Scene Dissection - Haru Introduction from "The Cat Returns"

There’s a common conception that anime productions tend to take short cuts in order to reach deadlines and keep costs to a minimum, thus resulting in rather minimal facial and body expressions as well as jumpy animation as a whole. This isn’t entirely unfounded – I’m sure many of you have had your share of anime where the production team very obviously ran out of money – and oftentimes, it’s best for artists and animation students to first learn the basics of depicting human emotions before simplifying their style into anime-influenced minimalism (back in my high school days, my art teacher commented that many portfolio graders of AP Practice of Art students’ work rarely gave out high scores for anime artists). 

Like all things, however, there’s always something that defies conception. In this case, the introduction of Haru in The Cat Returns is one of the best character animations I’ve seen in awhile. Without saying anything, all of her movements convey the sort of insecure high school girl not uncommon during adolescence, and even implies her relationship with her mother, who her friend is, and whom she quite fancies. Director Hiroyuki Morita clearly spent a lot of time defining and fleshing out Haru’s character to the extent that without saying anything, we know instantly what kind of person she is from the get go – uncertain, insecure, daydreamy, perhaps a bit passive and clumsy, and undoubtably a perpetual tardy. Here’s a video link for the scene and some following screenshots to illustrate this fantastic demonstration of excellent anime/animation: 

After seeing a hand go thump on the cow alarm clock, we see Haru still in bed and rolling over; however, she soon realizes she’s late and jumps out of bed. 

As she quickly (and messily) makes her room, we get a sense of what her room is like and just how rushed she really is (it might also be a hint how only a few seconds ago we saw her in pajamas, again emphasizing how pressed she is to get to school). 

Haru’s double take with the mirror is a notable directing choice: in the first screenshot we see her getting ready vigorously and run out of frame; in the second screenshot she’s run back to the mirror to double-check herself, making sure that, while still hasty, she still looks decent enough. It’s the double-check, second-guessing quirk of these two screenshots which is more or less prevalent throughout this entire introduction of Haru. 

We see Haru running around looking for her bento lunch box, and when she does she quickly puts it into her schoolbag standing up rather than bending over – all in an effort to make up for lost time getting to school. 

These screenshots are fantastic for a few reasons: foremost, it again reinforces Haru’s indecisiveness, and second because it establishes the sort of teasing relationship she has with her mother. There’s a moment where we can see Haru really wants to sit down have a bite but is conflicted about being tardy; she first looks intrigued, then sort of painfully conflicted before grimacing and running out, and finally exclaiming at her mum for not being unfair in the sort of “too bad you can’t have some of this delicious breakfast like I can hee” teasing. 

This is a nice establishment shot of Haru running down the street, and sort of the span and distance from her house to school (it’s also a subtle implication of why she panicked upon realizing the time – it’s a pain to be in a rush, nonetheless a long distance to where you need to get to). 

These two screenshots are a nice detail about how rushed Haru is. In the first picture, we see that she’s looking forward; in the second, we see that she abruptly turns to cut through the bushes, undeniably trying to minimize the time it takes to get to school. 

Of course, with any “unpaved” short cut, getting caught in a branch is possible as seen with the above screenshots. We see Haru quickly swiping away the branch, probably not thinking about a possible rip that could happen if she wasn’t careful or just unlucky. 

We see Haru running at full speed, and again finds herself in mishap when her rushing and inattentiveness to certain aspects of the environment causes her shoe to get caught on the sidewalk and removed. The last two screenshots are a nice illustration of Haru’s speed/running, as she has trouble stopping herself due to momentum. 

In her panic, she tries to maintain some dignity by skipping towards her shoe (possibly, she may trying to not get her sock dirty). 

As luck as it, a baseball team is taking a jog and blocks her path. We see her meekly trying to get through, but it’s obvious that the team is oblivious to her pardons (they probably can’t hear her either), and she soon gives up trying to get their attention in exclaiming “oh no!" 

Now at her classroom, we see Haru trying to sneak in inconspicuously…

…but again to her luck, she’s caught by the teacher and immediately stands up obediently. There’s not an ounce of relaxation, and there’s a great deal of nervousness conveyed by how stiff her shoulders are and how straight (and quickly) she stands up. 

These two screenshots illustrate immediately who is Haru’s friend in the class, who merely comments "caught again” and does not laugh at Haru, merely smiling in the sort of exasperated manner one does when both pitying and chuckling at a good friend’s mild misfortune. Also, without seeing Haru’s face, we can infer her embarrassment by how stiffly she stands in the first picture, and how hunches and hangs her in a subservient-like manner int he second. 

In these five screenshots, we see Haru looking up shyly, and for a moment the camera switches to her POV and reveals that she’s focusing on a boy (who also happens to be laughing in good spirits). Clearly, his laughter bothers her particularly, and she hangs her head down even more in an attempt to curtail the embarrassment of having everyone focus on her and laugh about her tardy mishap. More importantly, it’s implied that she has a crush on the boy of interest, and his participation in the classroom laughter only reinforces her own insecurity. 

These last two screenshots demonstrate another aspect of Haru, which is perhaps one of a daydreamer as she stares out at the blue sky. Her friend, Hiromi, stands watching others play on the rooftop; and in yet another unfortunate chance, Haru gets smacked in the head with a ball, snapping her back into reality (Hiromi gets a good chuckle at the accident, of course – really who wouldn’t?)

As you can see (and probably even better from the video), the opening sequence and introduction of Haru reveals quite a bit of her character without explicitly saying so. It works well because of her body movement, and the sort of double-takes, hand swiping and head hanging she acts out – the sort of task the best animators can do without so much a blink of an eye. 

A similar (if not even better demonstration) of superb animation bringing a distinct character of life can be seen in this blog article about a pencil test by Milt Kahl and Ollie Johnston on the Disney film The Rescuers. The blog author, Jamaal Bradley, comments on the film: 

This clip is one of the reasons why I love animation. The ability to make a character come to life combined with technically achieving line control is amazing. Milt’s animation on Medusa is broad but not overwhelmed with obscure posing and he applies it twice by animating her reflection. Ollie just captures the subtle but unsure movements of a young person. Both characters are completely believable. This is animation at its best….at its best!

The clip can be found here, and I highly recommend anyone to take a look at it! 

The Cat Returns (猫の恩返し）ー A Lovely, Absolutely Lovely Film

If you find yourself troubled by something mysterious or a problem that’s hard to solve, there’s a place you can go, a place where…

There are few movies that are so lovely, so absolutely lovely that you simply can’t find anything negative to say about them once the credits begin to roll in. Studio Ghibli’s The Cat Returns is such a film, and I recently had the good fortune of watching it after a tumultuous couple of days. 

The Cat Returns is a unique feature in Ghibli’s filmography because it was neither directed by veterans Hayao Miyazaki (My Neighbor Totoro) nor Isao Takahata (Grave of the Fireflies), but by Hiroyuki Morita who began as a animator in the 1999 Ghibli film My Neighbors the Yamadas. Additionally, The Cat Returns is an indirect sequel to a previous Ghibli film, Whisper of the Heart, for a unique reason: in Whisper of the Heart, a girl writes and draws out a story about a cat named Baron Humbert von Gikkingen, a sophisticated feline who comes to the aid of those who need it, and his companion Muta, a large white cat who’s insatiable appetite is just as big (if not larger). Baron proved to be so popular that Ghibli was requested by a Japanese theme park to create a 20-minute short starring cats, and though the project was eventually canceled manga artist Aoi Hiiragi was commissioned and created the manga equivalent of the short, titled Baron: The Cat Returns (バロン 猫の男爵), featuring Miyazaki’s envisioned characters Baron and Muta, as well as a mysterious antique shop. The “Cat Project” was then used as testing grounds for future Ghibli directors, intended to be 45 minute short, and eventually Morita was chosen to proceed with the project. However, over the course of nine months Morita translated Hiiragi’s manga story into 525 pages of storyboard, thus influencing Miyazaki’s producer Toshio Suzuki to green light a theatrical length release mainly because Morita’s depiction of Hiiragi’s female protagonist, Haru, felt genuinely real and believable. This makes The Cat Returns the second theatrical Ghibli feature to be directed by someone other than Hayao Miyazaki or Isao Takahata, a definitively unique trait in Ghibli’s current filmography of eighteen completed films. 

The premise is this: Haru, a young high school girl who periodically runs late to school and is undeniably unsure of herself, rescues an unusual cat from getting hit while it crosses the street. It turns out she saved the Cat Prince Lune of the Cat Kingdom, and finds herself bombarded by (unwanted) generosity from the Cat King and his subjects as they fill her yard with catnip, her locker with mice and arrange her marriage to Lune. Distraught, Haru seeks out the Cat Bureau after hearing a kind voice suggest so, and finds herself in the company of Muta the obese white cat, Toto the raven, and Baron Humbert von Gikkingen, owner of the Cat Bureau. With the help of Baron, Muta and Toto (as well as others who I won’t name here), Haru finds herself in the heart of the Cat Kingdom and a great escape from the Cat King’s castle before she permanently transforms into a cat. 

Fanart by pinkfairywand on Deviantart

The story of The Cat Returns lends itself to such amicability and charm that it’s near impossible to feel miserable after watching seventy-five minutes of topnotch animation and beautifully harmonic music. Its primary appeal owes much to the protagonist Haru, whose uncertainty and insecurity ubiquitous to many high schoolers is animated so well and convincingly so that I’m sure many girls can easily identify with her minute quirks and mishaps, and the charming cat Baron, whose no-nonsense, straightforward and perfectly confident self could easily swoon anyone if he were any less anthropomorphized. Muta, of course, is the tubby sidekick with a snappy temper and gluttonous palate, seemingly selfish at first but soon revealed to be well-meaning at heart. 

While the story’s subtext is one of personal and emotional growth, The Cat Returns is so unassuming, so self-assured and so charming that frankly, the take away message is probably the least of your concerns after it all ends. It’s a simple story, and marvelously so: very much in the vein of classic stories of knights and heroines, The Cat Returns unpretentiously lays out a engaging narrative from start to finish, never once hinting the possibility of despair and unhappy endings; it all ends well – not in the typically sappy or grotesquely self-indulgent sort, but in the feel-good, down-to-earth mannerism typical of many Ghibli films like My Neighbor Totoro. There’s also a distinct element of magical realism prevalent throughout The Cat Returns, very much like the mythos and magic of Spirited Away and gaming-meets-real-life of Scott Pilgrim vs. the World: in Morita’s film, there cats can go between their dimension and ours, and as Haru finds herself in a marital predicament she is invited and led to the slightly different albeit similar dimension of felines (it’s implied that portals can lead to and from human and cat dimensions, but not solely). 

For audiophiles of classical or film music, The Cat Returns is a must-own. Composed by Yuji Nomi (who always wrote the music for the indirect prequel Whisper of the Heart), this beautiful symphonic arrangement supplies tracks that are easily stand alone from the film and one another and support the animation without overwhelming the screen (a perfect example of auditory overload would be Star Trek in 2009). Those familiar with the music from Whisper of the Heart may recognize some similar motifs, which is a nice musical wink and a skillful, subtle addition to an already superb soundtrack. 

For animation enthusiasts, The Cat Returns delivers some of the finest to date. From the animalistic and anthropomorphic movement of felines to the subtle gestures, nods, twitches and shrugs of a young high schooler, it’s unsurprising that this film received the Excellence Prize at the 2002 Japan Media Arts Festival, an annual festival held by Japan’s Agency for Cultural Affairs since 1997. There are some anime conventions here and there (but isn’t this always the case for all anime?) but the technical mastery of movement and expression distinguish The Cat Returns as an anime film that rises above many biases against conventions and stereotypes of anime. Nothing is jerky, abrupt, or feels inorganic – it’s all very weighted in reality, with an mixture of equally believable (or at least emotionally and aesthetically fathomable) magical realism and spectacular sights animation can achieve that live-action can only dream of. 

There really isn’t anything evil or malicious in this universe – plenty of monarchal misgivings, misjudgments and misunderstandings, but really which dynasty didn’t have their share? – so even in the moments of malice (and occasionally hilarity) The Cat Returns convinces us constantly that no matter what, everything will be okay. And indeed, the film delivers not only on its promise, but even more with its charm and inexplicable warmness that, in my case, washed away two days of troubles as if they never existed – the sort of gem that you’ll just have to experience for yourself. 

Some Screenshots from the Film

Music Links

• I’m Back, I’m Back Home Now!

• Baron

• Waltz Katzen Blut 

• Become the Wind - a wonderful cover by icsk8grrl of the song originally sung by Ayano Tsuji for the ending of The Cat Returns

The Simple Sweetness and Sincerity of Wallace and Gromit

Wallace and Gromit are arguably the two most delightful characters in the history of animation. Between the previous sentence and this one I paused thoughtfully and stared into space and thought of all of the other animated characters I have ever met, and I gave full points to Bugs Bunny and high marks to Little Nemo and a fond nod to Goofy, and returned to the page convinced that, yes, Wallace and Gromit are in a category of their own. To know them is to enter a universe of boundless optimism, in which two creatures who are perfectly suited to each other venture out every morning to make the world into a safer place for the gentle, the good and the funny.

– Roger Ebert in his review of Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit

If there was ever a series that was rare in its utter sincerity and sweetness, Nick Park’s Wallace and Gromit is one I couldn’t recommend enough to children and adults alike. 

My first encounter with the British stop-motion characters – Wallace the hapless inventor and Gromit the intelligent and silent dog – was back in 2005 when both starred in their first feature length film, Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit. I went to see it with one of my best and closest friends at the local theater that specialized in independent, foreign, and non-wide release films that otherwise blared at other local complexes. Since it was before matinee, we happened to be the one of the older bunches in the theater as Park’s film reeled across the wide screen. 

From what I can remember, it was an absolute pleasure seeing Wallace and Gromit go about their usual business as the Were-Rabbit terrorized a town in its rabbit-like mannerisms. Not only was the stop-motion astounding, but the creativity and narrative were off the charts. The Rube Goldberg like contraption that tips Wallace from his bed into his trousers, followed by putting on sleeves, a vest, and buttering his toast – this was nothing other animation studios like Disney, Pixar, or Ghibli had ever imagined or even come close to depicting. This was Nick Park at full throttle with the creative bunch of Aardman Studios, and the entire lapse of remaining minutes was nothing short but a roller coaster of ingenuity, hilarity, and adventure. 

My memory of Were-Rabbit is fond not only because of the film itself, but because of the emotions I felt and how utterly enjoyable it was. I remember at one point, when Lady Tottington turned around with two watermelons held to her bosom and asks (a transforming) Wallace, “how to you like melons?” – we both burst out laughing like no other, so much that a kid asked their mom “mommy, why are those two laughing so much?” and she responded “just ignore them, honey.” In short: this pretty much summed up my first experience of Wallace and Gromit, and established Aardman Animations as one of my favorite animation studios to date for many, many reasons. 

What makes Wallace and Gromit so unique, so charming, so inventive, and so undeniably sweet? First, I think it’s important to classify the three major animation studios that are well-known in the American domestic and internationally:

• Disney has always been about the magic and the fantastical (any Disneyland veteran will instantly confirm this with anyone). Their most well-known and well-received films – which include the obvious Snow White and The Little Mermaid – have mostly been adaptations of classic fairy and folk tales from collections of the Brothers Grimm, Charles Perrault, and Hans Christen Anderson. The core appeal of these films includes their happily-ever-after conclusions, musical numbers, bubbly side characters, and easily palatable animation aesthetics (good and evil are very distinct entities, and drawn in such a way that the audience can easily identify who to like and who to hate).
• Pixar broke away from Disney traditions by simply investing in high-quality, limit-pushing technical mastery and heartwarming, engaging stories. Arguably, their premiere film Toy Story cemented what the studio was all about from the very beginning: breakthrough, technique, direction, wide appeal, and story, story, story. After fifteen years it’s nice to see that the studio – up until this point – has favored originality and constant constructive criticism over conservatively safe creative stagnation. While this may change in the near future (and I surely hope not), I’ve always been fond of Pixar for their aspiration towards quality and the genuine belief in the public’s desire for greater expectations of film, and especially of animation. I just hope Lasseter and the rest of the gang are smart enough to not pull a Michael Eisner or a George Lucas in their future decisions. 
•  Hayao Miyazaki’s and Isao Takahata’s Studio Ghibli is world renown for films like Princess Mononoke, Spirited Away and arguably the most famous, My Neighbor Totoro. What all these films share is their directly non-Western narratives, depictions and aesthetics – almost the polar opposite of what their Disney contemporaries aspired towards. The greatest emphasis is on the details of the environment, and how almost everything – from a falling dragon to how two young girls react upon seeing a forest spirit – is drawn and inspired from how humans and nature can harmoniously coexist (recently, while watching bits from Ponyo, one of my brother’s friends commented, “everyone seems so at peace with what’s happening around them despite the events being completely unnatural. In fact, it’s almost as if they went ‘oh hey look, ancient sea creatures… ok.’”)

With these characteristics in mind, it’s easier to see why Nick Park (and by extension Aardman Studios) is so utterly unique in animation and storytelling. 

I’ve recently watched three Wallace and Gromit short films on Netflix – A Close Shave, A Grand Day Out, and most recently A Close Shave – in this order respectively, and now feel confident enough to say this: what is so striking about Park’s animation and directing style is his utter sincerity. There really isn’t anything fantastic or awe-inspiring or jaw-dropping – in fact, the most amazing thing about Wallace and Gromit is how un-amazing and quiet it is as a whole. Sure, you have the Goldberg like inventions, the inexplicable physical feats otherwise impossible in the real world as we know (speeding on a toy train while laying out toy train rails in front of you to make a path? Check!), the uniqueness of each frame and character look that results from careful and painstaking stop-motion clay animation, the dubious “antagonist” that, well, antagonizes with a specific plot point ('ello, Mr. Were-Rabbit) – but beyond all of that hullabulloo and pragmatic nonsense, at the end of the day Wallace and Gromit are just content to have themselves a nice cup of tea with some crackers and Wenslydale cheese. 

Wallace and Gromit is so quiet, so modest, and so simply sweet and sincere that no other popular animation studio – Disney, Pixar, Ghibli alike – has ever thought of pursuing. The closest analogy I could draw for those who are familiar with all three studios (not including Aardman) is this: imagine the little scene in Miyazaki’s My Neighbor Totoro where the two girls are fetching water from the stream. For a few seconds, the camera cuts to a part of the flowing water, where a discarded bottle has become lodged between a couple of small rocks. It’s the sort of attention to detail that many animators (for the sake of time) ignore or choose not to do – yet for those few seconds we see such a detail that says so little yet so much at the same time. Another scene (that I’m sure more are familiar with) is in Andrew Stanton’s Wall•E, where Wall•E picks up a ring holder, takes out the diamond ring – only to throw it away and play eagerly with the box it came in (when I was watching it in theaters, a woman behind me exclaimed “ooh!” before the little robot chucked it away). These small instances of extreme attention to minute details that on average, we take for granted everyday, is what Wallace and Gromit is all about. Stop and smell the roses –would probably be the best quote summation of Nick Park and Aardman studios as a whole. Most amazing is Nick Park’s utter humility and seemingly lacking desire to do more in Wallace and Gromit except more Wallace and Gromit: that is, he simply tiptoes away from the traps of repetitive sequels and creative stagnation that Dreamwork’s Shrek franchise ran into after its first sequel. There is a self-awareness that in spite of the series’ British domestic and international success, there is always something else greater outside the little bubble of the charming duo. 

Even though it is a precious and nostalgic collection and valuable to the company, in light of other tragedies, today isn’t a big deal.

– Nick Park responding to the resulting destruction of Aardman’s storage warehouse after a fire accidentally broke out in 2005. He is referencing the South Asian earthquake in his response.

One of the most touching moments out of the three short films I’ve seen recently is in A Grand Day Out, where Wallace and Gromit traverse via rocketship to a planet presumably made out of a cheese. The planet’s guardian, a box-like robot, wakes up to protect the natural environment and comes across the duo’s spread out picnic; collecting each item for its inventory, the robot comes across a travel magazine focusing on skiing. It becomes inspired, and desires to follow Wallace and Gromit back home to earth; however, due to a misunderstanding, the duo take off, and the robot is stranded on its planet with a few pieces of the rocket. 

In a sad yet sweet moment, the robot takes the pieces, mends them into makeshift skis, and makes due with the little cheese hills – thus accomplishing his little dream of skiing in the snowy alps of earth, albeit slightly modified. 

Comparatively, the two other films after Park’s first short film feature – A Close Shave and The Wrong Trousers – don’t quite hit this lightning-in-a-bottle mark of sad-sweetness, a sort of happy ending without the happily-ever-after, if you will. Don’t misinterpret me though: these two other films do wonders in mixing comedy gold and silliness with ace animation and unbelievably creative achievements while balancing a dubious (even menacing) antagonist whose eventual fate is actually quite satisfactory (and ironically humorous, for the matter); and if I recall correctly, this comedy gold mix was also prevalent in Were-Rabbit, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was also present in the short film I’ve yet to see A Matter of Loaf and Death. I look forward to getting my hands on the short-short film compilation Cracking Contraptions and seeing episodes of the upcoming (or currently broadcasting?) series Wallace and Gromit’s World of Inventions (in fact, the premise of World of Inventions instantly got me sold on the series; one of my lifelong goals is to tie in science with art, animation and film, and seems like Nick Park (and even Henry Selick, for the matter) is ahead of me in the game already. Why does it seem like stop-motion animators always seem to be the most unique?)

As a closing to this entire tidbit, I will say this: the little robot skiing its way across hills on the desolate planet of cheese will forever be a memorable little scene in mind and memory of film and animation. 

Strangely though, after watching story – I’ve always got a strange craving for cheese. Specifically pub cheese. Coincidence? 

…

Additional Links

• Train chase scene in The Wrong Trousers – the audio dubbed for a college student’s project but you can see how inventive the animation and action is. 

• Opening of The Wrong Trousers – you can see the Rube Goldberg inspirations all over this.