[The following review contains SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

Naoko Yamada’s The Colors Within is a work of sublime subtlety. Unlike the director’s unabashedly melodramatic A Silent Voice, this film’s central conflict resides deep in the subtext, to the extent that it’s borderline subliminal. While it’s tempting to reduce the basic plot to a series surface-level anime tropes—the endearingly spacey heroine, her cool and emotionally reserved best friend/ambiguous love interest (as is often the case with possible queer representation in Japanese media, the true nature of their relationship remains open to interpretation), an episodic slice-of-life structure that culminates in a climactic concert at the school festival—the carefully crafted imagery paints a significantly more profound picture in the margins of this familiar framework. In my opinion, a single quote, delivered during the opening narration, elegantly illuminates this underlying meaning:
O God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.

Protagonist Totsuko Higurashi frequently repeats these words throughout the narrative. The sentiment is, of course, incomplete, consistently and conspicuously excluding the subsequent pleas for “the courage to change the things I can” and “the wisdom to know the difference.” When her teacher and mentor Sister Hiyoshiko confronts her about the omission, the young girl sheepishly replies that she’s merely seeking “peace of mind.” The fact that the first instance of this truncated prayer immediately precedes a montage depicting Totsuko abandoning her childhood dream of becoming a ballerina, however, is revealing, betraying her severe lack of confidence and self-esteem. Indeed, the wonder with which she views the world—she claims to be able to “feel” the spiritual energy that human beings emit, perceiving it as a literal aura that radiates vibrant hues of blue, yellow, and green—does not apply to herself; as far as she’s concerned, she produces no light whatsoever, existing in a perpetual state of monochrome. The same introductory monologue concludes with the following observation:
If I could see my own color, I wonder what kind of color it would be.
Finding her “color,” then, symbolizes discovering her self-worth—not necessarily by achieving “success” in the traditional sense or conforming to some idealized standard of "perfection" imposed upon her by others, but rather by simply learning to embrace her quirks and express herself unapologetically. This theme echoes in the arcs of the supporting characters, aspiring guitarist Kimi Sakunaga and theremin prodigy Rui Kagehira, who initially hide their passion for music due to fear of parental disapproval. Ultimately, resolving these intersecting and interweaving tensions will require the group to commit to their goals, pursing their ambitions to the very end—no matter the personal cost.

Enriching its triumphant story with exquisitely fluid animation and infectiously catchy songs, The Colors Within once again demonstrates the impressive versatility of Yamada’s authorial voice and creative vision; I look forward to seeing how her style continues to evolve in future projects.
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