#i do not claim the flautist label

[homogremlin]

Who the FUCK is playing Careless FUCKING Whispers?!?

-Me, at my band rehearsal

[calciopics]

Kylian Mbappé is Born to Run

The France forward grew up in the suburbs of Paris, steeped in the culture of football. At 22, the World Cup-winner is already a global superstar, and only now entering his prime. Will Euro 2020 be the moment when he overtakes Messi and Ronaldo to become recognised as the best player on the planet?

Kylian Mbappé was 18 when he walked into the changing room of the French national team. “It’s very difficult,” he recalls, “because great players don’t want to give you their place. That’s what makes them great players. They especially don’t want to give you their place if you arrive with the label of ‘Future Great Player’.” Within a year, Mbappé and France had won the World Cup in Moscow.

Three years on, we are talking in a room of his mansion in the leafy, old-money streets of Neuilly, just outside Paris. It isn’t even his home; he bought it to house his foundation, which offers after-school activities to rich and poor children alike. In conversation, Mbappé resembles a veteran TV presenter more than a young footballer. He makes short speeches in complete sentences, as precise in his footing as he is on the field. He sits as straight-backed as he runs. His expressive face keeps breaking into smiles: he likes talking, and is almost unburdened by the usual footballer’s fear of saying the wrong thing.

His burly father Wilfried sits beside us, but only once during the interview will he feel impelled to intervene. Meeting Mbappé, you come to understand how he hit football seemingly already fully formed. At 22, he has achieved more than most great players ever do. Can he take one more step and become the world’s best footballer?

His story starts 10 miles and a universe away from where we’re sitting today. His hometown, Bondy, is a multicultural suburb just northeast of Paris that looks as if someone plonked a Soviet town on top of an ancient French village. The old church is surrounded by fast-food joints and fading 1960s’ apartment blocks, one of them now adorned with a giant mural of Mbappé.

His parents grew up in Bondy: Wilfried, of Cameroonian origin, and Mbappé’s mother Fayza, of Algerian descent. Mixed marriages are common in the Parisian suburbs, the banlieues, but the couple did have to defy some local disapproval.

If a wannabe footballer had to choose the ideal place on earth to grow up, it might have been the Mbappé home in Bondy. Mbappé’s father and uncle were both football coaches, and Fayza, who ran after-school activities, played handball in the French first division. His parents had adopted an older boy, Jirès Kembo Ekoko, who went on to make a long career as a journeyman professional footballer. “I didn’t bring a new passion into the family,” Mbappé says with understatement.

He grew up practically inside the local football club, AS Bondy. “In the Parisian suburbs there are football fields everywhere,” he enthuses. “People here live for football. I was born with the sports ground facing my window.” It’s no wonder, he adds, that Paris’s suburbs are perhaps the deepest talent pool in global football, producing players such as Paul Pogba, Blaise Matuidi, N’Golo Kanté and Riyad Mahrez.

As a non-white kid from the suburbs, did Mbappé always feel accepted as French before he became a French icon? “I’ve always felt French. I don’t renounce my origins, because they are part of who I am, but I’ve made my whole life in France, and never at any moment was I made to feel I wasn’t at home here.” In the banlieues, he says, “We have a love of France because France has given to us and we try to give back to it.”

Mbappé’s parents made him take school seriously, and he was also a not-very-talented flautist at Bondy’s conservatory, but football came first. At AS Bondy, he says, “My father was my coach for 10 years. He helped construct the style of player I wanted to become. But I never felt the pressure of, ‘You have to become a footballer.’ Above all, it was a passion.”

Tagging along with his dad and uncle on their coaching jobs, the child acquired an unusual gift: he became a footballer who thinks like a coach. “Very young, I was always in the changing rooms, listening to the tactical talks and the different points of view, because football is made up of different viewpoints. I learned to have this tolerance, and I think it helped me, because being a coach is putting yourself in somebody else’s place. I think I have the gift of doing that. It helps in football, because if you’re a player, generally you think about yourself, about your own career. I can see, for instance, when something in a game is frustrating a team-mate. I can put him at ease.”

When you’re in the World Cup final, you’re convinced you’re going to win. You walk onto the field, the trophy is there, and you tell yourself it is impossible the other team will take it

Mbappé turned out to be that perfect sporting combination: a natural who is coachable. “He assimilates advice quickly. You ask him something once, and the second time he does it,” Antonio Riccardi, his former youth coach at AS Bondy, told me. Even as a child, Mbappé was an efficient footballer: decisive, never just decorative.

By adolescence, he was being courted by the big European clubs, which all keep close tabs on the Paris region. He visited Chelsea, and celebrated his 14th birthday at Real Madrid, which cannily found him the perfect babysitter: the club’s then assistant coach Zinedine Zidane, the greatest French footballer. When Zidane offered Mbappé a lift in his fabulous car, the overawed child offered to take his shoes off first.

The Mbappés sifted the countless offers and chose Monaco, where the route to the first team looked shortest. Mbappé arrived there, he says, “with my [footballing] baggage well filled.”

Kids in performance-sports families learn that they never arrive. Each step up is just another learning opportunity. In Monaco’s first team, the teenaged Mbappé encountered the veteran Colombian striker Radamel Falcao, freshly returned from unhappy loan spells with Manchester United and Chelsea.

“He was a star,” says Mbappé, “but he had a desire to transmit. He was like a teacher to me. He’s someone who always wants to score, but he left me the space to express myself. He’s very cool in front of goal, calm in his game, and he transmitted this serenity that I didn’t have, because I was young, excited and wanted to go at 2,000 kilometres an hour.”

The kid who didn’t yet have a driving licence scored 15 league goals in his first professional season to help Monaco win the French title in 2017. He added six more in the Champions League knockout rounds. He also passed his baccalauréat, France’s equivalent of A-levels.

Mbappé marvelled at the tension on the faces of other professionals, because he didn’t feel it himself. Everything came easily to him, without great sacrifice, he has said. When I ask about stress in a profession of hypercompetitive men, he shrugs: “Daily life is easy.”

His vertical ascent didn’t surprise him; it just happened a bit quicker than he’d expected. But others were stunned. Here was something new: an 18-year-old complete forward. Built like an Olympic sprinter, Mbappé ran upright, looking around him. He could dribble, cross and shoot. He was more advanced than Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo had been at 18.

How does he describe his style? “The modern attacker who can play anywhere,” he replies. He explains that forwards used to be specialists: “There’d be a number nine, or number 11, or number seven.” Mbappé, though, is the all-in-one. “I think my CV can speak for me. I’ve played alone up front, I’ve played on the left and the right. In all humility, I don’t think it’s given to everyone to change position like that every year and keep a certain standard of performance at the highest level. That didn’t fall from heaven. If I speak of the baggage given me in my teens, it’s all there.”

In one regard he has always been unequalled: the counterattack at speed. He says, “I’ve managed to work on my weak points but above all to perfect my strong points, because I was always told that it’s through your strong points that you’ll exist.”

In March 2017, Mbappé became the youngest player in 62 years to debut for France. Five months later, his hometown club Paris Saint-Germain agreed to sign him for a fee of £166m. He drew on his childhood experiences to navigate two alpha-male changing-rooms. At PSG, his good English and Spanish helped him deal with foreign team-mates. With Les Bleus, France’s assistant coach Guy Stéphan told Mbappé’s biographer Arnaud Hermant: “He knows the codes of the changing room. At table or in the bus, he doesn’t just sit somewhere randomly. For a youngster, he isn’t timid or introverted. He expresses himself.”

By summer 2018, picked for the World Cup in Russia, Mbappé was comfortable enough to claim the blue number 10 shirt — previously worn by Zidane and Michel Platini — and to say in public that he was gunning for the trophy.

“I went to play the matches calmly like I always have. I didn’t want to change just because it was the World Cup,” he says. “We were lucky to have a young squad. We were totally carefree, just a band of mates.”

Hang on, surely a football team isn’t really a band of mates? “No,” he acknowledges. “Just like the baker doesn’t get on with all bakers. You don’t have to eat with your team-mates every evening to win.”

In the World Cup round of 16, his two goals and a 37kmph gallop through Argentina’s defence made his global name. The night before the final against Croatia, he admits, “I was a bit stressed. I didn’t manage to sleep much. But the nearer the match came, the less stressed I was.” Before kick-off he was joking in the changing room. Stéphan recalls: “He experienced the final as if it were a PSG-Dijon game.”

Mbappé says, “When you’re in the World Cup final, you’re convinced that you’re going to win. Even the Croats were convinced they were going to win. You walk onto the field and the trophy is there, between the two teams, and you tell yourself it’s impossible that the other team will take it. That’s why there’s such disappointment afterwards if you don’t win.”

Half of Bondy gathered in front of a giant screen to cheer on the commune’s own “Kylian national”. Scoring in France’s 4–2 victory, he seemed to have reached his career apogee aged 19. He didn’t see it like that. Interviewed the night of the final, he described winning the World Cup as “already good” but only a start.

The next day, as the Bleus’ bus edged along a packed, ecstatic Champs-Élysées, writes Hermant, the ice-cold kid mused to the French Football Federation’s president Noël Le Graët: “Was all this really necessary?”

Mbappé explains now: “For me, it wasn’t an outcome, a finality. I don’t think of that trophy now at all. I don’t look at pictures of the World Cup before going to sleep. Honestly, it’s people on the street who come up and say, ‘You’re world champion, merci, merci.’”

He understood that his early triumph had upset football’s all-important hierarchies. Returning to PSG, he immediately reassured Paris’s Brazilian star Neymar: “I’m not going to walk on your flowerbeds. I’ll be a candidate for the Ballon d’Or [the award for world’s best footballer] this year because you won’t be, but I promise I don’t want to take your place.”

Soon after, he took the World Cup trophy to Bondy, where thousands came out to greet him. “It was a way to say, ‘Thank you.’ I’ve never forgotten which soup I have eaten. So it was important for me to return there after my first World Cup and first international title.” (Note that word, “first”.)

France’s coach, Didier Deschamps, recalls falling into “physical and moral apathy” the season after he lifted the World Cup as a player in 1998. Did Mbappé experience a hangover? He grins: “I finished as best player in the league, highest scorer, best young player, I was chosen in the team of the season, and we won the league.”

Winning the World Cup made Mbappé a national hero. Does he consider himself a star? “I think so. If your face is everywhere in the city, everywhere in the world, that’s for sure. Being a star is a status, but it doesn’t make me a better person than others.”

He lives like a luxury prisoner, who cannot leave home without being mobbed. “It takes an organisation just to go out,” he says. He has joked that when his future children ask him about his youthful adventures, he won’t have any.

“A fan gives you enormous love,” says Mbappé carefully, “but sometimes maybe an excess of love, and he might not respect your intimacy. We give our lives to the people, because we give them pleasure every three days, and we give them our time. It’s impossible to hope for a normal life, but just a little respect for one’s private life isn’t too much to ask for, I think.”

As a young man of non-white origins, he has a particular vulnerability with the French public, one-third of whom voted for the far-right candidate Marine Le Pen in the run-off of the presidential elections in 2017. Even so, he has begun to speak out against police violence.

“I took time to start talking about it, because I wasn’t ready,” he admits. “I had a lot of things to digest: my change of status, my new life. But I have always opposed all types of violence.”

When I note that French police violence is disproportionately directed against people of non-white origins from suburbs like Bondy, his father stirs from his silence: “We’re not answering that. You’re orienting it as if the violence were only against people from the banlieues, which is false.”

In high-level football, nobody will make a place for you. Ego, self-love, isn’t just the caprice of stars. It’s also the will to give the best of yourself

French fans like their stars humble. Mbappé has explained “the French mentality” to Neymar, who favours a bling-bling, poker-playing party lifestyle. Mbappé says, “In Brazil, they are more festive, in France more serious. Here it’s not considered good to display your passions. People will think he’s neglecting PSG because he plays poker. I think he has begun to understand that. At first it was hard for him because he experienced it as an affront. When he arrived, they put his face on the Eiffel Tower, and six months later they’re asking him why he’s playing poker. In France, people know what you have but they don’t want to see it. They just want to see you playing football, smiling.”

But Mbappé believes humility isn’t enough. He thinks great footballers need big egos. “In high-level football, nobody will make a place for you or tell you that you’re capable of things. It’s up to you to persuade yourself that you are. Ego, self-love, isn’t just a caprice of stars. It’s also the will to surpass yourself, to give the best of yourself.” Every time he walks onto the field, he says, he tells himself, “I’m the best.”

In truth, he knows he isn’t the best — Messi and Ronaldo are better. “It’s not only me who knows that,” he laughs. “Everyone knows it. If you tell yourself that you’ll do better than them, it’s beyond ego or determination — it’s lack of awareness. Those players are incomparable. They have broken all laws of statistics. They have had 10 extraordinary years, 15.”

Still, he admits: “You do always compare yourself with the best in your sport, just as the baker compares himself with the best bakers around him. Who makes the best croissant, the best pain au chocolat? I watch matches of other great players to see what they’re doing. ‘I know how to do this, but can the other guy do it too?’ I think other players watch me, too. I think that pushes players to raise their game, just as Messi was good for Ronaldo and Ronaldo was good for Messi.”

Does Mbappé compare himself with the other great forward of his generation, Borussia Dortmund’s Norwegian Erling Braut Haaland? Mbappé’s reply sounds a touch patronising: “It’s his second year, we’re getting to know him. It’s the start for him. I’m happy for him, for what he’s doing.”

The more you become an important person, the more duties you have. I’m no longer the little kid. I’m Kylian Mbappé

In this elite individual competition, the top spot may be coming free. Messi (34 this month) and Ronaldo (36) are “nearer the end than the beginning”, acknowledges Mbappé. In February, his hat-trick helped PSG thrash Messi’s Barcelona 1–4 at the Camp Nou. “The best match of my career,” Mbappé says, “because it was complete. I helped my team both offensively and defensively, and I succeeded in the creation and finishing of my moves, in one-against-ones. I won 90 per cent of my duels, if that stat is correct. All match, I never had a moment when I felt extinguished.” He then scored two at Bayern Munich, before PSG fell to Manchester City.

Some opposing teams now rearrange their entire tactical systems to combat the Mbappé counterattack. “There are quite a few anti-Kylian plans every match,” he says. “It means I’ve been recognised as a great player. It requires you to have multiple strings to your bow. I like that, because I adore challenges.”

Surely he’s now too big a player for the French league? He umms and aws: “France isn’t the best championship in the world, but it’s my responsibility, as a flagship player, to help the league grow.” Yet he may well leave this summer, to Real Madrid or England. The decision, perhaps the biggest he’ll face in his career, will be made inside his family. Almost uniquely for a star footballer, Mbappé doesn’t have an agent, just lawyers.

At 22, he considers himself an experienced footballer. He says he and Neymar “are now the two natural leaders” of PSG. When he kicks off the delayed Euro 2020 with France in June, it will be with more responsibility than at the World Cup. “The more you become an important personality, the more duties you have. I’m no longer the little kid. I’m Kylian Mbappé.”

Kylian Mbappé’s prime may have already arrived. Fast strikers usually peak between 20 and 24. A Euro and a World Cup within 18 months, while France’s generation of 2018 remains almost intact, may be his best chance to make football history. What are his career ambitions? That smile again: “To win everything.” (Esquire Magazine)

[kitauji-king]

‘Liz and the Blue Bird’ Recap Part 3

Our favorite trumpet and euphonium duo are getting ready to practice.

The cracks in Nozomi’s facade are beginning to show.

Nozomi still attempts to preserve the illusion nevertheless.

Speaking of being perfectly in-sync with each other, say hello to the poster children for a perfectly healthy relationship. To me, KumiRei has to be one of the best pairings based on how well they get each other and how they consistently support each other throughout all of their endeavors. They both see the other’s flaws but they still remain devoted to each other regardless. This is represented by them playing Mizore and Nozomi’s duet perfectly in time and in tune with each other.

Mizore overhears the duo practicing too and stops to take a look. She doesn’t stick around for too long though.

We love to see it.

It was a confession of love, after all.

That’s true, if Kumiko and Reina were in the position of Liz and the bluebird, their parting would take on a different meaning. As I said only a moment ago, Kumiko and Reina are always in support of each other. If one of them felt as though the other one was being held back from achieving their full potential and becoming special, they wouldn’t hesitate for a second in letting the other one go. They’d have no doubt that letting the other go would be the correct choice.

Nozomi second guesses herself.

Mizore has read the story through multiple times, but she still can’t seem to get into Liz’s head.

Another area where Mizore and I are quite similar. Just like her, I find myself getting extremely attached to certain people I care deeply about and I even go as far as creating this idealized version of them in my head. The idea of letting that person go is almost unspeakable.

Yuuko is extremely passionate about this because after Nozomi quit, she was the only one Mizore had left. She saw firsthand how strongly this abandonment affected her, even to the point of her getting physically sick. So, it makes sense that she’s frustrated at Nozomi for doing the same thing all over again.

Well, sometimes, but communication is also important too. When was Mizore supposed to find out, then?

Niiyama makes a very astute assumption about Mizore and her sentimentality, to which Mizore can’t deny. Then, she gives Mizore a different perspective to think about.

Back in the fairy tale world, Liz finally breaks the news to the blue girl. She takes it pretty well.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the rug was pulled out from underneath the blue girl. She had been living with Liz and the two of them had been pretty much attached at the hip for a while now. They had come to love each other deeply, but now Liz is telling her she has to leave. 

Liz has come to terms with the fact that the blue girl cannot truly be free or happy if she chooses to stay with her.

This particular shot with the way Liz looks at the blue girl and the way she speaks this line really melts my heart. All of her love is being reflected in her eyes. I think what makes this even more emotional is the addition of Liz pulling back for a  moment to recompose herself before she speaks. It’s a painful decision to make, but she has to peel off the band-aid. The blue girl is reluctant to leave, but she does so anyway out of respect for Liz’s decision.

Also, I’m going to use this shot to reaffirm my statement that this is a queer movie. Liz’s one line in this shot hints at the nature of her relationship with the blue girl. It’s not platonic. In Japan, there are quite a few ways to say “I love you,” all of them having their own nuances and context. Liz uses “aishiteru,” which is normally used only in romantic situations; for instance what two spouses or two lifelong partners would say to each other. “Aishiteru” marks a very deep, committed, romantic relationship. It has such great meaning that the word isn’t even that commonly used in normal settings. Yes, it’s a bit bold of me to label their relationship as romantic, but I still find it a little ridiculous to assume that the two of them are just friends and nothing more. I would even say that it was willful ignorance. Clearly, whatever this relationship is, it transcends friendship.

But also, it is just a fairy tale.

Suddenly it starts making sense.

All this time, Mizore had been restraining her playing so that she wouldn’t leave Nozomi behind. The whole reason she plays the oboe in the first place is because of Nozomi. Now she realizes that because she loves her, she has to convey her love and all her emotions through her playing to give it back to her. Music is the best way for someone like Mizore to express themselves after all.

Here Nozomi finally comes clean and comes to terms with her own jealousy. She admits that it hurt to see Mizore getting all this attention when Nozomi is also passionate about music. She has to learn to accept that Niiyama just happened to see a greater potential in Mizore that Nozomi just didn’t seem to have. She has to accept that Mizore is going places where she cannot follow.

Originally, they thought of Mizore as Liz, and Nozomi as the bluebird. Nozomi was a strange miracle that came into Mizore’s life when she least expected it. And then, just like the Avatar, when Mizore needed her most, she vanished.

The roles have been reversed.

The bluebird has gone away to be free with others of her kind, and Liz is left to watch as the bluebird soars higher and higher and farther and farther away.

A stray bluebird feather descends from the sky. Liz grabs it and holds it closely, accepting is as something to remember her companion by. Ultimately, she made the correct decision in letting the bluebird go free, but god it still hurts. Now Nozomi knows she must do the same as well.

This last shot is so stunningly gorgeous from color to composition. I like that the film lingers here for a good few seconds.

Act 3 begins at the start of another rehearsal. In a seemingly uncharacteristically bold move by Mizore, she asks if they can go all the way through the Third Movement in Liz.

Niiyama approves.

As they begin playing the duet, Nozomi immediately notices that something is different.

Mizore is playing her part now with a new vigor and liveliness. All of her inhibitions have been thrown out the window and she doesn’t restrain herself to allow Nozomi to keep up. She’s soaring like the bluebird.

This specific portion of the song gives me chills and goosebumps every single time. The music is at a low rumble, Mizore leads as the piece is building up and building up until the cymbals crash and a trumpet fanfare begins, marking the climax of the movement.

Nozomi is so overcome with her emotions she can hardly play. She can’t focus enough to even move her fingers and fake it. The camera going in and out of focus really enhances this.

Nozomi finally drops out, laying the flute down in her lap in defeat. She just can’t keep up anymore.

She firmly grips the instrument in her lap as the tears begin to fall. It’s no use, and she knows it. Mizore has flown too high and far away for Nozomi to even reach her anymore.

Mizore concludes the solo on a literal high note.

The film goes silent. Everyone in the room is left utterly speechless or in tears because of Mizore’s solo. I had the same reaction. Not Niiyama-sensei though. She knew all along that Mizore could play like this; she’s merely proud.

If even Reina offers her kudos to your playing, that’s how you know you’re an amazing musician.

Even with all this praise, there’s still one thing on Mizore’s mind.

Mizore finds Nozomi sulking alone in what was previously her own hiding spot: the blowfish tank in the science lab. 

Mizore’s in a difficult position. She doesn’t have that same type A personality that someone like Reina has. Mizore is happy to play as long as she gets to do it with Nozomi, the competition aspect isn’t that important to her. So I can see why she would hold herself back for Nozomi’s sake.

Nozomi’s in a tough position as well. She’s extremely passionate about music and she is a skilled flautist; she was the president of Minami Middle School’s band, the principal flautist to boot, and she only quit Kitauji’s band because she couldn’t stand being around the upperclassmen who didn’t take it seriously. We know this. So it really sucks for her to realize that she’s coming up short in her playing. Now this girl, whom she introduced to concert band in the first place, is turning out to be more skilled than she is and is even getting more attention for it. I don’t care who you are, that’s gotta hurt, petty or not.

This is reflecting the part in the short story where Liz claims to be just “a cage that confines you” and tells the bluebird that with her flight she can go anywhere she chooses.

Mizore is done being talked over and is ready to finally speak her mind.

Nozomi severely underestimates how much of an effect her disappearance had on her friend. It’s even affected how Mizore saw her other friendships (though she didn’t have very many to begin with). For the entire year that Nozomi was gone and Yuuko stuck by her side, Mizore was so sure that she was only doing that out of pity. She didn’t see herself as being worthy enough to be considered someone else’s friend. And now that Nozomi’s back, Mizore felt she had to live with the fear that it could happen again.

Mizore’s main fear is that she’s just another one of Nozomi’s many friends, and that if she ever stopped doing it, there would be no reason for Nozomi to continue to be her friend. Whether or not she actually liked band was irrelevant in that equation. And as we learned in season 2, when asked why she never quit the band even after Nozomi did, she explained that the oboe was the only thing keeping her connected to Nozomi.

Mizore’s as serious as a heart attack when it comes to how much she loves Nozomi.

Nozomi is referring to the part of herself that she doesn’t let anyone else see. The part of her that is petty, jealous, and selfish. She doesn’t feel she lives up to the perfect, kind hearted, divine being that her peers have made her out to be.

It is physically impossible for Mizore to even entertain the idea of hating Nozomi. She loves her, flaws and all.

Cutting Nozomi off from downplaying her confession, Mizore raises her hands in another I Love You Hug attempt. Nozomi is rendered speechless.

Mirroring the last I Love You Hug attempt, the two are froze in time and we, the audience, are left wondering “will they, or won’t they?” Boldly, Mizore is the first one to move; she wraps her arms around Nozomi and clutches onto her. Very hesitant and calculated, Nozomi slowly places her hands on Mizore’s waist.

For some reason, I don’t believe that, Nozomi.

In true I Love You Hug fashion, Mizore gushes about all of the good things Nozomi has brought into her life just by saying hi to her that one day.

Just typical things straight people platonically say about their friends.

This line can be interpreted many ways as I’ve seen when I look at other people’s analysis on this film. Some people say that this is Nozomi rejecting Mizore’s love confession seeing as she doesn’t compliment her on who she is, only what she does (her being a hard worker, and being skilled at the oboe). But I don’t agree with that interpretation. The point of this scene is for Nozomi to let go of the bluebird, just like Liz. I think that’s why she puts herself down, saying things like Mizore had to hold herself back for her sake, that she is very talented and has the whole world ahead of her. She does that so that Mizore will see how great her potential is and choose to live her own life and be free. I believe that if she had returned Mizore’s confession at this very second, that would defeat the entire purpose of her trying to release the bluebird.

Nozomi suddenly bursts out laughing. Maybe at the realization that all they needed to do was communicate with each other? I still stand by my opinion that giving each other cute nicknames would’ve resolved all of this a lot sooner.

See, I think you remember it perfectly, Nozomi.

We get this silent shot of two birds flying side by side in sync with each other.

I hope the school is paying this girl.

Mizore is trying to renew Liz again after who knows how long it’s been, and the librarian’s still trying to nag her. Luckily, Nozomi is there to save the day. However, she’s also there on a mission: she’s here to study for college exams. 

This scene is meant to mirror the one at the beginning of the film with both of the girls walking to the band room and with Nozomi leading. In this scene, now the girls are independently following their own paths for the future. Mizore is practicing her oboe to get ready for music school, and Nozomi is studying up for a regular college.

Nozomi left a little doodle for Mizore on her sheet music as a reminder.

Looking through the windows of both domains, we see the same lone bluebird fly across the sky, showing us that both girls have learned to let go.

Some time later, Mizore is leaving the school building and up ahead is Nozomi’s smiling face waiting for her. She hurriedly runs up to catch up to her. Overtop of this is a voice over of Nozomi and Mizore deciding what they should eat on the way home. What’s significant about this scene is that now girls are being depicted as equals; gone are the days of them walking with Mizore trailing behind from a distance. Now they are walking side by side and both of their opinions for what they wanna do are being taken into consideration. It’s not just Nozomi calling the shots anymore.

Some things never change.

This line has kind of a double meaning. Yes, she really is going to practice and learn to play her solo with as much fervor as Mizore, but she also wants to use this time to work on herself as a person. She needs to get over her jealousy and learn to support her friend. And then maybe someday she’ll be able to return Mizore’s confession. She just needs a little time first.

Mizore agrees to keep practicing too, for a different reason though. She’ll keep following her own path.

Further demonstrating that they’ve never been more on the same page with each other than they are right now, Mizore and Nozomi hivemind for a second. Mizore recalls the conversation with Hazuki and Midori she eavesdropped on and uses the ‘Happy Ice Cream’ trick. I don’t think Nozomi realizes she’s going to be the one who has to pay for those ice creams, but you guys can cross that bridge when you come to it.

My god, what do you think she said!?

Wow, what a ride.

If you’ve actually managed to make it to the bottom of this review, I just wanna say welcome, and also thank you for taking the time to read this!

Like I said back in the intro ages ago, this immediately became my favorite film upon watching it. This is becoming one of those films that I can look back on every now again and still love it just as much if not more. KyoAni never fails to disappoint. Shoutout to Naoko Yamada, the amazing director. Would definitely recommend this film to anyone who has eyes and ears.

I’m really glad this film gave us all a chance to get a deeper look at Mizore and Nozomi’s relationship. After their 4-episode arc in season 2 of Hibike is concluded, we don’t hear much about them. This was a lovely aftermath to see how they’ve both changed and grown since their falling out and reuniting.

Now I wanna open this up for further discussion on the film. What are your thoughts and interpretations? Do you agree or disagree with me at any points? What did Nozomi say at the end!?! Leave a reply or send me and ask and I’ll try to respond to as many as I can.

Part 1

Part 2

[to-be-as-we-are]

The Flautist

I step into the alley. It is somewhat cleaner than usual, a little less trash lying next to the dumpsters that fill the space. A few crows peck around, scavenging for a trace of something resembling food. Rain is falling in a steady stream from the neutral grey clouds that can scarcely be seen beyond the towering buildings.

Then, I hear it. A melodic sound in the distance. I wonder where it could be coming from, maybe one of the houses down the way or the mosque next door. It is magical. It immediately transports me back to the mist shrouded valley where I once lived. Where I would wake every morning to the sound of pan flute wafting through the thick, tropical bush right into my open window.

Slowly I see where it is coming from. At the far end of the alley, under the cover of the delivery entrance. The man in sitting on the ground, wearing a conical, straw-woven hat. His head is down so I cannot see his face but the sound that emanates from his body enraptures my spirit. I am drawn to it, like a moth to a porch light on a muggy summer night.

I want to honour this gift but the best I can come up with is to go into the nearest convenience store and buy him something to eat. I walk in and am assaulted by the fluorescent lights and the hum of the fridges. I immediately regret my decision.

I wander over to the cooler and examine my options. All I see is one shitty sandwich after another, each labeled with a different, catchy name and wrapped in way too many layers of plastic. I finally settle on what claims to be a donair filled with some sort of mystery meat. I remove it from the packaging, pull a few napkins from the dispenser and place it in the microwave that reeks of last week’s meatball sub. When I take it out, it oozes some repulsive beige goop. I hastily wrap it in a few more napkins before heading out the door.

The street is filled with people that are either too busy or too aloof to acknowledge one another. Cars whizz past, threatening to drench us with water from the puddles quickly gathering along the edges of the pothole-riddled road. I am seriously questioning my choice. Why didn’t I just go into one of the fast food joints across the street and get him something seemingly more like an actual meal?

I take a breath and head back to the alley. I turn the corner and no longer hear the music. I wonder if he has left already and this was all for naught, if the crows are going to get a proper feast today after all. But, I arrive at the spot and there he is, just as I left him, seated on the ground, hat pulled down over his face, legs stretched out in front on a blanket strewn with various things. I walk over, trying not to look too closely at his paraphernalia.

His hands are busy doing something, rolling a cigarette or a joint. They are thick, maybe swollen, and red in colour. They have a few tattoos but the ink has bled so much that I can’t quite make out the images. He is Caucasian and thickly built. He is certainly not the Andean flautist I had in mind when I first heard him playing. I gently place the food on the blanket and thank him for the wonderful music. He graciously accepts and he tells me he just started learning. I never do see his face but his demeanour is calm and kind. I wish I had bought him a coffee and could sit for a while and hear his story.

Instead, we have only this brief interaction before I turn and head the other way, back to my car where I drive to the comfort of my warm, comfortable home. A few days later, I sit and drink tea with my mother while she gently strokes hand, the most loving caress in the the entire world. That night, I cry myself to sleep in a room filled with photos of loved ones, the rain still falling gently outside; wishing there was something more I could have done than give a man on the street a single moment of my time and a soggy, pathetic excuse for a meal.

[silasstralia-blog]

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