There's a patience and considered approach to Hidamari no Ki that feels last century, where most of its character interactions and narrative development occur at a pace befitting the material it's set in, where the period piece it's covering is made to be equally as important as the way they choose to let it unfurl. An art of storytelling that's mostly lost in the streaming era, where expedience takes precedence. It only makes sense then that this title is all but forgotten. So quaint that for many viewers, it may just be knocking at the door of antiquation. That being said, there's still a good deal that it has to offer, with its softer impressions reminiscent of World Masterpiece Theater content and means of conventional storytelling, which at this point has been mostly phased out to where, in hindsight, feels slightly unconventional when viewed through a modern lens, not only granting it a second wind but making it passively enjoyable, in a lazy Sunday kind of way. I'm not sure you can even market something like this today and expect, with any good reason, that it will be successful; however, that doesn't mean there isn't something here worth discussing. That something is less about what it chose to cover and more about how it does it.
Unlike most historical anime, many of its chronicled events tend to occur at the periphery of our characters' lives or, in some cases, absent from their direct involvement with it, largely due to the fact that these leads aren't major historical figures. There are only a handful of proceedings where they have hands-on involvement. And because it covers so many key incidents that occurred during this time, if someone were unaware of the specifics, it creates a baseline unpredictability with its narrative direction. Unlike narrative fiction, real life is often disorderly, lacking the poetics and theatricality of fictionalized drama. Of course, the show still relies on these storytelling tropes to weave in-between the spaces that are propped up by these significant landmark moments of history, but because these occurrences have already existed and can't be ignored, at best, its author Osamu Tezuka, could only reverse engineer the minutia surrounding each crest and trough of documented happenings. Long story less long, Hidamari no Ki can often be a slice-of-life thr(ch)ill ride.
On top of that, their plausible involvement never extended beyond what their professional placement or personal upbringing would allow. Significant historical events may alter the overall paths of their lives, but the day-to-day conflicts, ambitions, and small victories remain immediate and personal. For Ryoan, that meant dealing with the antipathy of Eastern medical practitioners whose unscrupulous political maneuvering and xenophobic stance towards vaccinations and other Western practices meant his physician father, Ryousen, and other like-minded pro-western medical activists having to navigate the inherent dangers presented by being outspoken at a time when American merchant ships that docked the shores were viewed by many as a corruptive force, threatening the preservation of the country's cultural purity. It also meant witnessing his metamorphosis from a more chipper, womanizing, wayward personality to someone who would acquire far more discipline and commitment to his craft when faced with the realities of his profession and what it means to be a doctor: to hold someone's life in your hands. As for Manjiro, the intrigue of his character arc and involvement with the story, besides the obviousness of cool-ass samurai action, is that, as a viewer, I sympathized with what ultimately drove his character. While both men stood as analogs for the show's themes of inevitable change in the face of stubborn, prideful stagnation, his story was unequivocally the more tragic of the two. His pride in his country and its culture wasn't based on bigotry but on pure intent. He can relate to the average Japanese of that time because he was one of them. As Hidamari no Ki, Tree in the Sun, stood as a metaphor for this long-lasting period of prosperity and pride for one of its most significant eras, Manjiro ostensibly came to represent its last hopes. A dying remnant that kept fighting, clinging on desperately. To preserve an era defined for its economic stability and relative peace for its citizenry. An era often romanticized, but understandably so. As we witness his growth and journey through the military ranks, the unavoidable changing of the guards, as already marked by history, means either surviving by severe compromise to his core beliefs or trying desperately to uphold a way unsustainable in an age of revolution.
This approach ensured that both lead men and their supporting cast remained endearing throughout, a rare, mostly-adult cast at that, which reflected in its sensibilities and handling of the content. Content that was so considered that some of its more impactful instances had little to do with the history around them and more with the quieter, "insignificant" moments, such as a family member passing away from old age or someone making a full recovery from an illness. And because almost all the characters in the series were adults, it opened the door to more meaningful topics. Commentary that's self-critical to its country, in a way many anime would advert from, not because it disparages outdated social customs, but because it presented it in a way normalized for its time. Sexwork accepted as a transactional exchange, like any other part of daily life, yet the glass ceiling placed upon its female participants meant limited career mobility; often, at best, becoming the den mother or, rarer still, head of their own pleasure quarters. The delicate political dance carried out between men with power, often full of pride, and allowed to carry swords—the outcome inevitable. You really feel like you're witnessing the passage of time between real people's lives. And in circumstances where a side character may not be as detailed, their stance is at least documented.
Hidamari no Ki tells a story of a Japan ravished by civil unrest and disease but also pauses and looks around long enough to appreciate the ephemeral beauty that has made the Edo period so iconic in pop culture's lexicon. It feels lived in, and with a steady hand, traces the various characters and locations it brings to life, making for a soothing, bittersweet story of decay. The Tree in the Sun, proud and graceful, comes to an end, but its heritage lives on.
