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Alternate Titles: 

A Letter to Momo

Momo e no Tegami

Review:

by Dustin Kramer

In a narrative, most human emotions are generally considered universal constructs. No one has trouble recognizing when a story is trying to make you sad or happy or uncomfortable. But not all elicitations are so cut-and-dry. When dealing with the topic of grief, storytellers have their work cut out for them. Creating a world in which characters can believably exist and grow is hard enough, but handling one of the most trying and subjective of human emotions can complicate what could otherwise be more or less emotionally ubiquitous. While I love more abstruse takes on the subject — Lars von Trier’s Antichrist  or Darren Aronofsky’s The Fountain, for example  – there’s something extremely satisfying about the deft handling of the theme in a family film. Seven years in the making, Hiroyuki Okiura’s A Letter to Momo is one such film.

Momo Miyaura’s father has died. Just before an accident at sea took his life, the 11-year-old expressed hatred for her dad in an overreaction to a broken promise. Saddled with the grief of loss and the guilt of a sour last conversation, Momo rifles through her father’s desk in mournful remembrance. There she finds a letter with the words “Dear Momo” written at the top — beyond that, a blank page. Moving to a small island with her mother Ikuko offers her recently downsized family a chance at a new start, but Momo isn’t taking to it well. Having difficulty connecting with local children, she spends her days lazing about the house when she begins hearing voices and seeing ghostly shadows. Eventually these apparitions reveal themselves to be yokai, a kind of Japanese spirit. The ogreish Iwa, the reptilian Kawa, and the minuscule Mame have been charged with watching over Momo’s family while her father’s spirit is in transit to heaven, and only she can see them. However, the benevolent nature of their task is in no way indicative of their moral fortitude. They are proud troublemakers and thieves, constantly in need of sating their curiosity and hunger. When Momo gets her hands on the goblins’ passport to the human world, she achieves the upper hand. The creatures play to her mercy, swearing that they’ll stay in line as long as she doesn’t break the wooden plaque, which would kill them. Until her father arrives at his otherworldly destination, the demons are hers to deal with.

What really stands out about A Letter to Momo is how effectively it can juggle the verisimilitude of Momo and Ikuko’s mourning and the lightheartedness of the monster trio’s antics. In what eventually becomes a celebration of the resilience of the human spirit, each main character’s arc is handled with care, allowing everyone to hit the most resonating notes of truth. Ikuko hides her grief from Momo in the hopes that it will expedite her daughter’s healing process, not realizing that it appears as though she has already forgotten about her husband — something that is very troubling to the young girl. In dealing with the yokai, Momo relearns how to connect with people. Their shenanigans force her into situations where she must be brave, as in a scene where they are being chased up a mountain by wild boars. The whole affair is distinctly Miyazaki-esque, pulling from Japanese legend and folklore to fill out this contemporary tale of a young woman’s path to strength.

Despite its merits, the script is front-to-back predictable in its peaks and valleys and doesn’t offer much in the way of surprises. The movie mostly makes good use of its 120-minute runtime, but cutting a couple of disposable scenes, like one in which it is revealed that a little girl in the town can also see Mame, could have brought the whole thing down to a tight 100 minutes or so.

The main characters are very relatable and well-defined. Momo acts very much her age, that of a girl on the verge of puberty. She’s reclusive, skittish, and a bit disinterested with everything but manages to summon the curiosity and energy of a child when it’s called for. Hats off to the casting director who chose 16-year-old Karen Miyama to portray the 6th grade schoolgirl. Miyama’s young voice brings a necessary truth to Momo’s childishness. She delivers a commendable performance but is perhaps more importantly appropriately cast — something that unfortunately can’t be said about the young actors in Mamoru Hosoda’s Wolf Children. Momo’s relationship with her mother is decidedly sisterly, and Ikuko’s youthful appearance and vocal performance by Yuka is all at once refreshing and tragic considering what the character must be going through. Side characters like the aformentioned girl who can see Mame and the other local children aren’t very fleshed-out. A couple of nice scenes between Momo and her grandfather provide some backstory, but the grandparents don’t really offer much aside from being dialogue stand-ins. However, the amiable mailman who has known Ikuko since childhood and has clearly been carrying a torch for her gets a bit of time to shine. The yokai are the real stars of this movie, constantly providing genuinely funny comic relief and pushing the story forward with their actions. Iwa is a lovable dolt, ignorantly spouting exposition for which is he immediately called out by Kawa (who thinks he’s a lot smarter than he is). Mame manages to walk the line between creepy and cute with surprising finesse. The three of them have quickly become some of my favorite characters in Japanese cinema.

This is a very nice outing by the insanely prolific Production I.G, leaning more toward the realistic side of the animation spectrum style-wise. Those familiar with Okiura’s earlier work Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade should know what they’re getting into visually, although this film is much lighter — both narratively and aesthetically — than that dark, dystopic, sci-fi fairy tale. CGI is used sparingly and blends into the hyper realistic character and background cels relatively well. In a particularly impressive scene at the climax of the film, the three demons call on their spiritual buddies to help Momo out. The myriad creatures creeping, crawling, and oozing out of various nooks and crannies around the small island village are animated in stark contrast to the rest of the film, utilizing a technique anime critic Hope Chapman calls “runny eggs.” The unhinged style, which looks something like an animated napkin doodle, really catches the eye in an otherwise painstakingly animated feature where even the hint of an off-model character or inconsistent color is nary present.

The orchestrated score comes courtesy of Mina Kubota, a composer who has worked mainly on animated television series prior to A Letter to Momo.I first became familiar with Kubota’s work watching the 2013 series Photo Kano, a sub-standard show with great music. Now, after hearing her whimsical, often exciting, and occasionally heartbreaking soundtrack to this film, I can safely call myself a fan.

Mourning a loss isn’t the same for everyone. To Momo it means needing to know that she’s not alone; that it hurts just as much for her mom. To Ikuko it’s about allowing her daughter to heal properly — something that proves to be a process of trial and error. For some it may require a hospitable support network of friends and loved ones. For others, perhaps an abundance of time alone to meditate and self-assess is the best path. While grieving, the rediscovery of laughter can be a revelation. In creating a successful comedic family film about grief and loss, Okiura proves that he understands the disparity and dynamics of these feelings. He ties the whole thing up with a satisfying, albeit predictable ribbon.