In an animation work, it is its narrative mode that connects the style and plot. The narrative mode of "Five Centimeters Per Second" is dependent on time. So in my opinion, the beauty and cruelty of this work should be attributed to the characteristics of time. Defining "Five Centimeters Per Second" as a time-based work may also cause criticism. After all, it lays out the thirteen-year-old train and the sixteen-year-old ocean wave, but with just a few strokes, the male protagonist becomes an adult. The metamorphosis is narrated in a sudden. Examining the length of the three parts and the length of time in the story it carries, you will find that this distribution is extremely unbalanced. However, physical measurement is not the only yardstick for time. More precisely, time in life is not as "homogeneous" as the scientific measurement of time, but there is no repetition and inequalities at every moment. According to Bergson, time and life belong to an immeasurable stretch. What's more, the screening of memory has infinitely expanded the heterogeneity of time. In the theory of relativity of memories, those worthy of cherished moments appear long because of the vivid details, and they are closer to eternity because of repeated recurrence; and those boring, boring, mechanical repetitions, even if they are long, are difficult to be critical. The place of memory stays. In Xin Haicheng's story, the narrative mode follows this principle of recollection. Petals, dead birds, and Feifei Hongxue are close-ups of various details, just like a Proust-style sinking, trying to save some lives in the faded time. However, the "Janus" who is called time is not just a face. While it provides dreamlike memories, it also lays the seeds of karma for the disillusionment of dreams and memories. After all, the cruelty of the plot of "Five Centimeters Per Second" is also a product of time.
"A huge life and a long time lie in front of us." This line is to "Five Centimeters Per Second" as "To be or not to be" is to "Hamlet". It has enough to cover the hiddenness of the whole work. The contradiction is sharp and straightforward. Think carefully about how terrible this is. Instead, one's life becomes something that hinders one's life, and time itself makes life in time unbearable. This is the alienation of life itself. As described in the eye-popping montage in Part Three, at first it was only distance that separated the hero and the heroine, but it was indeed time that separated them. Empty mailboxes and text messages that have never been sent are evidence of time. Along with the almost desperate lyrics of "One more time, One more chance", a series of lonely pictures are intertwined into a lonely life. Except for the young kiss, they never appeared in the picture at the same time. They searched for each other in their own scenes with only one person, but all they found was only disillusionment. This narrative is like two speeding trains, they meet somewhere and then pass by. This is an analogy with more modernity and modern rhythm than the analogy of Andre Moloya's dome. The cherry blossom petals forced into the window lattice are the only existences that are beyond time. They bring the heroes and heroines to the streets and memories. They almost meet again at the crossing of the railway. However, the glance back after many years was ruthlessly blocked by the passing train. Here, the train is allegorized. It is a symbol and vehicle that can be picked up at will. Its signification connects the alienated life and time. The train used by the male protagonist to meet with the female protagonist is now blocking the two. personal. The allegorical symbol of the train is therefore as ironic and cruel as life and time. In this regard, we have no choice but to accept and laugh.
The above is just the author's insight into "Five Centimeters Per Second". However, for this work, perhaps a glimpse of it is enough. Because "Five Centimeters Per Second" itself is the product of putting the spine of a personal point of view in the vastness of time, and thus shows the two-way degree of life. Our life contains precisely the denial and destruction of ourselves. While life is constructing something, it is bound to destroy something. This life process is so blind that what is destroyed is more precious than what is created. I am willing to turn this kind of tragedy into dying. Perhaps the fruit can only be reaped if all the heroes are scattered, but who is willing to bear such a cruel price? But who can refuse time to crown death and let all precious things die? It's just the fruit that the flower of hope dies, why is it called "despair"?
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