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<\/a>Still from Studio Ghibli’s “Up on Poppy Hill”<\/p><\/div>One thing that Goro Miyazaki’s film Up on Poppy Hill<\/i> shares with films directed by his father — especially My Neighbor Totoro<\/i> — is its ability to conjure, for me, an instant sense of longing to spend time in a place I’ve never been in, but which feels immediate, real and vital, even if also idealized and romanticized. Up on Poppy Hill<\/i> doesn’t make quite the emotional impact of a film like Totoro<\/i>, nor does it try for the wild imaginative reach of Howl’s Moving Castle<\/i>. In fact, there’s no supernatural element in the story at all — it’s a small-scale melodrama whose plot is, frankly, a half-done affair, and maybe the least interesting thing about it. But it nevertheless felt immersive — transmitting a kind of sunny melancholy, if that makes any sense.<\/p>\n
Most of all, it makes the Yokohama of 1964 about as gorgeously appealing as a town can be. I watched the film at the IFC Children’s Film Festival<\/a> this morning — thanks to my prescient wife’s attention to the upcoming screening — with our daughters, and our eldest and I agreed it made us want to visit Japan rather keenly. But of course what we were enraptured with was the landscape of someone’s memories, a place we can never otherwise visit. It stung a bit to know that, but it’s also what lent an otherwise slender film real weight.<\/p>\n