“Whisper of the Heart” Review: Magic in the Everyday

In this grounded coming-of-age animated romance, Yoshifumi Kondo creates a reality as magical as Ghibili’s other fantastical works.

Studio Ghibli’s ability to effectively immerse viewers into fictional worlds beyond their wildest imaginings is the company’s Mida’s touch. Executed through revolutionary animation, wondrous scores and scripts that are as mature as they are fantastical, Studio Ghibli has never failed to craft an environment that immediately interests viewers with its overt stylization, only to then completely immerse and impress them with minuscule details that one could miss with a blink, but are subconsciously felt to make even the most unbelievable environments feel like a lived reality.

On its surface, Whisper of the Heart is thus an anomaly for Studio Ghibli.

The film follows Shizuku, a normal middle-schooler in the Summer before she begins high-school, attempting to read as much as possible while navigating her new relationship with Seiji, the cute but irritant boy who rents the same books she does. Shizuku likes to write - she’ll stay up late and have a protein bar for energy to keep her going. She enjoys eating lunch with her friends in their favorite teacher’s classroom. She never dons a sword, flies a plane, or encounters a mythical demon. Instead, she blushes when forced to sing in front of her friends, and is prideful to a fault. Not from a chip on her shoulder, but instead, Shizuku’s confidence is a projection motivated by insecurity. Shizuku may like to read and write, but she isn’t good at it yet. At least, she doesn’t think so, and that’s a secret every artist holds close their heart: that their work, themselves, are never good enough.

I describe Shizuku not as a character, but a person. Despite how it may initially sound, there is a difference, a slight but crucial one that saves stock characters from simplicity. The key is inconsistency. Dynamism. Character’s saying what they wish they believed. Not every line is a falsehood, but part of the joy in viewing Whisper of the Heart is seeing where these characters white-lie their way through embarrassments and anxieties to navigate the war zone of dilemma’s that appear mundane next to Chihiro’s adventure in Spirited Away or Nausica’s attempts at halting the apocalypse in Nausica: Valley of the Wind, but are just as catastrophic for an insecure high-schooler. The world may not be ending, but boy, did it ever feel like it was when I was three feet shorter, and daily life was filled with new experiences instead of now familiar routes. In writing this, I realize that Shizuku and Kondo manage to bring me back to childhood in the film’s effective writing. Not in the way that Miyazaki’s film’s remind adults that there is imagination ruminating in every suit, that every corporate slave was once able to dream like he does. Instead, Whisper of the Heart brings me back to the feelings of childhood, both pleasant and terrifying, because of a script that is laced with nuance, detail, and contradiction.

I remember the tiny moments, such as when Shizuku urgently visits her friends house late at night, desperate for comfort about the utterly cataclysmic events that have just transpired: she’s having relationship troubles. While a less attentive director would cut to Yuko’s room as the girls deliberate, there’s a moment where we see the two enter Yuko’s mudroom and walk past the living area. While climbing the stairs, Yuko utters “My Father and I are arguing. We’re not speaking.” This is the full extent that we see Yuko’s drama, but instead of feeling underdeveloped, it’s so clearly an added detail that creates a world with texture, that feels alive and active even when the camera isn’t present. I can imagine the arguments with my own parents at 13, and how I would stubbornly refuse to speak with the very people who gave me everything. Moments like these are plentiful in Whisper of the Heart, and are never unique to the main characters. In fact, entire scenes are present that are void of Shizuku, instead focusing on the side characters plights with a legitimate weight to make it appear that even though we are only seeing a fraction of an animated character’s life, one that is impossible to exist outside of the boundaries of the frame, yet has convinced me carries on like my own. This naturalistic depth makes Shizuku’s world feel lived in, warm, and alive. The animation performs even more of this heavy lifting.

Describing Whisper of the Hearts’ visuals is a futile effort. One simply has to see the texture of the cel animation to understand the craft that went into a city which feels utterly bustling and energized. Parallax effects are used on gorgeous wide shots to evoke a sense of depth in this perfect balance of city living and country-side coziness. The colors are beyond stunning - the blue night sky deep enough to look like a blanket wrapping up anyone lucky enough to be invited into Kondo’s talent, only interrupted by the soft streetlights and apartment windows of all the night owls populating this lovely town. The sun illuminates gorgeous waterfronts and cityscapes, communicating information to the viewer with elegant efficiency. For example, one understands where Shizuku’s love for reading comes from when first entering her home, only to see it cluttered sky-high with her mother’s textbook’s for University and her father’s collection as a librarian. The environment is detailed to the extent that the world naturally builds itself and informs - it’s almost impossible not to be convinced this seaside town exists somewhere in reality, if not for the absurd detail it’s been designed with, than for the desperate hope that anywhere in the world can look as gorgeous as Whisper of the Heart.

But on the other side of the coin of beauty is pain. The other shoe always falls, and while less mature films hesitate to depict the lived reality and harshness in the real world, Studio Ghibli is so magical because it is willing to show life’s challenges. In it’s more grounded story, Whisper of the Heart is perhaps the studio’s most understated film in its central conflict. Much of the drama is internal, with any external conflict being relatively light enough considering the stories parameters. That doesn’t mean the film is a bore - I couldn’t help but smile whenever Shizuku blushes and yells at Seiji. Instead, it means that Whisper of the Heart communicates more than most animated films in half the amount of words, with equal if not more impact. Shisuki cannot always articulate her insecurities, and the viewer feels her burning frustration at uncertainty - uncertainty on why she isn’t good enough at writing, confusion about why she thinks she isn’t talented, and unbearable tension at not knowing where to go next in life. Conflict in Whisper of the Heart feels real, just like the rest of the film, from its nuanced handling never falling to black and white objectivity.

Nothing in Kondo’s sole work is black and white. From Shizuku’s realistically muddled feelings of inadequacy to the stunning colors in this animated slice of heaven, Kondo’s masterpiece is just that because of its detailed approach to showing a seemingly simple world in all of its nuances. I will return to Whisper of the Heart time and time again, whether to delight in its atmosphere, adore the animation, or attempt to find answers to life’s most confusing moments.