Tonari no Totoro (My Neighbour Totoro)

A family moves far away to raise young in idyllic surroundings, the peaceful breeze a windswept melody, the silent nights a tranquil balm, even if living in the city can be equally mesmerizing, its rhythmic variations wondrous catalysts, its gritty flux dynamic grains, a different kind of symphonic swing, still in tune with seasonal contrarieties, the countryside presents more immediate environmental difference, the rays of the sun like molten fusion, a livid storm compressed surprise, it's good for restful relaxation, for decompressing from time to time, but can lack what you weren't expecting, if you don't dig deep, experiment, sleuth.

Look for animals.

Learn about different birds.

Make your own diverse mechanics, soaking up whims and signs, like the kids in My Neighbour Totoro, as they nimbly acclimatize.

Prudent planning was exercised in their locale, and patches of forest were left amongst the fields, the rice fields abounding but not all-encompassing, the children still finding lots of room to play.

Wherein which they discover a magical realm, bold immersed unrestrained imagination, a godlike creature with remarkable powers, exhaling induced exclamation.

Like an idea he can slip the mind, but concentration helps Totoro shine through, to perhaps summon the omniscient cat bus, or play music at the end of the day.

The film doesn't retail shock or ceremony.

It's as unobtrusive as it is inquisitive.

The exact opposite of a horror film in fact, you aren't filled with dread or anxiety afterwards.

It's like productive chill curious growth invigorated, as if you've just seen a badger or had dinner at a local restaurant, as if it's distilled that feeling you get when you're free of responsibility and have time to explore, blend, hypothesize, adventure, recall all those things you misplaced in the bustle, like a band you used to really like, or a view you haven't seen for awhile.

Everything's there in the city too, just have to keep your eyes open, like the girl I saw discover a caterpillar at Sainte-Catherine and Peel one day, or signs that look like animals. A wayward soccer ball in the park. Eating sushi as you walk down the street. A bottle dropped with conversational intent.

I missed the conversational intent of the bottle drop because I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts, and didn't realize I was supposed to pick it up, and that the person who had dropped it wanted to talk to me.

I believe the expression is, my bad.

Totoro's like all those things you never expected to see all decked out and rolled into one.

The divine chillaxed im/material.

Always present.

Never forgotten.

La tierra y la sombra (Land and Shade)

A deadbeat returns to his family after hearing that his son is ill, having been gone for more than a decade, their struggles dourly contrasting his self-obsession.

Their home rests amidst acres upon acres of sugar cane, and they desperately rely on the income it provides.

But that income is not so easy to come by, as managers find excuses to withhold payments, and workers vigorously protest to ensure their compensation.

Alfonso (Haimer Leal) casts a troubled shadow on the plight of his former community, as he bonds with his grandson, and must yield to his wife's animosity.

An impoverished people attempts to garner respect meanwhile, struggling through the ages, making the most of their meagre opportunities.

Sadness, mourning, La tierra y la sombra (Land and Shade) blesses the salt of the earth with a refined bittersweet caring perseverance, valuing conviction as opposed to derivatives, the integrity of the daily grind.

The juxtaposition between Alfonso and his family sombrely furrows the sorrow, while forgiveness considers the worth of his presence, like a welcoming balm, pleasantly mitigating despair.

It champions solidarity rather than dramatizing drifting, the gilded courage embodied in action, a location, a tradition, jobs, the oppressed and the obstinate, ageless timeless plunder.

Down home determination.

Inveterate will.