One of Obayashi’s most popular films in his homeland,
The Girl Who Leapt Through Time was voted as one of the top 100 Japanese films ever made in the most recent Kinema Junpo poll. The middle film in his ‘Onomichi Trilogy’ of films set in his hometown, it is based upon an early novel by Yasutaka Tsutsui which was also later adapted into an animated film of the same name by Mamoru Hosoda.
From what I gather, the film was produced as a vehicle for upcoming idol Tomoyo Harada who, at that point, was the lead in the TV series adaptation of
Sailor Suit and Machine Gun which had earlier been a massive hit as a theatrical feature directed by Shinji Somai that launched the career of Hiroko Yakushimaru. Yakushimaru also starred in
Detective Story, the film that was double billed with The Girl Who Leapt Through Time on original release. Harada would go on to a successful singing career, as well as working with Obayashi on
The Island Closest to Heaven (also included in this set),
Samurai Kids, Goodbye for Tomorrow, and as lead voice actress on his lone anime
Kenya Boy. She would also narrate the 1997 version/60s-set prequel of
The Girl Who Leapt Through Time directed by Haruki Kadokawa, who personally funded the original Obayashi film and as then-president of Kadokawa was instrumental in launching her career. Kadokawa directed the film after being released from jail, where he was serving time for drug smuggling and embezzlement. Anyway…
The Girl Who Leapt Through Time foregrounds some of the themes that would occupy Obayashi for his entire career, most obviously that of the non-linearity of time; as Faulkner famously wrote in Requiem for a Nun, “the past is never dead. It’s not even past.” In the work of Obayashi, characters and communities forever struggle to escape from the past – and to understand it. From
House to his War Trilogy, he spent his career illustrating how the past, whether personal or impersonal, exerts influence on the relationships and actions of his characters in the present day.
In
The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, “time isn’t the past, it’s the future” as schoolgirl Kazuko finds herself reliving the same day after a lavender-related laboratory accident. In comparison to other Obayashi films, time is something more tangible in this film – a dimension through which characters can travel – but nevertheless, the principle is largely the same as is best summed up in the final couple of scenes.
The film directly ties Kazuko’s slightly-wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey experience to puberty and coming-of-age, anchoring the fantastic in a relatable narrative of first love - the heady rush of hormones and confusingly new emotions.
I think that Obayashi’s distinctive visual style really came of age in this film, with his use of both black-and-white and colour photography being influenced by not only
The Wizard of Oz (a poster of which is present in Kazuko’s bedroom) but, perhaps more overtly, by Otto Preminger’s
Bonjour Tristesse. Despite being famed for his wacky, sometimes incongruous, visuals, Obayashi’s aesthetic has always been in service to his thematic concerns and the time travel scene, perhaps the centrepiece of the film, uses optical effects, still photographs, multiple exposures, time lapse photography and other techniques that draw on Obayashi’s background in experimental shorts and make it perhaps the most interesting depiction of travel this side of Marker’s
La jetee.
Given the popularity of Obayashi’s
House and Hosoda’s anime version of
The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, I’m surprised that it has taken so long for this film to get a release outside of Japan. It’s one of his most purely enjoyable works – romantic and sincerely sentimental but not cloyingly so, wrapped up in a lo-fi sci-fi package with a splash of pastel colours and a touch of early MTV that so defined the 80s idol movie. Alongside Somai’s
Sailor Suit and Machine Gun, it might be the best of them.
B
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With his second vehicle for idol Tomoyo Harada, Obayashi takes us to the picturesque shores of New Caledonia in search of the utopian ‘island closest to heaven’ vividly described to young Mari (Harada) by her recently deceased father. Will she find the ideal that she imagined she was looking for? More? Less? Maybe the important thing will be the friends she makes along her way?
There are interesting aspects to the film – the opening and closing credits are pure classical Hollywood and the visuals are beautiful (and the resulting increase in tourism to New Caledonia is hardly surprising) but I felt like there wasn’t much below the surface that Obayashi didn’t go onto revisit with greater complexity and more deft in later features – particularly in
Chizuko’s Younger Sister, where Mika also comes of age under the weight of great loss but has to navigate the shadow of that ghost to affirm her own identity. In
The Island Closest to Heaven, Mari's wistfulness makes way to an aimlessness and, ultimately, what feels like a pointlessness unless you want to spend 90 minutes with views of the beach.
C
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The other 'island' film in Third Window's 80s Obayashi set is more than worth the price of admission.
His Motorbike, Her Island was one of two films that Obayashi released in 1986, the other being
Bound for the Fields, the Mountains, and the Seacoast - an incredible one-two a la Francis Ford Coppola in '74 or Godard in '64 (or '65!).
Riki Takeuchi makes his film debut (he would also have a smaller role in Bound for the Fields...) as a young biker who takes a trip out of the city to clear his head after a break-up. There he meets Kiwako Harada (younger sister of Tomoyo, idol star of The Girl Who Leapt Through Time and The Island Closest to Heaven), who plays a young islander that quickly develops a crush on him - and moreso the motorcycle and the biker life.
It was adapted from a novel by Yoshio Kataoka that, to my knowledge, has never been translated to English but opens with the quote "Summer is more than just a season; it's a state of mind" - a play on the opening line of Samuel Ullman's poem Youth, well known in Japan as a favourite of Gen. MacArthur's. I think that Obayashi's film carries a similar tone - it's not as obviously counter-cultural as other biker / bōsōzoku films like Yanagimachi's
God Speed You! Black Emperor or Ishii's
Crazy Thunder Road or even, say, Dennis Hopper's
Easy Rider but it nevertheless has a cheeky irreverence.
And, like all great summers of youth, the memories they make are idealised distortions of reality. Obayashi's interchanging of black-and-white and colour film is, in this film, most clearly purposeful and effective - mirroring the variability of memories: the vibrancy, intensity and accuracy of the remembered image and how that relates to the affect of the character(s) at the time.
"I'll be a motorbike, you'll be an island and together we'll be the wind!"
His Motorbike, Her Island is one of the most romantic films ever made but not only is it a romance between two young bikers, it's a romance between them and the ideal of freedom. The freedom of the wind, forever changing direction and exploring new corners of the horizon. A freedom enabled and emboldened by technology and the Japanese economic miracle. A freedom made possible by peace and a generation unburdened by wartime responsibility. A freedom that is, nevertheless, fragile with unknowns around the next bend in the road.
It's a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful film - one of the best of the 1980s and one of the best of Obayashi's career. I've seen it a few times now and every time it's like a breath of fresh air, one of the most purely enjoyable films ever made.
A