Escaping the Present

Michael Lee

shiroi suna aquatope okinawa anime — Shiroi Suna no Aquatope | P.A. Works

The brilliant blue waters and verdant islands of Okinawa are set in stark contrast against the grey monotony of Tokyo’s concrete corridors. “So much for my dream...” laments Miyazawa Fuuka as a moving truck pulls away, leaving her to tour an empty apartment one last time. Unable to make it as a pop idol in Tokyo’s hyper-competitive entertainment industry, Fuuka feels the full brunt of the big city’s cold shoulder. Her management team are already moving on to new talent, openly mocking Fuuka’s lack of commitment and opining about how much of a shock she will experience ‘out there in the real world.’ Alone and defeated, Fuuka boards a plane to Okinawa, to escape from her family and avoid the humiliation of having attempted to make it, and coming up short.

This is the introduction to the anime Shiroi Suna no Aquatope [The Aquatope on White Sand], but by re-arranging a few details, it could be any number of television programs airing right now in Japan. Characters flee the big city after having been beaten down by a cosmopolitan lifestyle that demands too much. This retreat from the city—and by extension, modernity and late capitalism—is a common trope that expresses a feeling many Japanese feel. They want to escape the present.

In the 30 years since Japan’s bubble economy burst, the country has wandered through an economic and cultural haze, tending to a hangover that seems to have no cure after the excess of the ‘80s. Economists might point to the Nikkei Index reaching pre-bubble levels as a sign that finally Japan has reemerged from its neverending nightmare, but as we know by now, most any financial market is completely detached from the reality facing the average citizen. The Dow Jones is sky high and astrophallicist Jeff Bezos saw his wealth rocket into the thermosphere. With his net worth eclipsing $200 billion in 2020, Bezos’ gains contrasted sharply with the experience of many folks in America (and the world) who struggled through the pandemic; those who are now facing possible eviction and find themselves still unemployed or underemployed.

The protagonist (center) of That Time I Was Reincarnated as a Slime | Eight Bit

Lament of the City Dweller

If the economic outlook in Japan is so positive, with continued growth expected, why is it that surveys show 80% of young Japanese (aged 20-39) feel near-constant anxiety and worry about their future prospects? Changes to the labor market leading to more unstable employment, an increasing class stratification, and an aging population are a few of the many factors that are causing young Japanese to feel the crush of ikizurasa, the burden of life. As late capitalism grinds Japan down to dust that will be scattered on the free market trade winds, it is no surprise that young people want out.

Back in the 80s and early 90s, anime presented a very different image of Japan, and its role in the world. Space operas like Mobile Suit Zeta Gundam, Legend of the Galactic Heroes, and Super Dimensional Fortress Macross had already moved on from the present and looked to a future with advanced technology while waxing philosophical about how to maintain intergalactic peace. Also set in the future are works like Patlabor, Dirty Pair, and the masterpiece Akira which all drip with cyberpunk aesthetics that dominated imagery of the 80s and early 90s. The worlds of these series may have their problems, but nonetheless feature Japan at the center of that world. Fiction of the period was driven by forward-looking narratives. The present had already been conquered by what at the time seemed to be Japan’s mastery of capitalism, so it stood to reason that the next frontier would be the future, and Japan would lead the way.

Legend of the Galactic Heroes | K-Factory

Instead of continuing on a path towards the realization of these science fiction worlds however, Japan stumbled, losing their position at the cutting edge of tomorrow. No longer the country that would lead the world into the future, Japan was struck by a crisis of identity.

Here is where the narrative shifts as Japan sets a new course, tacking towards soft power and the “Cool Japan” campaign. Enough ink has been spilled about the Cool Japan approach to international relevance, but as the country made efforts to start exporting culture that product shifted from future-forward fiction to nostalgic elements of an older Japan.

Escape from the City

Anime like Shiroi Suna are prime examples of that escape to a nostalgic Japan. With many in this anxious, worry-filled present feeling the weight of a mundane, soulless existence in one of Japan’s major urban areas, the return to traditional, rural pastures becomes a compelling narrative. The escapist fantasy taking hold in city dwellers’ imaginations. Feelings of community, reconnecting with nature, the gentle passing of seasons, and living a saccharine lifestyle are all bundled up in the concept of furusato—the hometown. These kinds of stories feed into a soft kind of nationalism that seems to say “let’s go back to when Japan was Japan.” A sort of Make Japan Great Again rebuild of the national image through media. Coupled with hollering from Japan’s far right to remilitarize the country, this rise in nationalist sentiment is far from a good look for the pacifist nation.

This kind of Japan-affirming content isn’t even all that new for the country, as there was already an archetype for anime to follow. Airing on major broadcasting network NHK for the last 60 years, familiar and wistfully nostalgic programming has been served up on the serialized soap operas known as asadora [morning drama]. Each asadora runs for about 6 months, Monday to Friday, in 15 or 20-minute episodes. These programs remain hugely popular and are considered a ritual part of everyday Japanese life and a mediator of ‘traditional’ Japanese values.

The stories will often feature female protagonists faced with a goal, career objective, or some kind of hardship that they must overcome, while balancing the expectations of being a female in Japan—ultimately boiling down to being a ‘good mother’. While not set in stone, these themes often emerge in the asadora and reinforce national (and female) identity. In 2015’s asadora, Mare, the titular protagonist seems content in her life on the rural Noto peninsula, but aspires to be a great pâtissier. She moves to Yokohama—part of the Greater Tokyo Area—to train under a well-known pastry chef. She is courted by a smooth-talking city boy, despite having a love interest back home in Noto, and faces serious competition in the world of pastries during her time in the urban jungle. Ultimately, Mare returns to Noto, marries her childhood sweetheart, and raises a family. She opens a small pastry shop in her hometown, but never falters when it comes to being a good mother. The glitz and glamor of cosmopolitan success can’t compete against family, community, and a simple but rewarding existence.

That anime has adopted many of these motifs suggests that the retreat from the present in Japanese media is intensifying, as both creatives in the anime industry, and the audience at large, are finding comfort in stories that try to reclaim a national identity from a forgotten past.

Anime vs. reality in Haikyū!! | Production I.G.

The Furusato Fantasy

Sadly, what this trend represents isn’t actually a reclaiming of anything. It is ultimately a simulacrum of a world lost to time. The product of a fully postmodern world ruled by capitalism. The gorgeous background work of an anime like Shiroi Suna showcases a vibrant rural world bursting with life. Location scouts bring back shots of dilapidated buildings, which the animation studio revives through the medium of anime; turning a rusty, shuttered storefront into a beautiful relic. The image is removed from the contextual reality, and is reconstituted perfectly to maximize nostalgic affect.

Rural decline is still a serious problem in Japan, and while many of these anime—and the morning dramas they emulate—attempt to address that problem, these shows live in a dreamy nostalgia world where transformation and self-fulfillment is possible with the right attitude.

This fantasy where a small-time aquarium survives thanks to a group of plucky youngsters and community spirit is just that, pure fantasy. Instead of grappling with how global capitalism steamrolls local business and rural landscapes, or the ennui affecting city dwellers who long for this idyllic furusato, entertainment media are selling us these escapist dreams of irretrievable times long since past (or at least, long past the point of being viable realities).

The Mighty Ducks: Game Changers | Disney

Japanese Nostalgia vs. American Nostalgia

The form that nostalgia is taking in Japan differs greatly from that of America, where nostalgia is much more reflexive rather than restorative. The terms reflexive and restorative nostalgia come from Svetlana Boym’s seminal book The Future of Nostalgia, and help to explain just how nostalgia is deployed in different media contexts. Nostalgia in American media trends towards the remembering of past media properties and ultimately the individual’s own reflection on that piece of media history. Bringing back Friends to a streaming platform, or remaking The Mighty Ducks, isn’t about restoring some moment from the past in present day, it is about remembering how the early 90s makes you feel. It is reflexive because it is specific to the individual person, even though many people can have the same kinds of feelings. There also isn’t a strong sense that period pieces in American media are meant to evoke anything approaching restorative nostalgia. Mad Men might have glamorized the 1960s, capturing details in costuming and set design that truly evoked the era, but there was never any messaging that it was a time period we needed to actively will back into existence. There isn’t even that same pining for a rural lifestyle that is seen in Japan, as the majority of TV shows in America are set in major metropolitan areas, which don’t shy away from presenting city life as the be all and end all.

That isn’t to suggest that nostalgia in American contexts is devoid of ulterior motives, as nostalgia deployed in media is almost always a trap. Paris Marx argues, in a review of Grafton Tanner’s book The Hours Have Lost Their Clock: The Politics of Nostalgia, that the current nostalgic moment in our culture is a conservative one. Original stories and concepts are abandoned in favor of reboots and remakes that allow us to relive moments in cultural history and helping to erase, or rewrite, less pleasant memories from that history. As entertainment titans consolidate power and look to reach the largest possible market, digging into the Disney vault and rehashing Aladdin as a live action movie makes more sense than investing in a new, but unproven, intellectual property. There is also the entire issue of reaching that largest market leading to silencing queer and underrepresented narratives as conservative markets elsewhere may not approve a film’s release. Conservative nostalgia for heteronormativity takes over, as the supposed risk of being forward thinking could be a hit to box office numbers. Nostalgia used in this way weaponizes the past against the future. Stifling progress and creative growth by going back to a well that has long ago been poisoned.

A festival scene in Hanasaku Iroha | P.A. Works

Perfect Nostalgia Dream World

Back in Japan, anime set in these idealized rural landscapes have deeply engrained cultural messaging in them. Anime set in these small towns and villages trade in restorative nostalgia through key events, like holding local festivals that a city like Tokyo has left behind. These festivals feature important visual language that connect to that old Japan of yesteryear. This includes the clothing attendees wear, the types of food sold at these festivals —which are often meticulously researched local delicacies—and the activities and games on display harken back to old traditions seen at small festivals across Japan. These anime also feature a progression through the seasons to highlight a connection to nature, something that many Japanese feel is part of the national identity. Cherry blossoms in spring, chirping cicadas in summer, bright autumn foliage, and often a well-timed snowfall in winter gently guide viewers through a year with the main characters as they grow and realize their dreams.

After the economic bubble burst in the early 90s, rural desertification intensified, and now 92% of the Japanese population have settled in urban areas. Tokyo is the world’s largest metro area at 38 million people, and with a middle-class existence that is threatened more than ever, fantasies that feature characters escaping this concrete prison of capitalist drudgery are taking over. Anime like Shiroi Suna no Aquatope present that fantasy to viewers using powerful restorative nostalgia to keep them believing in a Japanese identity and buying the blu-ray discs and various goods associated with the show. The dream of a fantastic rural life only exists in viewers’ imaginations, hanging on keychains, or imprinted on a collectible hand towel, as just another part of an escapist media mix.

The medium of anime has, over the last 40 years, served as a black mirror reflecting the state of nation through television sets to Japanese viewers. From headstrong science fiction that saw Japan as a world leader long into the future, to a present that no one wants to live in, and a past that everyone is pining for.

Michael Lee is the Editor of KOSATEN, and is currently pursuing research on Japanese fandom, with a particular focus on doujinshi and other fan-created media.