Showcase: My Neighbour Totoro
This is a Showcase I’ve wanted to do for a long, long time, and in a moment you’ll see why. Because I hold an…shall we say unusual opinion when it comes to Totoro. Controversial, even. And I’ve really wrestled with how I can word it best, how I can convey my thoughts on this movie faithfully. Well, I can’t say for sure if I’m going to do myself or Totoro justice but it’s time to finally get this one off my chest. Life is in the small moments. We all like to think that the big moments in life matter: going to see your favourite band live, scaling a mountain, going to a wedding. And while these kind of milestones are incredible, amazing capsules in our timeline, they don’t really represent our life. If anything, they represent the anomalies of our life, which by and large is mundane, repetitive and riddled with stress and worry. But at the same time, I’m not saying that life when it is ‘normal’ is bad, no more than it is good. It is simply is. So when we find those precious little moments in everyday life where everything just seems to align and all is right and good in our world, it means just as much, if not more. I’m talking about watching raindrops race down a window pane. Reading a book by candlelight because of a rolling blackout. Reading a book with your pet cat curled up and purring in your lap. Cracking open a cold beer after a long and productive day. We treasure those moments just as much as our milestones, not because they’re as special – of course they’re not – but because they’re real, they happen within the fabric of everyday life, and it reminds us that yes, life can be good. And this is why I ADORE My Neighbour Totoro. Because watching it feels like a reel show of these little moments. I don’t watch My Neighbour Totoro for the story because, in my opinion, the story is weak. Hey, don’t look at me like that. Other critics out there have pointed out the lack of threat, conflict or plot twists in Totoro. I’d go even further and say that it also sidesteps other story staples such as a protagonist, clearly outlined character motivations, and end-goal, or heck, even a proper plot. Okay, that last one may seem like a bit of a push, but for the duration of Totoro, were are introduced to the family when they move in to their new house and we end it on a hospital visit – to see a mother who has been in hospital for the whole duration of the movie anyway. From beginning to end life just seems to…happen, rather than a prescribed plot. Now, I’m not being harsh here, I’m simply pointing things out. Put it this way: it is possible to encapsulate nearly any other story out there in two sentences. Only the most complex of tomes out there would require three. Seriously, pluck a couple of movies or books out of the air right now and try it out. Now, summarize Totoro in two sentences. It’s impossible, because you cannot reconcile the three points of the sick mother, the girls settling into their new home, and the big guy Totoro himself because they run so separate from one another. Only in the last act of the movie, when Mei goes missing, does something resembling a traditional, conflict-driven plot come into play. But none of that matters. Seriously, if anything a story would ruin what makes Totoro so great. Because My Neighbour Totoro’s strength is not in seizing the viewer’s attention with a high-stakes plot device, gripping characters and tension you could cut with a breadknife. No, it’s strength is in presenting those small moments in life. That lack of threat and conflict is what allows Totoro to present a slice of life, free of the kind of narrative devices you’d see in…well, a fantastical movie. In that way, my neighbour Totoro may be one of the most realistic portrayals of life every committed to t silver screen. And yes, I know that’s a strange thing to say of a movie about woodland spirits and a cat that doubles up as a bus. But it is more real in that there are so many more of those precious, quiet moments that make life valuable in this movie. It’s packed with them. Off the top of my head there’s the moment where Mei is simply sitting and staring at the bush where the mini-Totoro disappeared into, and for a good few seconds or so all is still save for a passing butterfly. Or how about when the father appears to hear Totoro at night, and for a little moment he just closes his eyes, smiles and listens? Or the satisfying sense of progress they make on cleaning the house? Or, most famously perhaps, those long, silent pauses while Satsuki and Totoro stand in the rain? This movie is packed with them, and it takes a brave movie studio to even allow one of these kind of moments at the risk of losing their audience who they believe have the attention spans of a fingernail. And yet every one of these moments are sweet, delightful moments of the movie that I can savour just as much as my own precious moments in life. And that is where the true value of Totoro lies. It doesn’t tell a story: it doesn’t have to. It is an ambient movie, one that you can simply let wash over you like a warm bath. It is all about the feeling, the atmosphere, the mood it creates. Moreover, Totoro is one of a kind. Sure there are relaxing movies out there, but can you think of any other movie out there that substitutes so much traditional storytelling for simply building a feel? Only other Ghibli movies come close. My Neighbour Totoro is one of my favourite movies, and although it wouldn’t qualify for any list of great storytelling, that is exactly why it is so wonderful. It is a masterclass of what the medium can do, of how an atmosphere and tone can be honed to perfection, and how a movie, like life, doesn’t need to be packed with milestones and high points to be validated. It can simply…be.
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I wonder if anyone out there appreciates the irony that one of the most frequent nuggets of advice dished out to writers is to avoid clichés (like the plague, if you will), to the point where this piece of advice is in of itself a cliché. After all, although we best know clichés as being pre-packaged phrases, they can also be ideas too.
When you think about clichés this way, it becomes something a minefield. So not only does the aspiring author or screenwriter need to step around phrases like “launched to her feet” or “Jumping down his throat”, but also tired archetypes as well. Wise old mentors, orphaned heroes, snarky sidekick…the list goes on. But clichés have not always been, well, clichés. Once upon a time, they were new ideas that presented something original to the table. The phrase ‘jumping down his throat’ is overused these days but there would’ve been a time when it was fresh and brilliant. So brilliant, on fact, that everybody else piled on the bandwagon and consigned it to the cliché pile. Even now we are inventing new clichés: the idea of movie trailers using the famous inception-style ‘BWAAA!’ music is very recent, and while vampire romance didn’t start with twilight it certainly catalysed the saturation of the market that has smeared the concept with cliché. I think cliché are the result of a great paradox in the human psyche. We’re naturally inclined to be inspired by success, and even want to break off a piece of it and use it for ourselves, sometimes for a sweet-natured homage or for a more cynical copy-paste job. And yet we’re also turned off by things that are too successful or ubiquitous: how many of us gain a sense of grim pleasure from seeing a high-profile celebrity be brought down a peg or two? Or to see an all-conquering sports team laid low by a plucky underdog? Terms like schadenfreude and tall-poppy syndrome exist for a reason. The sweet spot between breakout idea and overused cliché is narrow. But are clichés really that bad? I have read a few examples of novels that make a concerted effort to be anti- cliché, to avoid all the tropes in the book. And while the intention is good and some clever ideas came from it, ironically the spectre of cliché looms larger over these creations than any other: for example, while Patrick Rothfuss’ The Name of the Wind is a fantastic book, there are simply too many times where the author takes a moment to set the stage for a ‘see? I bet you were expecting a clichéd thing to happen here!’ moment. A big deal is made out of the idea that Kvothe thnks one of the insane professors at the University might be a genius hiding his intellect, until a singular moment reveals that, nope, he really is just insane. Now you might be thinking that’s quite a clever idea, but nothing came from this discovery of the professor’s true nature, in terms of plot development. It served only to prove it’s own point: that the audience were expecting a cliché. And this happens over and over through the book. It’s like your prankster friend who keeps trying to jump scare you: the first time might be effective and funny, but it quickly becomes tiresome and grates with the audience who feel they’re just being toyed with. Rothfuss gets away with it because the core of the story is still strong, but he does push his luck. Game of Thrones is the way to go when it comes to anti-cliché. That series not only subverts expectations, but it does it in ways that may sense to the plot, fits the characters and fits into the narrative rather than trying to prove a point. The death of a certain character towards the end of the first book/series is shocking, but George RR Martin isn’t simply playing for shock value, but because it makes sense to the story he wants to tell. And lets not get too hateful of clichés here: clichés didn’t become as widespread as they are today by accident: they achieved saturation for a reason. They could’ve been a very effective simile, or a clever twist in the tale. So no matter how overused a cliché becomes, the kernel of the idea or turn of phrase remains a good one. So as a writer, one shouldn’t be scared of clichés – they are worn and tired, like an old pair of shoes, but like an old pair of shoes they also fit in snugly and don’t distract. If you find yourself trying to avoid a cliché and trying to write a clever workaround, don’t: it’s more hassle than its worth, and chances are that you’ll only produce something jarring. Breaking out of clichés and going against the grain should come naturally and fit into the story. Readers want an experience, not an experiment. Clever new ideas are appreciated, but clichés shouldn’t be as feared as they are. Good storytelling comes first, going against the grain comes second. I quite enjoyed Man of Steel. It didn't do anything groundbreaking, sure, and towards the end it did slip into generic blockbuster climax territory, but overall I think they did a good job of making Supes more vulnerable, conflicted and human while simultaneously making him more alien.
So I sat down to Batman vs Superman with fair expectation of a continuation of that story and that quality. Decent storytelling, epic set pieces, summer flick fodder. Was I satisfied? Well...it's a tale of two halves, truth be told, but overall I was disappointed. Now, as always I am going to focus on the story here, which is just well because I feel that this is where Batman vs Superman hinged between success and failure. And for the first hour or so, I was quite happy. Decent pacing, motivations are are a little muddy but at least efforts are made to put them there, and the overall tone, while grim, matches well with the biblical allusions and references to high art to give a sense of gravitas. Not a well-earned gravitas, but a form of it nonetheless. Batman's motivations are clearer than Superman's, helped in part by Ben Affleck's excellent performance, his first, as the Dark Knight. He certainly comes across as more likable than Bale's iteration while maintaining that all important brooding mood, making him more accessible and sympathetic in the audience's eyes. He's not short of problems in the first half though: the dream/hallucination sequences are hamfisted, and it's really tiresome to see his origin story YET AGAIN. I get that Snyder wanted to approach this movie as if it were the first, but if that's the case then it only makes Batman utterly bewildering, as we jump some 40 years into the future after the death of his parents to see him leaping around a seedy city in a bat suit. But still, Batman comes off better than Superman. It's frustrating to say that, because this is by all accounts a sequel to Man of Steel so the ball should be in Superman's court when it comes to his own mindset and motivations. Man of Steel even left Batman vs Superman with a solid foundation to build upon. And yet his motivations for taking umbridge with Batman are muddied at best, hypocritical at worst. So Superman doesn't like the way he operates. Two things about that: first, Superman must painfully aware that that's EXACTLY how a lot of people feel about him. Surely he's heard the phrase 'live and let live'? And secondly, Supes' main concern is dealing with the truly evil and helping the little people deal with said evil, with the occasional natural disaster thrown in for good measure. There's a metric ton of those things happening around the world every second. Surely Batman would be a very low priority, then? In that scene alone where Superman basically issues Batman a cease and desist order, he could've been off stopping a robbery, a murder, or suicide. Pedantic, sure, but the main point stands: Batman is the least of Superman's worries. Even Snyder seems to realize this, and ends up checkmating Superman into a forced fight with Batman via Lex's plan, which cheapens the fight between them as it doesn't feel meaningful. Heck, even Lex's speech to Superman before the fight reinforces the feeling that this is a staged, convoluted bout. But all of that would be forgivable. All of that build up, while rough around the edges, was serviceable and certainly gave the titular battle a sizable fanfare. But the battle still doesn't feel earned, because in terms of the franchise and the DC universe it doesn't feel like they put in fair time and effort for it. Think about it: here we have a rebooted Batman that is a completely new actor to the role. Superman, too, is only one movie deep into his own story. True, these characters have been around for decades, so Batman vs Superman gets a kind of surrogate weight to the battle, but it feels like an echo, a 'what-if?' fantasy rather than feeling real and relevant. That's why Marvel's Civil War works: it's the same characters, the same relationships, the same universe we've seen developing over the past few years, and the conflict really does feel like it's come about naturally. Every punch thrown feels weighty, every verbal assault cuts deep. It's the exact same reason why the duel between Brianne and the Hound in Game of Thrones works: you've seen what makes both characters tick, walked miles together with them, you know what drives them, and you know exactly what led them up to this point. Batman vs Superman barely registers above the cheap thrill of a fan-made Death Battle on YouTube. But worst of all is the moment we all know, and we all mock, and for good reason: the reason why the fight ends. Superman and Batman have mothers with the same name. So I'll run the scene back past you just to refresh your memory: Batman has Superman pinned, Kryptonite spear raised, ready to drive it into the weakened Supes and kill him. At the very moment, Superman utters 'Martha'. Batman is thrown for a loop, demanding to know why he said it. Lois Lane walks in, and explains that Martha is the name of Superman's mother. The same name as Batman's mother. Batman falters, yells, throws the spear away. The battle is over. He and Superman are now on the same side. Even just saying like that makes it sound laughable, like some slapped together fan fiction. It's even more jarring on the screen. Remember that up until this point Batman's motivations were fairly relatable: that he viewed Superman as a threat. Remember his speech to Alfred? That if there was even a one percent chance of Superman turning that he should be eliminated? Pretty solid motivation for the Dark Knight. So why does Superman sharing a mother's name cancel that out? Batman has always been sensitive about his parent's death, sure, but not to the point that it'll switch his view of Superman from The Greatest Threat To Mankind to My New Best Buddy. The sudden about turn is so sudden, so laughable, so unbelievable, that everything after that point feels significantly worse for it. I mean, BvS succumbs to the typical blockbuster climax of course, but it feels even worse than usual because the protagonist force of Batman and Superman is an empty husk. They even threw in a gratuitous Wonder Woman and a tiresome CGI monster just to make sure any potential this movie has is utterly buried. Remember that timeless pan shot around The Avengers as they stand back to back in the middle of New York? You couldn't help but smile. When you get the 'money shot' of Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman standing shoulder to shoulder before a fire, I could only roll my eyes. So what should've been done differently? Well, frankly there should've been at least one solo Batman movie with Affleck and one more solo Supes movie before this project to give their character development some space to breathe as well as making the set up of the Justice League feel more organic, but let's just assume that we've got just the running time of BvS to do this. First, you've got to make Batman appear truly, mentally unhinged. Show examples of him becoming distraught at the mere mention of his parents. Batman should lash out at someone who didn't really deserve it, overstep his line as a protector of Gotham. Not only does this give Superman more of a reason to after him but it makes the Martha moment just a little bit more believable. Second, the way Batman is about to kill Superman should parallel the murder of his parents, except now he is in the position of being the killer. His mother should be killed first so his father's final word is 'Martha' before he too is killed (yes, I know he does say this, but he mutters it: it's got a be a yell, something powerful that sears itself on Bruce's mind). This gives Batman's refusal to go through with killing Supes another reason. Third, they CANNOT be best buddies. They should be at an uneasy truce at best. All the reasons for hating each other haven't suddenly disappeared after that fight. They recognize a greater evil when they see it, but these two should have unfinished business. Furtive glances at one another. Not helping each other get up when they fall. What you shouldn't do is have, say, Batman single-handedly rescue Superman's mother (as great as that set-piece was) and say "I'm a friend of your son." This wouldn't fix BvS but it would to some way to addressing some of the problems. There's so much potential in BvS, and sometimes it shines. But it collapses under its own weight of Universe-Building for DC and fumbling the key moment so spectacularly you could swear it was done on purpose. It's a grim world, this world of the Justice League, but then again there is very little to be cheerful about. |
Off the ShelfHere I share my ideas, musings and advice on the writing process. I also analyse some of my own writing for examples to show how I work. ShowcaseHere I will show off of some of my favorite good and great stories, gushing lovingly over why I adore them and why you should too. I will also show you the other side of the spectrum: bad examples of stories and what we can learn from them.
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