I’m never asked what my second favourite film of all time is, but if I was I’d reply My Neighbour Totoro. This (like last week’s Spirited Away) is a Studio Ghibli classic animé, and one of the most beloved films of all time. It was made as a children’s film, but like all great work it can be enjoyed by anyone of any age. Hayao Miyazaki had specific reasons in mind for making it, a lot of which revolved around the idea of making a film in which there is no conflict. This is something of particular interest to me, as a lot of my novels minimise the amount of plot deriving from character conflict (much of my work is about environment discovery and personal identity). Last year I much enjoyed visiting London to watch the theatre adaption of this film.
My Neighbour Totoro concerns two young children, Mei and Satsuki, whose mother is ill and who move out to the country with their father to take up residence in an old house. The film prioritises the children’s discovery of various exciting local residents, all of whom try not to be seen. But the main local resident is Totoro itself, and it is Totoro who acts as today’s new archetype.
What is Totoro? Judging by its actions this large forest spirit is enigmatic, prone to unexpected deeds or reactions, and with a certain childlike air that comes across in its delight in natural phenomena, for instance, rain. This in many ways is like a child’s perception of nature: mysterious at first, running according to its own enigmatic laws – something which has to be discovered and understood as life continues. Indeed, the title of the film betrays its perspective: it is my neighbour Totoro, not just Totoro, or Totoro the neighbour. That emphasis on the ‘my’ shows how the film is intended to be viewed from a specific perspective, which is manifested by Satsuki and Mei. And that perception applies to the viewer however old they are. Though we acquire experience through life, it is always possible to be touched by the beauty, the wonder and the majesty of nature. Richard Dawkins, for all his disservices to the cause of atheism, is at least an author able to communicate that sense of awe and wonder, which most people leave to the spiritual or the religious. But Miyazaki in My Neighbour Totoro intended introducing us to this critically important modern archetype: Totoro.
One of the main reasons we have as a species lost touch with the natural world is our use of writing. In prehistory, all hunter-gatherer peoples lived in oral cultures, which used specific methods of retaining, transferring, enshrining and manifesting essential communal knowledge. Such knowledge includes how to act in society, and what to think of the verities of life such as birth and death, but also specific knowledge like seasonal changes. Because human beings have limited memories, and because our minds use storytelling as the main technique of recall, prehistoric use of mythology was critical to survival. It is far easier to remember vital community wisdom if you use song and dance, and specific storytelling techniques now used, for example, by actors, than if you have everything placed into a big list. There are other reasons for our separation from nature, of course: our obsession with efficiency over meaning and technology over ethics, for instance. But our use of external memory systems like writing do remove us from direct contact with nature. Nature in oral societies is used as a template for myth, anchoring storytelling in the best, deepest and broadest framework available. This is the reason most ancient urban societies developed myths of a Golden Age. They were aware that something was amiss in their life, and they pinpointed it through such stories. The Garden of Eden is just that: the prehistoric perception of nature seen through the eyes of urban life; nature wild and mysterious reimagined as a garden.
But back to Totoro. In Totoro – viewed through the eyes of a young child – we have a new archetype of nature. Totoro represents all that we know we are missing in our lives that is sourced in the natural world: that element of strange wonder, the power and scale of nature, its ability to inspire awe within us. Totoro does all these things on our behalf, variously playing flutes atop a camphor tree, standing in a rain shower by a bus stop and delighting in rain drops, or waking up from sleep with mutters and groans sufficient to cause mini-earthquakes. Totoro is the manifestation of nature as perceived by young children. This forest spirit inspires delight and wonder, love and dedication. And it is no accident that trees and forests are the setting for this marvellous archetype, since trees are deeply symbolic for most human beings. All great storytellers, from Tolkien to Miyazaki, understand the profound significance of trees to the human race.
Each of us even in the modern age could have a relationship with nature, but most of us don’t, either through choice, because of the circumstances of life, or because other things hold our attention. Yet it is no accident that people like David Attenborough, making some of the most popular and beloved of television programmes, are celebrated as great individuals, or if not, national treasures. We all know deep down that something is wrong in modern life. When we hear reports of ‘insect crashes’ or the absence of butterflies our hearts miss a beat, and we feel perturbed. Such events don’t sound right and don’t feel right. Following Totoro and having a relationship with this marvellous forest spirit is one way back to sanity for all of us.
Totoro is the modern archetype of nature. Totoro is broad and deep enough to manifest natural processes – the truth of nature.
Totoro is that rarest of things, a leader worth following.