We tend to think of the act of creating art as a solo endeavor. And, sure, Look Back acknowledges the lonely grind it can be, framing middle-school-aged manga artist Fujino (voiced by Kawai) from behind, as she hunches over her desk hard at work, her different colored hoodies the only thing distinguishing the days from each other. But Look Back also takes pains to point out the role others have in our development as artists – not just the explicit act of collaboration that takes place when Fujino links up with a younger, socially awkward artist named Kyomoto (Yoshida), but the way Kyomoto’s incredible artistry pushes Fujino to be better. Rivalry, so often depicted on screen as something malevolent, here is given its due respect as an essential motivating force for a developing artist.
First-time feature director Kiyotaka Oshiyama, a Studio Ghibli alum (including key animator duties on Oscar winner The Boy and the Heron), sensitively depicts that rivalry, but also the heartbreakingly sweet bond that forms between the two girls. They’re radically different – Fujino is all swaggering, the risk taker and attention hog, while Kyomoto is desperately shy. The way Kyomoto grows confidence, and grows into herself, within the warm bubble of their friendship is so poignantly rendered, it’s a blow when the girls rapidly grow up.
If there’s a complaint to be made about Look Back, it’s that there’s not enough of it: Adapted from Chainsaw Man creator Tatsuki Fujimoto’s one-shot manga of the same name, the story it tells is purposefully contained. The film comes in just under an hour, and that’s with multiple time-passing montages keyed to Haruka Nakamura’s sensitive, minimalist score. (I have no idea how the lyrics translate for closing composition “Light Song,” sung in Japanese by Urara, but emotionally the thing is an absolute wrecking ball.) The compact running time doesn’t mean Look Back feels incomplete, necessarily (though I did find one of the time jumps disorienting, as Oshiyama thrusts the viewer into a dramatic situation before we’ve bonded with the now-college-aged versions of the characters). Rather, the missing bits and feeling of time whirring by fast re-creates how we look back on our pasts – in static photos and sense memories of the most potent moments. The heady buzz of creation. The stillness of grief. The heart-expanding-five-times-its-size joy of a perfect day with a friend. It’s all there. I just wanted more of it.
This article appears in October 18 • 2024.
