The movie is Shinkai's first full length feature, after the success of his promising, but ultimately a bit cheesy, 30 minute short debut titled Voices of a Distant Star. Like Voices, The Place Promised in our Early Days (henceforth I will shorten as The Place Promised) explores the way that time and distance impact our relationships, but with the full length, Shinkai is able to weave a much more complex, fulfilling, and beautiful tale. His maturation as a director also shows.
If you look up Makoto Shinkai on TVTropes, you might find a mention of him being perhaps the single greatest source of "scenery porn" in the anime world. That's probably true. Shinkai imbues his work with pristine hues and colors, capturing the beauty of sunsets, clouds, night skies, and bustling metropolis's. It's rarely an exaggerated way of doing things; even with the sci-fi element I will elaborate on in a bit, Shinkai firmly places his movies, particularly his last one, in reality. But visually, there is not a better director out there in any form of cinema, animated or otherwise.
However, there are a lot of works that can offer pretty visuals but little substance. Shinkai's work, lucky for us, gives us something to chew on. The Place Promised takes place in a sort of alternate time-line; Japan is split between the South and the North (Hokkaido), the South being jointly administered by Japan and the US. The North is mostly an enigma in this movie; we never see the people inside it or get to visit it, but it contains the most striking feature of the film - a large tower that reaches well into the upper atmosphere, up to the point where planes coast along in the sky.
In southern Japan, three friends find themselves encroaching on adulthood. Two boys; Hiroki Fujisawa and Takuya Shirakawa, take up a job putting together guided missiles at a small arms factory during the summer, earning some extra cash and material to work on the thing most occupying their spare time - building a plane to fly across the de-militarized zone the separates the North and South, to the tower in Hokkaido. Sayuri Sawatari, a close friend of theirs, and a possible source of something deeper, is asked if she would like to go along to the tower. She agrees, and a promise is made, and voilà, we have The Place Promised in our Early Days.
Time and change have a weird way of affecting people, and after a beautiful, warm summer day is spent between these three characters, Sayuri is never seen nor heard of again for three years. It seems that somehow, she is connected to the tower in the North, a tower that we learn has the ability to "replace" the space around it with that of another universe.
This is where the sci-fi comes in and the metaphor of the tower works so well. The reason that Sayuri seemed to disappear is that she is now, quite literally, permanently asleep, stuck in a dream world, unable to wake up. The dream metaphor works on two layers here; the dream, as in goal, of the three one day reaching the tower, a goal that now seems long gone, and the power that sleep-dreams actually have over our daily lives. Even the alternate universes that we learn of are described as a sort of "dream world."
The Place Promised packs an emotional punch as the two boys get embroiled in the distinct possibility of war breaking out between the two sides of Japan, and Takuya being directly involved in having the South figure out how, exactly, the tower in the North works. Still, Shinkai never loses site of the human aspect of the film, and the three main characters consistently remain at the center. His pace is deliberate but well-handled, continually expanding on the relationship between Hiroki and Takuya, and their struggles with each other and the world, as they learn about what happened to Sayuri.
This probably sounds very cliché, but the climax of the story hinges on the power that love has over one of the main characters. I'll leave it at that, but it is a thrilling decision that Hiroki makes, and one that could have serious implications for a lot of people.
The other technical aspects of this film are wonderful. Shinkai uses the advantages of anime adeptly; being able to have direct control over camera angles and lighting, Shinkai often "points the camera" away from characters as they talk, allowing you to take in the environment around them. One of my personal favorite little details are small lights that seem to "race" about the inside of a train as two characters have a dialogue.
Tenmon, the composer behind the music, has created a stirring, beautiful soundtrack of graceful violins and touching piano. It hits all the right notes, pardon the pun, peaking and diminishing at the right time, every time.
As Hiroki and Takuya "come of age," so to speak, they realize that, perhaps, some of their childhood fantasies will remain just that, fantasies. You can feel some of the innocence and wonder of these two young men disappear as the world frustrates them, and the weight of adult responsibilities comes to fruition.
Makoto Shinkai, has, ultimately, crafted a wonderful tale about life and love. A coming-of-age story about holding on what is most dear to us, not only our dreams and desires, but those we care about most deeply, and how it affects us if we lose them. Having seen this film 8 times now, I can tell you that the emotional punch has not dulled one bit, and the intrinsic beauty of the characters, the animation, the music, and the story, all help to create one of my favorite works of art from any medium. It is a slow, plodding film, one that will certainly not be for everyone. But if you can put aside the need for a faster-paced film, the wonder and imagination and heart of this film may just take you to a place you rarely get to go. It is, to me, a testament to the beauty that we humans can create.
Bottom Line: A deeply emotional, beautiful, painstakingly crafted film that works both metaphorically and literally, this coming-of-age tale of both love and loss, regret and redemption, is one not to be missed.
10/10
