WHEN THE VATICAN introduced an anime-inspired mascot named Luce for the Year of Jubilee, online critics called it creepy, uninspiring, even “deeply evil.” The pushback against the cheerful, blue-haired pilgrim isn’t that surprising given the way anime is often stereotyped as an immature medium. Yet as animator-director Naoko Yamada demonstrates in her latest film, The Colors Within, anime can convey important existential truths.
Anime (Japanese animation) originated in the 1900s and spread across the globe with the advent of the internet and streaming services. Signature attributes of anime—including big-eyed characters with vibrant hairstyles—attract interest and, occasionally, scorn. Yet Japanese studios like Studio Ghibli have done well to engage with serious topics, from fascism to the devastations of war. Yamada’s work gives us another reason to take this medium seriously.
The Colors Within is, on one level, a commentary on teenage growing pains. It explores the interactions of three peers who form a band and reckon with their desires amid familial expectations.
It’s also an earnest depiction of unreserved awe for God’s handiwork—the kind of awe familiar to mystics. The film’s ebullient protagonist, Totsuko, exudes this wonder. A student at a Catholic school, Totsuko has synesthetic perception—meaning that seen through her eyes, her peers radiate uniquely colorful auras. When Totsuko walks through waves of classmates, she’s overcome by the pulsing hues that emanate from their hearts.
In Totsuko’s synesthetic revelations, I recognize Trappist monk Thomas Merton’s own epiphany. Standing on a Louisville street corner, Merton felt a rush of love for strangers passing by, remarking, “There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun.”
Similarly, Totsuko’s synesthesia instills her with an infectious delight for the world. She is drawn to one classmate’s blue hue and, connecting with her later in a bookshop, the pair (along with another customer) decide to form a band. After watching a video on the solar system in class, she has an ecstatic vision of dancing, technicolor forms. Here, her visions of the universe remind me of those described in St. Hildegard of Bingen’s Scivias.
Yamada structures this film around Christian themes and symbols—an uncommon artistic direction for anime. Totsuko’s regard for the world is filtered through the vivid lens of faith and punctuated by God’s presence. She recites the Serenity Prayer in chapel and drafts lyrics that offer divine praise. These emphases do not bind the film to a rigid worldview but instead invite viewers of any religious tradition to contemplate the fruits of personal and communal spirituality.
The Colors Within offers no plot twists or tragic interruptions; it simply invites viewers to savor an artistic journey shared among friends. It challenges viewers to slow down and drink in the details, from shadows rippling on the water’s edge to the particular hues of Totsuko’s technicolor sight. These details reflect an attentiveness to craft that is being lost in this AI-obsessed era. Where Disney, K&K Design, and other animation studios uncritically embrace AI, The Colors Within proves vividly antidotal, conveying the power of the handmade for heart and soul.
Céire Kealty holds a doctorate in theology from Villanova University, where she studied fashion theory, spirituality, and ethics. She lives in Pennsylvania.
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