Ani-Me #6: Spending a Complicated Christmas with the TOKYO GODFATHERS (Patreon)

Welcome to Ani-Me! The Series Where You Make Me Watch Anime! To be clear, you aren’t making me do anything because I have enjoyed every bit of this so far. And given your prior suggestions and me wanting to stick with the Christmas theme, I decided it was finally time to watch a movie I previously thought for some reason? Turned out I totally hadn’t. So it was officially time for…

Today’s entry: TOKYO GODFATHERS (2003)

17 years can be a lot of time, especially when it comes to the movies.

Sure, there can be timeless outliers like Network, Do The Right Thing, Cleo From 5 to 7, Design For Living, and The Watermelon Woman, which all have the kind of incisive social commentary that makes them feel like they could be made just yesterday (in truth, it seems we’re always catching up to them instead). But nowadays we often have to have these baked in conversations of dated-ness whenever we show older films. Just a bit of genuine concern of telling people, “oh by the way, content warning about X or Y,” especially when it comes to our rather modern understanding of LBGTQ+ and larger gender issues. Because a lot of movies just don’t reflect the things we now understand so much better. Sometimes they merely feature outdated uses of language. Sometimes they have deeply problematic aspects. Sometimes you can feel the hatred and otherism and panic deep in their bones. But sometimes you can tell they have their hearts in the right place, too. Sometimes they can even exhibit some tremendous depth and empathy in their exploration of characters…

And sometimes, a film can exhibit all these traits at once.

Which is only part of the reason that Tokyo Godfathers is so hard to unpack.

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One of the things about this Ani-Me column series is that I’m always coming into films that y’all have a whole history and experience with. Doesn’t matter how many other kinds of films I’ve seen in my lifetime, here I’m the noob. So all I can really aim to do is best explain my experience with a given work as insightfully as I can and be open in return. To that, I’ll be honest: watching the first 20 minutes of Tokyo Godfathers was a little difficult for me even though I was genuinely trying to to find a way in. On one level it had to do with an ongoing animation obstacle I’ve had. While I’ve found that I have no problem with the Ghibli-like poeticism or understatement. I can even get on board with so much over-the top fun of other artists. But I don’t know if there’s a word for the particular style Kon is using here, but there are these constantly-exaggerated facial expressions and aggressive, rapid contortions. And it’s something I’m still learning to absorb because I’ve seen the style before and i genuinely want it to feel more natural to my brain. Again, to go with that metaphor I love in the Thai culinary discussion, they don’t say “I don’t like this” when they’re encountering a troubling food. They instead say “I don’t know how to eat this.” And I’m honestly still learning how to eat this.

But far more jarring was the opening actions of the characters, whether it was the constant, aggressive misgendering, the assaulting boob grab, or just the general hostility in every direction. 17 years ago, I probably wouldn’t have bat an eye at this stuff and made excuses about iT bEiNg A mOvIe or something. But it’s the kind of thing that inescapably hits so much different now. Granted, the one thing you can say about those early scenes is that at least Hana seems to be aware of the problems, often fighting for herself and shouting back, “Don’t say messed up stuff like that to her!” But it’s still a really difficult obstacle in watching (especially when it the story doesn’t confront Gin on a lot of this crap at all). Granted, this also isn’t my experience, so in the end I don’t really feel fit to judge it, nor root for it, nor excuse it, so really it’s just part of kind of distance I felt… But then, things began to change.

On the surface, Tokyo Godfathers has a rather simple story: three homeless people with loose, dysfunctional friendship, discover a baby in the trash and go on a quest to find its parents (complete with very direct allusions to “the three wisemen” story). Thing is only one of these wise men is actually a man: an angry gambling addict named Gin. Then there’s another character, Hana, who is mostly regarded by those around her as “a former drag queen,” but she uses she / her pronouns for herself so I can only assume this is the intention. And then there’s Miyuki, a young runaway who left after she stabbed her father in a heated argument. And like most good stories, the the ensuing baby adventure works as a parable, in that it’s basically a prism which allows these characters to examine and confront their own problems.

Which is why the film is at it’s best when it’s directly dealing with introspection with its main characters. I can remember the exact first moment I started warming to it came when Hana, clearly speaking from a place of pained experience, mutters to the wee child in the snow, “I don’t want her shipped from foster home to foster home without a single memory of being loved,” and then we see as she holds tighter. Needless to say, this is the kind of moment that brings depth to her past. Likewise, there’s that crippling moment of Kiyoko seeing her father on the train, and even though we don’t know what happened yet, we know the intensity of that moment because we know that panic of being so overcome that we utterly need to escape. Lastly, there’s this other great moment where Gin thinks of his past with him as the bright and shining racer with hope in his eye, and only becomes more of a sad gut-punch you realize it was a memory that never was. These are people in various states of grief and being haunted by their past. And they reflect the utter compassion that the film has for the inner workings of its characters.

And for both better and worse, the story is a deeply messy expression of that.

The immediate sense I get of Satoshi Kon (both from this film and from his reputation) is that his work is imbued with this rough-edged, madcap energy. It’s not just that he’s willing to take absurd left turns that constantly up-end where you thought things were going (the attempted-assassination moment is right when his story approach started clicking). It’s that he’s the kind of filmmaker who will make the buildings of Tokyo dance in the credits mere minutes after a young woman’s infanticidal suicide attempt. It’s a hell of a juxtaposition. So I wouldn’t exactly couple his madcap nature with Miyazaki’s mournful and gentle whimsy, nor the youthful gonzo energy of someone like Hosada. It’s more that Kon’s unique brand of wholesomeness has one foot in the darkness of dire subject matter. But not in a way where said darkness is the point (to put it differently: there isn’t an ounce of edgelord in any of this). He’s simply walking that madcap energy right into some of the MOST loaded of loaded issues. And I don’t think he’s necessarily aware of that, nor do I think he cares about being all that careful with it.

This may seem an odd comparison, but have you ever have one of those moments where you describe a moment of your family life to a group of people and everyone looks at you bug-eyed? Usually because the anecdote you just told was way more messed up than you realized? What we’re really highlighting here is the notion of specific “familial dysfunction,” where we’ve completely normalized a thing that isn’t normal. And it might seem strange, but that’s the feeling I kind of had watching pretty much all of Kon’s depictions within Tokyo Godfathers. Don’t get me wrong, there’s this kind of clear love that he has for all of them, but also this abrasiveness in nearly every interaction. In one way, the nonchalance of the brutality is jarring. In another way, this obviously makes sense because Tokyo Godfathers is a movie that is quite literally about the many different forms of familial dysfunction. The kind of genre where characters say horrible things and often try to forgive horrible things, in turn.

The real question is: what do these depictions actually mean to us, the viewer?

Because often our attachment to the madcap adventure / character dysfunction is not about logistics, nor even how things making sense on the story level. Instead, it usually comes down to a simple question: Does it feel true? And with Tokyo Godfathers, I honestly have a complicated answer to every single aspect of that question. So to make it all a bit more approachable, I will center the discussion around five smaller questions.

One - does the depiction of Hana feel true?

Given the importance of the representation, I think it’s the most pertinent thing to start with. And obviously, one which I’m cannot speak to. Which is the reason that the very first thing I did when I finished watching the film was was go to read pieces from the trans community on how they regard her character. Understandably, the general conversation seems to be warning / questioning about the film’s constant misgendering from other characters, but also acknowledging how much depth, personal history, roundness and empathy there is in Hana’s characterization, too https://transgirlmedia.wordpress.com/2017/07/15/hana-tokyo-godfathers/ . Which is the kind of thing I think about a lot, particularly in regards to modern American television. That’s where so many writers think the job of representation is to have the character look the right way and say the right thing. And it’s not that it’s NOT that. These signifiers are important. But the ultimate job of any character is to give them a whole life. A psychology. A history. A depth of pain and flaws and joys that make all of us so very human. And with Hana, I can see that genuine insight and compassion. But her depiction also exists in that inescapably limited way where Kon isn’t trans and thus cannot speak to that particular experience. And likely acknowledge there may be so much that I’m missing in turn.

Two - Does the portrayal of their homelessness feel true?

Texturally-speaking, I feel like Tokyo Godfathers has this incredible eye for detail. There’s this distinct way it shows us Tokyo, a city I’ve seen represented so many times as this bustling, neon, urban locale of packed trains and umbrellas. But here’s dense in this freezing, unforgiving version of Tokyo, more populated with garbage and alleyways— often with those famous landmarks sitting just over the horizon. There’s also these hyper-specific details homelessness that hit you plainly (like the waitresses unspoken kindness of letting them sleep in the booth). So the reality is certainly felt on screen. But more importantly, I think about how many great details get tied into the film’s deeper thematic aspects. Like the way the old dying man is wearing the same exact outfit as Gin and is his clear “future self” in so many ways (PS - the gag of him being dead / not dead was incredible). I also think about the morbid hilarity of Gin saying, “Honey, I’m home,” line as he comes through the fire-destroyed doorway. It feels right. But there’s deeper question underneath so much of these inventive surface textures, which is: as an extension of these characters, what is it really saying about homelessness, at large?

To that, it’s worth noting that all three characters in Tokyo Godfathers are, essentially, runaways. Gin’s gambling debts caused him to run from his family. Hana slapped a rude, toxic customer, but also never returned to her mother-figure. Miyuki, again, left after the incident with her father. There’s undoubtedly a way that pride and shame hangs over each of their complex family stories, along with an unwillingness to face these actions and return to get help. But the thing about the typical “runaway story” is that people usually for very simple, concrete reasons. Because the majority of runaways are teens trying to escape horrible abuse. Just as the majority of homeless adults are victims of basic economic downturns that created an impossible set of conditions to recover from. Just as many others were veterans or patients in mental hospitals who simply got “cured” and put on the streets when America stopped funding such facilities nationwide. There’s often no neat personal story behind these events. They are not at fault. They are victims. Which really hits the troubling crux of the films’ portrayal. Because as much as their stories are compelling in the personal sense, there’s this inescapable way all three characters fit in the “personal responsibility” myth at the center of so many conservatives’ feelings about why homeless exist (it’s their fault, not the system). But at the same time, I acknowledge the film is not directly trying to say these things either. Just as I acknowledge that Japan’s improved social resources change the conversation from the American one. It’s all just feels part of a complicated series of instincts and how people end up in terrible situations. But this discussion is also getting into a much larger arena and question…

Three - do the grander sociological aspects of the story also feel true?

I ask this because there were SO MANY TIMES watching this madcap movie where I was worried that it was diving into troubled waters. Whether it was a sudden anti-abortion sentiment (the “love tossed away like trash” line), or the seeming the xenophobia with the first appearance of the Spanish-speaking gunman (which thankfully later turns into the wholesome commiseration with his wife). But it’s actually that second example that speaks to the intent of the storytelling in this film. Because I think that, at its core, Tokyo Godfathers is largely about breaking down assumptions. As we go through the story, we learn more and more about every character we come into contact with, often finding more complexity at every turn. Sometimes it’s jarring and weird. And sometimes it’s poetic and personal. But it’s a story tactic that’s even found in the film’s ending scene where the parents assume that these new homeless heroes / titular godfathers are going to be three men, but it’s just another wrong assumption. Which is probably not fair to judge so many of the rough edges of the film because the film itself is an invitation to past them. More over, Tokyo Godfathers is clearly not trying to be a sociological treatise on any of these issues. It’s just about the people underneath the assumptions. Which is why it brings us to an even more important question…

Four - Does the psychology of all these characters feel true?

I’ve already talked about the way the film dives into a specific kind of runaway mentality (with its elements of guilt and pride), but there’s this thing about the film that I can’t shake and that’s the treatment of Sachiko. It feels important because “who she is” and why she seemingly abandoned her kid is actually the driving mystery of the film. And as it goes through twist after twist, the film paints a pained story of a toxic relationship, the hope of a child, and an ultimate act of desperation. But in the end, there’s no getting around how much Tokyo Godfathers just straight up plays into the “insane baby snatcher” trope while utterly trivializing postpartum depression in the process. Same goes for the way her infanticidal suicide attempt takes something so real and turns it into… high octane chase fodder? And a final dialogue boss that is only undone by a miracle? I know we’re treading in It’s A Wonderful Life territory with this one, but at least that is more about the impact of your friendship on others. This is just… well, it gives me tremendous pause.

Admittedly, I’m fixating on this issue because I’m just so so so so fucking tired of suicide being used as used for the hysterics of drama. Also admittedly, that’s a personal thing. I’ve written about suicidal ideation and guilt so much that even though Sachiko ultimately gets this kind of insight and empathy, the film is really just using those experiences for a villainous motivation that plays into the madcap and cartoonish insanity. Look, I know how suicidal tendencies can impact destructive behavior. And I’ve seen what people have to go through when postpartum depression begins overtaking their life, and even the impact of institutionalization. Likewise, we’ve also seen Dear Zachary and it feels like a deeply unfair line is being drawn between the two characterizations. So, where so much of the characterization in this film feels nuanced and full of understanding, there’s something so much more ugly and lacking in understanding here. Sachicko’s story just doesn’t feel true. But perhaps it’s just a victim of the dysfunctional messiness at the heart of the film and its intentions. Which brings us to the final question…

Five - Does the depiction of these many different families feel true?

Let me first answer that with another question: why do these dysfunctional family stories exist in the first place? I’d argue that in their most soap-operatic form, there’s this kind of pulpy fun in watching people be mean and say these things that one would never say in normal circumstance. It’s honestly the kind of guilty fantasy the fuels a lot of reality TV. But in the form of popular dramas? There’s honestly a little bit of that same instinct, but really the point of these stories is to hit a sometimes uncomfortable truth: we gravitate towards family dysfunction stories because we have a dysfunctional family, too— and don’t want to feel alone.

Yes, our families can be dysfunctional as hell. They can be madcap. They can be rigid. They can be messy. They can be tight-lipped and silent. They can be boisterous. The can be deep into the notion of blood ties or “found” in many senses of the word. Heck, even the most functional families in the world will have a kind of specificity that doesn’t give an individual the necessary tools for certain parts of life. That part is unavoidable in any closed system. So there’s no such thing as a perfect family. But because they are our family, there is this utter familiarity and acceptance within them that can breed the kinds of rough edges that we rarely have with anyone else in our lives. So, when we watch a character on screen be misunderstood or chopped down by a family member, there’s usually this sudden empathy for their plight. But sometimes it does the opposite and reminds us of the worst. So it also comes with the acknowledgment that this shit can be straight up re-traumatizing.

Which brings us to the push-pull of this entire dysfunctional family genre, and maybe even movie-going at large.

It also brings us back to the very first conversation I had at the top. Namely the question, why do feel the need to couch movie-going in content warnings and conversations of datedness? It’s not JUST because of changing sensibilities or being polite. It’s because we are becoming more and more aware of the way that movies on the whole have been beating the drum of forced acceptance of messiness and dysfunctional relationships, practically from the onset. They’ve spend so so SO much time bringing us into the mess of others and telling us we have to forgive, particularly when it comes to our family. Hana practically explains the sentiment outright: “If she’s his daughter, she’ll forgive him… being able to speak freely is lifeblood of love. Maybe I’m naive.” In one way, Hana’s right about the speaking freely part. But all of her commentary cuts both ways because we now exist in a therapeutic age where we’re realizing just how much toxic situations have different needs.

Because so many young people become trapped in families by such demands of loyalty and the need to forgive everything, even when they shouldn’t. In truth, so many people need to set boundaries when, especially family runs through their chances of forgiveness. It’s not disloyalty. As Emily Gordon once said, “Removing yourself from a toxic situation is an act of self-care.” And so it comes with the realization that everyone in this movie is an insanely toxic situation and still bargaining with it.

In essence, the real problems with Tokyo Godfathers is stepping right into the most complicated nexus of familial issues possible. And in one way, it is quite reflective of those complications and empathetic to that experience. And in another way, it’s upholding the very dysfunction it’s aiming to heal. Even then, there’s a way that these complications make sense given how much of the film about each of them learning not to bargain en route to their eventual second chance. Just as it shows that so many complications are inherited. But even then, the film is so madcap in its approach that I honestly not entire sure I can say anything about its intentions, nor its effects, for certain. Which is probably exactly why Tokyo Godfathers strikes so close to some people’s hearts and experiences in an emotional sense.

In the end, what about the film feels the most true, after all? Well, it captures that exact feeling of confusion and messiness, which is something that is completely synonymous with “the feeling of Christmas” for a lot of people. Because for all the good cheer, the holiday is not one thing. It taps into everything. And this film unfurls that everything upon us with both a lack of excuses and a hopeful heart. It wants things to be better. Even if it takes some little miracles.

For all this, I don’t know if Tokyo Godfathers is making it into my personal pantheon of favorite Christmas films, but I will say this… when it comes to the large breadth of complicated feeling and yearning sentiment that comes with the holidays, it is one the most all-encompassing Christmas films I’ve ever seen.

And that sure as hell counts for something.

<3HULK