to violence, anger, and destruction themselves. Likewise, San’s backstory suggests that the animal god’s are temperamental and prone to revenge. Ashitaka is plunged into a world of complexity to which there is no easy answer and at the end of the film we are left with this same sense of unease about the potential future we are facing and the realisation that while the solutions to our many problems may not be easy they are however worth fighting for.

Matt Cooper Films

The Boy and the Heron (2023) by Hayao Miyazaki

When his mother is killed in a firebombing that destroys the hospital she was in, Mahito (Soma Santoki) and his father (Takuya Kimura) move from Tokyo to live with Mahito’s aunt Natsuko (Yoshino Kimura). While the Second World War continues, and despite his father’s work at a factory producing parts for fighter planes, and the recruitment drives in the local town, Mahito finds himself in a tranquil, rural paradise, grieving his mother’s death. Things are interupted when a grey heron (Masaki Suda) that lives on the estate begins talking to him and he discovers a mysterious tower in the grounds, overgrown and hidden by forest. He learns that his great-uncle (Shohei Hino), involved in dark magic, created the building that has since been sealed off. When his aunt goes missing in the vicinity of the tower, Mahito sets of to find her and is transported to a paralell world, where his great-uncle is the creator and anthropomorphic and militaristic parakeets rule the realm. Aided by a woman named Kiriko (Ko Shibasaki) and the heron, Mahito also finds a younger version of his mother (Aimyon), and tries to rescue them and return to his own world.

Writer-director Hayao Miyazaki’s latest film features many of the elements we’ve come to expect from Studio Ghibli, with the war-time setting reminiscent of “The Wind Rises” and a fantastical world akin to “Spirited Away”. The Japanese title “How do You Live?” is taken from a 1937 novel of that name by Genzaburo Yoshino. The novel appears briefly in the film, but the film’s plot is distinct from it. In essence the film is a simple tale of a boy attempting to come to terms with the death of his mother, while embodying the values and characteristics of a traditional hero in his unwavering attempts to save his family: bravery, compassion, and intelligence. The film has darker moments too, with the heron’s appearance being often accompanied by sinister proclamations, and a sequence in which Mahito is swarmed with frogs that completely engulf him. In short it is not a film for very young children, but those on the cusp of adolecence, with its messages about growth and coming-to-terms with the darker aspects of humanity. The animation is spellbinding, from the aforementioned frogs, to the magical creatures known as wara-wara and flocks of birds, the film has a vibrancy and kineticism that is exciting to see. The opening sequence, seen in flashback throughout, has an impressionistic feel, that perfectly captures the horror and confusion of the firebombing, perhaps mixed with Mahito’s own memories of this traumatic event. The score, by longterm collaborator Joe Hisaishi, of sparse, plaintive piano further heightens the sense of loss and loneliness of Mahito’s journey. The film’s more surreal moments, the otherworld being a place that often defies logic, give the sense that the whole alternate reality is a place of metaphor and meaning, less fantastical and more meta-physcal or psychological in aspect.

An incredible example of simple yet effective storytelling that balances comedy and tragedy, whimsy and dark emotional drama. The film leaves it to the audience to find their way through this often confusing mix of tones and styles, with elements such as the wara-wara being unborn children in the ‘real’ world, and the relationships between people Mahito has met and their doppelgangers in the otherworld. Similarly, while the references to war are minimal, they are clearly important as we see the fighter-plane cabins being lined up at Natsuko’s house. Whether there is a connection between the parakeet king and his army, or the anthropomorphic inhabitants of the magical world’s insatiable appetites, and the militarism of this period in Japanese history, again is left for the audience to puzzle out. “The Boy and the Heron” is a wonderful example of what films can do best, leave you with stunning visuals that provoke a deep emotional response without necessariliy explaining to you the whole meaning. As with the best art, it allows you to be carried along by the mystique and grandeur of the creation, raising questions about life, loss and spiritual growth.