Rating: 9 out of 10.

We live side by side with death.

Suzume (Nanoka Hara) always believed a vision of her younger self running through fields of green to find her mother was a dream—an illusion created by grief that merged the acceptance of her mother’s death with the return of a memento she would cherish ever since. A chance meeting on the way to school twelve years later changes all that, though. Something about Souta (Hokuto Matsumura) and his search for “ruins” and a “door” sparks a desire to follow him and see a glimpse of that stifled memory amidst the unexplainable chaos of disaster. Because through that frame is a window onto the world from her childhood as well as a gateway allowing for the appearance of a red worm roiling with portentous brimstone. Suzume must help Souta close and lock it to save the city from destruction.

As expected from a Makoto Shinkai film, Suzume is about much more than just a mysterious hero shutting doors to stave off earthquakes and tsunamis. It’s about loss and love, past and future. We embark on a crazy adventure across Japan to let those themes shine through after a magical cat (Ann Yamane’s Daijin) inexplicably turns Souta into the chair Suzume’s mother made her as a child. With Instagram as their map (Daijin leaves a trail of fans wherever they go), our heroes must do what they can to enlist help without giving scaring anyone off the fantastical nature of their quest. Each new place introduces a friend for Suzume and struggle for Souta as it seems his ability to remain conscious wanes the longer he stays a chair. They chase Daijin, see the worm threatening to escape its prison and slam into the earth, and lock more doors in hopes they can stem the tide.

What they don’t know yet is that doing so demands sacrifice—something Japan understands all too well. As Shinkai reveals more of the mythology at the back of this journey, we realize the 2011 tsunami is the cornerstone moment connecting everything. That’s when the worm last completely ravaged the country, leaving multiple areas abandoned and/or designated unsafe. With the help of two God-like “keystones”, “closers” like Souta were able to stop the carnage and trap it once again. Now, with one of those “keystones” missing, it becomes a race against time to prevent another large-scale catastrophe. Where Souta’s key and incantation is enough to close entry points and cease rumblings, however, more is necessary to keep the worm in chains and provide the nation a future even when one seems impossible for those struggling to juggle life’s responsibilities and pleasures.

The result is a gorgeous and emotionally heavy tale of longing and understanding on behalf of Suzume. Her path proves a cyclical one where past and future unite in the so-called “Ever After”—a place beyond time where inspiration lies in as much abundance as the worm’s despair (the latter of which is rendered in a way that recalls the NieR games with dilapidated locales and giant red/black monsters needing to be quelled by the light of memories and voices left behind). Suzume, like everyone else on-screen, is balancing expectation with desire. She’s putting the wellbeing of others in front of her own as she searches to find what she lost and preserve what she’s found even if it’s sometimes hard to separate the two. The humor of a talking chair and heartache of trauma combine to entertain and enlighten en route to a climax as personal to Suzume as it is universal to mankind.

We all worry about whether we’re doing enough. We all walk on eggshells like Aunt Tamaki (Eri Fukatsu), desperate to give the next generation security even if it means sabotaging our own happiness to do so (well, not all of us when you consider half of America seems more than content to drain the Earth of its natural resources and stability while leaving their children and grandchildren to face the consequences alone). It’s about passing down hope in the face of hopelessness. Letting a young Suzume know that it’s okay to keep moving forward. That doing so doesn’t mean she’s turning her back on her mother’s impact or memory. It’s about standing in front of pure devastation and fearlessly embracing the challenge, knowing what’s at stake goes beyond our own life. Because we never fully disappear. We remain a part of the people and places who live on.


A scene from SUZUME; courtesy of Crunchyroll.

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