Film Name: 铃芽之旅 / Suzume / すずめの戸締まり
The door stands as one of humanity’s greatest inventions. It both separates spaces and connects them. When you need separation, you close the door; when you need connection, you open it. Yet life often works in the opposite way: when you need connection, the door remains shut; and when you should transition to a new space, the old door refuses to close.
I’ve encountered many directors with distinctive symbolic obsessions. Take Chinese filmmaker Wang Yunfei, for instance—he adores trees. His works feature all manner of trees, with unresolved emotions ultimately entrusted to a towering tree, a totem of life. Makoto Shinkai is perhaps the director most enamored with “doors.” His works frequently feature doors appearing unexpectedly—on a barren wasteland, atop a roof, amidst ruins—standing alone with an inexplicable eeriness.
In “Suzume,” the earthworm-like creatures causing earthquakes appear through numerous doors: inward-swinging doors, outward-swinging doors, sliding doors, Ferris wheel doors, and the massive, fateful underground portal to another world. These doors themselves embody Makoto Shinkai’s unique vision of the world. We can never escape the bonds, constraints, and destiny tied to doors. Thus, he transforms doors into entities capable of embracing everything, holding infinite possibilities.
The male protagonist, Sota, is a door-sealer—one who seals away the earthworms. Yet since inheriting this role from his grandfather, he’s been haunted by confusion and fear: What if he fails? Is this sacrifice truly worth it? What he truly needs is his own doorkeeper—someone to steady his wavering resolve and dispel his confusion. Simultaneously, he must open a new door: one that dares to confront reality, embrace love, and live life fully.
Amidst his confusion, he meets the female protagonist, Suzume. She needs to close the door to the pain of losing her family in a catastrophic disaster during her childhood, to emerge from the heart-wrenching, soul-shaking cries she repeatedly screams for her mother, and to embrace a new life. We are delighted to see that Sōta and Suzume become each other’s gatekeepers, helping one another sever ties with the past, and also become each other’s gatekeepers, opening doors to new beginnings.
Compared to the natural earthquake, the grief of a little girl losing her family is like an even greater earthquake of the heart. The film offers a vast door for all Japanese people who share the empathy and pain of the earthquake. At the beginning, this door stands wide open, but by the end, at least Makoto Shinkai hopes it can close. The work strives to provide spiritual strength for those wounded by the earthquake to move beyond their pain.
That means telling oneself to look forward. Life still holds love and countless beautiful things—like the warmth of strangers and the loyalty of friends. The sun will always rise, and the world’s truth, goodness, and beauty ensure we should never lose hope. Just like those generous oranges, or the classic anime songs played one after another in the convertible.
The film portrays the warmth of strangers and the loyalty of friends with great poignancy. Yet when it comes to the love between Suzume and Sōta, it does feel somewhat contrived and simplified. For most of the time, Sōta transforms into a small stool, fulfilling the psychological pleasure of having a woman step on him and run while holding him. This marks a rare touch of humor in Makoto Shinkai’s directorial works.
Suzuya’s quest to find the original door mirrors the Chinese proverb: “The one who tied the bell must untie it.” Ultimately, one must heal their own emotional wounds. If she truly succeeds, I hope that little stool can transform back from three legs to four.
