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The Wire
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Wire
One City, Two Tales: Tokyo Through Studio Ghibli's Lens
Menu हिंदी తెలుగు اردو Home Politics Economy World Security Law Science Society Culture Editor's Pick Opinion Support independent journalism. Donate Now Top Stories One City, Two Tales: Tokyo Through Studio Ghibli's Lens Priya Singh 42 minutes ago The dual representation of Tokyo in 'Whisper of the Heart' (1995) and 'Only Yesterday' (1991) serves not only as a narrative choice but also as a reflection of the city's complex identity. Posters for 'Whisper of the Heart' (1995) and 'Only Yesterday' (1991). Real journalism holds power accountable Since 2015, The Wire has done just that. But we can continue only with your support. Contribute now From Metropolis (1927) to Taxi Driver (1976) and Salaam Bombay! (1988) to Gully Boy (2019), cities on screen have long fascinated us – mirroring, distorting and reimagining urban life. Scholars such as Raymond Williams and David B. Clarke have shown how literature and film shape our understanding of cities, often revealing the tension between community and alienation, modernity and nostalgia. Thinkers like Marcus Doel and Henri Lefebvre remind us that cities are not just concrete and commerce. They are lived, felt and socially constructed. Few cities have inspired this dual gaze in films more than Tokyo. In Studio Ghibli's Whisper of the Heart (1995) and Only Yesterday (1991), Tokyo becomes a character in its own right; it can be both grounding and disorienting, echoing George Simmel's vision of the urban space as a site of both creativity and quiet estrangement. Studio Ghibli, founded in 1985 by Hayao Miyazaki, Isao Takahata and Toshio Suzuki, has become synonymous with animation excellence. Their movies have critiqued Japan's rapid urban growth, showcasing the delicate harmony between human development and nature's grandure. In an era of AI-generated imitation, the Studio's artistry, once quietly revered, now stands at the centre of a broader conversation about what makes art truly human. Yoshifumi Kondō's Whisper of the Heart presents Tokyo as a place of inspiration and dreams. It follows 14-year-old Shizuku as she wanders through the bustling city with a sense of wonder, finding creative inspiration in its vibrant neighbourhoods and the people she meets. Her journey through Tokyo's suburban landscapes, antique shops and libraries highlights the city's potential to nurture creativity and personal growth. A still from 'Whisper of the Heart'. The film uses a warm and bright colour palette for the city – yellows, oranges, reds and greens – that reflects the characters' mood and emotions, along with the seasons and time of day. The detailed animation brings Tokyo's streets and homes to life. The film's music, including its use of 'Country Roads', is upbeat and melodic, reflecting Shizuku's youthful enthusiasm and the lively city atmosphere. The animation is detailed and realistic, with smooth movements, expressive faces and intricate backgrounds. Background characters are never still; they actively engage with their surroundings, making the city a living, breathing part of the story. The style is influenced by manga and the works of Miyazaki, who wrote the screenplay and oversaw the film's production. Around 70% of the film follows Shizuku's everyday life and adventures in Tokyo, allowing the city itself to take centre stage. In contrast, Isao Takahata's Only Yesterday takes a more introspective approach and explores themes of alienation and nostalgia. The film follows Taeko, a 27-year-old office worker, who reflects on her childhood in Tokyo and her current life, feeling disconnected from the city's relentless pace and modernity. The film juxtaposes her desire for a simpler, more rural life with her present-day experiences in Tokyo, highlighting the emotional and psychological distance she feels. The film's animation and realistic portrayal of Tokyo's urban environment bring out her sense of disconnection and longing for a simpler life. The film employs a cold, dark colour palette with shades of blue, grey, black and white to reflect the monotony and gloom of the city, as well as the nostalgia and regret of the protagonist. Taeko's daily commute and office scenes illustrate the repetitive rhythm and routine of adult life in Tokyo. The use of muted and earthy tones for the city captures Taeko's introspective and occasionally melancholic state of mind. The soundtrack is soft and reflective, enhancing the film's contemplative atmosphere and tracing Taeko's emotional journey. A still from 'Only Yesterday'. The animation style is simple and stylised, characterised by minimal, sometimes rough movements, understated facial expressions, and sketch-like backgrounds. This approach is influenced by the watercolour paintings of the original manga, as well as the works of Takahata, who directed and wrote the film. Unlike Whisper of the Heart, the city occupies a small portion of the film, about 15%, as the story alternates between Taeko's life in Tokyo and in Yamagata, the rural neighbourhood she moves to. The dual representation of Tokyo in these films serves not only as a narrative choice but also as a reflection of the city's complex identity. Like many global cities, Tokyo is a place of contrasts where tradition meets modernity and where dreams can be both realised and shattered. This duality is a common theme in urban studies, which regard cities as sites of both opportunity and alienation. Furthermore, the difference in the protagonists' ages influences their interactions with and perceptions of the city. While Shizuku's youthful perspective adds a sense of excitement and discovery to her experiences in Tokyo, Taeko's adult viewpoint is more reflective and critical. By examining these two films, we can gain insights into how Tokyo's multifaceted nature is portrayed through different lenses. Whisper of the Heart and Only Yesterday show us that cities are not monolithic; they are experienced differently by each individual. They are shaped by who we are, what we remember, and what we hope to become. These films help us think more deeply about what it means to live in a city, touching on themes of identity, belonging and the pace of urban change. Together, the two films offer two distinct yet complementary views of Tokyo: one full of possibility, the other tinged with longing. Through their contrasting tones and visual styles, they capture how the same city can feel radically different depending on who is looking and when. It is this quiet attention to emotional texture that makes Studio Ghibli's vision of urban life so resonant and so deeply human. Priya Singh is a researcher at the Indian Institute for Human Settlements, Bengaluru, working on higher education access, qualitative research ethics and cultural representation through both fieldwork and film. Make a contribution to Independent Journalism Related News Banu Mushtaq's Importance Goes Much Beyond the Booker The Politics of 'Heart Lamp' Is Profound, Urgent and Reflects the Lived Reality of Millions Why Banu Mushtaq and Deepa Bhasthi's International Booker Is a Seminal Moment Humour, Scepticism and the Realities of the Familial in Banu Mushtaq's 'Heart Lamp' Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o: The Kenyan Icon Who Wrote For Freedom Till the Very End Most Indians Can't Even Afford Entry-Level Cars. 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Time of India
26-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Time of India
5 Underrated Studio Ghibli movies every fan should watch
Pom Poko tells the story of a tribe of tanuki (Credit: Crunchyroll) Studio Ghibli's name is often linked with flying castles. Also with mystical forests, and enchanting spirits, the studio has also ventured into grounded stories and unconventional animation styles, and these quieter titles may not have had global marketing pushes. Yet they reflect the same depth and vision as their better-known counterparts, and in some cases, even more. Realism replaces magic in Only Yesterday In Only Yesterday, a Tokyo office worker reflects on her childhood. While vacationing in the countryside, the film moves gently between past and present. And capturing how memories shape identity. There are no spells or creatures; just quiet moments and honest emotion. Its realism and adult themes make it stand out in Ghibli's catalog. Though praised in Japan, it took 25 years to reach U.S. audiences, making it one of the studio's most overlooked treasures. Porco Rosso blends humor, war, and melancholy Miyazaki's 1992 Studio Ghibli classic, Porco Rosso (Credit: Crunchyroll) Set in the Adriatic after World War I, Porco Rosso follows a pilot cursed to look like a pig. His airborne adventures feel playful, but the story carries deeper notes of loss, aging, and regret. Beneath the humor and action is a thoughtful portrait of a man shaped by history. The film balances style and substance, using aviation as both spectacle and symbol. It's a war story without violence; a rare feat in animation. The Tale of Princess Kaguya redefines visual storytelling This hand-drawn folktale is among Ghibli's most visually daring works. With loose brushwork and soft colors, The Tale of Princess Kaguya evokes the fragility of its heroine's world. A magical child from a bamboo stalk is raised to become nobility, but longs to return to nature. The story unfolds with emotional weight, questioning beauty, duty, and the meaning of happiness. Despite critical acclaim, its quiet delivery kept it under the radar for many fans. Pom Poko turns folklore into environmental warning Pom Poko tells the story of tanuki; shapeshifting raccoon dogs. They are trying to save their forest home from urban development, and the film is filled with humor and folklore. But its heart lies in the tension between tradition and modern expansion, as their tactics grow more desperate. The story shifts from playful to tragic, as it's a rare animated film that explores environmental collapse. That too without sugarcoating it, though rich in message, its unusual tone and style kept it from wider recognition. My Neighbors the Yamadas finds meaning in the mundane Told in comic strip form, My Neighbors the Yamadas follows a modern family through daily life. Each scene is short and light, ranging from school struggles to quiet moments between spouses. Its sketch-like animation adds to its charm, making each moment feel like a memory. It's less a single story and more a series of lived-in snapshots. Often missed by those seeking fantasy, this film reveals the beauty in ordinary life. Ghibli's lesser-known side offers surprises These five films show that Studio Ghibli's greatness isn't limited to the fantastical. Whether through realism, satire, or visual experimentation, the studio has explored stories that feel deeply human. Discovering these titles gives a fuller picture of Ghibli's creative range; one where quiet truths can be just as magical as flying castles. Check out our list of the latest Hindi , English , Tamil , Telugu , Malayalam , and Kannada movies . Don't miss our picks for the best Hindi movies , best Tamil movies, and best Telugu films .
New York Times
15-03-2025
- Health
- New York Times
Five Years On, Ghosts of a Pandemic We Didn't Imagine Still Haunt Us
Five years later, the everyday has returned to the pleasant New Jersey town of Maplewood. About the only visible trace of what was endured is the urgent plea that still adorns the caution-yellow marquee of the old movie theater. There for the last five years, ever since the theater closed at the dawn of the dread, it says: STAY HEALTHY. The letter L is tipped slightly, like someone staggered by a blow. That letter L might as well be us, upright but still staggering from a pandemic that killed more than seven million people worldwide, including 1.2 million in the Maplewoods and metropolises of America. Time's passage has granted the illusion of distance. The veils of protection have dropped from faces, and crowds are once again bellying up to the bar, their conversations carrying echoes of what was being talked about at the start of 2020, as if the last five years had been excised from the calendar. But then something noticed, something heard, unearths something buried. A message on a closed movie theater's marquee. A face mask shoved in a drawer. A silhouette of footprints on a subway platform. The strains of a familiar John Prine song, maybe 'Angel From Montgomery,' which at first makes you smile because you love all things Prine, but then you remember that he died in 2020 of complications from Covid, and before the next chord plays your mind is back in that dystopian time. The collective impulse to compartmentalize and forget has kicked in before. The flu pandemic of 1918 to 1920 infected nearly a fifth of the American population, yet an early chronicling of the 1920s that is now considered a classic of its kind — 'Only Yesterday,' written by the journalist Frederick Lewis Allen and published in 1931 — made only passing mention of the Great Influenza: just three dozen words for a national disaster that killed anywhere from a half-million to 850,000 people. A century later, that impulse to suppress has returned, muddling our sense of time. The coronavirus pandemic can seem so safely submerged in the past that we sometimes have to stop and ask ourselves: Did that really happen? It did. Five years ago this month, the World Health Organization declared a pandemic, the federal government declared a national emergency — and the United States all but lurched to a halt. Schools, offices, stores and places of worship closed, and sheltering in place, a concept antithetical to community, became an unnatural way of life. There was at first something sci-fi unreal about the coronavirus — an invisible enemy whose means of contagion remained mysterious. But then came the reality of death, by the thousands, the tens of thousands: so many that hospitals and funeral homes could not keep up; so many that bodies were stacked almost like cordwood in refrigerated trucks. The pandemic disrupted the ancient and sacred rituals of mourning, denying many the primal need to say goodbye. Unable to gather, we could not recite prayers together, or share comforting hugs or even toss a parting rose upon on a casket. We watched the burials of our loved ones from a distance, often in the cocoon of cars. Remember? As scientists raced to develop a vaccine, we lived in the uncertain, even the absurd, as government officials under pressure struggled to land upon the best course of action. Amid this life-and-death confusion, we slathered our hands with sanitizer whenever we touched a doorknob. We stood in line to walk like zombies through the disquieting stillness of supermarkets. We cotton-swabbed our noses while sitting in our cars, shoved the packed-up sample through a pharmacy's drive-up window — and waited to see if the touch of that doorknob, or the walk through that supermarket, had risked our lives. Nearly a year into the madness, a vaccine became widely available, and most of us, though not all, grasped how vaccinations would stem the contagion and save lives. New terms joined the Covid vernacular. In addition to waves and surges and hot spots, we had the three witches of variants: Alpha, Delta and Omicron. We asked one another a single question — Are you Pfizer or Moderna? — as we fretted whether we'd chosen the most efficacious vaccine. Finally, in April 2023, President Joseph R. Biden Jr. signed into law a resolution to end the coronavirus national emergency declared three years earlier. The pandemic storm, it seemed, was behind us now. Nonsense. We continue to live in its wake. The repercussions of Covid extend beyond the hundreds of people it still kills a week, beyond the many who still suffer from long Covid, beyond the ghostly restaurants and storefronts that could not withstand the sudden and sustained plummet in business. A cohort of adolescents and young adults missed out on the learning that occurs in and out of the classroom: the labs and proms and presentations and graduations. At the same time, many of their parents continue to work from the isolation of their homes, a virtual-first experience that frees up time at the expense of any creativity sparks from face-to-face contact. The pandemic turned us against one another. Were we pro-mask or anti-mask? Pro- or anti-vaccination? Did we believe in the sanctity of individual rights or in suspending certain freedoms for the communal good? The anger spurred by masks and other Covid-related rules and requirements helped to further fuel a distrust of government: a distrust embraced by those now in government. Vaccinations for the coronavirus recently saved millions of lives in this country, and yet the new head of the Department of Health and Human Services — the federal agency created to protect the health of the American public — has long been hostile to this tried-and-true method of immunization. At times it seems the collective impulse to suppress has worked too well. As though we never heard the hum of those refrigerated trucks. As though we have forgotten just how vulnerable we were, and are.
