Good Education: Whisper of the Heart

Studio Ghibli’s 1995 Whisper of the Heart (Mimi o Sumaseba / 耳をすませば) is one of those films about nothing in particular that end up being incredibly moving. The major directorial effort by Kondō Yoshifumi before his sudden early death, adapted by Miyazaki Hayao from the one-volume manga by Hiiragi Aoi, Whisper portrays the free-range childhood – vanishingly rare today outside of a major metropolitan area with ubiquitous public transport (such as Tokyo) – of outspoken fourteen-year-old girl Shizuku (Honna Yōko). Like most other Studio Ghibli entries, it’s a fantasy, but mostly because it’s such an ideal childhood.

Shizuku is a voracious reader of fiction who discovers that many of her library books have been previously checked out by a guy named Seiji. One day, she meets a fat grey cat on the commuter rail and follows it to a wondrous antique shop. She meet-cutes a schoolmate there who negs her. He later turns out to be Seiji (Takahashi Issei), whose ambition in life is to study in Italy to be a violinmaker. His ambition stirs hers, and she holes up for three weeks to write a short story. It’s not very good, but that’s no matter; she now knows she can do it.

Nothing of world-historical importance happens, but that describes most people’s lives. In presenting a reduced but unsimplified version of concerns that will persist into adulthood – relationships, obligations, the meaning of one’s life – Whisper achieves what we hope the best children’s fantasy does. Escapism is ephemeral, whereas the best such fiction offers non-didactic moral models. Like Seiji’s for Shizuku, Shizuku’s story shows not what to do, but how to do it.

The main reason Whisper’s picture of childhood is too perfect, however, is that 100% of it is filled with grace. (“Too perfect” is a genre observation, not a criticism.) We can only hope to be as kind, understanding, yet unwaveringly principled as Shizuku’s family members and newfound mentor, the antique shop owner and Seiji’s grandfather (Kobayashi Keiju). Whenever she fails or disappoints them in one way or another, blame is quickly set aside in favour of understanding and support. They let her fall but not get hurt.

All of this is ensconced in Studio Ghibli’s signature lived-in environments. Shizuku’s apartment, though tiny, is enticing, filled to the brim as it is with books, papers, and manuscripts: Her father (Tachibana Takashi) is a soft-spoken librarian, her mother (Muroi Shigeru) is writing a master’s dissertation pre-internet, and her adult sister (Yamashita Yorie) helps with the research and chores after getting home from work at a cram school. In fact, so alluring is this space that one shot of Shizuku studying at her desk served as the inspiration for the LoFi Girl YouTube channel’s mascot.

A still from Whisper of the Heart. (Studio Ghibli.)

The original LoFi Girl. (Artist: Juan Pablo Machado.)

The hilly Tokyo suburb of Tama City where the film is set is also temptingly portrayed, with the varying elevation levels hiding different spaces and locales, giving the area playground vibes. Despite having lived there for (one assumes) all her life, Shizuku is surprised multiple times by new spatial discoveries. It’s a great place for a child with unlimited energy to grow up. Translating John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads,” Shizuku says, “I don’t know what ‘home[town]’ means”; we know that she’ll learn it later, when she looks back on this time in her life.

A couple of things made me cringe, but I think that’s due more to my personal biases than to any fault of the film’s. Parts of Shizuku’s story are dramatized, and it’s quite juvenile – but of course it is, and she herself knows it. The whole point is that she’s not a genius, just an ordinary girl with imagination and courage. I also cringed when she translated Denver, and she and her friends sang the song together, but that may be a bias of mine. The solution, I think, is to get over the gap of what can’t be translated by forgetting the original context, and the song is well-known enough that I think the viewer can do this here, with a little effort. The new context is much better anyway. Besides, the number sounds good.

At the heart of the story is a tale of self-discovery, ambition, and the deep bonds of human relations. Adam Boffa observes in an essay for Bright Wall/Dark Room that the film goes out of its way to highlight community support; and Shizuku and Seiji are ultimately linked by shared interests and artistic ambitions. The main effect of their budding romance is to support each other and spur each other on. Seiji’s final marriage proposal isn’t a romantic culmination; it’s a recognition that they are in fact soulmates and life partners. As I said, it’s (almost) too good to be true.

That cat is amazing. And keep your eyes peeled for a heartwarming Easter egg near the conclusion of the end credits.

– CJ Sheu has a PhD in contemporary American fiction from National Taiwan Normal University, in Taipei. He also writes about films and film reviews on the side, and has been published in Bright Wall/Dark Room and Funscreen (Taiwan). Check out his blog reviewfilmreview.wordpress.com/about, or hit him up on X/Twitter @cj_sheu.