looking back over the years (maison ikkoku ep. 27)
Well as one does throughout their lives, or at least as I often find myself doing, I am on yet another rewatch of Maison Ikkoku. I tweeted briefly about being struck by the animation in episode 8, which I had never noticed until this round. This time I'm also impressed by the amount of diegetic music in this series that I never really processed: music on the streets, pop songs in restaurants and cafes, even a sad Japanese folk rock song when Mr. Ichinose reveals over dinner that he's been laid off.
I've always loved the last few minutes of episode 27 and have mentioned it before, so it's no surprise that this time around I still love it, but it's always worth a few more laudatory words. The episode as a whole is unremarkable: Soichirou goes missing after Kentarou takes him out on a walk and he runs off after a stranger with yakitori. Kyoko at first is unconcerned about his absence, telling Kentarou that Soichirou will return when he returns, but she begins to mull on the dog's presence in her life, in turn revealing her memories of both the human Soichirou while alive and her grief in the days right after his death. Finally, she goes out to look for him, not realizing that Godai has already put in a Herculean effort to find the dog. Lost in thought, she walks the hill back to Ikkoku-kan, only to come across Godai and Soichirou walking home.
There's a maturity and patience to the final moments of this anime that you rarely see anymore. The pacing is glacially slow, with Kyoko's thought processes happening in 1:1 real time. When she first sees the silhouette of a man walking a dog, she breaks out into a delighted smile and calls out, "Soichirou-san!" The man turns around, the music swells, and you see a close-up of Kyoko's face. She is stunned, but by what, we're not sure. Does she see her dead husband, or does she realize at that moment that it can't possibly be him?
The music fades. The wind blows. In an agonizing half minute of silence, the train passes, and the streetlamps flicker into life behind her, one by one. When the streetlamp right above her lights up, we cut away to a shot of her face. She says her husband's name one last time, this time desperately, as if trying to grab a hold of a dog that has, unleashed, run away from her. She tries to say it a third time, but the name dies on her lips. She knows her husband is dead, and yet, can it be? It is like you are reliving her grief over the death of her husband with her.
Then: the streetlamp above the silhouetted figure lights up. It is, of course, Godai. We knew that, she knew that. Yet the light had to travel from behind her to above him, from the past to an unspoken future, before she can accept it. She calls Godai's name tentatively. He, bathed in sunlight and artificial light both, smiles down at Soichirou-san, sends him back to his rightful owner. In a moment of soundtrack genius, Gilbert O'Sullivan's "Alone Again, Naturally" begins to play (but only in those regions that had the license to include it). When we next see Kyoko close-up, the moment is broken. She is present, in the present. She is smiling again, and Soichirou licks her face.
At 15 it seemed to me obvious that Godai should get Kyoko at the end, because he was the main character. At 20 I thought Godai was a fool to chase after a woman while being destitute in college. At 25 I thought about the hard choices Kyoko made to give up a life of security with Mitaka for a life of little space and even littler pleasures with Godai. But at over 30 I see this story for what it is now, a love story through and through. Mitaka never had a chance. Kyoko's heart had made its choice long ago; the seven years we spend with these characters is for her to make peace with that decision, to learn to listen to herself, to give herself space to grieve and hold space for Soichirou's death while also making room for Godai, like the long two minutes at the end of episode 27 which end with Godai returning Soichirou, metaphorically and actually, to her.
Some might call these scenes filler or saving animation budget. I think this is one of those rare moments where the anime truly internalizes the source material and gives us something unique to its own medium. Takahashi's original often makes Godai a butt-monkey even in his most dramatic moments. It is, at heart, a comedy as much as it is a poignant romance. The anime on the other hand takes an almost cinematic approach to "filming" the characters, who are often given moments to breathe and emote with just their faces as if this were a real movie. Nothing more is said in this moment in the anime, besides Godai and Soichirou's names. Nothing more needs to be said. The anime trusts the viewer to put the pieces together and link the parallel images of Godai and Soichirou to Kyoko's mental state. This episode comes after Kyoko admits at Soichirou's graveside that she isn't ready to move on and Mitaka/Godai both propose and ask and are asked to wait for her response. What a perfect moment to draw it all together. It isn't that Kyoko mistakes Godai for her late husband. She sees them both and knows who, and what, they are. It is that she needs time and our patience to cross that distance and walk under the same streetlamp as Godai. And in this episode, as he does throughout the series, Godai gives it to her.
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