At the heart of the Ghibliesque historical drama Cocoon – One Summer of Girlhood, lies the most brutal yet compelling of metaphors for coming of age: the silkworm and its cocoon. You see, the silkworm spins its silk into a protective cocoon at the pupae stage, akin to its teenaged years, but tragically, it is then boiled alive in the process of harvesting its precious thread. Those few that are permitted to survive into adulthood become moths that cannot fly, despite having wings. In a film tracing the lives of schoolgirls on the cusp of adulthood, set in 1945 during the final summer of Imperial Japan, this powerful imagery does not bode well for the fate of the cast. To build on the Ghibli reference, prepare yourselves more for Grave of the Fireflies than Kiki’s Delivery Service. But like its harrowing predecessor, Cocoon is a war film worthy of our attention.
San is a gentle girl who finds beauty amid any circumstance, and seeks to share it with those around her. In spite of this—or perhaps because of her sensitive nature—she struggles to share her heart and, crucially, speak her mind. She is surrounded by a delightful group of friends, though, who appreciate and support her, chief among them being Mayu, who has become her best friend, despite only joining the girls and their teacher six months ago on the lush island they call home. Rather than attending lessons, the teens spend their days laboring under the watchful eye of their teacher, who acts more like a foreman, as they build defensive earthenworks and camouflage them from enemy planes. Even under such conditions, daily life continues; they laugh and fret and play and row. But then the order to evacuate comes as the war front draws dangerously near. They are to relocate to the southern coast, where the students will serve as nurses in the makeshift hospital being set up in the caves. These are the final, most desperate days of the war, and the enemy is near. Can beauty and life persist? Will San and her friends defy the odds and grow to become moths who may fly?
Cocoon is based on the manga by Machiko Kyo and inspired by real events, namely, the mobilization of high school girls through the Himeyuri Student Corps during the Battle of Okinawa. But it also speaks more broadly to the nature of WWII as a total war, and one that, by its end, was waged by children. It’s a heavy subject, yet it is handled here so deftly that it is not burdensome to watch, but conveys instead a quietly joyful affirmation of life.
The production is modest in ambition, yet rich in execution, striking a skilful balance that belies the newcomer status of studio Sasayuri and first-time director Yukimitsu Ina. This artistic maturity can no doubt be traced back to the Ghibli training of many of the key figures at Sasayuri (including its founder, producer Hitomi Tateno), which also shows in the glorious backgrounds, reminiscent of oil paintings, the clean animation and cozily familiar character designs, and particularly the expressiveness of the faces in moments of intense emotion.
The Ghibli likeness is likewise apparent in the subtlety of the storytelling. It is astonishing just how many layers are woven together through the mere 63 minutes that comprise so seemingly simple a story. This is due in large part to the writing, and specifically, to the restrained nature of the dialogue. There are no infodumps here, no telling the viewers how to interpret the themes of the film, nor even what those themes are or what lessons to take away from them. Instead, this is a story where what is left unsaid is just as significant as what is spoken, if not more so. The sole outburst of didactic dialogue is so jarring that it serves as the exception that proves the rule, while also adding valuable complexity to the portrayal of civilian attitudes during war—something that is often smoothed over a little too tidily in anime treatments of wartime Japan.
The visual storytelling is equally accomplished, with every glance and movement adding depth, and every close-up and pan serving a purpose. Worth noting in particular is the flower motif, which is as central to the visual storytelling as the metaphor of the silkworm is to the dialogue. Significantly, the floral motif counterbalances the rather bleak imagery of the silkworm, representing the persistence of beauty amid devastation. In fact, the two sets of imagery arise together in the opening scene: first, San delights in a lovely pressed flower bookmark she has made, scrambling wildly to recapture it when a sudden gust of wind snatches it from her grasp (foreshadowing the coming planes of war); then, Mayu joins her and speaks of silkworms and their cocoons. Later, flower petals literally mask the ugliness of war and soften the shock of the most harrowing scenes in a brilliant artistic device unique to the film adaptation. The color design similarly insists on the promise of life, as the vivid palette of tropical Okinawa stands in stark contrast to the inhumanity of war.
Meanwhile, the characterization benefits from both the succinct writing and attentive visual storytelling, which together manage to flesh out the two leads and four supporting characters seemingly in no time, while also enlivening even the background characters, like the teacher and the unnamed student who delivers the propagandistic outburst. A close (re)watch of the latter, for instance, will catch how the cracks were forming in her beliefs as she struggled with honoring her upbringing in the face of the horror that life had become. Excellent performances from the English dub cast enhance the individuality of each character, with moving performances from leads Lauren Kong (San) and Anjali Kunapaneni (Mayu).
There is one more major layer to the storytelling, and that is the score by veteran anime music composer Kensuke Ushio. At no point does it sound like the score for a war film. Nor, for that matter, a melodrama. Ushio resists the urge to rely on predictable sounds and rhythms of the genre and instead creates a score so thoughtful that it draws out some of those things left unsaid in the remainder of the production. For instance, during the initial slice-of-life sequences, there is very little to indicate the underlying tension of the war and what is to come—apart from the score. But it does so in an innovative way. The action on screen demands sweeping orchestrals paired with playful comedic trills, so one might expect these to be interrupted dramatically with tense stings, sudden dissonance, or droning tones of warning. But instead, Ushio has created a delicate, tentative score, hesitant in its melancholy, to hint that what we see is not all that there is to know about San, Mayu, and their lives that summer. In short, even for the dedicated Ushio fan (ahem, guilty!), there is a fresh brilliance on display here in the score. (If only it were available for purchase!)
Cocoon is, in many ways, a simple story. It is neither an epic production nor the crowning achievement of a seasoned studio or lengthy careers. And yet, it is a work of hidden depths, displaying the kind of restraint and subtlety that makes, over time, for a classic. And having now rewatched it, I would even go so far as to name this quiet film an understated masterpiece.
So, be sure to catch it in cinemas this weekend! And then watch it again. It’ll be worth it.
All images © Machiko Kyo (AKITASHOTEN) / NHK, NEP
Cocoon – One Summer of Girlhood is distributed by GKIDS and opens in US theaters on September 4.
