Being an only child is like trading one sense for another. Only children live out the entirety of their youth having to communicate with people in proximity of their age at a defined distance. They aren’t family, but they can become as close as one. The only child is aware that they are the sole proginey of their parents. But, when you are the oldest child, there is a period of your life where you get a chance to be the only child before the title of sister/brother is thrust upon you. Mamoru Hosoda’s new film Mirai (Mirai no Mirai in Japan) isolates one pure moment of early childhood, that point where you are no longer an only child, and takes us on a journey of growth wherein the child is visited by different members of his family across different generations, including the future version of his new baby sister aptly named Mirai. It is both a deep and visceral reenactment of the earliest part of childhood that we all know so well, only child or not. Oddly it turned out to be very easy to relate with a 4 year old despite not being aware of your first cognition of maturity. Mirai begs you to reflect on your earliest memories and recall the magnitude of your earliest choices.

Mirai is never boring. It looks boring, deceptively small and domestic, but really it’s more like a kaleidoscope. A single chamber filled with precious stones with which to point at the sun where light bounces across a corridor filled with mirrors that reflect the true brilliance of the world. It was a subtle transformative experience for me. We often forget that people in our family used to be in the same size shoes, plodding around in front of their own parents, raised to do or not do at the whim of their elders. This film focuses on the perfect imperfect family. Mildly dysfunctional, the parents in love, but a far cry from the beginning of their marriage. I point to this because you may think life can’t be rolled up into the singular nuclear family, and it true, it can’t. But, all people are products of their parents, and their parents parents, of interactions with their siblings. What this film does well is melt down the you have built up in your psyche. The one that helps you forgive your parents for lying to you, or your sister for hurting your, or your grandfather for forgetting you at the grocery store. People are children all throughout their life. Children with accumulated experiences doing their best to raise children with fewer experiences. Hosoda schedules a masterclass on macro family economics.

Animated films have the privilege of being unbound to reality, and Mirai pushes an almost science fiction/fantasy tale on the mundane. It’s hard to describe to people, but quickly understood when watched, which lends to the credit of its creators. They are succinct creators, true professionals of storytelling.  Hosoda’s movement through his 4 year old lead Kun-Chan’s life is vivid, crazy, and imaginative. He visits deep oceans, motorcycle factories, train stations, and forests, all in search of coping with the loss of innocence and gaining the ability to love beyond what oneself can receive. The use of color in this film is surprisingly matte, almost pastel and earthy, as if to mimic the tones of the world in which we walk. It is a far cry from Wolf Children or Summer Wars, which are glossy bombasts of modern neon fantasy. Hosoda may not be recognized as a younger Miyazaki, but he is definitely creating a portfolio juxtaposed on a parallel track of the master.

Mirai may not ever shock you. It may not change you. But I feel confident that will definitely charm you. Hosoda has that special skill to dive into the human spirit, tug on the thinnest thread, and weave a tale as thick as a wool sweater keeping you warm on the loneliest night. It pulls a grin across your face that will last the entire runtime, almost making you feel like a you just came back from your personal smile trainer. Look, imagine this Hosoda can write a simile and metaphor 100x’s better than this review, and I think you get the idea. Take the time to watch Mirai when life has you feeling miles in the air; confused, sad, or disoriented, and I promise you will find the ground beneath your feet.

~* 8.5/10 *~