Critics reviews

[Miyazaki's] attention to the quotidian has the effect of making the fantastic, when it appears, all the more fantastic, though a great deal of the movie's charm comes from the element of the quotidian that it includes _in_ the fantastic. A catbus is a marvelous piece of imagination to be sure, but every bit as marvelous is the idea of a forest spirit _who actually has to wait for the bus_.

Its unassuming demeanor belies a thematic foundation built on a faith in humanity rare in contemporary cinema, the naïveté of the youths it depicts yielding a certain perseverance in young and old alike. Chances are, if it wasn't so modest, it wouldn't project such an endearing grace, let alone have fostered such an enduring legacy.

Watching the film again not only cements its reputation as Miyazaki's most ebullient and emotionally incisive achievement to date, but as perhaps one of greatest animated feature films ever made.

Despite the cuteness, there's little in the way of icky sentiment – indeed the spectre of death hangs over the story – but it's a captivating world you won't want to come home from.

An otherworldly tale of childhood and a definitive work of imagination.

The two kids are effortlessly real and emotionally complex, but profoundly simple, and Miyazaki’s unique masterpiece embraces that childlike existence – to the point where Totoro has now become part of Ghibli’s iconic logo.

Everything involving "him" (?), his smaller "relatives" (??), and the frickin' Catbus (!!!) totally enchants, and I tend to assume that folks who adore this picture focus exclusively on those bits and more or less forget about how much of it is the little girls running around squealing at Life Itself.

Miyazaki has proven himself to be one of the cinema’s premiere landscape artists, alongside Ford, Kurosawa, and Tarkovsky. In Totoro, he animates wind and rain with an earthy kineticism, just as he does the churning seas in Ponyo or the dense forests in Spirited Away.

It is a little sad, a little scary, a little surprising and a little informative, just like life itself. It depends on a situation instead of a plot, and suggests that the wonder of life and the resources of imagination supply all the adventure you need.

Like much of Miyazaki's work, the film has an ecological bent that recalls the Shinto reverence for animal spirits and reflects quintessential Asian values like respect for one's parents and community in the face of crisis. It exemplifies Ghibli's style of fanciful realism, paying close attention to minute details as well-drawn figures move across a fluid backdrop.

The weakest aspect of “Totoro” is the animation itself, which never rises above the level of Saturday morning kidvid... But despite these limits, “My Neighbor Totoro”... is a gentle and affirming film.

Writer-director Hayao Miyazaki has essentially padded a television half-hour into a sluggish theatrical feature.