Ani-Me #33: MY NEIGHBORS THE YAMADAS (Patreon)

Yeah, this movie gave me an existential crisis.

Perhaps that shouldn’t be surprising because it’s Isao Takahata and we’re now four for four on that front (I only have Princess Kaguya left!). But given the subject matter and approach of this one, it is perhaps an odd reaction. Because on paper, My Neighbors The Yamadas is a simple and fun, slice of life story about a traditional family unit dealing with minor trials and tribulations of their daily lives. Honestly, the film is nothing but a series of comic vignettes with a very light-hearted touch… but getting older sometimes makes things weird.

When we’re younger, a lot of our relationship to art is aspirational. We look at characters and want to project all the ideas of what our life could be - and more importantly, what we want it to be. This is not inherently a bad thing. I mean, ostensibly the entire point of stories going right back to the oral tradition is to provide some entertaining way of giving younger folks guidance on the expectations of life, along with the inspiration to do it well. But the pressure of the entertainment part of that commercial equation means we create a lot of art that is less about guidance and commiseration and more about naked placation. Which is perhaps why the young often hit the wall when we encounter the crueler aspects of adult reality. But perhaps that’s a whole other conversation. The relevant point is that when you’re older, when you’ve accrued a whole bunch of those life cruelties - and more importantly, come to realize your own capacity for them - you sort of begin to see art in a way where you don’t so much have aspirations. Instead,  you’re looking backwards at all the wreckage and choices of how you got to where you are now. And in doing this, there are meaningful pieces of art that can either reflect the similar ways you got there... Or pieces of art that are completely antithetical to your experiences.

And both can be just as daunting.

To wit, I never had a nuclear family like The Yamadas. But that’s not uncommon for people my age. The transitional period of Gen X to the dawn of Millennials was the turning of the tide when it came to the country's attitude on divorce. Basically, you got 50/50 odds on it being something you experienced. In many ways, I was weirdly thankful. It not only relieved a lot of inter-house stress, there were joys of getting an expansive step-family, along with the other found families and friends that become integral to the fabric of your life. But the “nuclear family unit” is just not a thing in your life. It’s more of a weird diaspora. But television tends to be a few years behind what the culture is actually experiencing and thus “the family unit” was still a hyper-dramatized affair. It wasn’t Modern Family yet. Growing up it was all still echoes of Father Knows Best, albeit with their own wrinkles. Shows like Family Ties, Cosby Show, Roseanne. Home Improvement. Everybody Loves Raymond, and even Fresh Prince. All of which felt so radically antithetical to the latchkey existence of a different kind of childhood. Which just fosters a weird relationship with this popular art. You’re always feeling a kind of push / pull, both wanting the seeming stability of the thing onscreen and yet sensing how restrictive it all feels, perhaps giving appreciation for how many other great things you get out of the diaspora.

Now, I realize it may sound odd to compare My Neighbors The Yamadas to american family sitcoms, but that’s, like, 50% of the DNA of this movie. For instance, I switched to the dub for five minutes out of vague curiosity and was like “I know that voice!” And it was Jim Belushi in peak According to Jim mode. Granted, there’s far more grace in this film, but nonetheless it is a loose variety of gags, from grocery list hijinks, to being late for school, to the comic intensity of a momentarily lost child, to even the way a family will hone in on their kid’s potential love lives. There’s even an adorable dog. Just as there’s a reason these daily mishaps are the backbone of traditional family sitcoms. They are intensely relatable to most viewers. And that’s even true here in this slice of life Ghibli film. Which still brings us to...

The other 50% of the film’s approach, which is the gorgeous expressions and inescapable bluntness of Takahata. All framed within a couple of wedding speeches, the parents bounce across the reasons why the family unit is so necessary, along with the need for devotion, and how easily the devastating arc of time can slip right in. At times, it’s achingly beautiful brought to life with simplicity. Right down to the minimalist animation style, as if all takes place in either a blank matrix program or a fluffy cloud, but it’s also what gives it such metaphorical capacity at a moment’s notice. The film itself feels like a paper airplane, coasting with the whims of the wind. Which hits so hard with the frankness of it all.  When grandma bemoans being at age 70 and the mother tells her she has plenty of time left, grandma confirms it’s “only 30 more seasons” and in realizing that’s likely true, the mom comically faints. At the same time the film is recognizing the paradox of so many other artist’s inclinations. Because when they are so faced with existential loss, they seem to want to make art as if to make themselves last forever. But this is a misjudgement. We’re told “art is brief, life is long” because you end up missing so much of the time happening in and all around you, just to make some artifact that is not as real and lasting as they may believe.

The two sides of the comic mishaps and the existential musings make for such an effecting film, but sometimes the slice of life offerings will slice into something I don’t much care for. To wit, much of the film’s “climax” (a term that sort of doesn’t apply) involves the dad’s emasculation at not being able to confront some loud rowdy bikers and grandma having to do it for him. Feeling ashamed, he holds the useless construction helmet and thus goes into a fantasy of rescuing his wife / mom by posing as a superhero called the moonlight rider (suspiciously like moon knight?????). Much of this is brought to life with creative, amusing gusto (and the bad guys look like the coolest one of the Squirtle squad?). And it even goes for the poetic beat after of“how cruel, a grasshopper trapped under a warrior’s helmet.”  And I fully understand the “why” the dad would care - along with the way so many men have to try to figure out the roles of courage and “masculinity” in modern society - but when framing a lot of this under “Patriarchal Supremacy Restored.” and using final lines like “Quiet! I decide” it just points to all the cultural trappings that plague us, reflecting values that feel right out of Tim Allen’s Last Man Standing. And honestly, the fragility of emasculation is just something I am so beyond caring about at this point. I get the instinct of the film playing “ awwww” and the way they pretend to go along with this little system to feel better, but the placation feels… gross. Regardless of it being 1999 Japan, it’s something I’ve been trying to puke out of my system for years now. And every cinematic offering of it feels less like a quaint throwback and more a poisoned pill. To the film’s credit, it is tongue in cheek about the thing, but it’s just hard when the last twentyish minutes steer into something that feels so antiquated.

At times, it’s slicing into things I very much care about.

At least in an inverse way.

The thing is that My Neighbors The Yamadas are essentially making a plea for a very certain kind of living. The father outright tells us this in the final wedding speech (when he’s mad at his spouse of all people for a simple mistake????) and it turns into an off the dome, intense and direct plea on how the young couple MUST stay together, without losing heart or breaking up. He says, “even the worst behavior can be accepted and forgiven if there is no malice. It’s essential for a happy family. A must for facing life and getting on with it. Though it may sound negative, ‘acceptance’ is the only way out of totally unacceptable situations.” And then wishing them to be “a tough harmonious couple.” Now, the thing that is so provoking about this forceful sentiment (besides all of it) is that that word “malice” is doing a loooooot of heavy lifting. Because here he is talking about life behind horrible and unacceptable things and there is barely a real misdeed in the film. Like, seriously, these comic foibles are you trials and tribulations of marriage? He even says “if one of you were remotely normal it would throw off the balance” and yet the whole point of this is they’re all comically normal. They are all the aforementioned stock sitcom characters of the nuclear family unit. Thus, it all feels like the plea of someone who feels weird anger at the current state of their home life, but has never known a truly messed up home life, where one then has to grow up and learn how the “duty” of family is ugly, abusive trap and thus needs to learn about boundaries, burning toxic repetitions, and bringing out necessary and radical change. All of his words can be the worst advice in the world.

And yet, the film’s very nature will make you feel wrong. Because this is Takahata we’re talking about, a storyteller imbued with wisdom, humility, and unspeakable loss. We KNOW he’s experienced messed-up levels of life we cannot imagine. Thus, does he know something I don’t? Thus it all cascades into the general push / pull of family pressure. That voice of society that constantly tells us we should be finding someone, having kids, upholding the nuclear family unit and having a “normal” life. People rightfully get angry at the things that cater to this seemingly omni-present pressure. Especially when there are so many other wonderful ways to spark happiness in everyday life whether it be the solace of a quiet day, partnership, solitude, discovery, doggos, cats, online games, and any of the little things that fill our life with joy. These things can matter just as much as anything else. But as The Yamadas speaks deeply about the importance of family, it also isn’t talking about conceiving problems and endless doctors appointments and so much that can feel like a dagger against the “musts” of society. Even the “having kids changes your life” conversation feels loaded. Because OF COURSE, having a kid would change your life. I mean, it’s having a kid, which instantly turns you from making a living for yourself to having to care and pay for another on top of yourself. The sheer cost alone is daunting. And the words are utterly dismissive of how many people are stuck in horrible families that are so hard to extricate themselves from. The malice is achingly real for so many. There’s nothing I’m saying here you don’t likely know and they are the kind of things that make the father’s wedding speech feel like the poison pill.

But the thing to ruefully admit against all of this is that it still doesn’t erase the fear in the back of your head. That you are somehow missing out on what life should be. And My Neighbors The Yamadas, with that golden, light hearted touch that evokes the simplicity, the normalcy, the appeal of such a lovely story plays right into it. Maybe it’s just the youthful aspirations of wishing for a life that was unlike your own. And when older, maybe it’s the pain of a film that looks at the relative dumpster fire of your own selfhood and feeling like the film says “we’re holding onto what we got cause we don’t want to become you.” And deep down, knowing that that is likely true. And when you’re at a low, few things hit harder.

There’s no malice behind it, but the friction of the two halves feels baked into so much of the way My Neighbors The Yamadas so effortlessly glides into the coulda, woulda, shouldas of life itself. But in getting older, maybe every movie starts doing that from now on. Maybe that matters. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe all we can do is rest in the film’s ending haiku “the ocean in spring / the gentle rolling of the waves / all day long,” which evokes the gentle passing of time in a way where we shouldn’t worry, but sit down and watch it. Or perhaps it’s even echoing a time when humans will be long gone and thus it won’t matter, but the waves will still be lapping. Both are true. And while it’s so easy to get caught up in the push / pull of family / no family, along with the endless definitions of what that could be, I know that in the end Takahata still would feel a kindness and empathy to all which I have said. In the end, he was only trying to reflect the hard won lessons of a rather different (and difficult) life, one which he brings to life with gorgeous verve. And likely, why he knows some of the last words of the film would echo on in such commiseration and understanding in turn…

“Que sera sera.”

Whatever will be will be.

<3HULK