Screenwriter Kenji Terada and director Kunihiko Yuyama begin this abnormal tale of youthful love (with a mystical twist)
extremely strong. The changes in Kyosuke's life come into sharper focus under Terada's lens of fantasy, and the sexual dynamics
between he and Madoka -- and, for that matter, he and Hikaru -- ring truer than in most anime love triangles.
But as the film progresses, what starts as an earnest examination of youthful love descends into the kind of cheek-blushing,
sappy, pregnant pause-ridden teen angst more familiar to the medium. The tide of blue-ball anxiety and pop-idol aspirations
washes away the delicate narrative framework Terada establishes in the first few minutes of the film. In floods such ripe,
cornball clichés of the "if you love someone, set them free," "people change," and, my personal favorite, "I never meant to
hurt you" variety.
Fortunately, Grandfather chimes in very seldom with explanations of the magic involved -- Yuyama allows the story to
run along the emotional growth of its characters in response to the mystical elements rather than to indulge cheesy technical
babble about how Kyosuke's time travel is possible. Unfortunately, the romantic story that steals focus from the film's
science fiction conceit surrenders to nostalgia and retrospection, providing Kyosuke with little forward momentum. Madoka
loves him regardless, Hikaru loves him regardless, he's never tested, he's never faced with obstacle, he never has to come
to any important realization to re-assemble the tapestry of time.
But, perhaps, that is another kind of charm for the piece -- it moves like a portrait, something that is unchanging
and permanent even though it may give the illusion of movement; something packed with emotional tension without resolution;
something perfect for a lazy, rainy afternoon when self-pity and ice cream top the agenda.
