The Tunnel to Summer, the Exit of Goodbyes is part of the burgeoning supernatural rom-com genre and eating into its many rhythms. A newcomer bursts into the protagonist’s life, bringing with them a magical event that is considered a symbol of a serious trauma in the protagonist’s life. The leaders must work together to solve the strange incident and in doing so, become closer, tearing apart old wounds and trying to heal them. Comparisons with Shinkai films are inevitable here–however, Tunnel to Summer is a very watchable film in its own right, beautifully directed and painfully melancholy with a knack for talent. aesthetics and subtle storytelling.
One of the hallmarks of Taguchi’s work as a director is his stylish use of color, with striking monochromatic palettes that accentuate any contrasting colors, as we’ve seen in both Akudama Drive and Bleach: Blood War Thousand Years. Tunnel to Summer is no different, often using color for aesthetic and symbolic purposes. A world tinged with pink creates feelings of comfort but also of insecurity, as if what we long for and hope for is unattainable. The pitch-black tunnel and the falling leaves of the yellow-orange maples form the gate-like structure, making even the most claustrophobic spaces feel spacious and alive.
This tunnel is a nominal space, a location where characters must confront past violence and their most painful attachments. Kaoru and Anzu are trapped in their aborted past and future, trying to cling to the memory and guilt of the deaths of their dreams and loved ones. In the tunnel, faced with symbols representing their pain, they must choose what they hold on to and what they give up as time stops for them and everyone else moves further into the future. . It is a bleak vision of how stunted growth, a melancholic sense of loss can swallow a person and become something that nourishes and motivates them.
This sense of loss is not helped by something else that binds Anzu and Kaoru: the shared experience of being emotionally abused by their parents, which they handle in their own way. Forced to give up her childhood dreams, Anzu maintains a cold face for much of the film’s length, uncomfortable with showing any signs of weakness or emotion. Much of the fun of watching the movie is watching her slowly open up to Kaoru, especially in the body language and character animation. When we first see her showing genuine interest when Kaoru tells her he likes her work, it has its own style and nuance that makes you fall in love with her. I don’t want to describe it so as not to spoil the moment, but it reveals a lot: it seems that after all these years of being told it doesn’t matter what interests her, she doesn’t want to express her joy at the approval of others because doing so gives them too much power over her, so she immediately tries to hide it, even as she is slowly learning to trust the person .
On the other hand, Kaoru is overwhelmed by feelings of grief and guilt that have kept him away from everyone around him. His scenes with his father, whose abuse contributed to his guilt, are both empathetic and realistic, largely sensationless. The scenes where his father tries to make up with him after being physically and emotionally abusive, then immediately retracts any kind words when Kaoru doesn’t reciprocate are chilling – yes feeling that this is a cycle that has happened before. In a way, this is also how the tunnel can act as a symbol, representing how a person withdraws from the community to protect himself when trying to survive an abusive situation. .
It’s also important to note that the film’s version of Kaoru is a marked improvement over his novel counterpart, who is somewhat of a warlord. One of the benefits of a good light novel adaptation is that it highlights my least favorite part of many light novels, the endless inner monologue. Perhaps it was fitting that director Taguchi also wrote the adaptation, as Kaoru’s thoughts are conveyed through his skillful direction much better than an overbearing narrative ever could. This especially comes into play in a scene where Kaoru, pushed to the brink by her abusive father, goes into a panic attack. The use of a first-person camera during the attack, as well as the sound design and voiceover (which omits the music in the shot), is rendered respectfully, allowing the audience to participate in the experience without any hesitation. do not feel satisfied.
Although they were in the same situation, their responses to violence were markedly different. Anzu would strike before facing a threat, while Kaoru has learned to run away to avoid facing the violence he’s experienced – both coping methods largely keep people at a distance. It would be quite simple to make up the story of how drastically Anzu had to give up self-defense, and Kaoru had to learn to stop running. However, the healing arc these characters go through is much more nuanced than that, more about fixing the root of the problems these characters have than fixing their coping mechanisms for them. with those problems.
In this respect, the most significant way that the film differs from the books is a bit disappointing. Much of the book is about two characters learning to let other people into their lives, not just each other. Dramatically limiting the role of Kawasaki, the bully, and Shohei, Kaoru’s only friend, in the story makes their healing process less meaningful—because they are the two people we’re talking about. We get the deepest understanding of how Kaoru and Anzu interact with the world around them outside of the romantic relationships in the book. This is unfortunate because it cuts through a significant part of the recovery process as a survivor: finding a support structure.
However, this is a relatively minor note about a strong film. I would be remiss not to mention Harumi Fuuki’s eclectic and precise use of the soundtrack and Satoki Iida’s sound direction, which always convey an intimate and atmospheric quality. Whether using asymmetrical gamelan in the tunnel scenes to create a sense of otherworldly multidimensional ritual, or the subtle silence and sound direction of the family scenes where Kaoru is forced to face With remnants of the past, the sound in the film is impressive. It deserves all the praise I can give it. This is Fuuki’s best work to date.
The Tunnel to Summer, the Exit of Goodbyes is a beautiful depiction of two teenagers trying to work through abuse and grief, with stunning visuals, music, and a well-written script. I can’t wait to see what happens next under the pen and eyes of the director of Taguchi-san, who, between this film and Akudama Drive, now ranks among my favorite directors. Do yourself a favor and see it.