My Neighbour Totoro, a review of the Royal Shakespeare Company’s Barbican stage play

I cry every time I hear Path of The Wind, the unofficial soundtrack to Studio Ghibli’s iconic My Neighbour Totoro. I think it’s something about the chimes. The magic of resounding harmonies that feels unequivocally Shinto Japanese as well as playful in its childlike wonder at the same time. It’s the way the music moves through feather light melody to dramatic crescendo and back again to the sensitivity of folkloric forests enchanted with woodland spirits. It encompasses the nostalgia of my childhood. Saturday afternoons sat in front of the telly watching Film4’s Studio Ghibli seasons. The folding DVD compendium etched with 20 or so different Ghibli films that my sister and I would watch on repeat. 

When I was about 13, I had a blogspot called ‘Yellow Fever’. It was my first foray into appreciating my Asian heritage. The majority of the blog was stills from Princess Mononoke and clips from a live orchestra conducted by Joe Hisaishi playing his greatest hits. I think there were a couple OG Girls Generation songs thrown in the mix too. I’ve tried to find this blog several times since this singular adolescent summer spree to no avail. I remember it had a canary yellow background, obviously, and white type in capitals shouting the header which I definitely thought was a hilarious and genius pun at the time. Unknowing it was already an established term for self-deprecating, internet-facing first and second generation Asian immigrants trying to find some type of kinship for their yellowness. Or something else entirely.

I’d been looking forward to the Royal Shakespeare production of My Neighbour Totoro for months. The morning tickets launched, five tickets were snapped up in my family’s name. Great anticipation led up to the event. The most tumultuous year of my life filled with more changes than I could ever anticipate. (28, the year of Saturn’s return and all.) Earlier on in 2022, I spent another Ghibli-themed evening in constant tears due to the emotional impact Hisaishi’s music has on me. The evening saw a string quartet perform Ghibli’s best loved tunes. My partner at the time and I spent the evening laughing at the number of white men with their Asian girlfriends in attendance. It’s safe to say there were a lot. Like at least 70% of people there. Myself included. Take from that what you will lol. 

There’s something about Hisaishi’s music that just fully envelops me (particularly when played live). It’s overwhelming in its emotion. He captures an entire feeling, atmosphere, identity, mood through layers of symphony. These are the reasons for my tears. They are happy, sad, and everything in between tears. For me, his music is a feeling of utter rawness. Stripping away all heady distraction to reveal something deeply, just human through sound. At the same time, his music says a loss of innocence to me. Coming-of-age stories told through melody. Ghibli often tackles this theme through its films. Yes, it is an animation house for children, but adults find as much solace and awe-inspiring wonder in the films. Ghibli bridges that transitional gap where childhood meets adulthood. Two distinct periods in one’s life which means so many different things but can also be a shared mindset. One of curiosity and creativity. 

This is part of the beauty of the Barbican’s production. Like all things Ghibli the attention to detail is immaculate. From the limited run ensuring the production won’t get tired to every millimetre of movement recreating what life feels like in rural postwar Japan amidst paddy fields, giant camphor trees and rickety Japanese-style wooden houses with sliding doors and tatami mats. The most incredible aspect of the production is the puppets. I didn’t know how they were going to recreate the bundle of unbridled joy that is Totoro or the cat bus but boy did they deliver. Collaborating with Jim Henson’s workshops, they created interactive puppets where a twitch of a giant fuzzy eyebrow feels as effortless as breath itself. The genius of Miyazaki’s hand drawn expressions fully comes to life through seamless mechanisms. 2D animation is carried into life.

Every time a puppet came out I vocally gasped. I don’t want to spoil too much about the puppets because a lot of the spectacle is in the surprise of seeing those fluffy woodland creatures in the flesh. How Ghibli’s perhaps best loved character has been reimagined in 3D. My mum particularly loved the shape of the Totoros, something she picked up on having never seen the film. “How does he come up with such shapes!” she said of his potato-like roundness realised with perfect airiness on stage. 

There are no press photos of the puppets and the audience was told not to take any photos so the next audience can be as gobsmacked as all of us. I’ve never seen so many white middle aged men so enthused. During the interval, a particular I’m assuming dad clearly enjoying the show went gallivanting round the merch stalls declaring to anyone who worked in the Barbican: “THIS IS THE BEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN!”

 The magic of the set is bolstered by all the actor’s highly physical performances which takes their character to another level. The two fully grown adults who play a three and eight year old respectfully capture the high elbowed strut of stocky kids while the paddy field workers languorously pulling their poles through water move with an easy grace as if they have years of experience wading through hot Japanese summers. As was expected, I cried through most of the first half – a mixture of emotion and delighted – clinched on on the edge of my seat eager to know how they would tackle my favourite scenes to come. My particular highlights: The first time Mei meets Totoro in the burrow, the first time the cat bus comes out, the scene where the seeds grow helped along by the Totoro’s and their various umbrellas, the bit where they all fly through the sky while Path of the Wind crashes into climax. 

Aside from the technical brilliance of the production, a feat I could go on about for at least 10 years, My Neighbour Totoro struck at a deeper chord. As my eyes widened watching the relationship between sisters Mei and Sasuke unfold, I realised one of the reasons I connected with the original film so much as a child is because it reminds me of me and my big sister. The status quo states that it’s really nice to have “one of each” with child rearing, but as I sat back and enjoyed the dynamic between the two sisters – one that is largely plot-free in a conventional narrative sense, allowing space for the invisible bonds of their relationship to play out – I was reminded of my sister Symy and I. Two little Asian girls. A lot of people thought we were twins growing up. The little ways she would show or tell me how to do things. A mixture of nurture and impatience. How I would look to her, and still do, for confirmation on how to approach something. Thread a needle, crochet a blanket, carry out some DIY. The way Sasuke gets frustrated at Mei, her annoying little sister. As an audience, the relationship feels authentic because it is unforced. Not like those American dramas where young children are depicted as mature beyond their years and are able to articulate things that a 5 year old shouldn’t be able to. I’m thinking about the kid in One Tree Hill who had 10 minute monologues about the importance of friendship and family.

The beauty in Mei and Sasuke’s characterisation is that we watch them just being children. Playing non-verbal games as they explore their new house. There isn’t an awful lot that actually happens in My Neighbour Totoro but that is precisely what makes it so special. There is no forced narrative arc like in a Disney film where crisis moves into resolution in a series of action-based sequences. Childlike imagination runs wild with the pure wonder of giant expressive puppets moving across the stage surrounded by flitting hand-operated butterflies and expertly crafted wooden backdrops while an extremely talented Japanese singer treated us to her velvety voice carrying Hisaishi’s melodies. A side note, Symy (who speaks Japanese) said it would have added extra nuance if they provided subtitles for the lyrics as they add more context and feeling to the overall oeuvre of the Totoro universe. I’m not sure how accurate this translation is, but here it is: 

Pathway of wind

From the depths of the woods where the wind born
To the field where alone stands an elm treeSoftly brushes your hair
Over there is the pathway of the wind
From the depths of the woods where the wind was born      
Its invisible hand extends over the ears of barley
softly brushes your hair
flutters as it passes by
Far away land travelling wind guides you
Going alone I give you a hair ornament
From the depths of the woods where the wind was born      
To the field where alone stands an elm tree
softly brushes and disappear
Over there is the pathway of the wind

Tonari no Totoro Kaze no toori Michi

Mori no oku de
Umareta kaze ga
Harappa ni Hitori datsu nire no ki
Fuwari Kasume Yatte kita
Are wa kaze no toori michi
Mori no oku de Umareta kaze ga
Mienai te sashi nobete Mugi no ko
Fuwari Kasume Anata no kami o
Yurashite toori sugite ku
Harukana chi
Tabi yuku kaze michi shirube
Hitori yuku
Anata ni okuru kami no kazari
Mori no oku de
Umareta kaze ga
Harappa ni Hitori datsu nire no ki
Fuwari Kasume Kiete iku
Are wa Kaze no toori Michi