parent-child-relationship

My son’s first Miyazaki, and—with apologies to everyone who’s been telling me for twenty-odd years—mine too. Enjoyed the unhurriedness: no villain, no ticking clock, no third-act lesson, just Chihiro earning her courage by the minute. Watching it with an eight-year-old turned out to be the antidote to arriving at canon late, burdened by other people’s readings. The boy had no readings, just a quiet “wow” at the train across the water. Now we have the rest of the shelf to work through.

Continuing to show my son the high-concept family comedies of my youth—a genre Hollywood was unusually good at in the late eighties and early nineties, when a one-line premise could carry a whole film. This one was well-received. Some of the practical effects still hold up. The digital work does not—1989 was a year or two too early, and the seams show in every composite. Memories of watching it at the cinema with my grandmother aren’t quite enough to lift it any higher.

Sennott’s great. Enjoyed the various power dynamics at play: financial, sexual, generational. They all helped amp up the anxiety levels.