What is My Neighbor Totoro about?
My Neighbor Totoro is about how our relationship with nature and Mother Earth serves as an integral part of our spiritual growth. The film centers on a family trying to rebuild: the mother is getting better from an illness in the hospital, while her husband rehabilitates a new house in a new neighborhood, and their two daughters juggle childhood playfulness and the fear of loss. These two girls, Satsuki and Mei, are fittingly the focus of the film. They showcase the impetus of our connection to something larger and more abstract than our mortal sense of self. We ready children for the pains and struggles of life through narrative and folklore, through genuine engagement with the outdoors, through religion or whatever form of spirituality you practice. In My Neighbor Totoro, we witness Satsuki and Mei’s spiritual growth through their friendships with Totoro and other forest spirits, who help these girls experience everything from sadness to joyfulness, from isolation to connection, from dispiriting naïveté to pure enlightenment.
Cast
In chorological order, this cast list covers the actors for: the original Japanese-language release in 1988, the actors for the 1989 English-language re-release, and the 2005 English-language re-release by Disney.
- Satsuki Kusakabe – Noriko Hidaka/Lisa Michelson/Dakota Fanning
- Mei Kusakabe – Chika Sakamoto/Cheryl Chase/Elle Fanning
- Tatsuo Kusakabe – Shigesato Itoi/Greg Snegoff/Tim Daly
- Yasuko Kusakabe – Sumi Shimamoto/Alexandra Kenworthy/Lea Salonga
- Totoro – Hitoshi Takagi/Frank Welker
- Kanta Ōgaki – Toshiyuki Amagasa/Kenneth Hartman/Paul Butcher
- Granny – Tanie Kitabayashi/Natalie Core/Pat Carroll
- Hayao Miyazaki – Director, writer
The ending of My Neighbor Totoro explained
A recap of My Neighbor Totoro‘s ending
Satsuki and Mei’s excitement about their mother’s return home is disrupted when they learn the trip has been postponed due to a setback in treatment. While Satsuki rushes to make a telephone call to her father, Mei in her pure-hearted desire to be with her mother decides to walk to the hospital and deliver a fresh ear of corn. But the hospital is too far away for a child to reach, and Mei becomes lost. Thus, the older sister must become heroine, must showcase a kind of bravery and commitment like never before and join a community-wide search to find her younger sister. After a couple scares, such as the potential discovery of Mei’s sandal, Satuski calls upon her forest friend Totoro’s help to find her young sister. Their bus stop companion shows up and calls the Catbus, which drives Satsuki to her sister. Then Mei and Satsuki board the Catbus together to visit the hospital, where they watch their mother conversing with their father in the hospital. It turns out there was only a minor cold that caused worry amongst the doctors and she’s doing alright. Satsuki and Mei watch lovingly from the tree before parting for home—but not before Mei leaves her corn lying on her mother’s windowsill.
The meaning of My Neighbor Totoro‘s ending
Many people seem to be confused about the ending of My Neighbor Totoro. How did Satsuki and Mei travel to their mother’s hospital? Does that mean Totoro and the Catbus are real? And if they did make it to the hospital, why didn’t they go in to speak with their sick mother? What does all of this represent and mean?
There are many ways to go about these questions. But I think the most fundamental thing to remember is the style in which Miyazaki shapes his narratives and explores his characters. He has a very specific approach to structure and mise-en-scene that’s based in Shinto beliefs and an intrinsic relationship with the natural world. His stories are less consumed with plot and more driven by the insecurities and struggles of his characters. In this sense, the “plot” as we traditionally know it—which would be the external situations driving our characters towards a finish line—is part of the film’s emotional and spiritual makeup. Even in moments where you don’t think much is happening, like when Satsuki and Mei are doing household chores, it’s actually an essential part of the “plot,” of the journey that’s truly important to understanding our main characters.
So let’s work our way towards those final moments of the film where Satsuki and Mei are watching their mother from afar. Let’s take a holistic look at the film and show how a connection with nature, traditional Japanese folklore and fairy tales, and parental advice are all part of these two girls’ spiritual growth, are what allow them to look upon their mother with maturity and wisdom and readiness for whatever’s next to come.
The Japanese harmony between humanity and nature
As is the case with most Studio Ghibli films, the theme of harmony between humans and nature is threaded through our main characters’ journeys. My Neighbor Totoro is no different, except that it presents the softest and most childlike exploration of this theme in Hayao Miyazaki’s filmography. In this film, living in balance with the natural world is crucial to Satsuki and Mei’s coming-of-age story. Their collective journey is vividly illustrated their interactions with Totoro and the forest spirits, showcasing a world where nature and humanity aren’t at odds, but enrich one another.
The use of supernatural beings is part of the film’s commentary on how we help children cope with reality and all of its strongest emotions, like fear and grief. But the foundation of that realization is a child’s profound and inherent connection with understanding the world around them. Humans can often be messy and immoral and contradicting. But our relationship with nature is, well…natural. It’s fundamental. It’s something we’re born with, that’s part of our everyday from the moment we step onto this planet. As Robin Syversen points out in this essay, that’s especially true in Japan, where there’s a Shinto-inspired reverence for nature and the intrinsic bond between the natural and the spiritual. Shinto is Japan’s native belief system, and it largely revolves around how humanity is intertwined with Japanese land and seasons.
That connection is showcased through Satsuki and Mei’s friendship and camaraderie with the movie’s magical creatures. While characters like Totoro and the Catbus are fantastical, they also embody the essence of nature’s mysterious and nurturing qualities. These entities help guide the kids through their emotional journeys as they wait for their mother to come home. They deeply fear losing their familial unit so they form a deeper, more spiritual connection with the world around them in order to cope.
Take Totoro, who, as Zainab Mubashir notes in this essay, always shows up in moments of loneliness or fear or wonder, acting as a comforting presence that transcends the ordinary reality that’s become so burdensome on these girls. Yes, these beings are supernatural and showcase the power of narrative, but they are also symbolic of something deeper and essential to Japanese life. Totoro is a forest spirit, a representation of the natural world that can only be seen by children. Totoro is quite literally a spirit in that sense, as his physical presence actually represents something internal and learned and connective.
The use of Japanese folklore and “kami”
These ideas all derive from Japanese folklore and traditions—a common narrative tool employed by Miyazaki in his films. The Japanese title of Spirited Away is Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi, which translates to “Sen and Chihiro’s Spiriting Away.” As note in my Spirited Away analysis:
Kamikakushi is a Japanese term that translates literally to “hidden by spirits” or “spirited away.” It’s derived from “kami” which means “god” or “spirit” and “kakushi” which means “hidden.” In the traditional Japanese context, this term refers to the phenomenon of people or things mysteriously disappearing, often attributed to the actions of supernatural entities or spirits.
This term is reflected in the title of Spirited Away—aka Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi, which directly translates to “Sen and Chihiro’s Spiriting Away.” The word “spirit” is where we can begin to peel back the profound layers of this film. Because it isn’t just Chihiro’s physical body that travels away from the human world to this strange abandoned theme park—it’s her inner being, her essence, her very soul.
Essentially, Spirited Away isn’t just a coming-of-age story about Chihiro’s humanistic growth, but her spiritual growth as well—they are one and the same. The same goes for Satsuki and Mei’s growth in My Neighbor Totoro. In a child’s eyes, Kami use magic to inhabit natural elements, highlighting a cultural perspective that sees the supernatural as an integral part of the natural world. This is not just a tool used to enrich Miyazaki’s narrative by populating this world with vibrant beings, but becomes a sort of educational tool that introduces audiences to aspects of Japanese culture and spirituality.
We see this sort of education being passed down from parents to children. Satsuki and Mei are at first scared of the “ghosts” that might be living in their house, and they run away from the soot sprites that occupy their attic. But their mother and father express excitement about meeting the ghosts, exhibiting a fearless attraction to connecting with beings beyond their mortal reality; and Granny claims that the soot sprites, aka susuwatari, move from a house when a family consists of good people, which empowers the children and gives them hope about the strength of their home. In both cases, the “unknown” isn’t treated as something scary and threatening, but instead instructive and enlightening.
How stories empower children to cope with reality
You’ll notice there’s not much of a plot in My Neighbor Totoro beyond Satsuki and Mei’s struggle with their mother’s illness; that the movie is largely occupied by mundane chores and silly games and childlike discussions. And…that’s sort of the point. We’re not supposed to be invested in the typical narrative tropes that occupy Hollywood films, the sort of nadir that feels fictional and forced. My Neighbor Totoro aims to be reflective of an everyday connection between humanity and nature that’s taught from youth.
This connection is showcased through a narrative device that Miyazaki knows quite well, that Mubashir points out in their essay, that has been discussed numerous times on this website: defamiliarization. As noted on our “How to Watch a Film” page, defamiliarization is “when some element, idea, facet of life that is familiar is made strange. Often done by distortion, exaggeration, genre.” Sci-fi, horror, and fantasy are all genres that often utilize this approach. The example we use is Inception, which “owns all of the steps of the grieving process, but in an exaggerated form, which allows the simplest, real-life aspects of the concept to stand out.” When we defamiliarize the familiar, we make life easier to understand. It’s how we can recognize ourselves in outlandish situations that seem completely foreign upon first glance. It’s a fantastic tool that helps adults understand stories better, but it’s especially impactful on children who are viewing a complex world through fresh eyes.
Which brings us back to Satsuki and Mei. This connection to something larger than themselves is what allows these two girls to find solace in the seemingly vacuous natural space that surrounds their new house—a house they are rebuilding and hoping to turn into a home where their mother can wait for them to come home from school every day. Their mother is only part of their story. She can’t always be there for them. In their most trying moments, there’s a much more important connection that will guide them through the mess of life.
So if you’re consumed by whether “Totoro is actually real,” or “why Satsuki and Mei didn’t go see their mother,” then you’re sort of missing the point. If My Neighbor Totoro were to cleanly tie up every storyline and adhere to rules written by reality, it would have no impact on the inherent power of defamiliarization, on the impactful lessons taught by Japanese folklore, on the intrinsic connection shared between child and nature—those elements are part of the film’s DNA, of Satsuki and Mei’s universally recognizable struggles.
Here’s a better way to think about the final scene: it didn’t even happen. Instead, think of My Neighbor Totoro as a painting. In a painting, you’re not concerned about narrative logistics. You’re observing the styles of the brushstrokes, the emotion on people’s faces, the use of color and space and rhythm—that’s all part of understand the inherent power of an image. This is exactly how I view the ending of My Neighbor Totoro: it’s simply a moment that’s symbolic, that presents a familiar feeling in an unfamiliar way that’s fundamentally tied to the mise-en-scene of the film. The supernatural in My Neighbor Totoro functions as a narrative device that allows for the exploration of themes beyond the reach of a purely realistic storyline, that brings richness to topics such as the resilience of the human spirit, the power of imagination, and the complexities of growing up.
As Satsuki and Mei sit there in the tree watching their mother, I understand that their connection with nature empowered them to become more independent, to view existence and humanity in a more collective sense. It makes sense that Satsuki is the only one that can see Totoro and ride the Catbus to find Mei because their journeys are one in the same. And when their mother finds the ear of corn on the windowsill, her wonder and amazement showcases the understanding parents have for their children’s emotional journey, especially during moments of extreme hardship. All in all, the ending serves as a beautiful encapsulation of My Neighbor Totoro‘s exploration of how Japanese children are taught to grow and learn, how Japanese families love and strengthen one another.
The themes, meaning, and message of My Neighbor Totoro
Nostalgia and idealized rural life in post-war Japan
There’s a strong focus on the importance of family bonds and community support in My Neighbor Totoro that is central to several other Miyazaki movies as well. While the dynamics of Kusakabe family create fear and unease with Satsuki and Mei, this is merely a device used by Miyazaki to highlight how adversity strengthens these familial and communal ties that are so present and important to coming-of-age stories in Japan—specifically, as Shoko Yoneyama argues in this essay, post-war Japan. My Neighbor Totoro doesn’t just take place in any year, but instead 1950s Japan. On the other side of World War II, the relationships between family and community members in this film carry a very specific energy and tone in that directly comments on modern Japanese society.
Miyazaki took pains to meticulously recreate a post-war rural setting, aiming to capture the tranquility and beauty of the Japanese countryside. There’s a loving tone to this depiction that seems to capture a nostalgic longing for what the setting, with its lack of bustling traffic and modern amenities, inherently represents: a simple, harmonious relationship between humans and nature. The rural life depicted in the film, with its traditional houses, verdant landscapes, and community-oriented lifestyle, serves as the ever-present backdrop for the unfolding narrative. And what’s that narrative? We’re watching two young girls trying to cope with their family’s precarious situation and the potential loss of their mother…during a period of Japan’s history that’s marked by recovery and transformation. This attention to historical detail not only grounds My Neighbor Totoro‘s story in a specific time and place, but evokes a sense of longing for a past where the pace of life allowed for such contemplations, fostered a deeper connection to the natural world.
As Kosuke Fujiki notes in his essay, the film subtly addresses the economic and social realities of post-war rural Japan, depicting a community that is both resilient and supportive. There’s a communal spirit, from the Granny’s story about susuwatari to Kanta lending his umbrella to the community-wide search for Mei, that’s presented as essential for surviving a harrowing period of Japanese life. The challenges faced by rural families, from post-war economic changes to maintaining traditional ways of life amidst pressures to modernize, are inherent when observing tight-knit communities like this. All in all, this focus creates a much deeper understanding of the setting’s significance to Satsuki and Mei’s storyline, as their childlike connection to nature is representative of a much more traditional, Shinto-based view of life and humanity.
In turn, the film becomes a subtle critique on modernity, emphasizing the disconnect from nature and traditional values in Japanese society. The serene, life-affirming settings of nature that help guide Satsuki and Mei are contrasted with the encroaching pressures of urban life, hinting at the loss of innocence and connection to the natural world in modern times. Through characters like Totoro, Miyazaki champions a return to a more harmonious, balanced way of living that respects the environment and cherishes simple joys.
As Brendan C. Walsh posits in his essay, the rural setting of My Neighbor Totoro also plays a part in the film’s environmental themes (which are discussed in further detail below), as rural Japan served as a bastion biodiversity and natural beauty during a period of post-war reconstruction that often led to environmental degradation in other parts of the country. By highlighting the coexistence of humanity and nature, specifically through Satsuki and Mei’s friendship with Totoro, Miyazaki advocates for a balanced approach to development that respects and preserves the natural environment. This perspective becomes much more poignant in the context of post-war recovery, as this community’s story becomes a reminder of what can be lost when we rush towards industrialization and urbanization.
Environmentalism and the preservation of satoyama
Environmentalism is directly tied to the theme of rural life in post-war Japan—specifically when we concentrate on the “satoyama” of My Neighbor Totoro‘s setting. Satoyama is simply defined, according to Wikipedia, as “a Japanese term applied to the border zone or area between mountain foothills and arable flat land. Literally, sato (里) means village, and yama (山) means hill or mountain.” But the term has enjoyed several definitions over the years that take its true meaning to something much deeper and more representative of, as Timo Thelen notes in this essay, an “environmental conservation with a national ideology of ‘the Japanese’ living in harmony with nature since ancient times.” The movement didn’t gain as much traction until the 2000s, making Totoro an important artistic precursor to a larger movement that connected with the themes subtly depicted in the film.
The concept of satoyama extends beyond the physical landscape to encompass the communal way of life it supports. The people in the community of My Neighbor Totoro share resources, work together to maintain landscapes, and participate in local traditions—all intrinsic components of satoyama. This depiction of social life that is humble and selfless emphasizes the potential for society to live sustainably within its natural environment, suggesting that the preservation of satoyama landscapes is inextricably tied to the preservation of community bonds and traditions.
Miyazaki makes this commentary all the more powerful by focusing his story on two young girls who gain a childlike understanding of satoyama through Totoro and other forest spirits. This paints satoyama as not just a physical space, but as an integral component human experience and development from an early age. The preservation of these environments elementally inspires a sense of wonder, curiosity, and a respect for nature that are crucial to emotional and spiritual development. These aren’t just stretches of land, but sacred spaces that sustain life in multiple dimensions. Satoyama is infused with mankind’s entire existence, its storied relationship with nature, its spiritual connection that has allowed for peaceful companionship over the years.
So while environmentalism is never an outright theme expressed by the film through dialogue, it is undeniably an inherent part of the film’s visual language and mise-en-scene. The more we research and understand My Neighbor Totoro, the more we recognize the film’s influence on the satoyama movement. Art director Kazuo Oga was originally inclined to participate in the film when Miyazaki showed him an image of Totoro standing in a satoyama. That’s probably because the satoyama, which can be seen throughout My Neighbor Totoro, has become representative traditional village life in Japan—a theme we discussed in great detail above. Oga took this inspiration to design the film, which created an idyllic setting where humans and nature coexist in balance. The film became so representative of the movement in both a visual and narrative sense that the “Totoro Hometown Fund Campaign,” which sought to preserve areas of the satoyama in the Saitama Prefecture, was initiated two years after the film’s release.
Now it’s your turn
Have more unanswered questions about My Neighbor Totoro? Are there themes or motifs we missed? Is there more to explain about the ending? Please post your questions and thoughts in the comments section! We’ll do our best to address every one of them. If we like what you have to say, you could become part of our movie guide!
