Children Who Chase Lost Voices review

Ideally, art provides contemplation of life’s inevitable hardships.  But far too often, many modern movies deliver little more than sugar-coated platitudes. But that’s not the case with Makoto Shinkai 2011’s film, Children Who Chase Lost Voices. The recent Blu-ray/DVD release offers a fulfilling exploration of the different ways people learn to cope with loss. But unlike Shinkai’s The Place Promised in Our Early Days, 5 Centimeters per Second, or The Garden of Words, it’s a less abstract and more accessible film that’s extends a rollicking adventure.

As such, Children Who Chase Lost Voices is ideal for a watching with a pre-teen who might be a bit too young for the protracted pacing and admiration of beauty found in Shinkai’s other works. While the director’s signature shots of environmental exquisiteness are here, there are also several intense action sequences that invigorate the film’s tempo.

But it’s Lost Voices characters that elevate the film. Protagonist Asuna Watase isn’t the annoyingly precocious adolescent or the exceptional lead with a supernatural gift. Instead, her sense of independence is rooted in the loss of her father and a mother who works long hours as a nurse at the local hospital. It’s hinted that these circumstances forced her to grow up quickly. Besides being rather studious, she spends time amassing different provisions at a makeshift nook on the side of hill.

Accompanied with her pet cat, Mimi, Asuna also spends her time with an old-fashioned radio receiver. Its key component is a brilliant blue crystal, given to her by her father, that allows for listening of familiar radio broadcasts. But one day, Asuna hears a refrain that sounds completely different. This is hardly the only abnormal incident, with her schoolteacher warning students to walk in pairs since a bear-like creature was seen prowling around the rural town.

What follows is fastmoving journey toward the unknown, not unlike Alice’s expedition down the rabbit hole. Lost Voices captivates because you never know where the story is going next. Most films would have coasted toward a fairy-tale ending with Asuna’s mother discovering a new admirer who also functions as a surrogate father. But Shinkai, who also wrote the film, is too clever for these kinds of tidy, cliched conclusions.

But that’s not to say there’s no father figure across Lost Voices’ trek. Mr. Morisaki is a substitute teacher at Asuna’s school, haunted by the loss of his wife. But he’s obsessed with connecting with her once more. While he might show concern for the Asuna one moment, he’s terse and motivated by his own destinations the next. But that’s not the only fickle character in the film. Shun, a young brother of another character in the film, is torn between duty and kinship. Yes, there are a few characters who only serve functional roles on Asuna’s adventure. But fundamentally, there’s often a complexity to the film’s personalities that is absent from other animated films.

While I’ve been strategically ambiguous about the particulars of Asuna’s adventure, discussing the theme of the film won’t mar the experience. At its core, Children Who Chase Lost Voices is about dealing with the death of the ones we hold dear, whether human or animal. Pleasingly, there’s no clean-cut closure, with the film reminding viewers that acceptance is a part of the whole experience. Yes, the loss of loved ones hurst, Shinkai reminds us, but it’s an inevitability we’re forced to bear and a reminder of the ephemerality of life.

As a kid, the animated version Watership Down shared a similar message and it was instrumental when a pet I had loved passed away. As such, Children Who Chase Lost Voices seems well suited for a younger audience, who might have experienced tragically diluted forms of the message. But I’d expect any adult to enjoy the film just as much. Haven’t not seen the movies in years, I got swept up in Asuna’s voyage.

Lost Voices’ sole expositional blemish arrives in the last twenty-five minutes. The bulk of the film initiates numerous points of intrigue. Many of these are resolved in quick succession, making the conclusion feel more rushed than impactful. Others plot points aren’t fully explained. While I favor a bit ambiguity over excessively clarified resolutions, viewers who don’t like ambiguity might feel a pang or two of disappointment. Still, the films few flaws are outweighed by an inventory of virtues.

Aesthetically, Lost Voices retrieves splendor in the same types of windswept plains flaunted in The Place Promised in Our Early Days. The film’s opening minutes illustrate Japan’s verdant countryside before the film ventures into a more exotic realm where Hindu, Mesoamerican, Buddhist, and other varieties of folklore cohesively intermingle. Although the occasional instance of computer-generated animation amidst the predominantly hand-drawn film is noticeable, it’s little more than a negligible distraction. Former Falcom Sound Team J.D.K member and frequent Shinkai collaborate Tenmon’s soundtrack swells at the appropriate moments. But the score lacks the memorable refrains of a composer like Joe Hisaishi’s works.

With Sentai Filmworks’ DVD version of Lost Voices going out of print in 2019, copies were steadily escalating in price. So, it’s great to see GKIDS pick up the licensing. Rendered in 1080p Widescreen format, the picture quality is typical for theatrical animation from 2011, with just a hint of softness compared to more modern works. All but one of the supplementals of the Sentai release are intact, with the GKIDS release including everything but the text-based interview with Shinkai.

But what’s here is a first-class commentary track from the director, character designer Takayo Nishimura, art director Akumi Tanji, composer Tenmon, voice actor Hisako Kanemoto, as well as a bit of insight from Anri Kumaki, who sang the film’s theme song. If you’re an animation fan, it’s an essential listen that provides an all-too-rare peek into the production process.  Sure, steaming video has key advantages, but until optional commentaries tracks provided by key talent are standard, physical media will have a tangible edge.

The disc’s 56 minute “Interview with Staff and Cast” reunites Shinkai with Kanemoto, Kazuhiko Inoue, and Miyu Irino, detailing the director’s objectives with Lost Voices. The “Making Of featurette” offers a 46-minute interview with the director from the 2011 premiere, where he reiterates some of these ambitions. Rounding out the package are a music video for the film’s theme song “Hello, Goodbye, and Hello as well as trailers to this film and the director’s previous works. Collectively, it’s a satisfying compilation of extras for a distinguished work of animation.