SPOILER-FREE REVIEW
A lovingly crafted fable with a poignant message, Pom Poko is undermined by a long runtime and a tendency for its cultural references to be lost in translation.
I’d wager that most of you will have heard the phrase “lost in translation” before, and for better or for worse, it’s an apt description for Isao Takahata’s Pom Poko. Where most of Studio Ghibli’s films are more than accessible to audiences outside Japan, Pom Poko is steeped so heavily in traditional Japanese folklore that a working knowledge is required to fully appreciate the film. My difficulty in writing a review of this movie comes from the fact that I don’t have that background. Did I still enjoy it? Yes, of course. It’s a wonderfully whimsical and awfully funny movie with a powerful message behind it; in other words, it’s almost immediately recognisable as one of the studio’s works. But to truly enjoy it as someone without much knowledge of the culture behind it means a bit of post-credits research and occasionally, just rolling with the strange happenings that unfold before you on the screen.
Set in Japan between the 1960s and the 1990s, the film tells the story of a group of tanuki living in the hills on the outskirts of Tokyo who find their homes threatened by a massive urban development project, funded by the government to make room for workers heading to the capital for work during the postwar economic boom. To fight back against the humans encroaching on their territory, the tanuki (mistranslated to ‘raccoons’ in the English sub available on Netflix), decide to use their magic powers of shapeshifting and disguise to trick the humans into fleeing and leaving them alone.
At its core, the film still mostly makes sense even if you don’t understand that, in line with their traditional depictions in Japanese folklore, the tanuki are reputed to have the ability to shapeshift, but are also fun-loving, sociable and occasionally a little absent-minded. The frequent appearances of their scrotums (again translated to ‘raccoon pouches’ in some dubs to avoid offending prudes) and their utility in shapeshifting is perhaps less so. You wouldn’t necessarily be blamed for wondering what on Earth you were watching when a shapeshifting Japanese raccoon dog batters a policeman in full riot gear with his magically inflated testicles. But I’d argue you can still enjoy a massive parade of forest spirits without necessarily understanding what particular place in the folklore they occupy, though I doubt the experience is totally complete. This is clearly a film made for Japanese audiences, who likely already understand the cultural references, and the subtle humour of it all.
In true Ghibli fashion, there’s still enough for the unfamiliar viewer to enjoy. There are a bunch of main characters, but you wouldn’t describe them as being the same as traditional protagonists of other movies. This is a story about the tanuki as a community, about how they unite under the guidance of their wise elders to fight back against the humans and their new development. To do that, they relearn the ancient art of shapeshifting and undertake daring missions into this new urban wilderness to frighten away the workers by taking advantage of their long-held superstitions and fears of spirits and other beings. In its first half, the film is wonderfully funny, with two of our characters deciding to obey their elders’ edicts about remaining chaste (extra mouths to feed would be catastrophic given their shrinking territory and dwindling food supplies), before heading to a nearby workers’ hostel disguised as the spirits of two little girls to scare them away.
As the situation grows even more dire, the film becomes more serious, emphasising a poignant appeal for us to think more carefully about our relationship with the environment. Of course, it’s hardly the only Ghibli film to make such an appeal. More striking is the film’s acknowledgement of its roots: an indictment of our lack of respect for tradition and spirituality in a world whose barren construction sites and cold, hard concrete and steel are the antithesis of all that’s good in the world. Takahata insists on demonstrating his film’s deep-seated respect for the folklore in every frame, and it’s hard not to respect the level of commitment. The result is a film of notable cultural sensitivity and undeniable charm.
However, at two hours long, the poignancy of its message would have been better served by a shorter movie. It’s hard to keep people’s attention on the message you’re trying to impart otherwise. There’s some spectacular animation and gorgeous watercolour backgrounds, which shouldn’t really surprise anyone. The tanuki are drawn in an absolutely delightful style too. As the film explains, they take on three different forms: a realistic, animalistic form when observed by humans, a form in the manga style when using their magic and their usual anthropomorphic form. They shift beautifully and get into exciting, whimsical antics: my particular favourite was a shot of them shapeshifting into tiny Buddhist statues. Observed with bewilderment by a passing construction worker, they soon move behind his back and wave at each other while still in statue form. That signature Ghibli charm is still here in spades.
However, this is possibly the studio’s least accessible work, by virtue of the way it makes constant references to both Japanese culture and folklore. Though you don’t need to understand either to appreciate the artistry and loving care that’s gone into making Pom Poko, I concede that it would probably be quite useful. Stretched out over two hours, this might just be a hard sell, despite still having most of the things that frequently make Ghibli so enchanting.
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