If you’ve ever spent five minutes around a four-year-old, you know they aren’t just "small adults." They are chaotic, single-minded, surprisingly loud, and intensely observant. That’s exactly why My Neighbor Totoro Mei—the younger Kusakabe sister—remains such a landmark in animation history. Most movies treat kids like plot devices or cute accessories, but Hayao Miyazaki didn't do that. He captured the actual essence of being four.
She's stubborn. She's brave. Honestly, she's kind of a handful.
When Studio Ghibli released My Neighbor Totoro in 1988, they weren't just making a movie about a big fuzzy forest spirit. They were documenting a specific kind of Japanese childhood in the 1950s. Mei Kusakabe isn't a "character" as much as she is a mirror. If you watch her closely, you’ll see the exact moment her curiosity overrides her fear, which is basically the engine that drives the entire film.
The Specific Magic of Mei Kusakabe’s Animation
Most people talk about Totoro himself, but the real technical genius is in how Mei moves. Miyazaki is famous for demanding that his animators observe real life, and it shows. Look at the way she runs. It’s that top-heavy, slightly uncoordinated dash where the legs are moving faster than the torso. It’s precarious. You’re constantly waiting for her to trip, and sometimes she does, but she just gets right back up.
The "Mei and the Dust Bunnies" (Susuwatari) scene is a masterclass in child psychology. She isn't just looking at the shadows; she's hunting them. When she catches one and ends up with soot-covered palms, her reaction isn't "Oh, I’m dirty." It’s pure, unadulterated triumph.
Why Her Age Matters
Mei is four. Satsuki is ten. That six-year gap is a lifetime when you’re a kid. While Satsuki is trying to be the "grown-up" because their mother is in the hospital, Mei is allowed to be purely emotional. She represents the "id." When she decides she’s going to walk to the hospital to give her mom a corn cob, she isn't being "bad." In her mind, that corn is a magical cure. It’s a total lack of logic that feels 100% authentic to that age group.
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My Neighbor Totoro Mei and the Discovery of the Forest Spirit
Let’s talk about the scene where she actually finds Totoro. It’s probably one of the most famous sequences in cinema history. She’s following the small, translucent Minis—the Chibi-Totoro and the Chu-Totoro—through the undergrowth. She isn't scared. Why would she be? To a four-year-old, a strange creature in the garden is just another thing to investigate, like a cool rock or a beetle.
When she falls down the hole in the camphor tree, she lands on Totoro’s stomach. This is where the "realism" gets weirdly accurate. She doesn't scream in terror. She pokes him. She screams back at his yawn. She names him "Totoro" because she mispronounces "Tororu" (the Japanese word for Troll). It’s a linguistic mistake that parents everywhere recognize.
The fact that she falls asleep on him is a huge narrative beat. It establishes that the forest isn't a place of danger, but a place of sanctuary. It’s a sharp contrast to Western fairy tales where the woods are usually where the wolves live.
The "Mei is Dead" Theory: Why It’s Completely Wrong
If you spend any time on the internet, you’ve probably run into that dark "urban legend" claiming that My Neighbor Totoro Mei actually dies halfway through the movie. The theory goes that the Catbus is a carriage to the afterlife and that only the children can see the spirits because they are near death (or already gone).
Studio Ghibli actually had to issue a formal statement about this years ago because it got so out of hand.
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The "evidence" people cite—like Mei not having a shadow in the final scenes—is actually just a result of the animators deciding that shadows weren't necessary in those specific lighting setups to save production time. It happens in animation all the time. More importantly, the movie is meant to be a nostalgic, happy memory of Miyazaki’s own childhood surroundings in Tokorozawa. Turning it into a ghost story misses the entire point of Ghibli’s philosophy. The spirits are real within the world of the film, and they are there to help the girls cope with their anxiety about their mother’s illness.
Life is scary enough when your mom is in the hospital; you don't need to add a "death god" Catbus to the mix.
The Symbolism of the Corn
That ear of corn Mei carries is the most important prop in the movie. It’s her "Holy Grail." Throughout the film, Granny tells her that the vegetables from the garden will make her mother feel better. To a child, this is a literal truth. When the telegram comes saying the hospital visit is canceled, Mei’s world shatters.
Her decision to run away isn't an act of rebellion. It’s an act of desperate love. She’s trying to fix a broken world with a vegetable. If you’ve ever seen a kid try to give a "magic" band-aid to a crying parent, you’ve seen Mei.
How to Appreciate the Nuance of Mei’s Character
If you’re rewatching the movie, keep an eye out for these tiny details that make Mei feel so human:
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- The "Imitation" Factor: Notice how she mimics Satsuki’s every move. If Satsuki laughs, Mei laughs louder. If Satsuki works in the kitchen, Mei wants to hold a bowl. It’s the classic younger-sibling dynamic of learning how to exist by watching the person slightly older than you.
- The Physicality of Grief: When she finds out her mom isn't coming home, she doesn't just cry. She gets stiff. She argues. She stomps. It’s a "tantrum" born of genuine fear, which is a nuance many writers miss.
- Her Relationship with Nature: She interacts with the world through touch. She’s constantly picking things up, poking at holes in the floor, and getting her hands in the dirt.
The Lasting Impact of Mei on Modern Animation
Before My Neighbor Totoro Mei, children in anime were often "mini-adults" who talked like philosophers. After Mei, we started seeing more "messy" kids. You can see her DNA in characters like Ponyo or even in modern Western films like Inside Out or The Mitchells vs. the Machines.
She proved that you don't need a massive character arc or a "chosen one" destiny to be a compelling protagonist. Sometimes, just trying to walk to the hospital to deliver some corn is enough of an adventure.
It’s about the scale of a child’s world. To us, the hospital is a short drive. To Mei, it’s a cross-continental trek through a wilderness of giant cats and tall grass.
Actionable Steps for Ghibli Fans
If you want to dive deeper into the world that created Mei, there are a few things you can actually do rather than just rewatching the Blu-ray for the 50th time.
- Visit the Satsuki and Mei House: In Nagakute, Japan (at the Aichi Commemorative Park), there is a full-scale replica of their house. It’s not just a movie set; it’s built with the same materials and techniques used in the 1950s. You can open the drawers, look under the stairs, and see the "shrine" they set up for their mom.
- Study the "Totoro Forest": The Sayama Hills in Saitama Prefecture is the real-life inspiration for the film. You can hike through the "Totoro Forest" (Totoro no Mori) and see the actual landscape Miyazaki wanted to preserve. There is a "Kurosuke House" there that serves as a base for the Totoro no Furusato Foundation.
- Look for the "Mei and the Baby Catbus" short: This is a "secret" sequel that only plays at the Ghibli Museum in Mitaka. It’s a 13-minute film that focuses entirely on Mei and a smaller version of the Catbus. It’s rare, and you have to win a lottery to get tickets to the museum, but it’s the only official continuation of her story.
- Read "The Art of My Neighbor Totoro": This book contains the original concept sketches. You’ll see that Mei was originally supposed to be the only child in the film. Miyazaki eventually split her into two characters—Satsuki and Mei—to make the dynamic more interesting and to allow for that "imitation" behavior I mentioned earlier.
Understanding Mei means understanding that childhood is a mix of absolute wonder and total vulnerability. She’s a reminder that even when things are scary, there’s usually something incredible waiting in the bushes if you’re brave enough to go looking for it.
The next time you watch the film, ignore the big gray guy for a second. Watch the girl in the pink dress. That's where the real magic is happening.