If they scream, there is nobody around to hear them. Huge, menacing creatures lurk in the woods outside, for no discernable purpose. Two vulnerable little girls move into a haunted house haunted not by tangible ghosts but in the very frame of its being, in the dust particles that swirl around in the phantom sunlight. The adult in me recognizes Totoro as deeply frightening, the stuff of nightmares. Now, as little girl that was enchanted by it years ago is fading away, I watch Totoro and ask myself, Why the hell is she sleeping with the bunny? Doesn’t she notice something is wrong? Is the mother supposed to be dying? Why are they by themselves so much?—things I never would have thought of a lifetime ago. The funny thing is, Miyazaki’s film is just as much intended for the adult as for the child that believes itself to be motherless (for haven’t we all thought that, at one point or another?). We have within ourselves – to employ trite psychological lingo – an “inner child†that responds with yearning to this movie, but that child has withdrawn deeper inside to make room for the other person that must come in, sooner or later. How we all once wished for that – simply peace – believing it would make us happy. Most of all, there is the pervasive inner calm caused by the peaceful coexistence of human and Totoro, the father’s acceptance of his daughters’ beliefs. We feel no need for the sensationalism we’ve gotten used to, no need for conflict slash resolution. No matter how jaded we’ve become now, after our hopes have been dashed, our idealism has turned sour, watching this film will take us back to a point in time we didn’t even know existed – before we could form opinions and memories, perhaps when we were still in the womb – when we took unconditional love for granted, and when, if we were to stumble across a gigantic rabbit-like creature in the woods, the logical course of action would be to snuggle up to it and take a nap. The beautiful thing about My Neighbor Totoro is that there is no antagonist or overwhelming conflict nary hair nor hide is glimpsed of the sinister mustachioed bad guy we’ve all come to expect. Now, when I think of the details burned into my memory when I was seven – the Cat Bus, Mei running through the rice fields, the impish dust bunnies floating through the air – it’s hard to separate those memories from myself, because they shaped who I have become. For me, at least, it’s synonymous with my own childhood, and it can’t be separated from myself and broken down into categories of good or bad, exciting or dull. It’s strange sitting down and trying to put the essence of this film into words, because even now, when I’m grown up and expected to be able to analyze, to break down into pieces and build up again, to self-examine, My Neighbor Totoro remains intact, impenetrable, like a vision half-glimpsed but never quite within reach. Hewitt Directed by: Hayao Miyazakiĭuring my childhood, I must have watched My Neighbor Totoro a hundred times, and it has never lost its magic for me, even until this day. Voices: Dakota Fanning, Timothy Daly, Elle Fanning, Pat Carroll Music: Joe Hisaishi Produced by: Toru Hara, Yasoyoshi Tokuma, Rick Dempsey Written by: Hayao Miyazaki, Cindy Davis Hewitt, Donald H. Tokuma Japan Communications Co., Studio Ghibli.
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