Child of Kamiari Month

The God of the Starting Line

In the lexicon of Japanese folklore, the month of October holds a dual identity. To most of Japan, it is *Kannazuki*, the "Month of No Gods," a time of spiritual vacancy. But in the sacred region of Izumo, it is *Kamiarizuki*, the "Month of the Gods," where eight million deities convene to weave the threads of human fate. Takana Shirai’s directorial debut, *Child of Kamiari Month* (2021), situates itself in this poetic gap between absence and presence. While it wears the trappings of a supernatural adventure, the film is, at its marrow, a kinetic meditation on the paralyzing inertia of grief and the literal movement required to outrun it.



The narrative follows Kanna, a young girl whose world has been drained of color following the death of her mother. Once a joyful runner, Kanna now views the track as a site of trauma—a place where she wasn't "fast enough" to outpace mortality. The film’s brilliance lies in how it physicalizes this internal struggle. When Kanna discovers her lineage as an *Idaten* (a divine runner) and dons her mother’s amulet, the film shifts into a distinct visual gear. The animation, spearheaded by Liden Films, does not merely depict speed; it manipulates the physics of the frame. Raindrops hang suspended in the air like diamonds in resin; the background blurs into an impressionistic wash of color. Shirai, utilizing his experience from *Children of the Sea*, treats running not as a sport, but as a state of being—a desperate, breathless flight through a world that has stopped making sense.



This visual language serves a profound narrative function. The "road movie" structure, necessitating a sprint from Tokyo to Izumo, mirrors the arduous process of mourning. Kanna is accompanied by Shiro, a rabbit deity, and Yasha, a rival demon boy, but her true antagonist is her own memory. The fantastical elements—the whimsical, sometimes grotesque parade of gods demanding offerings—are less about world-building and more about the externalization of Kanna’s burden. She is carrying the weight of expectation, the "offerings" of her ancestors, quite literally on her back. The film suggests that the act of living after loss is an endurance sport; it requires a stamina that feels superhuman.



Where lesser films might have allowed the spectacle of the "gathering of gods" to overshadow the human element, *Child of Kamiari Month* remains disciplined. The climax at Izumo is not a battle for the fate of the universe, but a quiet confrontation with the self. The script avoids the saccharine promise that running will bring the dead back; instead, it offers the harder, truer realization that we run to honor those who can no longer move. Kanna’s journey is one of unclenching her fists—learning that she runs not to escape her mother’s shadow, but to run *with* the wind she left behind.

In the crowded landscape of modern anime, where the supernatural often serves as a metaphor for adolescent anxiety, this film distinguishes itself through its specific cultural texture and emotional honesty. It posits that while we all must endure our own personal *Kannazuki*—months, or years, where the gods seem absent—we possess the agency to sprint toward the places where connection still lives. It is a tender, breathless affirmation that the finish line is just another place to start.