I live in New York City, so at any point if I had the opportunity and the means to attend any event featuring the work of director Nobuhiko Obayashi when he came to town, I would’ve totally come. This isn’t to say that I’ve ever known of his work longer than I do – I didn’t. Having come into my work on this platform, cinema apart from my interest in action and stunts has been a crazy, whirlwind journey of discovery at times, covering other genres that laid the groundwork for the kind of essential viewing I never knew I needed. Case in point: Obayashi’s 1983 coming-of-age fantasy epic, The Girl Who Leapt Through Time.
Produced in house by Haruki Kadokawa and based on Yasutaka Tsutsui’s 1967 novel, The Girl Who Leapt Through Time follows Kazuko (Tomoyo Harada), a school girl who haphazardly gets locked in a chemistry room and innoculated by an unknown substance in a beaker that falls and breaks on the floor. As her days progress, any semblance of normalcy starts to unravel, mysterious anomalies occur around her, eventually convincing her that she’s traveled back in time. After preventing two accidents and living out days she’s already seen from the future, and interactions with her teachers and classmates, including childhood friends Goro (Toshinori Omi) and Kazuo (Ryoichi Takayanagi), reveal inconsistencies in what she’s understood to always be true in her mind, it’s up to Kazuko to find the answers if she’s ever going to find her way back home, or forever be a spirit lost in time.
The Girl Who Leapt Through Time deals with teen angst, grief, and love in a way that’s proven timeless in cinema. The choice to segue slowly from black-and-white to color within the film’s opening minutes was certainly a choice – I’m not sure what specifically that was, but it kept me ever curious as the film continued, peeling back at the narrative and revealing its splendor chapter-by-chapter. I was especially captivated by the setting – as the film is only the second installment of Obayashi’s “Onomichi Trilogy” – in accordance with much of the film’s cinematography. Coupled with the cast performance by our three main leads, I especially loved the chemistry which really gave a sense of community as the story developed.
The final leg of the film lends a quaint surprise twist as well, which keeps you at the edge of your seat in Kazuko’s journey. She’s suddenly confronted with feelings that she’s always been fascinated by, now having to live them out in the most momentous moment of her life. It’s a poignant, bittersweet turn of events that leave you guessing if things like “fate” and “destiny” really do exist. Harada’s performance leads the way here for a heart-warming story that will leave you curious, uplifted, and content, making The Girl Who Leapt Through Time a timeless, must-see classic.
As much as the past decade has enthralled me with the advent of Citypop music and my increasing interest in classics, I was thrilled to finally see this film thanks to our friends at Cult Epics who’ve since released this film on Blu-Ray and 4K UHD. Alex Pratt chimes in with a comforting and informative listen for the film’s requisite commentary track, kicking off a seperate dose of up to ninety minutes of special features included on the accompanying Blu-Ray disc. Thus, and since I am unable to watch anything on 4K at the moment, the rest of this write up will reference the Blu-Ray disc.
Max Robinson’s “A Movie: Obayashi’s Cinematic Life” is the first bonus that explores Obayashi’s life and career which includes photos and movie clips as visual aids, whereas Pratt takes a tangential journey in the distributor’s rollout of all things Obayashi with “Now And Then, Here And There: Onomichi Pt. 2,” diving into the film’s trivia and history with a tangential look at the town in parallel to the film’s production. Next up is a twenty-minute segment from Japan Society’s panel event with Obayashi back in 2015 – a longer cut is actually available on the organization’s YouTube channel as of this article, but it gives you a real morsel of what the events are like at Japan Society if you’ve never attended before.
Following that is an archival interview with Obayashi, and then a ten minute B-roll featurette highlighting Harada’s life as an up-and-coming performer with a few words from Obayashi. The disc also comes with a theatrical trailer, and the official music video featuring the title track “Toki Wo Kakeru Shoujo,” along with some alternative footage and edits to coincide with its presentation – This is to say that the song is also featured at the end of the movie, with Harada front and center, lip-syncing to her vocals front and center with all the world’s fourth wall-breaking charm alongside the cast and co-stars between select sets and scenes (the music video is actually featured a total of three times in seperate areas of the disc).
I don’t know what it is or if anyone else experienced this but something about watching and listening to “Toki Wo Kakeru Shoujo” made me dance in my seat. To be honest, I was pretty much standing to the song and swaying to the beat. It’s such a fun song to hear, which kind of feels on brand for a Haruki Kadokawa production, in my view. The disc bundle also comes with an obligatory 24-page photo album with written essays about the film – it’s printed in tategaki with traditional right-to-left writing and sequenced in the opposite direction so if you’re as fluent in the language and format as I wish I were now, then the booklet is right up your alley.
I loved this movie, and I wish I could have experienced it way earlier in my lifetime. Even more, I wish I could have done so during Obayashi’s lifetime, so that’s really my only regret – although if this film is any living standard and judging by the late auteur’s own messaging, I think rather he’d happy if anyone posthumously caught up with his filmography. Hell, Mike can’t be the only one around here stanning the guy, so I guess I’ll help pick up the slack. As for the rest of you, go pick this up at Cult Epics or MVDshop.com.
