‘The Colors Within’ Review: Yamada Naoko’s Luminous Anime About Finding Oneself

The idea behind Yamada Naoko’s animated film The Colors Within is simple and straightforward. Totsuko (Suzukawa Sayu), a student at an all-girls Catholic boarding school, has the ability to see the “colors” of others, and finds herself especially drawn to people who give off the most vibrant hues. Early on, she gets socked in the face during gym class while entranced by the solid blue of Kimi (Takaishi Akari), a pretty classmate throwing a dodgeball her way. And at its most rapturous, The Colors Within uses color and perception not to simplify its world but to reflect the complexity of the emotions its characters feel so deeply.

Despite what the title of the film might suggest, Totsuko’s synaesthesia isn’t the focal point of the story. Animation studio Science Saru may have a reputation for taking wild, experimental swings, yet this film’s most affecting sequences are the ones grounded in reality. The Colors Within is surprisingly sparing when it comes to adopting Totsuko’s point of view. Instead, it favors gorgeous, naturalistic movements through lived-in environments like the bookstore where Kimi works after dropping out of school, or the abandoned church where Totsuko and Kimi form a band with Rui (Kido Taisei), a bookish boy who Totsuko sees in a rich green.

So much animation relies on stylized representations of the world, and there’s something quietly radical about how The Colors Within refrains from tethering itself exclusively to Totsuko’s POV. Through simple observation of the characters enjoying each other’s presence, we come to understand that Totsuko’s way of seeing is simply one way of seeing.

Our heroine isn’t necessarily more perceptive than others—more in touch with who she is and what she wants. In fact, the opposite is more often true, as she struggles to explain her synaesthesia, which leaves her feeling alienated. She doesn’t even tell Kimi and Rui about it for much of the film’s runtime. The trio instead express their emotions through another abstract, feelings-driven medium: music. In this regard, Rui’s use of the theremin, an instrument played without physical contact, is particularly appropriate: communication by way of the intangible.

The Colors Within finds so much power in the unresolved and outright unspoken. A clear explanation for why Kimi drops out of school is never offered, and we only get the broad strokes of Rui’s struggles at home. And despite the story’s overtones of queer affection, Totsuko never comes to grips with any romantic component to her relationship with Kimi.

The film is able to suggest great depths through withholding, by having characters express what they feel only in abstract terms during a fraught, transitional period of their lives. We don’t see these characters fully figure themselves out, nor are we comforted that they’re going to be okay as they head into an uncertain future. But we do see how, in no uncertain terms, three young people converged for one brief moment and how luminous it was.