村上隆さんのインスタグラム写真 - (村上隆Instagram)「No.2 I saw "The Boy and the Heron” for the second time, first thing in the morning on July 17. Like the priests who read the messages that emerge on the summer and winter solstices on the monolith in the Holy City of Shuwa in the manga version of Nausicaä, I am fired up trying to read into Hayao-san's first message after 10 years, ruminating on it over and over. I am trying hard to decipher the meaning of the message using my low-level brain, one cut at a time, since it’s only delivered once every 10 years. What follows is the view of such an ardent Hayao believer with all my delusions. It is an unenlightened opinion, so if you don't like it, don't read it. (I am greatly disliked in Japan, so know that this is the view of such a person.) ※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※ Watching the opening scene, from the close up on the air raid siren speaker to the scene of Mahito and Natsuko bowing deeply to the parade of new recruits leaving for war, I realized that it was connected to a profound part of my own Hayao experience. It was similar to the unsettling feeling I had when I saw "My Neighbor Totoro" for the first time in the theater when I was 26 years old. In the history of Japanese animation, Totoro was the first work to depict a self-portrait of the Japanese people in the period immediately following the war. At that time the film was made, science fiction and fantasy were having their heyday, and the prominent originality of “Totoro” had the power to distort the state of Japanese animation thereafter. The new film was reminiscent of that zany feeling of “Totoro” that insisted that anime deserved to make a leap from being children’s entertainment into the middle of culture. I realized that “The Boy and the Heron” is a more in-depth theory of the Japanese, that it insists itself to be mainstream art. Let me set up a table of contents and talk about one topic at a time. by the way,Totoro illustration made by me. 😅」9月11日 6時39分