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Burning (2018)

Recently watching Yukiko Mishima's"Dear Etranger" - where an everyday male is pushed to his limits, but rather than exploding violently, returns to a calm after a passive aggressive outburst - I was struck by the hero's choice to keep on the straight and narrow, rather than let that tension get the better of him. Based on the Haruki Murakami short "Barn Burning" (and also William Faulkner's story of the same name), "Peppermint Candy" director Lee Chang-dong chooses to let that tension out violently, allowing it to boil to an inevitable conclusion.

Adapting the character backgrounds, their interactions, however, are reasonably faithful to the original short. Jong-su (Yoo Ah-in) is somewhat of a lowly figure in Seoul. A farmer's son, he works low-level jobs while holding his ambition of becoming a writer. By chance he meets an old school friend from his farming village, Hae-mi (Jun Jong-seo) and the pair get chatting, meeting on several occasions before consummating their born-again friendship. But, having saved some money, she intends to travel to Africa, asking Jong-su to take care of her (non-existent) cat.

On her return, following an attack on the airport in Nairobi, Hae-mi returns, though not alone. Asking him to meet her at the airport, Jong-su is surprised to see her accompanied by the suave Ben (Steven Yeun); the trio then going for a meal together. Intrigued by his writing, Ben often accompanies Hae-mi whenever she meets up with Jong-su. Though feeling uneasy about being the third wheel and out-of-place among Ben's high society friends, Jong-su is also suspicious of Ben's wealth for one so young and mysterious about his earnings.

His father imprisoned for a violent outburst, Jong-su has to return to his family farm to tend to its needs. It is on the farm, after smoking some weed together, that Ben reveals to Jong-su his passion for burning greenhouses: ones simply asking to be burnt down. This only adds to the man's mystery. Indicating that he has found his next "victim" nearby to Jong-su's farm, Jong-su is obsessive in trying to figure out which it will be. After receiving a call from a distressed Hae-mi, she subsequently disappears, leaving him to obsessively pursue Ben in order to find answers to both Hae-mi's whereabouts and the puzzle of the next greenhouse.

The first thing to note about "Burning" is that it is long. At two-and-a-half hours with a slow pace, Lee allows a long of time for the suspense to rise, which he does well. Jong-su's life is coming to a low point: his dad in prison, taking over a failed farm and no clear career path or love life to speak of. Almost as if researching for a novel, he plots the possibilities for Ben's next barn attack, as well as staking out his home - this has become what he lives for. But the length doesn't drag too much; come the end, you are searching for numerous answers. "Burning", much like the Japanese short story, leads a lot of open ends and leaves it up to you to piece them together.

Ben is the anti-Jong-su: successful, confident and full of mystery. Steven Yeun plays him adeptly; his time in America giving him an aura of the foreign in Jong-su's world. His charm and seeming boredom at Hae-mi - the nature of their relationship unclear, as it is with his subsequent love interest - make Jong-su question what his exact motives are, fuelled by his story of burning greenhouses. Was this merely a stoned prank, or is there a much more sinister man lying beneath? He is fully under Jong-su's skin.

Ben is almost calling Jong-su to act. A man of mystery, he seems as if he doesn't even know himself, living the high life, but without any real purpose. As in his interview in Sight & Sound, Lee wanted to show the difficulties for today's youth in South Korea. Jong-su has nothing but intentions and feels unable to act on them; while Ben has everything but no sense of purpose. Jong-su's final act is the rage of the have-nots against the haves.

The ending may feel somewhat inevitable by the time it comes, but much like Jong-su's obsession, the longer you leave it and the more you mull it over, the more intriguing it gets. Having re-read the short after, as well as adding the ending, Lee adds a greater sense of mystery, obsession and social comment. What starts as a burning candle, explodes like a firework.

Every 14 Days...(49)

Familiar Things (Hwang Sok-yong)

I liked the cover of this book, and the premise drew me in somewhat. However, on reading, I was less than captivated.

Bugeye is a teenager who moves into a landfill site with his mother after his father is sent away. Starting their new life collecting thrown-out scraps to salvage and sell on, they befriend one of the site chiefs and his son, Baldspot. What follows is the developing relationship between the two sons, the strange characters they meet and their dips into the big city, before a rather predictable turn of events.

The setting is one that feels slightly like ones you have encountered before: a post-apocalyptic-like world of waste left behind in the wake of modern progress. The characters are the forgotten ones, cast aside by society, much like the waste the scavenge through. Nothing here particularly feels that original.

The style of writing also has some moments of cringe, particularly in describing the Nintendo that Bugeye buys; written as if an MP trying to be down with the kids. There are also some slightly more fantastical elements that to some extent lose me.

That said, this is an enjoyable enough read and plods along relatively nicely enough. But the fact that this isn't the most exhilarating writing or original work makes this a little too familiar to stand-out too much.

Days to read: 12

Days per book: 14.7

Adrian Mole: The Cappuccino Years (Sue Townsend)

Yet a further installment in the Mole series ticked off, in chronological order, no less.

This, being the fifth, starts a couple of years after "The Wilderness Years", Mole now a soon-to-be-divorced father of one, then two sons. In his thirties, he sees some minor fame as a TV chef, and is finally offered the chance at his dream: being a published author.

As always, he fails in all these things at the start of the Blair Years in the late Nineties. He has successfully alienated his wife, abandoned his son - and not even aware of the second - shown a pure lack of charisma for the camera and simply incapable of writing the simple words he so often yearns for.

Luckily for him, life finds a way of rewarding him: inheriting a house off a man he barely knew; with his mother essentially saving him in everything.

The longer diary entries suggests the sophistication he believes he has, but in his thirties and back living at home, relying on his mother and bemoaning his parents' marital problems, he is firmly back at 13 3/4.

Days to read: 19

Days per book: 14.7

Straight Outta Crawley (Romesh Ranganathan)

When riding a wave of success, it's pretty much standard now for a comedian to write a cash-in book, however necessary one may be. Ranganathan is no different. Pretty much always on the television these days, that cash cow must be milked. As indicated in his introduction, this book was bought for me as a gift and I thus felt obliged to read it.

As the title suggests, this book breaks down his life into various themes, with a pun on a hip hop "classic" as the title for each chapter. The key issues covered are: his start in stand-up ("Could the Real Romesh Ranganathan Please Stand up?"); his childhood obesity and subsequent veganism ("Lose Yourself)"; his mother ("Mama Said Knock You Out"); etc.

Despite switching the chronology up a little, there is a general timeline that is followed throughout, and the earlier parts are the more interesting. His dabbles with hip hop, his career as a teacher, his parental problems during his childhood and his start in comedy are the more interesting parts of the book.

Once fame comes into it, it gets a little bit more boring, anecdotes usually ending "I died on my arse" and with his profile now so great, it feels little more than a DVD extra of "Behind the scenes" tales from the recording of TV shows.

Luckily, his fame comes late on, so this doesn't take up too much of the book, the more enlightening and interesting points in life coming before all that. In fact, his stories from his days as a teacher, starting to try-out the odd bit of stand-up, is where the most interesting moments come from, with some genuine advice on how to deal with unruly teenagers. And I didn't mind this accompanying my Tube journey in each morning - there is enough variety here to keep you entertained.

These books are written at a time when fame is at its peak, so sales will be greatest. His life as a real person is more interesting, and writing about his post-fame days will be best off written in a fair few years' time when there is more interesting stuff to say. But by then, will anybody be reading?

Days to read: 9

Days per book: 14.7

Journey by Moonlight (Antal Szerb)

Reading Antal Szerb's "Journey By Moonlight", I couldn't help but keep Umberto Eco "The Name of the Rose" in mind. That's what happens when two books have an Italian setting and feature some sort of monk.

Mihaly's recent marriage to his new wife Erszi is something of a fallacy for both of them. Mihaly still yearns for the days of his bohemian youth in 1920s Budapest, yet feels the need to conform to society's norms; while Erszi has left her older, rich husband for more of a sense of adventure with Mihaly. The truth is that neither is getting what they truly want from the other.

Starting their honeymoon in Italy, Erszi learns some more about Mihaly's past, with the revelations soon seeing the pair split on their journey. Going their separate ways, Mihaly digs deep into his past with some soul searching, while Erszi sets off for Paris and days of nearly being wild. Both soon find themselevs, however, back where they were before they met.

Mihaly is essentially a man who doesn't want to move on from his student days; wanting to keep the friendships and sense of whimsy he had then. His training and job are explained as trying to conform, but are not for him. Though in reality, he is a man clinging to a past while others have moved on and grown up. This sense of nostalgia is one he will have to grow out of.

While full of convenient coincidences, Szerb's tale is one of the dangers of living too much in the past and allowing thoughts of youth to take over. Gut-wrenching whimsy at what might have been and what happened to those yesteryears is dangerous and can see your present crumble without even realising. Perhaps it's better to be happy with what you've got than think too much about what you left behind.

Days to read: 12

Days per book: 14.7

The Book of Tokyo (Various)

As part of a series of short story collections centred around certain cities, it's fair to say that "The Book of Tokyo", like any city, is a mixed bag of the good the bad and the weird. It can often be the case with Japanese shorts that they can veer off into strange and dark alleyways, and this is no exception. With contributions from some big international names and some less-so, whether or not you get an accurate portrait of Tokyo from these is anyone's guess. A bit like how to interpret Tokyo itself.

Of the ten included, a couple pass-by barely noticeable: Kaori Ekuni's "Picnic" and Nao-Cola Yamazaki's "Dad, I Love You" can be completed without really remembering much of what you read. Another couple plod along nicely, but fail to really leave you with any firm conclusions: "A House for Two" by Mitsuyo Kakuta has some nice moments; and Osamu Hashimoto's "Vortex" likewise. The weird is delivered in the form of the book's opener, Hideo Furukawa's "Model T Frankenstein", which is perhaps best got out the way early; and the biggest name in the book, Banana Yoshimoto's "Mummy".

Two authors with recent successful novels, Hiromi Kawakami and Shuichi Yoshida deliver nice efforts with "The Hut on the Roof" and "An Elevator on Sunday" respectively, but, for me, the strongest efforts come from the perhaps less-known Toshiyuki Horie and Hitomi Kanahara. Horie's story of essentially a hostel for female tourists who end up working hostess bars offers some interesting social comment on foreigners working in Tokyo; while Kanahara's deadpan humour as her heroine fantasises about having sex with every man she walks passed, with some explicit but nonetheless humourous detail of these encounters.

There are definitely better short stories from Japan out there, and better collections. What this collection offers is a slightly less obvious portrait of the lives of those living in the city and confirms that whatever it is it's definitely not normal.

Days to read: 9

Days per book: 14.6

The Japan Foundation Touring Film Programme 2019: Dear Etranger (2017)

Often when a film explores the underlying rage of an middle-class, middle-aged, middle-management type, it will explode in a terrible act from which there is no turning back. Yukiko Mishima's "Dear Etranger", however, chooses not to go for the sensational, and is an exploration in how it's easier to simply lose it rather than stick to the straight and narrow.

Makoto (Tadanobu Asano) is a man struggling between two families. Divorced and re-married, he struggles to balance keeping contact with his daughter from his first marriage, Saori (Raiju Kamata), and treating his two stepdaughters, Kaoru (Sara Minami) and Eriko (Miu Arai) as if they're his own.

Playing the good husband and father, he doesn't stay after work to drink with colleagues, takes all of his annual leave and tries as much as possible to include his two new daughters in his life. However, his good intentions at home see him first for the chop when his company restructures, leaving him relegated to working in a warehouse.

At home, while Eriko plays along with the scenario, the elder Kaoru is less happy to play along at happy families, wanting to see her real father, the way he meets with Saori. Adding a further difficulty to his situation, his new wife, Nanae (Rena Tanaka) announces she is pregnant, leaving Makoto wanting to cut his losses and move on.

However, when looking at two other fathers: Kaoru and Eriko's real father, Sawada (Kankuro Kudo); and Saori's stepfather see him stick to being a father to all four of his children, the tension released and returning to normal.

Throughout the first half, Mishima keeps a kick drum soundtrack playing, signifying the tension building under the surface for Makoto. Despite all the negative points coming to his life, he keeps going with a stoic attitude. But the repetition and constant grief he receives from Kaoru, along with the news of the pregnancy, cause this tension to rise to the surface. Kaoru's words both push him over the edge and bring him back from the brink when she compares him to her real father.

Makoto's anger comes out in realistic and unspectacular bursts. Rather than simply lashing out, his nature is more passive aggressive, carrying out Kaoru's request in anger. Asano's performance and Mishima's direction create a believable response to the situation and feels a truthful reflection of family tensions. Though the spiteful nature of Kaoru might seem a little strong for some, but she is a girl struggling to accept the situation.

No one character is portrayed as a hero, however, or indeed a monster. Sawada may be shown to have been a terrible father in flashbacks, but on meeting him today, he is very aware of how he is when it comes to children and his thoughts on parenthood; a life he simply doesn't wish to have. Makoto also is guilty of unconscious bad habits, pointed out to him ex-wife Yuka (Shinobu Terajima). Her words clearly sit with him in his better understanding of Kaoru, becoming a guiding father to her, rather than simply forcing her to call him "Dad." All can learn something from one another.

Mishima paces the film well, switching between the present day and flashbacks of key moments in the previous marriages. In a career that hadn't quite hit the heights until now, "Dear Etranger" is a mature film, and shows that there is potential for Mishima to develop into a consistently strong director. Asano's performance also shows his versatility; an older man now, giving an equally mature performance as a man trying to keep his tensions under control, and not always succeeding. Both create a realistic character and show that it's more difficult to keep your cool and keep going than to let it all out in a violent outburst.

The Japan Foundation Touring Film Programme 2019: Her Love Boils Bathwater (2016)

I love Japanese cinema. There, I've said it. Putting "love" in this year's theme for the Japan Foundation's TouringFilm Programme ("People Still Call it Love: Passion, Affection andDestruction in Japanese Cinema") should have been a sure-fire hit for me then. Sadly, my love for other things as well meant I only committed to watching two films of this year's selection.

As the title suggests, love in Japanese cinema is very much a double-edged sword, having seen many a life destroyed by it on the screen over the years. As such, I imagine we can expect many a moment of over-acting, pain and struggle...

So, from one of two, "Her Love Boils Bathwater"...

It's funny how some coincidences happen. Just before going to watch Ryota Nakano's "Her Love Boils Bathwater" I read Mark Schilling's review of Seijiro Koyama's "Sakura" from his book "Contemporary Japanese Film". To start, he quote Donald Richie with whom he watched the film: "Now that was a Japanese movie." This is a statement that could be lodged firmly at the start of any review for Nakano's film.

So I went there. Featuring a cast of people you have definitely seen in other films, this is a classic Japanese movie of a constant barrage of turmoil heaved our heroine's way, forcing her to dig deep to overcome adversity, with a big dollop of "we can succeed if we all pull together" spirit.

Futaba (Rie Miyazawa) is a single mother to her sole daughter Azumi (Hana Sugisaki). Living at their now defunct public bathhouse - the owner, her husband, having "disappeared like steam" - she works in a bakery while Azumi struggles with bullying at school. On learning she has terminal pancreatic cancer, she feels it's time to re-ignite an old flame.

Having located her husband Kazuhiro (man of hair Joe Odagiri), via a Japanese staple PI (Taro Suruga), she drags him, and his illegitimate daughter Ayuko (Aoi Ito), back to the bathhouse to open its doors once more. As Futaba's illness worsens, so do Azumi's school troubles, but tears provoke strength in her daughter to overcome the bullies and take on her share of responsibility for the bathhouse.

Planning one final road trip with the girls to see Mount Fuji, Futaba has one final revelation for Azumi: she is not her real mother. It is following this that Futaba's health takes a turn for the worse, seeing out her final days in a hospital bed while her family keep the bathhouse waters running.

In the world of "Her Love Boils Bathwater", the turmoil that needs to be overcome seems to be that of abandoning mothers: Ayuko has been abandoned by her mother, left with her loafing buffoon of a father; PI Takimoto is always accompanied by his young daughter after his wife died in childbirth; and as we discover, Azumi is not Futaba's daughter, but the child of the deaf-mute ex-wife of Kazuhiro.

All of these young women find a surrogate mother-figure in Futaba, showing her strength of character to help raise and comfort them, despite, as we learn, having been abandoned by her own mother when a young child. All this doesn't exactly paint a great image of mothers, but also makes Miyazawa and her relationships with her fellow cast members the strength of the film.

Nakano tried to build close relationships between the cast during shooting, creating an almost temporary family among them. And this works. The young "daughters" respond well to Futaba when she's at both her most strict and caring, and grow as Futaba declines. This is a far cry from Odagiri's performance as the seemingly apathetic Kazuhiro. He seems to perpetually play the role of an eighteen year-old boyfriend responding to his girlfriend's calls to meet her parents, while smoking a cigarette, but he does this with an effortless cool; the perfect foil to Futaba's strength.

But while the acting and character relations are strong, the Japanese movie Richie was referring to perhaps sends this film into overkill territory. Adversity is slapped around our faces like a wet fish, with tears thrown straight into our eyes by the bucket-load. This somewhat detracts from the power of Futaba's struggle, with certain elements that could have been removed. Poignancy can come a little more subtly.

When I watched Akio Kondo's"Eclair" I was perhaps somewhat naive in my conclusions. While indentifying the over-sentimentality on display, I should have perhaps been more aware of the staple diet of Japanese commercial cinema and its need to tick boxes. You simply must have someone give someone a bike ride. The "all pulling together" spirit of the film's conclusion is as cheesy as it is sickly sweet.

Put forward as Japan's 2017 Oscar submission, this is a film that certainly represents Japanese film. The fact that it wasn't put forward for nomination, however, reflects its overall quality.

One Cut of the Dead (2017)

Perhaps for some time now, cinema has been lacking in original ideas for stories, meaning that style is becoming more important. CGI, films shot entirely on green screen and the failed attempt at 3D have seen special effects used as a way of overcoming this. But as hipsters love independent movies, increasingly there seems to be a move towards special effort, as opposed to effects.

While not an overall excellent film, 2017's "Ice Cream and the Sound of Raindrops" was shot in one sixty-plus minute take, including various locations and musical interludes along the way. And the "Inside No. 9" team revisited the idea of filming a live episode last year. Relative unknown director Shinichiro Ueda's "One Cut of the Dead" (or more appropriately the Japanese title: "Kamera o tomeru na!" / "Don't Stop the Camera") - a film within a film within a film - combines this use of a single take with the perils of trying to shoot scripted material live.

In an abandoned army facility, a girl is attacked by her zombie boyfriend. Except that she isn't. Chinatsu (Yuzuki Akiyama) is a low-rent actress starring in a zombie film directed by the erratic Higurashi (Takayuki Hamatsu). Dismayed at her forty-second take failure, they break from filming. But as they wait around, the small crew are attacked by zombies - Higurashi knowing that the location has a "history" of army experiments.

What follows is a one-shot chase as the survivors try to escape their newly dead attackers, with awkward dialogue, strange behaviour, blood splattering and breaking the fourth wall. The sole survivor, Chinatsu is left standing on the roof of the facility, staring up at the slowly and awkwardly rising camera as the end credits then scroll up the screen.

But we haven't got there yet.

It is after this thirty-plus minute single take that "One Cut of the Dead" actually begins. A month earlier, Higurashi is approached by producers from the "Zombie Channel" to film a single-take zombie film to be broadcast live in the afternoon - his "cheap, but average" style seemingly what they're looking for. Something of a hack director, he is initially reluctant, but is too weak to say "no." As such, he takes on the role and is introduced to his cast and crew: a less than inspiring bunch.

After a troubled preparation, the day of the shoot comes, but as they prepare for their risky move, everything that can go wrong goes wrong. As such, Higurashi and his crew are left to improvise and get by as best they can, making sure to follow the mantra: "kameru o tomeru na!"

Itself a film made on a very small budget, I'd seen a lot about the record-breaking profit levels that "One Cut of the Dead" had already made and the strong social media marketing efforts by the cast and crew. As such, I chose to read little about the film itself before seeing it, trying to remove all "Blair Witch" comparisons and expectations.

Not just a film within a film within a film, this is essentially the film, making-of and bloopers all-in-one. To start the "one cut" is a breath-taking ride of hilarity; seemingly baffling acting, behaviour and dialogue; blood splattering; gore; talking directly to the camera; various mistakes; and what must be a very tired cameraman. As the initial end credits roll, we're left thinking "o-kay."

The film's second part offers explanation as to the above, in what is a witty, well-crafted script to create all of the mistakes that appear in the live broadcast we're thrown into. The stress and pressure the crew are put under shows, with none worse affected than Higurashi and his wife, Nao (Harumi Shuhama), drafted into the production late on. Both go rogue, not so much acting, as letting their frustrations out - the director determined to make the shoot work for the sake of his art.

The television producers, while setting the difficult task, are less concerned by the art, embracing the chaos. Indeed, much of the middle section of "One Cut of the Dead" feels like a Japanese TV drama; the style of shooting and music feeling very much part of a Japanese small screen. But this is a film made for the big screen and a big audience. The laughter track provided by a big crowd adds to the undoubted fun that this is. Ueda shows that a lot of ideas that come out of a live shoot will be improvised out of necessity, and has fun in doing so. The laughs are big, the timing spot-on and the acting suitably awkward.

But while showing improvisation is necessary, Ueda's film is one that has been carefully thought-out and choreographed, like a well rehearsed stage production. The cast and crew have obviously been challenged in making this, and the crew's efforts are shown as the actual end credits roll in true Jackie Chan fashion: the "making-of" cameraman following the actual camera and sound men as they take a well-earned drinks break as the camera continues to roll.

Mirai

Kon Ichikawa's 1962 film "Watashi wa nisai" was translated to "Being Two Isn't Easy" for English-speaking audiences. Without seeing it, you get a fair idea of what the film is about from the title alone. Mamoru Hosoda's "Mirai" (or "future") isn't quite such an obvious title, though naming it "Being Four and Becoming a Big Brother Isn't Easy" wouldn't quite give the game away either.

A semi-autobiographical work, Mamoru Hosoda's film tells of learning patience and perspective in a film that is both close to reality and fantastical. These switches can perhaps annoy, but anyone living with a toddler will be able to sympathise to some extent, but your overall reaction to "Mirai" might be dependent on your life situation, and indeed, like a two year-old, your current mood.

Four year-old Kun's parents have just had a second baby: daughter Mirai. This new addition angers Kun, no longer the sweet little one of the household, able to walk and talk, he is not given the attention he is used to. Fighting his parents, he also tries to fight his little sister.

Frequently left frustrated, whenever passing the oak tree in his architect father's quirkily-designed house, in true "Christmas Carol" tradition, he meets a spirit that gives him a life lesson. Their pet dog as a prince, felt abandoned since Kun was born; a teenage Mirai letting him know her feelings as to his behaviour towards her; his mother at his age - not the strict disciplinarian she has become; and his great grandfather who teaches him to be brave.

Switching between the household base and the various scenarios in time, Kun is not quick to learn from his family members' teachings. But, as for any toddler, it takes time and reinforcement for him to finally realise Mirai as his little sister and see himself as the big brother he is needed to be.

As the film's opening shows, this is a film of exquisite detail and has been carefully considered. The detail in the animation is rich, giving "Mirai" an almost 3D feel. The character movements and mannerisms are well thought-out and realistic and recall the opening moments of a Studio Ghibli film.

To some extent, the reality of the scenario also has this same level of due care and attention, reflecting Hosoda's own life experience as a father to an older son and younger daughter. One cannot help but relate to the mother and father's predicament: the father taking on the parenting while working from home while the mother goes back to work. This is designed so that each character can see the world from the perspective of the others. The father is now a "better dad" compared to his involvement in raising Kun, being at home all day and having to take on more responsibility. Kun is not the only one who has to see things from the viewpoint of another. And a few parents in the audience might agree.

However, as the parents do not get as much airtime as Kun, their scenario isn't fully developed enough to make this a film aimed at adults struggling to raise young children. While one can relate to the struggles, the realism is more in Kun's mannerisms and behaviour, rather than the film's story and conclusions. The parents' dialogue can perhaps be a little too open, direct and articulate to accurately reflect the struggle. And for some, the revelations may seem obvious for the amount of  struggle to get there, but so much in life is, until taking a step back.

Like a toddler's mood and behaviour, the film switches continuously. The changes to the future and past selves can make this more a collection of life lessons for Kun, rather than a complete whole. But each day comes with its own challenges and having to start again from scratch. As such, "Mirai" doesn't drag on or bore.

The more fantastical elements might be a little difficult for some to take, myself included (and why I do not watch as much anime as I could - in fact, this is a film I might normally avoid). These can somewhat detract from the realism approach in the present day scenario, though his meeting with his younger mother leads to some of the strongest visual elements of the film.

The ending, however, feels a little too far into the fantastical. With the film's strengths more in the subtle nuances of Kun's behaviour, the ending feels a bit more blatant in its delivery of fear factor and can feel a little disappointing, and more in-line with more young adult-aimed anime. Having a hint of "Spirited Away" in its conclusion, the ending could have perhaps been more refined.

But with both good and bad elements, "Mirai" is very much like a child. Parents will be able to relate to Kun's difficult behaviour and frustration, and this may give it enough to overlook the weaker points, as they would their own children. Without this standpoint however, "Mirai" might not have the same effect and feel like a lot of bumpy emotion rather avoided.

Essentially, being four and becoming a big brother isn't easy, and watching it isn't either, and your response might be down to your level of patience and perspective.