SPOILER-FREE REVIEW
While it doesn’t match the visual scope of its predecessors, When Marnie Was There’s stirring narrative is buoyed by its honest and nuanced study of an archetypical protagonist.
When I first wrote a review for Hiromasa Yonebayashi’s When Marnie Was There, I spoke about how it was one of the few films out there that genuinely struck a chord. Roughly two years on, with the chance to view it again through fresh eyes on Netflix, I can say with confidence that it didn’t happen either through chance or by luck. Perhaps it’s not really a surprise; after all, Studio Ghibli and disappointment are only rarely bedfellows. It doesn’t quite match the visual scope of its predecessors, but I now believe that might have been part of the point. It’s quieter and even a little more awkward, but no less tender, with a story and message that effortlessly reaches across all barriers posed by culture and indeed by gender.
Based on the children’s novel of the same name by British author Joan G. Robinson, When Marnie Was There tells the story of Anna, a shy and artistic twelve-year-old girl who moves to a small seaside village to stay with her aunt and uncle after suffering a severe asthma attack. With the hopes that the cleaner air will help her recover, she settles down for a long and rather awkward summer break. When she discovers an old mansion on the edge of the coastal marshes, she winds up befriending Marnie, the mysterious girl who lives there, and the line between fantasy and reality begins to blur.
The question of Marnie’s true identity sits a little at odds with the film’s overall message about healing, finding a voice and growing comfortable in your own skin. The reasonably attentive viewer will find themselves readily able to see the latter and therefore will figure out who Marnie really is before Anna does. Allowing the viewer to get a few steps ahead of the main character doesn’t do the film any favours. But it’s not any less touching for it. Anna pieces the puzzle together in a way that feels organic and only when the whole story reveals itself to her at the end do you realise that Yonebayashi has had your heart in a vice grip from the start. At that point, the film tugs surprisingly hard, given that it’s not exactly as up-in-your-face like many other Ghibli films.
What strikes me immediately about this film is how much its evocative power depends on its protagonist. That’s not to say that Ghibli films don’t have excellent lead characters; in fact, they tend to be the rule rather than the exception and I’ve often found relatable qualities in them. With Anna however, the phrase ‘we like what’s like us’ comes to mind, and that her personal story resonated so deeply with me, even despite the fact that on the surface we don’t have much in common, is a testament to the studio’s commitment to creating archetypal characters. It captures the struggle of seeking self-identity and dealing with anxiety in a way that seems genuine and realistic, and credit is well deserved for this level of accuracy and honesty. This is something that’s communicated through dialogue, but also through subtly animated tics and touches in body language. Consider again the attention to detail required to give an animated character the ability not only to speak like she’s nervous but to move and act like it too, to convey discomfort with a facial expression that only briefly flits across a face. Those gaps in culture and gender that threaten many a film are almost effortlessly bridged.
The film also neatly encapsulates that life-in-a-small-town feeling, while making its setting seem more than just quaint. True, there aren’t any river spirit dragons or giant insects, but our characters are wonderfully expressive. Side characters possess these little human touches that make them figuratively three-dimensional, while the backdrops are wonderfully handcrafted. Fans will find it’s not at all short of the beautiful stills we’re all so fond of. Perhaps the only thing that’s lacking are the ‘breathing shots’, used in previous films to slow down the story to a crawl and give the viewer some time to breathe. The breathless pace of Yonebayashi’s film does take some getting used to, though none of the artistic talent has been lost. It’s just subtler: employed in the creation of characters and background detail rather than spent on lavish and elaborate sequences.
It’s more personal and subtle, with a protagonist whose journey I found was genuinely able to strike a chord. And though I criticise its flaws, I still do so half-heartedly in the knowledge that this film is still capable of sweeping me away. To my mind, When Marnie Was There earns a spot as one of Ghibli’s best coming-of-age stories, and serves as a beautiful and often bittersweet piece of animation that’s worthy of bearing the Studio Ghibli trademark.
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