The opening shots of The Great Passage’s second episode serve as the firmest possible reaffirmation of its character acting acumen. Not only are the incidental characters walking through this establishing shot traditionally animated (itself a rarity for modern crowd scenes), they’re actually given personality, boasting distinctive body language and a variety of character-defining gestures in their time on the screen. It seems fitting that a show which has already attested to the intentionality of every creative choice you make would be so generous in animating these tertiary characters; as with the dictionary they hope to build, everything that is included is included for a reason, and honed to the highest possible standard.
That sense of absolute purpose continues as we cut to a celebration of Majime’s induction into the team. Our first shot is of a wine glass being generously topped off – not poured, not refilled, but topped off, with that phrase’s specific implications of boisterous merriment speaking to all the glasses that came before. Jumping to Araki, the intentionality of his every gesture speaks to how fully a character can be realized through movement alone. In his shrugging off a coworker’s toast, we see his easy-going nature and lack of a “leadership voice” – but when he turns to Majime and addresses their mutual project, his eyes snap into focus, emphasizing how even inebriation cannot prevent him from taking dictionaries seriously.
More personality is conveyed through both movement and its absence as Majime is introduced to the rest of the team. The boisterous, unserious Nishioka is brought to life with a fluidity of form that speaks to his careless nature; in contrast, the reserved Sasaki chooses each movement with care, gracing Majime with just the hint of a nod as she is introduced. Their supervisor Matsumoto is both generous and dignified in his movements, greeting Majime with a polite full bow. And of course, there’s Majime himself, whose insecurities and general lack of comportment are forever clear in the nervous twitch of his face, and the tense slump of his shoulder blades. In the careful movements of all these characters, personalities and relationships are conveyed without a word, fully realizing animation’s promise of movement as storytelling.
Their discussions throughout this celebration reveal a unique relationship with language, with words framed as things to be “chased” or “sought out” (a concept echoed by the show’s repeated sequences of Majime literally chasing down letters or pages). It’s a novel framing from my perspective; I generally think of language as an old friend, which admittedly speaks to my own provincial comfort zone of words and expressions. Creators of dictionaries can embrace no such comforts; for them, it is language’s wild and untamed territories that must be sought out and surveyed.
Indeed, to make a dictionary is to challenge words as well, to demand they reveal themselves in all their multifarious dimensions. This task is articulated through Araki’s vague musings on the word “dog,” and how its demarcation of both man’s canine companions and sneering phrases like “dog of the military” are encompassed within its greater territory. To make a dictionary is actually somewhat akin to what The Great Passages seeks with its character acting: to show all of an object at once, revealing how any word or person has multiple facets and qualities.
Chief Matsumoto frames their quest in even loftier terms. He sees language as a vast sea that separates all of us, and dictionaries as vessels to sail it. “Unable to find the right words, there are some who lead troubled lives caged with their own trapped feelings. We need a ship people like that can feel safe boarding.” Though some feel an expansive vocabulary might only be useful for dressing up existing thoughts in grandiose phrasing, the truth is that language is much more fundamental than that. Words are thoughts; they are the tools with which base sentiment can be given coherent voice, and possibly conveyed to another.
A limited vocabulary is a kind of cage, one that prevents you from accurately articulating your ideas, even if just to yourself. The greater your vocabulary, the more freedom you possess to actually conceive of concepts – and a dictionary provides that freedom, providing new horizons of experiences and the language with which to describe or understand them. Through the process of creating this dictionary Daitokai, Matsumoto hopes to actually promote solidarity across all people, by providing them the tools to accurately communicate their feelings.
Of course, words aren’t the only way to communicate your feelings. Even just within the present company, Nishioka provides a firm counterpoint to the fastidious, insular quests for meaning that inspire his less animated companions. Though the others complain about his loud and irreverent behavior, his mastery of social convention is in truth a perfectly valid vector for mutual understanding, and one that all the others lack. Nishioka requires fewer words because he understands modern shorthands of friendship and camaraderie; while his coworkers fuss around for perfect meanings, he makes off perfectly well with the slang and body language of his age and era.
Given that context, perhaps these other dreamers are driven less by a desire for perfect understanding, and more by the need for a language that is definable and coherent, unruffled by the winds of culture or ambiguities of social engagement. It is clear enough that Majime frequently lacks the confidence or perfect words for navigating social situations, making him a natural observer. His love of watching commuters on the escalator speaks to his intimidation with humanity’s wild bustle, and preference for things that are “patient, systematic, and beautiful.”
Creating a dictionary is a similar process of drawing order from chaos; rather than embracing the messy reality of nonverbal communication, those who build dictionaries seek to formalize meaning through the ordered rows and columns of words and their attendant definitions. Furthermore, as Araki well admits, attempting to catalog an evolving language is ultimately a task with no definitive end point, and also an inherent act of interpretation. What words we choose to feature or reject are all value judgments, choices that shape the range of thoughts that can be expressed through a given language. In that light, could anything be considered more ambitious, or arrogant, as building a dictionary, literally a vessel for guiding human thought?
As usual, Majime’s accommodating landlord sees right through him. Admitting to sharp anxieties regarding getting along with his coworkers, she chides him with a gentle “honestly, having such childish worries at your age.” She goes on to explain that, rather than attempting to create a formalized language through which to ensure there can be no misunderstanding, getting along with coworkers is simply “all about give and take. If you work hard to express your feelings to them, everyone will work hard to accommodate them.” There’s a fitting irony in how Majime, who has such difficulty navigating the challenges of everyday communication, is thus so oddly suitable for a role where he attempts to arbitrate the very meaning of language itself. He could never hope to join the earnest throng of that escalator crowd, but he can observe, analyze, and catalog it with the keen eye of one whose face is always pressed against the glass, yet whose hand never reaches towards the door.
Majime’s furtive desire for understanding, his hesitant grasp towards either earnest communication or simple engagement with the world, is given fresh urgency by the episode’s conclusion. Chasing after his free-spirited feline, he stumbles onto the apartment balcony, and is greeted by a woman spot lit against the pale moon. Swooping camera movements, lovingly animated hair, and that otherworldly glow of moonlight present this woman as both mystical and unreachable, a sentiment further emphasized by her apparent sympathy with Majime’s cat. Struck silent by this glorious figure, Majime staggers back and falls, loose sheaves of papers spilling out in sympathy with his tongue-tied gaze. Perhaps somewhere among them, the right word exists to describe this moment. If the language to cross this chasm of understanding exists, surely now he has the motivation to find it.
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