Spoilers ahead!

To be honest, I liked this film because it was a modest story about drawing, and one rendered with noticeably beautiful animation. It captured in fine detail the admiration and jealousy toward a talented peer that any creative person has felt, the bruised pride, and the triumphant story of growth achieved through one’s own effort—and just seeing those situations powerfully stirred my creative drive and competitive instincts.

What impressed me was the way the film expresses information. Look Back doesn’t add any unnecessary embellishment once a meaning has been established. This characteristic is most evident in how it repeats shots of Fujino and Kyomoto from behind. For example, Fujino’s passion for drawing is shown with a brief glimpse of her, and the rest is woven into a montage of the spaces she moves through—her room, the living room, school, the library—and how those spaces slowly change with the seasons, with stacks of sketch pads accumulating one by one in between. The same technique is used to depict Fujino and Kyomoto after they decide to create together, and Fujino left alone after Kyomoto’s death.

Thanks to that stylish restraint, the film became concise and easy to follow. When Fujino and Kyomoto confirm that their manga has been published in a magazine, the joyful outcry that bursts out, and the everyday conversation that strings along from Kyomoto’s monologue on the train home—instead of explicitly delivering the content, the film simply shows the characters from outside the space. Not that it felt monotonous—rather, it came across as elegant and clever in parts. For instance, when Fujino from a different time period looks up manga she made during her school days, several split-screen panels play one after another with time delays, from right to left, top to bottom. This technique delivers the experience of reading a manga—the cut comic, which is the core medium of the work—with the eyes, just like reading an actual comic. Look Back conveys important scenes with thoughtful direction, boldly skips scenes that don’t need explicit narration, and the gaps that occasionally arise are filled by sophisticated composition and a brilliant OST.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who felt the film treated its characters with remarkable thoughtfulness. Look Back never forgets to concretize both the premise of “wanting to create” and the concept of “girlhood”—showing Fujino’s tapping foot at home and in the studio, or the scene where she enjoys a fun time in the city with the money she earned from her first published work. The highlight of the film, the scene where Fujino runs powerfully through the rain, is undoubtedly where this unique character of the film shines best. Her passion for manga, which had been drained by the words “Isn’t it about time you stopped drawing?” is restored in an instant by Kyomoto’s “You’re a manga genius,” and bursts forth in the most exaggerated way possible—her eyes squeezed shut, splashing through puddles on the way home from school as she sprints at full speed. This brilliant scene, composed of dynamic rhythm, camera movement, and the characteristically rough artwork, adds a subtle charm to the delicate line that the two girls begin to walk as Kyomoto, who had admired Fujino’s outstanding storytelling, joins her, and later, encountering “the world of background art,” begins to let go of Fujino’s hand.

Look Back is a short film that masterfully expresses the pride, jealousy, growth, and the bitterness of a life whose meaning has faded, leaving only its form—all stemming from a devotion to drawing. Despite its short 57-minute runtime, it was a thoughtful work with much to take in, and it was a pleasant respite from everyday life to watch it.