Lovers will feel each other to be more precious, parents will fondly recall their childhoods, and children will start exploring the thickets behind shrines and climbing trees to try to find a Totoro.” How accurate his foretelling would be. When My Neighbor Totoro was in the planning stages, Miyazaki wrote that he wanted to make “a happy and heartwarming film, a film that lets the audience go home with pleasant, glad feelings. Safe for all viewers and particularly ripe for families, Miyazaki’s film wants to bring its audience together through a shared experience. With this, Miyazaki sets the joyous tone and promises a blithe filmic environment for his audience. Miyazaki opens his film with a cheerful song called “Stroll”, an elementary tune both happy and plain ringing beneath a title sequence alive with cute creatures, children marching, and bright colors. And so, Miyazaki seeks to communicate first with children in an honest and sincere way, which then, given his truthful approach, resonates with a universal audience. He hopes to avoid demographic subcategorization, the diversifying of moviegoers by appeasing their increasingly niche-based interests. An incredibly personal effort for the Japanese animator, the film exemplifies Miyazaki’s desire to create animated works for everyone, regardless of age. But whoever said a film needs violence and thrills to have adventure? Miyazaki contends that the discovery of magic and imagination in everyday life presents its own adventure. Driven by its pleasant nature and deceptive simplicity, the story remains free of harrowing conflicts, fast-paced action, or moments of deafening suspense.

Hayao Miyazaki’s My Neighbor Totoro is among the most delightful of all films. This moment is not about danger, rather the sense of discovery as she pets its nose and quickly feels safe enough to curl up and take a nap on the Totoro’s furry paunch. Mei never thinks to be afraid of the bear-sized Totoro in the woods, and she does not need to.

It yawns, and from the sound of its groan, she names it “Totoro,” a kind spirit that will only be seen if it wants to be. She climbs on the beast’s belly, scooting forward to regard its kind, sleepy face. She approaches its chubby, undefined, exposed arm and pokes it. There she sees a gargantuan ball of gray fur dozing in an alcove, its round form rising with every breath. After following two forest spirits down the proverbial rabbit hole, Mei, a four-year-old girl complete with pigtails and endless curiosity, comes upon a massive clearing at the base of a conifer tree.

My neighbor totoro mei