Deep beneath Japan, there lives a giant worm, and when it emerges through various doors and portals strewn throughout the island, disaster follows. To protect the land, an ancient order of “Closers” had been formed to create keystones to help seal the worm in its lair and close any of the doors which may have been opened. When Suzume (Nanoka Hara) accidentally sets free Daijin (Ann Yamane), one of the keystones, she tries to make it up to Souta (Hokuto Matsumura), a closer, by helping him to reseal Daijin, close the portal, and save Japan.  

Acclaimed animator, Makoto Shinkai, delivers Suzume, an ode to the lives lost in the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami tragedies. He asks audiences not to forget the legacy of the everyday people who lost their lives and their homes in the wake of the 9.1 scale quake, as well as those affected by any of the natural disasters which struck the island nation in its long history. Released domestically in Japan by Toho Studios, the 122-minute film received US distribution from Crunchyroll and while some of the nuances of place may be lost, the emotional register of the film still rings true. 

The bright springtime blues and greens of the film are instantly captivating and work well with Shinkai’s lyrical style drawing influence on both nature and the flowing human condition, this time opting to study memory and loss. The narrative finds Suzume traveling far across Japan to various cities and the surrounding suburbs, each location with its own distinct charm and identity while keeping with Shinkai’s overarching whimsical style. These vistas are contrasted when Suzume interacts with the worm, and the frames take on a hellish fury of reds and blacks instilling a sense of danger. Late in the film, when she faces off against the worm, the atmosphere is nothing short of terrifying and some of the visual cues laid throughout the first two acts become mirrored and distorted in this underground landscape of chaos and destruction. 

Before the ferocity, however, Suzume is filled with lyrical joy. After breaking free from the keystone, Daijin, an impish white cat looking for love and attention, curses Souta, embodying his soul in a three-legged chair, granting the child’s toy the ability to speak and walk. These more imaginative aspects of the film seem a far stretch on paper, but in practice, it all works well within the fabric of the film that to imagine Suzume without a sentient talking chair would be inconceivable. As the story unfolds, however, just that happens; in the second half and Souta is largely absent from the film as Shinkai recalibrates his narrative to accommodate for this void. In the end, it works well and everything in the second act falls into its purposeful place, but as it is happening it takes some getting used to on behalf of the audience as Suzume flounders in place for a while without Souta to guide her.  

The second act is still heavily influenced by the closing of the doors, but it also finds Suzume on a much more personal journey as she needs to find the door which she traveled through unknowingly as a little girl back in 2011 looking for her mother after the tsunami crashed through her town. It is only through that door that she will be able to enter the Ever-After, a magical realm where Souta is trapped, and the worm lies in wait. It is a twisting and confusing road to get to this point and it can be hard at times to keep the details and some of the finer aspects of the lore straight, but the broad strokes of the narrative are always the guiding principles so while the inner workings may not always be clear, audiences are never left feeling lost by the story. 

The final showdown is an intensification of the fight with the worm in the middle of the film when it was poised to decimate an unsuspecting Tokyo. As mentioned, Shinkai really gives the design here some teeth, and because so much until this point had been bright and beautiful, the darker aspects that quickly fill the frame add a visual balance to the film. But the Ever-After is not all rivers of fire and crumbling homes, there is an ethereal quality to it as well when Suzume unlocks the memories of her as a child and the sky fills with a lavender light punctuated by hundreds of twinkling stars. The backstory here takes on an ouroboric quality that admittedly might not hold up to too much scrutiny, by the emotional register of the moment is undeniable. Shinkai’s final reveal answers questions to the mystery we may not have even fully realized had been asked of ourselves so that it retroactively forges these deeper connections and meanings to the various pieces of the plot that we had been content to merely accept as part of the overall story and continue on with our journey as it was happing in the story proper. These connections create a deeper and more enriching experience, magnified because the film was not setting them up to be revealed later but rather allows them all to take on a second life in these final moments in a carefully planned and organic way. 

Shinkai delivers a truly beautiful work with Suzume that stays true to the director’s style while grappling with the deep emotions of love, loss, and lives cut short. It is an interesting view on tragedy while also allowing for the imagination to run wild with the inclusion of supernatural elements. With a fair bit of humor and the ever-so-slight hinting at a budding romance, Suzume is a little unwieldy at times, especially in the second act, but the film is never alienating to its audience. Even those who may be struggling to keep up with either the subtitles or the animation style will still be able to follow along with the broader strokes of the narrative and the immediate beauty and artistry will quickly win over any skeptics with the charm and heart of the story soon to follow suit.