Liz and the Blue Bird (2018)

[peyrin]

The painstakingly detailed character acting on the simple elegant character designs of Futoshi Nishiya that mesmerized an entire animation industry. The effortless contrast between the washed-out colors of the high school and the vibrancy of the fairy tale, connecting through visual motifs both obvious and hidden. The powerful emotions in every one of Naoko Yamada's trademark shots without faces, conveyed through body language as subtle as taking a breath or sitting down. Kensuke Ushio's musical score that tracks the character arcs with the idiosyncratic playing style of a high school band, improving in skill and changing in tone alongside the emotional progress of the characters. The spellbinding first ten minutes, establishing a complex yet deeply relatable relationship through nothing but footsteps. The lively atmosphere from the side characters, giving either a brief glimpse of the many other stories the band has to tell or a well-earned payoff to having watched those stories being told. The tear-jerking climax told entirely through one piece of music. Liz and the Blue Bird is a landmark in animation, mastering a sense of quietness and subtlety in a medium far too rarely associated with it. And in true arthouse form, it will go down as one of the most criminally underwatched pieces of animation ever.

If you've made it this far, you should know that despite being based on a TV franchise, Liz and the Blue Bird is a standalone film - there are a few callbacks to an earlier arc involving the two main characters, but it's entirely watchable as a self-contained story. Its school band setting and extremely subdued narrative pace will inevitably make it a more niche title, but for anyone familiar with animation, ensemble music performance, or social isolation, this has the potential to be unforgettable.