The Place Promised in Our Early Days review

What the Universe Dreams About….

For some, 2016’s Your Name might have served as an introduction to the artistry of Makoto Shinkai. The story of two teenagers who enigmatically switched bodies could have been the foundation for a lighthearted romantic comedy. And under Shinkai’s deft direction, there were moments of amorous playfulness, echoing those transitory moments of bliss found in life. But it was the film’s exploration of existential themes that truly elevated the work. From an attempt to understand how people deal with disaster and loss, to juxtapositions between the rural and urban and the connections people have with the environment, Your Name is 107 minutes of evocative exquisiteness.

It’s so beautiful that you think the cinematic feat could ever be matched. But revisit 2004’s The Place Promised in Our Early Days and you’ll find Shinkai ruminating over many of the same sentiments. Most films that plumb parallel universes can feel emotionally indifferent (Everything Everywhere All at Once is the bold outlier). Too often, they seem preoccupied with the novelty and exploration of the concept rather than exploring their complexities of their characters. But Early Days eludes that common misstep, with a teenaged cast that help ground the film’s metaphysical elements.

Within in the first few moments of Early Days, it’s completely evident that this is a Shinkai film. There’s the devotion to detail of oddly vacant cities, where train windows are portals to stunning panoramas and stations themselves border on photorealism. While the human face is often in frame, occasionally we see subjective glimpses of feet or hands. Other moments, attempt in given to the context.

Sure, anime has a lust for a sunset filled with vibrant lavenders and oranges. But Shinkai’s clouds capture the splendor of a lucid dream. There’s a moment where lightning illuminates massive cumulonimbus clouds in the distance. And you’ll probably reminiscence on that moment when you were truly in awe of the grandeur of nature. The director eloquently captures life’s salient moments, and even if you haven’t experienced them, they’re probably in your future. Beyond directorial duties, Shinkai also adapted (from Shinta Kanō’s 2005 novel), storyboarded, edited, and produced the film, providing a solid argument for auteur theory.

I’m hesitant to offer a detailed synopsis of the film’s events, as the sense of discovery is part of the magic. But it’s not a spoiler to speak of the film’s alterative reality, where the Allies divided the nation after World War II. The area around Hokkaido is part of a Soviet-ruled North, while the South is aligned with the United States. As such, Japan plays a key role in Early Days’ reimagined Cold War. While much of the cast are civilian contractors, there’s a hunting absence of influence as geopolitical opponents flirt with overt conflict.

Most of the film takes place in the South, within sight of a peculiar tower that seems to reach toward the cosmos. More than a mere interest, high school classmates Hiroki and Takuya are captivated by the mighty spire. In their spare time, they rebuild a crashed jet, hoping to take the aircraft to see the tower up close. While they are initially hesitant with sharing their aspirations with a female schoolmate name Sayuri. But when friendships are kindled, Sayuri shares her dreams about the odd monument, and its evident, she’s along for the ride, too.

What follows is Shinkai’s customary jump cut into the film’s next act. Enjoyment stems from the rekindling of our attention. You’re spurred into absorbing minute details in an effort to infer all the events that weren’t exhibited. Habitually, your hypotheses are resolved. Just as fascinating are Early Days’ dialectics, between people and technology, and like 5 Centimeters Per Second, the malleability of relationships over time. Time is like gravity for Shinkai, applying a persistent but invisible pressure. The only counterbalance might be the strength of the human spirit.

Often, Shinkai’s characters push forward, yet retain an unshakable reminiscence for the past. Between the loveliness that fills nearly every frame and the depiction of the most elusive of moments, this is an incredible feat. Don’t be surprised if The Place Promised in Our Early Days, like many of the director’s films, lingers with you long after the credits have rolled.

Beyond the 1080P widescreen print of the film, Early Days’  Blu-ray includes interviews with key talent. While it’s interesting to hear from the voice actors, Shinkai’s own insights are the real reward. The film’s merits are often heartfelt, but the subtleties can be deliberately elusive. Hearing the director provide a bit of insight is indispensable, and a reason to select the physical media over the streaming version.

The Place Promised in Our Early Days
is available on Blu-ray/DVD on June 7th, 2022