Flying Witch exists in a space utterly without conflict, even down to the most minute level. The rural microcosm Aomori is a place so tranquil and quiet it could pass for a ghost town were it not for the occasional but ever-present passersby and the relaxed, cheerful soundtrack giving it life. Here people have jobs and families, and yet they skirt by any and all stressors that come with the territory of going about normal life. The farmers go about gardening and harvesting with joy and dignity, while the sake delivery girl rides her bike with no outward indication of the heavy load of bottles she is carrying on the back. Friends chat at school and joke around with one another, but they never get angry even in jest. Only once do we even see meat being used for food. It is a world that is never loud, never hectic, never unpleasant; it is a world entirely at peace.
The other characteristic of this utopia is its secrets and discoveries. The first secret we learn at the outset is that there are witches, witches who fit the classic mold of flying on broomsticks, making potions, and being accompanied by an animal familiar, as well as having more modern characteristics like dressing in casual clothing and drinking beer at festivals with the rest of the people. We never learn what the actual purpose of witches is, as the world is so at peace that they simply go about daily life just like everyone else, practicing their spells and potions on the side. They are in touch with a fascinating and striking world, filled with hidden cafes and flying whales, teleportation powers and candy that turns people into animals with little way of reversing the process. Their magic is supernatural, but it does nothing to change the reality of the world. Even when normal people discover the secret existence of witches and magic, they barely react.
The rest of the secrets are simply the little details of the town. The central character is the witch Makoto who moves to Aomori to live with her extended family while she trains in magic and going about independent life. We learn about the nooks and crannies of the town alongside her, whether she discovers them on her own (the sense of discovery and exploration is compounded with her complete lack of a sense of direction in addition to moving into a new area) or with her second cousins Kei and Chinatsu, who show her the best plants to eat and the best ways to garden as well as introducing her to some of their friends and favorite places. And then we learn alongside Kei and Chinatsu in turn as she demonstrates whatever rudimentary magic she knows, or interacts with the bizarre denizens of the magical world such as the tall and slim masked Harbinger of Spring. Finally we learn alongside both, as they meet the other witches in town and explore bold new areas hidden beneath the veil of magic. In one episode they go to an invisible café in an abandoned building outside town, and the bright interior coupled with one or two visiting animal guests and complete with a ghost waitress gives a sense of wonder, and of finding a hidden treasure. It evokes a similar feeling to the rooftop bar in The Eccentric Family, a feeling of desperately wanting to find such a place near home.
The witches’ familiars, and in particular Makoto’s cat Chito, further loosen up the story and atmosphere with their presence. The witches understand what the familiars are saying, but as normal people all we hear is meowing and the like. Yet the animals are clearly intelligent, with one even being a noted expert on anthropology, and they convey all their messages to us through their facial expressions, comedic while remaining calm and under control in keeping with the rest of the show. It adds yet another layer of mystery, one we will never quite get through, but it also gives a constant point to feel that the supernatural is the mundane, as well as magical companionship for our time with Makoto and her kin as they go about a more realistic life.
Even in its tranquility and peacefulness, the feeling of Flying Witch is distinctly playful. Most of the soundtrack centers around a playful leitmotif that serves as a constant touchstone for the show, ensuring that we constantly feel comfortable and at home. Often we are given multiple perspectives in the same scenario, seeing both the optimism and foreign influence of Makoto as well as the more grounded and familiar feeling of Kei, with Chinatsu’s wide-eyed enthusiasm bridging the gap. This can often be used for subtle comedy as well. A brilliant episode that to me perfectly characterizes the feeling of Flying Witch is “How to Use Your Familiar,” revolving around an exploration that Chito takes in the town. The first time it goes exploring Chinatsu tails from behind, watching what sorts of places it will find, and in the process she has a wonderful little adventure of coincidence and puzzling over the mystery of Chito’s thoughts. The second time it brings Makoto along instead, wanting to show her the whole world it discovered, and yet not finding the same luck as Chinatsu she ends up having a more mundane walk around town. It leaves us as the audience wondering: what else have we been missing this whole time, not quite lucky enough to see?
At times the imagery becomes striking, even beyond the more calm scenes of beauty like the café. Towards the end a giant whale flies over Aomori, and Makoto and Chinatsu join Makoto’s sister Akane in flying on top of it to explore. The whale looks ancient, covered in grass and moss, as well as a whole set of ruins on top. We learn that there is a deep history behind the whales that is not quite understood or clear to this day, although some of the witches have theories. We look out over the town in a sweeping landscape shot, the blend of buildings and trees bifurcated against a bright blue sky, with wispy clouds giving depth and a sense of scale. Shortly thereafter they depart from the whale and return to their house for hotcakes, and suddenly the sense of space condenses down to the open living room of a Japanese-style mansion. Even these shots, however, are filled with space and depth, constantly being shot with an open set of sliding doors in the background or even being shot from the outside looking in. Even in juxtaposing these wider outdoor shots with the considerably smaller space inside, there is never a moment that could be described as crammed or claustrophobic.
Perhaps part of this effect is both the physical space and the distinct conversational space that leaves words hanging in the air. Makoto talks slowly and deliberately, and even the more excitable Chinatsu never interrupts or jumps on the opportunity to immediately speak. In the moments between words or speakers there is plenty of time for us to catch our breath and take in the setting, even one as mundane as a classroom or a narrow street. The color palate is bright yet not at all gaudy, and the music plays lightly in the background to give a sense of vibrancy without a sense of tension. Perhaps more than the slice of life genre of anime, Flying Witch owes its sensibilities to the more contemplative and spacious works of filmmaker Yasujiro Ozu, with fairly frequent cuts but with each one carefully constructed and laid out to provide a sense of engagement and depth. Ozu was known for a technique called “pillow shots,” which were distinct shots that simply showed the world in motion, away from the drama and characters central to the movie itself. They were a form of punctuation to his stories. Flying Witch is itself a long pillow shot, focused on the characters but creating its entire effect with their surroundings, and with what they don’t say as much as with what they do. It’s a pillow shot because it punctuates our lives when we watch it, free of all distractions, concentration, or stress, simply watching the world at motion through a brighter lens.