We all have those memories that, for better or worse, we can’t seem to get rid of. Formative experiences that are coarse and awkward but end up continually shaping us, laying dormant until a sudden association jostles them to the forefront. While some may be definitively good or bad, many more inhabit a strange middle ground between the two, moments that can be looked back upon with a mixture of nostalgia, regret, longing and relief that they’re finally over with. Maboroshi, an animated film from prolific writer/director Mari Okada (Maquia: When the Promised Flower Blooms, O Maidens in Your Savage Season, Toradora, Hanasaku Iroha) and the equally busy studio MAPPA (Jujutsu Kaisen, Attack on Titan, Vinland Saga), literalizes these types of inescapable recollections.
Through its deeply flawed cast and Peter Pan-esque world caught in stasis, Maboroshi communicates the suffocation and silver linings of being trapped within a particular point in time. Part elegy and part celebration of the past, it makes for an evocative, unusual ghost tale.
The story begins when Masamune (Junya Enoki), a 14-year-old living in Mifune, Japan, witnesses an explosion at the local factory. But this isn’t any normal accident. The boom seems to rip their town from the very fabric of time, trapping its denizens in an endless limbo where the seasons never change and no one grows older. Some believe this a punishment handed down by the god of a nearby mountain, which has been mined for generations, but definitive answers are difficult to come by.
Meanwhile, Masamune deals with conflicting feelings over a girl in his class, Mitsumi (Reina Ueda), who despite seeming to despise him, brings him in on a secret. Together, the pair take care of a child, Itsumi (Misaki Kuno), who is locked away in the factory for an unknown reason that seems tied to the mysteries of this place. As cracks in reality become increasingly common, Masamune and Mitsumi are forced to face truths that threaten their frozen world.
Over the years, Okada has made a name for herself by penning countless complex characters, many of whom are angsty, hot-mess teenagers in the process of not-so-gracefully coming of age. That proud tradition continues with Maboroshi, resulting in a cast of thorny and unlikable adolescents who do just about everything in their power to feel anything in this numbing place detached from time. Although many will find it off-putting to be in such close proximity to initially unpleasant people, there is a refreshing frankness to their imperfections that’s true to what growing up can be like.
There is something genuine in their ennui, which is further exacerbated by these circumstances. In a very literal sense, no one can leave, conveying what it’s like to be trapped in the confines of your hometown, stuck in an unchanging loop. Masamune and his friends come up with painful games and trials to jostle themselves from these humdrum rhythms, but the town’s initial collective effort to avoid change, to smooth the transition for when they presumably become unstuck someday, makes it difficult to avoid being pulled in by this placidity.
MAPPA and Okada’s direction render the rural specifics of this setting: The similar-looking street corners, the old architecture that becomes a playground for irresponsible stunts and, most of all, the rusting factory that holds the town together—standing as a testament to this community’s declining relevance. Oh, and there are also flying wolves formed from industrial smog, which periodically consume spectral fractures in the sky, a fantastical flourish that turns sinister after it becomes apparent that the scenery isn’t the only thing that can be gobbled up. Those whose spirits are broken by living in this repetition will eventually crack themselves and be taken away by these smoky creatures, adding an air of danger to the proceedings.
While not as obviously flashy as the work of CoMix Wave Films or Ghibli, MAPPA effectively visualizes the dreary particulars of this backdrop, and when combined with the stifling details of Okada’s script and compositions, it’s difficult not to slide into the headspace of people living in a static world. Plenty of stories have focused on the foibles of growing up, but few feel so suffocating, like being hemmed in by a vaguely painful memory you’d rather forget.
Admittedly, much of this restlessness dissipates in the last act, where Masamune and Mitsumi are driven to perform a selfless task aimed at changing the equilibrium of this place. In some ways, this is a needed breath of fresh air from what came before, and this final push uses these preceding struggles to demonstrate their growth, contrasting their old, stale headspaces against fresh outlooks. Their voice actors, Junya Enoki and Reina Ueda, help portray this shift, and the character animation goes a long way in contrasting newfound intimacy with previous animosity. Most poignantly, it conveys that—while it can be uncomfortable to remember where we came from—there are important lessons and moments of kindness that deserve to be preserved.
But not all of Maboroshi’s final thrust works, and as it surges toward the credits, the film trades part of its oppressive vision for something more conventional. Even if it couldn’t reasonably maintain the dour quagmire of its initial hour, the specificity that marked its beginning is traded for a romance that doesn’t have the same vividness. A bigger problem is that the denouement hinges on a particularly objectionable fixation that also appeared in Okada’s directorial debut, Maquia, which is even more egregious in this case and dampens the impact of its finale.
Still, while Maboroshi’s last stretch is shaky, its ruminations on ragged memories and the smothering details of overly familiar surroundings make it a visceral bildungsroman. Okada precisely captures this time and place, drumming up uncomfortable remembrances and the nasty flipside of nostalgia. And although elements of its conclusion are a little contrived, it succeeds in communicating the conflicting necessity of both embracing change and preserving part of our history. Through its brutal rendition of the past, Maboroshi makes accepting where we’ve come from that much more cathartic.
Director: Mari Okada
Writer: Mari Okada
Starring: Junya Enoki, Reina Ueda, Misaki Kuno
Release Date: January 15, 2024
Elijah Gonzalez is an assistant TV Editor for Paste Magazine. In addition to watching the latest on the small screen, he also loves videogames, film, and creating large lists of media he’ll probably never actually get to. You can follow him on Twitter @eli_gonzalez11.