Suzume – Berlinale 2023 (Film Review)
3 min read
Still Courtesy - Crunchyroll
The Berlin Film Festival has a questionable relationship with the animation medium. With over seventy-three editions recorded in the festival's respective data-base, only eight animated feature films have ever competed in the festival's prestigious competition. Two of the eight aforementioned features are from this year's official selection. Both Suzume and Art College 1994 are prestigious heavyweights at the forefront of the international stage this year. The last time a Japanese animated film competed in Berlin was with Hayao Miyazaki's Spirited Away. The film was a festival sensation, which tied with Paul Greengrass's Bloody Sunday for the Golden Bear during the 52nd edition. Suzume continues the much-needed representation of a monopolised medium; improving upon the Berlinale's absent animation presence. Makoto Shinkai's latest feature may just be his most proficient and profound work to date. Suzume is a deserving competition title; a meandering albeit empathetic exploration of communal trauma.
First and foremost, Shinkai's other-worldly direction delightfully frolics within the confines of a road-trip structure. The collective class consciousness of Japan's growing-pains is personified through supernatural worm monsters, talking cats, and walking chairs. The bizarre animated relics facilitate the narrative's urge to reopen old wounds; to find closure in cryptic cityscapes. Suzume is a film all about Japan's collective trauma and resilience in the face of natural disasters — an animated rumination which advocates for a literal sit-down and reflection. Shinkai mirrors the events & aftermath of the Tōhoku earthquake & the Fukushima nuclear disaster — through the perspective of the catastrophe's affected youth. The jive juvenility featured adjacent to the welcoming & colourful character designs complement the subtextual tragedies drawn in the background of the film.
Shinkai traverses through Japan's metropolitan and rural epicenters, in an attempt at respectfully representing his country's united mourning. The structure of the film, whilst occasionally dependent on a few too many intertwined character motives, frequently finds its thematic & emotional footing in the film's languid pace. Especially in moments of pivotal silence, Shinkai highlights an important desire for communal compassion through his methodical world-building. On the other hand, the film's bombardment of maximalist action set-pieces and over-wrought melodrama diminish the thematic power of its quieter sequences. The instigation of the film's unconventional love-story sours the emotional impact of its patient confrontations. As a result, the chemistry between the two abstract animated lovers undercuts the tension of the film's wandering sociological observations. The relationship on display, alongside its heavy screen-time presence, constructs an unsatisfactory footnote in Shinkai's evolving epic. A strictly platonic friendship would have better serviced the film's thematic material. The humour and emotional levity behind its anthropomorphised hijinks unintentionally generates violent tonal-whiplash within the context of its mature narrative.
With Suzume, Shinkai is promoting a clear message to the population of his nation — a cinematic proclamation which unites and encourages his spectators to find closure and peace in the face of natural adversity. Suzume is a profound anthropological examination which successfully brings forward a globalised issue to young audiences; without the need to diminish the severity of the situational drama. Wood-carved totems are now personified & reanimated, to demonstrate the vitality and resilience of humanity's communal bravery. Suzume is Shinkai's most refreshing and self-reflective work to date; a coherent celebration of love & life which now gracefully joins the ranks of Miyazaki & Yamamoto within the Berlinale's estranged history with Japanese Animation.
