Once they arrive at their new house, they start exploring its ramshackle cracks and crevices, only to discover that small black dust spirits, called "soot sprites" by their new nanny and next-door neighbor, occupy some of its darker spots. In late-50s Japan, two sisters - Satsuki and Mei - move to a peaceful countryside home with their father, a university professor, which they've done to be closer to the hospital where their mother is being treated for an unspecified, long-lasting illness (though given the time period and Miyazaki's own hints, it's reasonable to assume that it's tuberculosis). The story itself is as uncomplicated as they come. It's the type of movie almost entirely devoid of villainy or suspense, driven by its own delightful focus on exploration, trust, and hope in ways only Miyazaki's watercolor-esque whimsy seems able to achieve. The gradual impact it has had, though, since taking shape into an animated film under the Studi Ghibli banner, is immeasurable while global audiences were aware of Japanese animation, this one broke those barriers open in delivering an endearing mythological creature easily seen as a manifestation of youthful, innocent imagination. He didn't even really have a movie in his sights when he began the initial creative process: My Neighbor Totoro started out as a children's book, a straightforward departure for the filmmaker after Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind and Castle in the Sky, designed as a love letter to his country and his past. Hayao Miyazaki didn't have a grand future in mind when he originally created Totoro, one of plush toys, hash-tags, and enduring cameo appearances.
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