For fans of Shunji Iwai's distinctive cinematic style, the 2017 anime adaptation of his 1993 television special, Fireworks: Should We See It from the Side or the Bottom? feels like a beautiful and unexpected gift. As a long-time admirer of his work, which I first discovered through the cult classic Picnic, I was delighted to find this animated reimagining. I hoped it would capture the earnest spirit of his original vision while expanding it into something new.

The film, now titled simply Fireworks, is from Shaft Studios and Director Akiyuki Shinbo. This adaptation takes a 30-year-old story and turns it into something new yet familiar. It's a time-loop romance centered on two teenagers: the carefree Norimichi and the emotionally burdened Nazuna, who is grappling with her mother's impending remarriage and a forced move away from her friends. The story cleverly uses a magical, glowing orb to explore "what if" scenarios, allowing Norimichi to repeatedly alter events in a bid to change Nazuna's fate. This narrative device, reminiscent of films like Sliding Doors or Mr. Nobody, delves into the complexities of choice and the longing for a different outcome.

What truly elevated this film for me was its breathtaking animation. The vibrant colors and fluid character designs create a dreamlike atmosphere that perfectly complements the story's fantastical elements. Each scene is a work of art, from the sun-drenched coastal town to the mesmerizing spectacle of the fireworks themselves. This visual feast is expertly paired with an emotive and memorable soundtrack that enhances the film's poignant moments, pulling the viewer deeper into the characters' emotional journeys. The main protagonists are simply characterized and, aside from a few juvenile moments from the male students, are quite innocent and endearing.

Fireworks is a poignant meditation on first love, regret, and the paths not taken. The film's earnestness and stunning artistry make it a compelling watch that will resonate with anyone who has pondered the choices that shape their lives. While it might not reach the epic emotional heights of modern classics like Your Name or The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, Fireworks should be judged on its own merits. It doesn't need to be a masterpiece to be worth your time.

Ultimately, this animated version is a testament to Shunji Iwai's enduring talent for crafting stories that are both deeply personal and universally relatable. For that, it stands as a worthy addition to his body of work.

LINK: For the Love of Shunji Iwai

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LINK: Japan: My Journey to the East

LINK- Utopia for Realists- Book Review

LINK- On And On And Colston ( Or, How We Kinda Sort of Learned to Talk About the Legacy of Colonialism and the British Empire)

LINK- ‘Natives: Race and Class in the Ruins of Empire’ LINK: Elden Ring- Videogames As Art

LINK- Toxic: Women, Fame and the Noughties- Book Review (and Some Thoughts)

LINK- Pure Invention: How Japan's Pop Culture Conquered the World- Book Review (and Personal Reflections)

Okay, confession time. Back in my formative Uni years, my cinematic heart belonged to the French arthouse scene. A thoughtful gaze into the unknown by Irene Jacobs in Three Colours Red was my happy place but when I tentatively dipped my toes into the waters of South East Asian arthouse cinema, I wasn't quite feeling the same pull. I'd journeyed through the powerful landscapes of Kurosawa and loved it, but the more contemporary offerings from many of these nations just weren't clicking…then came Picnic.

This quirky little film about psychiatric unit inmates taking a wall-adjacent day trip was… okay. It wasn't setting my world on fire but then, about halfway through, an instrumental track washed over a particularly striking piece of cinematography then… something shifted. That yearning piano and synth melody, Remedios' Walk on the Clouds, became the soundtrack to my wistful moments. Suddenly, I got it.

That track sent me down a rabbit hole, and before I knew it, I'd devoured Shunji Iwai's entire filmography. What struck me most about his work is this incredible sincerity, particularly in his portrayal of youth. Forget the overly articulate teens of American dramas or the constant witty banter. Iwai's characters feel real. Their emotions are raw, sometimes messy, and utterly believable. He trusts his audience, allowing scenes to breathe, letting the evocative music carry the emotional weight without needing a deluge of dialogue or clunky exposition. It’s like he understands the unspoken language of feelings.

Take Love Letter, for example. The winter cinematography is simply stunning, painting a landscape of both beauty and melancholy. And that ending? Seriously, could a scene be any sweeter? It's a moment of pure, understated joy that just melts your heart.

Then you have Swallowtail Butterfly. This film is on another level – a legitimate epic, but told with that distinct Iwai touch. It's ambitious, unique, and completely captivating. He weaves together disparate storylines and characters into this sprawling tapestry that somehow feels both grand and deeply personal.

Iwai's films also subtly highlight social issues, not with a heavy hand, but woven into the fabric of the narrative. It adds another layer of depth to his work, making you think beyond the immediate story.

After falling in love with Iwai’s work, I ventured forth and tried out other creatives whose works I hadn’t truly appreciated - through this I found the works of Wong Kar Wai, Zhang Yimou, Park Chan-Wook and Takeshi Kitano.