‘Journal with Witch’ premiere review: “Overflowing”

There are times when it only takes a few moments, a few words, to know that what you’re watching/reading/listening to is going to be extremely your shit. Journal with Witch (Ikoku Nikki), with its contemplative writing about grief, belonging, and writing, was already gearing that way. Add to that a score from master composer Kensuke Ushio (The Colors Within, Chainsaw Man: The Movie – Reze Arc), a female director at the helm (still something of a rarity in animation) and something of a disaster mess of a writer at the center whose deep, heavy sighs while writing, hunched at her desk, are noteworthy to our protagonist, and well, hook, line and sinker and all that.

Journal with Witch is one of those manga that have existed on my periphery for a while now. One that, along with works like Medalist and Witch Hat Atelier, was spoken about by those in circles who celebrate beyond the popularity of certain battle shonen and other mainstream adaptations. But, comparatively, it seemed so small that it was a delightful surprise to see it getting an adaptation. And, getting an adaptation with some serious cred backing it.

Based on the manga written and illustrated by Tomoko Yamashita and produced by the studio Shuka (who has, tellingly, adapted seasons five through seven of the similarly contemplative Natsume’s Book of Friends), the premiere delivers on the quality of writing. A slice-of-life story adapted by writer Kōhei Kiyasu (who adapted another favorite, Run with the Wind), the direction and writing deliver a story that might be softly observed but is direct in its telling. The characters themselves might be reserved, but the visual storytelling is anything but.

What is Journal with Witch About?

With a quiet air of domesticity, Journal with Witch opens on a scene of familial comfort – albeit not in so much a way many might expect. 15-year-old Asa Takumi (Fuko Mori) sings, bright and inconsistent, while preparing dinner. Meanwhile, her aunt, Makio Kōdai (Miyuki Sawashiro), a 35-year-old novelist, sits in the next room, tapping away at her keyboard. The door is open, the living space cluttered with littered pages and stacked books. And as Asa observes her aunt later as she’s trying to sleep, Makio is still working diligently, the premiere settles on a note of ease. This is a duo that knows how to live with one another.

This easy, companionable atmosphere is necessary for the follow-up, where we learn about why and how Asa ended up living with Makio. Not just because it explains how it happens, but because it highlights the evident growth in just over twenty minutes. The writing is so extraordinary, so observant and internalized, because it shows us the possibilities of growth despite their, so far, limited interactions.

Makio makes an important decision.

We learn that Asa’s parents died in a car accident. When Makio first arrives to meet Asa, the latter is still at the hospital with another, seemingly distant relative. Makio, despite her standoffish behavior and aversion to socializing, quickly catches on to what the other adults haven’t. Asa is exhausted, and she’s hungry. Asa is a kid who has been put in an impossible situation. And while Makio has a strained relationship with her sister, Asa’s mother, and can’t bring herself to grieve, she realizes that Asa deserves the space to.

What follows are beautiful beats of contemplation as Makio continually offers space to Asa. To heal, to eat, and to rest. It’s unorthodox to others, but it’s much more enriching than the polite, cold platitudes Asa might’ve felt elsewhere. At the funeral, Makio extends an offer. Asa can live with her. Makio might never be able to live up to a maternal figure that Asa might desire. She might not even be capable of loving Asa. But she will provide her niece with a home, a sense of stability, and a foundation on which she might flourish and grieve in whichever way best befits her. She’ll give her better than forced comfort and plain sushi. She offers her, plainly, a future.

Initial thoughts.

Not to put too smug a point on it – especially since, reasonably, I should be the one to know my tastes best – but yeah, I was right. This is very my shit.  Hopefully, the series will garner the enormous audience that it deserves. Because this is some deft, heartfelt storytelling that refuses to under- or overplay the emotions for the sake of narrative convenience. There are no major breakdowns or breakthroughs.

When Makio tells Asa she should keep a journal to process her emotions, she even tells her she can write lies in it. Grief is a vast, isolated feeling that requires us to perform an impossible, joyless magic trick. We must tell ourselves lies to get through the day – I’m fine, I’m healing, my relationship with the deceased was perfect and ended with closure – while, slowly, agonizingly, reckoning with the fact that there never are neat ends.

We’re fooling ourselves while healing ourselves. And the fact that Journal of Witch manages to capture that sensation of murky, clumsy self-realization is breathtaking. It’s hard to gather just what Asa feels about her parents’ passing and what their relationship was like. But what is clear is that Makio understands those cloudy thoughts in how she handles Asa, despite her own introverted demeanor, as someone who has never willingly shared space with anyone else.

An exercise in complex emotions and creative details.

The story itself is so rich and the characterization so intense that, if the animation were to falter, it wouldn’t be a huge loss. Though it might encourage more people to read the source material. However, the animation is superb, matching the tone and inherent melancholy of the story through its direction and use of color. From the browns of the color palette in Asa and Makio’s first meeting that give the scene an earthly, grounded feeling, to the vast plains of Asa’s imagined desert as she processes her loneliness, the look and style are distinctive from other anime, slice-of-life or otherwise, that tend to play with greater vibrancy.

Journal of Witch, comparatively, is subdued. It allows the details of the work to tell the story. The details that tell the characters’ story. Take, for instance, Makio’s clumsy, desperate grab for a hair tie while she’s trying to offer her version of comfort to Asa, one of the first signs of her own persistent state of disarray. Or, later, the two eat together, and Asa already learns through observation how Makio lives.

But it’s the clutter in their apartment that truly stands out. While each piece of scrap paper and each dirty dish might have a better home in the world of the characters, they each perfectly play a part in building out the world of this story. There’s warmth in the design, and it floods the story with light.

Continue or quit.

It will be hard to pry this one away from me. Between the clever direction and thoughtful, introspective writing, it was already going to be a highlight. Add to that the score that builds on the structure and, with Ushio’s typical flair, adds a sharpness to what otherwise might be too plainly pretty, and some strong, understated voice acting, and Journal of Witch is poised to be, at the very least, a critical triumph.

Here’s hoping that the series manages to reach beyond its niche audience. Not just because these types of stories – josei and coming-of-age and slice-of-life narratives – deserve the same space as their shonen counterparts. But because the writing is relatable even if you haven’t experienced the same events that led Asa to Makio’s apartment. There’s relatability in someone seeing you in the moment that matters most.

Beyond all of that, even, it’s simply good—good writing, good acting, good animation. Maybe there will be a major drop-off in quality in Episode 2. But for now, the promise is immense. In a season full to the brim with must-watch, tentpole anime, make time for the gentle heart at the center of Journal with Witch.

Journal with Witch Episode 1 is available now on Crunchyroll. Watch the trailer below. 

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Images courtesy of Crunchyroll and Shuka.