From Up on Poppy Hill is a movie built on details rather than a story. There are two plots moving forward, one a standard boy-meets-girl with a minor twist, the other a story of students trying to save their beloved clubhouse from being torn down by the forces of modernization using nothing but persistence and passion. Neither tale may carry much weight on their own, or even blended together, a more awkward pairing than not. But their common thread is of keeping history alive and remembered rather than letting it fall into obscurity, and this message, while heavy-handed from a plot perspective, synthesizes beautifully with every detail of our 1960’s Yokohama. Lonely flags atop a steep hill, a bustling shopping district of wooden buildings and dirt roads, the growing interest in ham radios and TVs as the Olympic Games draw closer; every fixture of this unmistakably Studio Ghibli film—lacking in fantasy elements as it may be—give From Up on Poppy Hill an atmosphere to back up its high-minded claims of antique beauty and solemn remembrance.
The house on the hill is a boarding house manned by Umi, named for the sea in keeping with her deceased father’s profession as a sailor during the Korean War. She cooks, she cleans, and she takes care of her siblings, grandmother, and the few boarders living in the house, but she also hoists signal flags every morning on the makeshift flagpole in her backyard, sending messages to the father who will never come back. Her school life is filled with debates about the old clubhouse, the Latin Quarter, a veritable mansion with every square inch covered in dust, clutter, and clubrooms. Because of the upcoming 1964 Tokyo Olympics, there is a move to tear down the building and erect a pristine new one in the spirit of modernity. Perhaps it is her obsession with the past, with the prewar period where her father was still alive, but the preservation protests resonate with her, and she erects a plan to completely clean and refurbish the old creaking hulk, restoring it to its former glory while maintaining its historical dignity.
Originally published as a manga in 1979 under the same name, at the time of From Up on Poppy Hill’s serialization business in Japan was moving forward with a speed the likes of which had rarely been seen worldwide, and recent developments like the Shinkansen lines were a stamp of changing times all across the traditional country. Maybe it was the author Tetsuro Sayama’s intention to remind readers that there was something being lost in the process. Being set in Yokohama, a sea port filled with foreign bases and influences near the rapidly modernizing Tokyo, the image of a lonely house on the hill hoisting naval flags that no one can read to call back a man who sunk in the war is certainly evocative of the quiet dignity of an era forgotten in time.
Ditto the clubhouse, a space as hectic and multifaceted as any of the grand spaces Miyazaki Hayao designed in his fantasy worlds. The chandelier covered in cobwebs looms over the rickety staircase winding around inside of the tight enclosure, and as Umi walks up those stairs we pass the nerdy Math Club boys, a guy desperately pondering the mysteries of the universe alone in the Philosophy Club, an explosion from the Chemistry Club upstairs, and a dark room with a group of students talking in English over the radio to their American counterparts.
At the very top, tucked away behind mountains of papers, is the Literature Club, who are responsible for publishing the school newspaper, hosted in part by the enigmatic leaders of the anti-demolition protests. One of them is Shun, who acts sometimes like a playboy, sometimes like a respectable young man, and soon acts more and more like Umi’s lover. She has a good head on her shoulders and a sense of independence, maintaining the house finances alongside her school life, and refusing to act dependent on anyone else, and so while it’s obvious that she’s quickly falling in love, we are spared the theatrics of her playing second fiddle to her new crush. At one point they are forced to confront their love for one another due to a family crisis, but they deal with it quickly, without much flourish, and having not once acknowledged their mutual feelings on camera. We could sit around saying “when are they going to just confess to one another,” but From Up on Poppy Hill makes the even more mature step of cutting that phase out altogether. Somewhere along the line, they just knew.
The protests ramp up, and Umi gets involved in the reconstruction project. There are many scenes inside and outside the cramped clubhouse that give all the characters, not just the two leads, a sense of humanity and passion, and most of all unity. One moment that stood out the most was the earliest debate we see between the pro and anti-demolition coalitions of the student body. They are rowdy and raucous, with people yelling insults over one another and bodies flying in a typical Ghibli fashion. Suddenly there is a noise of the doors to the building swinging open, and everyone falls quiet. The leader of the debates begins to sing a nationalistic song, slow and hearty, and everyone joins in within a few bars, locking arms with their former enemies. As the doors to the debate open and the school board walks in, the students move to make way for them in lockstep, never breaking their song. Soon the board leaves, satisfied, and the scene cuts away. In one scene they bring two disorganized sides together under their mutual banner as students, singing songs of the past to cover their tracks but also to unify. Soon afterwards the reports come in: the vast majority of the student body now favors conservation.
If it is these types of small details that director Goroh Miyazaki makes his movie run on, then it is the classic art and animation style of his father Hayao Miyazaki that bring this effect to life. His characters, unmistakable as ever, run and play and yell and fight and laugh like children, from the students to the administrators to the elder generation watching warmly from the wings. One noticeable difference from the other Hayao Miyazaki works up to this point is the historical basis. It is certainly a shame to miss the fantasy elements that brought him international acclaim, and the love story between Umi and Shun is lackluster and filled with twists from a soap opera. But the theme of the movie is remembering history, and so in that framework this movie shines. Another missing element is the beautiful art direction of Hisaishi Jo, replaced by a series of gentle but unmemorable piano tracks by Takabe Satoshi. There is another element to the music however, and it is the character-sung early 1950s pop music like the one from the debates. These are wonderful additions, expressive and emotional, giving both the characters and us a point of nostalgia to nucleate around.
It is hardly a point of contention to know that the clubhouse will eventually be saved, and the two leads will get together. Umi and Shun are both bred from seafaring parents, which bring them to investigate their family ties and a friendship of three sailors who were torn apart by the Korean War. It is a clichéd framework for both the love story and the quest to revisit the past, but scattered throughout are moments that show a more nuanced fondness for the past, refusing to look away from the deaths of their parents in the war, and in the subtext refusing to look away from the dark past that Japan tried to shut away in the post-Occupation period. Two children are left behind the times, tending to their elders, hoisting and interpreting signal flags, and trying to find a way to connect to their lives as students. In the Latin Square debate, they see a chance to connect with one another and with the past. It is certainly layered on thick, but every shot of them framed by the city of Yokohama, every time we see them buying groceries or printing newspapers with ink rollers, every song they sing as a choir of impromptu comrades serves to drive the point home. It isn’t the end result, nor even the overarching framework that brings it about; it is every small immersive detail that sets our historical stage, smooth and seamless, natural and inviting, ubiquitous at times and uniquely Japanese at others, but certainly nostalgic for all.