Thoughts On | My Neighbor Totoro (1988) | Movie #artist #totoro #studioghibli #thoughts #animation

I watched My Neighbor Totoro a while ago, a film directed by Hayao Miyazaki, produced by Studio Ghibli, and created in Japan. What fascinated me most was how it explores something we rarely think about as adults—the gradual loss of wonder. I'd like to share a few thoughts on this beautiful piece of art. There are movies that impress us with epic stories, dramatic conflicts, and unforgettable villains. And then there are films like My Neighbor Totoro. A film that feels almost effortless. A film where very little happens, and yet somehow everything happens. The first time I watched it, I kept waiting for a traditional story to unfold. I expected a great adventure, a major conflict, or some dramatic climax. But Miyazaki had something entirely different in mind. Instead, he gave us a story about two sisters adjusting to a new home in the countryside while their mother recovers in a hospital. That's it. And somehow, within that simplicity, he created one of the most memorable animated films ever made. What makes Totoro special is that it understands something many stories forget. Life is not made up only of extraordinary moments. It is built from ordinary ones. Walking down a dirt path. Listening to rain on a rooftop. Waiting for someone at a bus stop. Looking into a forest and wondering what might be hidden among the trees. These moments are usually treated as background details in movies. In Totoro, they become the story itself. The film constantly reminds us that the world is far more mysterious than we often allow ourselves to believe. As children, we naturally understand this. A tree isn't just a tree. A field isn't just a field. Every place feels alive with possibility. But somewhere along the way, many of us lose that perspective. We become focused on explanations, schedules, responsibilities, and outcomes. The unknown becomes something to solve rather than something to appreciate. Mei and Satsuki see the world differently. When Mei encounters Totoro, she doesn't demand proof. She doesn't ask whether he is real or imaginary. She simply accepts the experience and embraces it. Watching that reminded me of something I had forgotten. Not every beautiful thing needs an explanation. Sometimes wonder itself is enough. Another reason the film resonates so deeply is its relationship with nature. Miyazaki doesn't present nature as scenery. The forests, fields, and giant camphor tree feel like characters in their own right. They possess a quiet presence and dignity. Totoro embodies that idea perfectly. He isn't a hero. He doesn't deliver speeches or teach lessons. He simply exists. Like a mountain. Like a river. Like an ancient tree that has witnessed generations come and go. There is something deeply comforting about that. In a world that constantly demands our attention, productivity, and achievement, Totoro offers the opposite. His presence suggests that existence itself has value. That we don't always need to be moving forward. That sometimes it is enough to simply be present. The artistry behind the film reinforces these ideas beautifully. Hayao Miyazaki wanted to create a film that would stay with audiences long after they left the theater, and every creative decision seems built around that goal. The backgrounds painted by Kazuo Oga feel less like illustrations and more like memories. The countryside glows with warmth and familiarity. Even if you've never been to rural Japan, it somehow feels like a place you've known before. Then there is the music by Joe Hisaishi. His score doesn't tell us what to feel. Instead, it gently accompanies the images, like a breeze passing through leaves. It adds to the sense that we are not watching a story unfold but remembering a dream. And maybe that's why My Neighbor Totoro has endured for so many decades. It isn't really about giant forest spirits or magical cat buses. It's about perspective. It's about seeing the world with curiosity rather than certainty. It's about recognizing that magic does not necessarily live in fantasy worlds. Sometimes it lives in ordinary places that we have stopped noticing. When I think back on the film, I don't remember plot twists or dramatic scenes. I remember feelings. The feeling of standing beneath a giant tree. The feeling of rain falling in the evening. The feeling that the world is larger, stranger, and more beautiful than we realize. And perhaps that is Miyazaki's greatest achievement. He didn't just create a beloved animated film. He created a reminder. A reminder that wonder is not something we leave behind in childhood. It remains all around us, waiting to be noticed again. So here's the question I'd leave you with: Have we truly lost our sense of wonder as adults, or have we simply stopped paying attention to the world around us? What's your thoughts on this?