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Only Yesterday had always intrigued me ever since I'd learned about its hidden, almost esoteric reputation as potentially the most underrated Ghibli film. It was a film that, when surfing through reviews online, was filled with praises and five-star reviews to such a universal degree that I felt ready to welcome it into my arms as a favorite at any given moment. People everywhere would recommend it to me. A close friend boldly proclaimed it was "the best Studio Ghibli had to offer". YouTube and Google seemed keen on bombarding its cover in my feed. Hell, my dog even took one of the fattest shits ... I'd ever seen a mere 5 minutes before I started the movie. All the signs were there. Consequently, when I had prepared the film on a pleasant evening to watch during dinner, I had anticipated something masterful, something that would enhance my perspective on Studio Ghibli, and something I could fondly reminisce upon when recounting their fantastic collection. But it was nothing of the kind. Not for me, at least. As a result, today was much needed lesson - that even if my friends, people with similar tastes, online sources, my dog's feces, and the universe shower a work of art with utmost adulation, it simply might not be for me.

If you couldn't tell, this review so far has been quite the meandering ramble. I'm not even sure "review" is the best word when "jumbled mess of thoughts fueled by spontaneous inspiration" would be more appropriate description. So I'll try a different approach. I want to express in clear terms why this film was only mediocre to me, even if some of its aspects were, admittedly, exceptional.

The first and foremost of my complaints is the one that rang most incessantly in my mind. With each passing minute my sense of unease grew, until I finally realized the film wouldn't abruptly turn for the better. And through it all, one flaw was at the forefront of my tumultuous mind. What is it, you ask? Naturally, it's with the film's presentation: it's a slice-of-life in the truest sense of the word.

Now, I am by no means averse to slice-of-life. As a genre, it's probably one of my favorites - or at least what's typically labeled slice-of-life these days in anime. And here lies the problem: Only Yesterday has a different and perhaps more accurate interpretation on what "slice-of-life" is supposed to mean. Instead of layering the nonexistence of plot progression with a romanticized aesthetic, evocations of coziness and tranquility, and exaggerated but striking characters, Only Yesterday almost literally sliced up what a hunk of a woman's timeline would be, gave it a fittingly bare atmosphere, and served it on an illustrious platter. As the clock ticked I watched Taeko switch seamlessly between recounting her past and going about normal farmwork, and sitting there in a dazed stupor I was suddenly reminded of why I lived most of real life in my head. I can't stand the mundane. Yes, Taeko's disposition is perfectly understandable, and yes, the movie presents a realistically grounded drama. But once again, it's all so mundane. My life at the moment is characterized by efforts to suffuse it with as much beauty and idealization as possible, because I can't feel alive without it. While others might feel immersed into Taeko's character and feel her authentic sentiments rising up as their own, I sat there yearning for something, anything, to make me feel something toward life.

So if I had to sum up why I reacted the way I did, I would simply turn the issue toward the crux of my personality: I cannot stand the mundane, because it makes me feel nothing. In fact, almost everyday at every moment I truly do feel nothing, and my life's journey is my attempt to overcome this. With this point out of the way, I can finally get into commentary about the specifics of the film.

The snippets of Taeko's past presented through flashbacks are the types of reminisces that naturally become inseparable to the discontent - those with the inability to move forward. And it makes complete sense, both psychologically and thematically. In fact, the film itself is one of the most thematically consistent I've seen. Every one of Taeko's flashbacks has a purpose, a hidden meaning casting light on Taeko's convoluted psychological landscape that gradually answers why Taeko has become the way she is. Her 5th-grade years serve as the primary point of fixation, idealized of course but surprisingly full of substance and life-defining decisions - after which the course of Taeko's life would steadily be charted onto a path away from her true desires. To her, 5th grade was a period of innocence and dreams, but it was simultaneously when the signs of adulthood had begun to appear. The lengthy focus on periods is one such example - in the film, periods mark the transition from child to adult, but also symbolize the impending pressure for for children to conform to societal principles. Mio (or whatever her name was; the girl who spilled the beans) is the only one of the girls to feel fine with mentioning the topic among boys, much to the resentment of the girls. She represents someone authentic to who she is, and is rightfully displaced with a distinct peace of mind compared to the other classmates. Eventually, even Taeko comes to disagree with her due to the "impropriety" of mentioning periods, reinforcing her tendency to conform to others' values.

Moreover, Taeko's dealings with her family hardened her heart to rejection, as one by one her true self was shunned and ignored by the people closest to her. With the range of trifling arguments and tensions presented between Taeko and different family members, we as viewers get to see how exactly Taeko grows accustomed to rejection, eventually integrating it into her lifestyle to the point where she can't even identify what she wants to do with her life anymore. With acting, too, Taeko is rejected. Not only by her dad, who made the initial refusal, but later in the street by her mom, who would rather pay attention to the feelings of the girl who landed the role rather than her own daughter's. Finally, we see with Abe (prior to the reveal) how Taeko had devotedly stayed true to her feelings of sympathy by refusing to move seats from Abe, regardless of what other girls said. But despite her good intentions, Abe's refusal to shake her hand at the closing of the year became Taeko's final "rejection" in her nostalgic flashbacks, signifying the end of her ideal self and the period of reminisces.

In time, Taeko has unconsciously learned to suppress her desire, to follow the norms. She isn't even fully aware of the fact that 5th grade marked the final point in her life where she was unabashedly herself. She "works at a good job at a good company", but this does little to settle the discontent in her heart - a discontent that has sat so long it's become a mere shadow on her mind, flitting through without actual presence. The reason why she spends half of her time recollecting the past is simple: she longs for a time free of the shackles plaguing her desires, a time of unadulterated hopes and dreams. Yet it was also her vacation to the farm that had truly sparked this nostalgic train of thought in the first place, reviving the presence of her 5th grade self. But why? Because the farm offers her a blissful fulfillment and peace of mind aligning with her dreams, but now she has come to view such dreams of "forbidden" or "fleeting". She no longer has the capacity to chase after them let alone realize them, but thankfully feelings are subtle creatures; they influence us whether or not we want them to. Not knowing why, she finds an exposure to the farm's "impossible" life triggering her immense longing, which soon cascades into a full-on realization about her own nature.

The farm heals her. Whether through being able to voice out her past to others or simply live out the peaceful life she wants, her mind slowly becomes free of the societal fetters normally holding her back. The reveal with Abe becomes a tipping point, where her final memory of "rejection" turned out to not be a rejection at all, but the pure love of a child. With this, hope suddenly becomes possible again. Purity suddenly seems real. Nevertheless, it takes time for Taeko to mull over her feelings until, at last, gathering her resolve and long-gathered insights, she races back to the farm to share a farmer's life with Toshio. The end. On paper, it's pretty great.

So I'll say it again: the film's thematical consistency is exceptional. I can see how the austerity, realism, nostalgia, and depth of it can appeal to many people. And while I recognize all these attributes, it's unfortunate that I don't have the capacity to enjoy them, at least within the context of the barren desert that aptly characterizes this film's presentation. I was bored out of my mind. Perhaps in time I'll come to appreciate what I right now call the "mundane", but until my own mental states get resolved - my disenchantment with so many aspects of everyday reality - it won't happen anytime soon. I can only hope it does.

In the end, it's always good to knock a Ghibli film off my watchlist.

[Spoilers]

Knowing Shinkai's style as a director, I expected a good amount of romance and drama in Hoshi no Koe. What I didn't expect was him trying to fit it all in 25 minutes.

The story is pretty straightforward - it tells the tale of two lovers separated by time and space, desperately yearning to see each other again; but the universe seems intent on making their reunion impossible. While this is a familiar concept, it can be executed in a plethora of different ways. This time, Shinkai frames it in the context of an intergalactic war between humans and hostile aliens known as Tarsians.

The war ... is mainly used as a plot device to forcibly separate the female protagonist through a military draft, but it also leads to the interesting concept of letters “lagging” in time. It’s quite a unique way of conveying a long-distance relationship, if not even enhancing the emotions involved.

Portraying the girl’s draft as inevitable, Shinkai builds sentiment by showing the despair and loneliness the two lovers feel as they are separated. Several scenes show both protagonists waiting in solitude for a response, unable to move on in their lives. And to make matters worse, the war causes the girl to drift further into the depths space, affecting the delay between their messages. A month of waiting became a year, and a year became almost a decade. Any hope the girl had of returning from the war was continually snuffed out, as the conflict with the Tarsians had no visible end. Both characters, deprived of their loved one, succumb to despair and loneliness.

All of this Shinkai tries to fit into 25 minutes, and this is the main flaw of this anime - the lack of context removes clarity and depth from the powerful relationship the two protagonists supposedly have. You see, fleshing out the characters is important in portraying a meaningful relationship. Otherwise, the only thing the audience knows is "Oh, Mikako and Noboru love each other but can't be together, so they're sad." I can imagine some will find their relationship hard to comprehend, or maybe just uninspiring or weak. Naturally, the more empathy and experience one has, the easier it would be to “fill in the blanks” and infer the facets and emotions of their relationship; however, excessively relying on empathy is a mistake. Still, people who've experienced being separated from their loved ones will be able to connect the dots quite easily.

Another thing that bothered me was that barely any of their messages were actually read out loud. Once again, we know nothing about their relationship, except the assumption that they're sad and lonely. The lines near the end about how Mikako wanted to experience life's beauty with Nobaru were touching for sure, but nothing demonstrates why they feel that way about each other. This is one of the most important parts about portraying a profound romantic love - the question of why they truly love each other in the first place. Insight into Nobaru's and Mikako's conversations could have conveyed how close they were, if utilized correctly. Instead, we got a handful of scenes in the past with them riding on a bike together. Moreover, they never even confessed their feelings to each other. This lack of self-disclosure from both sides makes their relationship seem more like an ungrounded attachment rather than meaningful love.

Still, I personally found the characterization to be done fairly well, despite only being defined by a few major events. The two characters seemed realistic enough, and their agonizing love for each other was portrayed shallowly yet beautifully. I could really feel Mikako's hopelessness as she fought the Tarsians over and over again. Furthermore, after so many years apart, I think their view of each other must have transformed substantially. If only there had been enough runtime to demonstrate this shift in their relationship. After all, being apart for so many years, what do they love about each other, anyway? Perhaps it's the fact that only through each other did they ever experience love. Undoubtedly, they would have idealized aspects of each other and their past together. This could have been used to show how idealization is so easy to cling onto when you have nothing else.

I also want to emphasize how profound it is, what Shinkai is attempting to convey. For example, what exactly is a significant other? Well, a significant other is anyone who you share meaning with. In sociological terms, you take on their role, imagine their perspective, and use them to constitute a significant part of your entire self. Without these people, life would lose its meaning. A lot of people view this romantically, but this can also extend to family and close friends.

But what I found so touching was that these two lovers only had eyes for each other. They were each other’s significant other, and no one else. This explains their devotion to each other after many aimless and painful years, and why neither of them could ever move on. For how could Nobaru move on, if Mikako was the only thing that gave life meaning? What even was life if he gave up on her? The only thing both people can do is tearfully reminisce about their past and hope for a future where they would somehow be together. That sums it up: hope and reminiscence. Sometimes they’re the only things you can do, no matter how illogical or improbable they may seem.

Obviously, both characters needed to be fleshed out more. Conveying slices of their past in greater quantity and depth, as well as providing more snapshots of their aimless and trapped lives could have elevated this into a legendary tearjerker. Still, this anime covers the fundamentals very well.

I also have no complaints about the sound or art. I admit I don’t pay much attention to these aspects compared to story and characterization, but I found the art gorgeous and the sound fitting.

Overall, I really enjoyed this. Despite missing out on its potential as a full-length feature, what Shinkai was able to fit into 25 minutes was something quite special indeed.

Well done, Makoto Shinkai. A good first film. I'm so glad you’ve decided to pursue this career.

Story - 7/10
Art - 8/10
Sound - 8/10
Characters - 5/10
Enjoyment - 8/10
Overall - 7/10 (more precisely, ~7.22)