Some time has passed, since everyone talked about that animated movie some guy made on his home computer. The plot wasn't complete, but the visuals were pretty. The movie posessed a unique character, born of its creator. That guy who made the movie is Mr. Makoto Shinkai, who is quickly becoming a household name in anime. The movie was Hoshi no Koe: The Voices of a Distant Star.

But it's Shinkai's second movie (The Place Promised in Our Early Days) that I'll be talking about in this space. Ever since Hoshi no Koe, something has eluded me about Shinkai's movies. They're not lacking in continuity, nor are they confusing. In fact, they all exhibit polish and exceptional skill; but with each viewing, I couldn't shake the feeling that I missed something. Shinkai has released three movies now, each more bold than the last. With the third movie (Five Centimeters per Second) behind me, I finally get it: if you think about the movie as a life unto its own, everything seems to fall into place.

This isn't my usual review. I'm going to go into detail about what makes this movie special, so some of what I say in here might spoil your experience with the film. If you're wondering whether to pick it up, rest assured that it receives my highest recommendation, and go forth without fear. I'll continue on, under the pretense that my recommendation carries weight.

The Place Promised in Our Early Days is set in Aomori, the prefecture that occupies the north tip of Honshu [1]. The movie takes place in an alternate time line from our own, where the northern island of Ezo [2] is under the control of another nation. The film paints us a picture of three close friends who are junior high school students. There are two boys, Takuya Shirakawa and Hiroki Fujisawa, who are building an airplane from the shell of an unmanned drone they found. Their dream is to fly to the enormous tower that rises from Ezo up above the clouds -- to view up close that which is visible to anyone, but out of reach. In the center is Sayuri Sawatari, the other object of the boys' fascination.

Together, they make a pact to fly to the tower, which we are told is a device used to research alternate realities, or "dreams of the universe."

The cruelty of fate is a prevalent theme, here. After all their time together, Sayuri disappeared without a trace, and with her, their aspirations of flight. Hiroki then traveled to Tokyo for high school, while Takuya remained in Aomori to attend a military high school. The second half of the film follows the two boys as they try to live on, without any knowledge of their friend's whereabouts, and also tells of Sayuri's struggle -- trapped within a dream from which she cannot awaken.

A dream offers complete freedom of choice, but it's also a lonely place -- one that you can't share with anyone else. This is Sayuri's state through much of the film. But while the loneliness is oppressive, she is apprehensive about waking up. This is foreshadowed at the beginning of the movie, when Hiroki recalls her saying that she feels like she'll lose something, and then she reads a passage from Kenji Miyazawa's "The Morning of Final Farewell [3]." One aspect of Sayuri's anxiety might be a simple fear of the unknown. Kafka knew how terrifying an awakening can be (luckily Shinkai isn't so liberal with his characters' circumstances). What would the world be like after all that time? What would she be like?

The loneliness of dreams in contrast with the fear of reality is an important theme in the film, but it's not the whole story. What of Sayuri's premonition of loss? We need Hiroki to piece together the rest.

Hiroki's circumstances are a diametric opposite of Sayuri's, a reality without a dream. He goes through life without looking to the future, and without investing himself into new friendships. Thoughts of Sayuri and the sight of the tower are sources of pain for him now. Hiroki tried to escape the past, but was unable.

I hesitate to say that Takuya is a mere plot device, but his main purpose appears to be exactly that. He could've been raised by wolves and precognitive, and we'd be none the wiser. The one thing that is important is his bond to the other two, forged by their promise of yesteryear. He is at one point given a choice between a stable life and helping Hiroki in that risky endeavor, so his character does have substance.

It's risky to read any further into Takuya, but I suppose one could look at him as the practical side of adulthood, and Hiroki the emotional, naturally in conflict with one another. The practical adult isn't burdened by the past, but he's a creature of ambiguous morality, firmly rooted in the present. The practical side might have been a useful theme to explore in a movie such as this. Takuya's life-altering decision is given no focus at all, leaving us only to assume that he didn't worry himself of the consequences, which is ridiculous. For better or worse, the story revolves around Hiroki and Sayuri, locked in their fight against the humours and tricks of that old bald cheater, Time [4].

A dream's future is wide open. Anything is possible, because there's no foundation from which to narrow the possibilities. A dreamer's past is a hollow shell, because she couldn't choose a life. Her dual is the drifter, who might be too preoccupied to put stock in his future, but he knows how to survive with his limitations. Like man and woman, each half needs the other to become whole. And just as lovers must each give up part of themselves to come together, so must one person's dreams and reality be joined [5].

At the heart of the film lies a powerful desire to reconcile what is with what could have been -- to find a way forward. Both Hiroki and Sayuri will lose something if they come together at their promised place, but they might find one another. He will have to abandon his nostalgia and accept her with all her faults, and she must give up her world of infinite possibility for one in which she'll have to make choices. The fear of that loss can be intense, but on the other side lies hope, hope that the radiance of their bond will outshine all of the dark times.

It's tempting to look back on this film as yet another love story -- those elements are certainly present. I rather think it's about one person (the author himself, most likely) trying to come to terms with the past, without losing sight of what's important. But it's beautiful. Much like Miyazawa, Shinkai explored the parallels of interpersonal and self relations, and of one person's desires and those of the cosmos. Whatever the inspiration that gave birth to this masterwork, the finished product is itself an inspiration.

[1] Honshu is the main island of Japan. To the north is Hokkaido, and to the Southwest is Kyushu.

[2] Ezo is the very old name once used for the northern lands (Hokkaido) and its peoples.

[3] Miyazawa wrote this poem for his dying sister. The romanized title is "Eiketsu no Asa", from the collection Haru to Shura (Spring and Asura).

[4] Ben Johnson, The Poetaster: thou art not to learn the humours and tricks of that old bald cheater, Time

[5] This reminded me of Gattaca. Jerome tells Vincent, "I got the better end of the deal. I only lent you my body. You lent me your dream." Each gave up their very identities to work together for a greater good.