Like Kimi no nawa, (Your Name), Weathering With You (Tenki no Ko) pays homage to Japanese traditional (Shinto) culture, with its portrayal of maidens and weather shrines, and reminds Japanese of their connection to the world of the gods. But it also represents an assault on such traditionalism: the social and political ideology it represents, particularly the need to sacrifice the self for the greater good, the reverence for the past, and the maintenance of social order and hierarchy.
The Japanese have long been perceived, or at least projected, to be communal, part of its ideal that belongs to the ideology of nihonjinron. Nihonjinron posits the harmony and homogeneity of the country, promotes group consciousness over individualism, and operates along hierarchies and obligations, which govern social relations; younger Japanese must defer to their older colleagues, even if both are, say, kids or teenagers. More so when dealing with persons in authority. In this society, men also lord it over women, who have been traditionally subject to the ideal of ryosai kenbo (Good Wife, Wise Mother), to say nothing of discriminatory policies in the workplace. Many aspects of Japanese society make sense within, or in opposition to, the values of nihonjinron.
[SPOILERS RIGHT AHEAD!]
Weathering With You rejects these gender- and age-based hierarchies. When Hodoka calls the younger Nagi his sempai, the former accepts—gladly it seems—a role reversal. Also, the film also has Hina lying about her age, 15 instead of 18. In doing so, she alters the gender dynamics. “You have to treat me with respect,” she tells Hodoka, since she knows that otherwise, Hodoka (or some in the audience) might not take her seriously. No wonder all this later comes as a shock to Hodoka. More importantly, Hina and Hodoka’s relationship grows into a relationship of equals, or at least one of mutual benefit and self-sacrifice. “She helped me, so it’s my turn to help her,” vows Hodoka.
This subversion of hierarchies extends to a defiance of law, custom, and authority. Many of the characters run contrary to orthodox Japanese values. Hodoka runs away from his family, a slap in the face in a family-centric society. Hina and Nagi grow up without parents. And at one point, Natsumi claims, rather proudly, “that we are outlaws now.” Hodoka slips past the police and fires a gun at a detective, who uncannily looks like Kuwabara in Ghost Fighter or Sakuragi in Slam Dunk. `
[SPOILERS RIGHT AHEAD!]
Even the gods are defied. The story of Ancient Weather Maiden encapsulates the nihonjinron injunction to serve the common good, and to sacrifice oneself for such purpose. Hodoka refuses the accept these terms. He rises up—literally and figuratively—entering the sky realm and breaks Hina out of the ‘sky field,’ which incidentally refers to Hina’s last name, amano. That his wish is granted, however, represents divine assent, a deference to authority.
In rejecting social norms, Hodoka and Hina also refuse the common good, and practice an individualism that runs contrary to the communal aspirations of nihojinron. And if this means endless rain in Japan and the sinking of the city, it matters not. Tokyo, we are told by an old woman, was once a bay anyway that had been simply recovered by human (Meiji) activity from the sea. Its sinking is just thus an instance of things returning to the way things were. And as Mr Suga remarks, the “world has always been crazy.” Curiously yet again, the promotion of change is still anchored in the past.
The invocation of perennial craziness sends up notions of social order, and acknowledges the fragility of human (Japanese) civilization. Tokyo is already considered a ‘sinking city.’ If this intimates a bleak, “to-hell-with-the-world” attitude, it also harks back to the Japanese Buddhist notion of impermanence (mujo), yet another case of the film’s fidelity to Japan’s traditions. It also captures the sense of alienation and precariousness of social life. Hodoka runs away from the countryside, and is family-less in a big city, barely making ends meet, as is Hina, who loses her job and at one point is forced into what looks like prostitution. A line in the film’s theme song, “Ai ni desire koto wa made aru kai” (Is There Still Anything That Love Can Do), captures this precariousness,
“I was born into this world with nothing in hand. I keep going around in circles in this gap of eternity.” (Translation)
While the endless rain in the Tokyo area points to climate change, the phenomenon also represents a generalized, abstracted notion of changes that are afoot in Japan: the growing sense of individualism, the chafing against social norms, and the eroding homogeneity of the population as the country takes in more migrants and prepares for a global event like the 2020 Olympics, for which many Japanese are learning English.
“As of the end of 2018, the number of foreign residents in Japan hit a new record of 2.73 million, according to Justice Ministry data. With a law to broaden the entry of foreign workers into Japan enacted in December 2018 and a new visa system coming into force in April, the number is expected to increase even further, making mutual understanding between Japanese and foreign residents imperative.” (Tominaga 2019)
There is a call within Japan today to step out of their “comfort zones.” A Japanese writer who studied in the United States and shuttles back and forth between Tokyo and New York shares,
“One crucial thing I learned from studying overseas was the experience of becoming a minority because it is difficult to understand their pain unless you are actually in their position,” she says. “There is a common English phrase, ‘Put yourself in their shoes,’ which grasps the truth … we, as the majority in this country, lack such an imagination……If you place yourself in such an environment, it will help you understand the feelings of foreigners in Japan, as well as see your country and yourself more objectively. You may rediscover good aspects (there within).”
[SPOILERS RIGHT AHEAD!]
Weathering With You reflects and promotes this general climate of change, which may help explain its resonance with the audience and its box-office success in the country (10.75 billion yen as of August 22). By returning Tokyo to rainy days, and instead of having typical happy, sunny ending, the film effectively admonishes Japan’s social and political traditionalists: “There is no going back to the good, old, sunny days of the past. Japan is changing, so deal with it.”
As throughout Japan’s history, Weathering with You promotes the acceptance of change while drawing on traditional themes. This interesting interplay between change and tradition hints in turn at a social and political tension today. The persistence of rain points to the intransigence of tradition. The Gods may have allowed the prison break, as it were, but they continue to demand a price for the violation of the divine order. They’ve assented to Hodoka’s individualism, but they don’t seem to be willing to change the terms altogether. They’d rather Japan wallowed in rain and sank deeper in water than do so, just as many of them find it hard to reconcile the ideals of homogeneity with the need for foreign labor as their society ages. It’s emblematic of a society being forced to embrace change.
Photo Credit: https://wall.alphacoders.com/big.php?i=1006921
Janus Knows 