(Very mild spoilers ahead.)

It's necessary to point out immediately that the plot of Letter to Momo (ももへの手紙 – Momo e no Tegami) will sound more than a little familiar: a child, whose parent is suddenly absent, moves to the countryside with the other parent. While they are absent, working, she meets a mystical creature who, when a terrible event befalls her, saves the day by calling in a kind of spirit-vehicle. Yes, you've seen this before.

But there's more to this film than a mere Me-Too-Totoro. It's a darker story, aimed at a slightly older audience: Momo's father is not merely absent, but dead, and she's wracked with guilt over their last conversation, which was an argument. The letter of the title was found after his death – it begins 'ももへ' (Dear Momo), but ends immediately, and she carries this with her. She's left trying to navigate the difficulties of moving to a new town, full of teenage awkwardness, burdened with guilt and loneliness.

In fact, everything in the film is a touch harsher: the sad scenes are sob-inducing, and there's real peril in the dramatic moments. Meanwhile, the spirits Momo encounters along the way aren't as soft and cuddly as Totoro and the soots – instead they turn out to be goblin-like creatures with fierce visages and a troublesome case of kleptomania.

But all that said, this is a kids' film, and it all plays out beautifully. The animation is clean and crisp, and the whole thing reminded me of Mamoru Hosoda's lovely Girl who Leapt Through Time adaptation (buy it on DVD!). It's another example of how Japan's animated films can, on a good day, stand a mile above the drek that passes for most TV anime these days – if it ever makes it across to a UK DVD, then snap it up.

Note for Japanese learners: most of the language isn't tricky, with the exception of the goblins, who I often struggled and failed to understand.

A few people have asked, so here's a review of sorts: if you love the book, should you see the film?

Two disclaimers up front: I'm no film expert, just an idiot with a history of low-rent literary criticism. Your level of agreement may vary. Also, I'm focusing purely on the perspective of those who know the book. If you haven't read it, please stop here as I am going to spoil it in a huge, horrible way – go buy a copy. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle is great, too, as are Murakami's other novels – they are, to a great extent, the reason I spend hours every weekend battering my head into kanji textbooks and the conjugation of regular-1 and regular-2 Japanese verbs.

And with that out of the way: there's both a lot to like and dislike in this film adaptation.

First of all, the good stuff. This is, no doubt, a tough novel to film – there's a lot in it, it's written from within a frame where the central character narrates back historically, and some decent chunks are explicit in a way that's going to be hard to film without it looking either pornographic or just naff – but the director has clearly made an effort to create something more than a television movie. Although quite a bit of the plot is omitted, little is changed. Some of the acting is excellent and none is poor, and a few of the scenes (the dinner with Nagasawa and Hatsumi, in particular, and the pacing scene out at the sanatorium with Watanabe and Naoko) are really very well done.

It's also important to note the overwhelming artfulness of the cinematography. Every single shot in the film has been made to count, from huge vistas of the countryside to the panning close-ups of just about every conversation and the macro wildlife shots used to break scenes. A few fairly peripheral scenes – one in the university, and another introducing Nagasawa and Hatsumi – use long huge tracking shots that are genuinely breathtaking.

The problem, though, is that I found myself noticing how the camera was moving, rather than what was actually happening. And although the clever filming has much to do with that, I think it also demonstrates that the story doesn't have the same arresting power in this adaptation as it does in the novel.

There are other, bigger, problems, though. The film is two hours long, so some cuts from the book were probably unavoidable, but some are strange: at one point Midori apologises for arriving late to meet Watanabe, but only those who remember the novel will know why, as that part of their close-distant-close relationship isn't included. Similarly, the dinner scene with Nagasawa and Hatsumi may be a highlight, but it arrives in a blink of an eye with no explanation.

Watanabe's commentary on the student occupations is missing, Reiko's background is cut out completely, leaving events at the end of the novel isolated and almost nonsensical, and the significance of the song "Norwegian Wood" is stripped out entirely – Reiko sings it, as do the Beatles over the credits. No plane, no connection to Naoko, no money in a jar, no point.

And if the director might have been forced to cut stuff out, you have to wonder why on earth several scenes are added. Kizuki's suicide is shown, rather than described in the past tense, and Naoko's death is handled in a manner that's not only less powerful than the novel but, in my opinion, borderline distasteful. Watanabe's subsequent journey into the countryside is reduced to five minutes of awful overblown yowling that's so bad I comtemplated leaving the cinema, while Hatsumi's character also deserves better than the way her death is handled here.

And finally, the ending. The ending of Norwegian Wood is, to me, almost perfect. In the movie it's relocated, stripped of the location's significace (Midori's story about the train journey is cut entirely), and marred by a tacked-on conclusion from the narrator.

So, if you love the book, should you go to to see it? The answer probably depends on how much you enjoy the cinema for the cinema's sake. If you love film, beautiful camerawork, artful landscapes, interesting ways of filming close conversations and/or want to see one of the best "light beams through trees" shots ever, then go: although the book is trampled on, you'll find much to like. Similarly, if you're studying the Japanese language then much of the film is easy to understand, not least because Watanabe spends almost half the time saying "もちろん" in answer to an assortment of questions from the female characters.

If you're primarily interested in the story, though, this adaptation is likely to leave you disappointed at best: the narrative mostly survives, but its nuance and significance are lost in the trees.

A few years ago, when I was first trying to figure out how to take photos with a manual camera, I read that you could buy manual film cameras very cheaply if you picked up ones made in the former USSR. And whoever wrote that was right: courtesy of a local pawn shop I grabbed a Zenit E SLR, with lens, for about a tenner.

It needed a few spare parts, though, so I ended up buying another one (another tenner) from Ebay and combining the two into a working Frankencamera. And because when you start buying cheap cameras on Ebay it's hard to stop, I also ended up grabbing a Soviet-era rangefinder: a Zorki 4.

The Zorki is, as I understand it, a couple of generations down the line from models first made largely by copying the (vastly more expensive and better made) Leica 2. It's a completely manual rangefinder camera – no meter – that takes 35mm film and M39 screw-mount lenses. Mine came with a "Jupiter 8" 50mm f/2 lens.

It's a pretty little thing, and in remarkably good condition given that it rolled out of a factory in Krasnogorsk back in 1970, but as I was mainly interested about learning to use SLRs it was carefully boxed up. Until this week. Stuck in the flat suffering the lingering long-tail of the flu, I thought I'd pop out for some fresh air and take some photos. So, one roll of cheap C41 film later, here's what I found.

The good points

First and foremost – it works! Everything inside the Zorki seemed fine, and because the rewind knob's permanently engaged it's easy to see when film is being pulled across properly. Impressive. The rangefinder does the job – it's bright and easy to focus – and with an f/2 lens you can easily get most stuff in focus:

.. or make it a bit narrower if you prefer:

The film counter ticks along nicely (you need a screwdriver to reset it), and at the end of the roll I was able to disengage the sprockets (you turn the dial thing around the shutter) and rewind the film without ripping it to shreds. Always a bonus.

The not-so-good points

There are a few annoyances, though. For one, the Zorki's viewfinder might be bright – much better than the Zenit, in fact – but it's pretty much unusable if you wear glasses. There is a (comically huge) dioptre adjustment lever, but with glasses on it's impossible to get your eye close enough to the finder to see much of the frame.

More annoying still is the shutter speed. You set the shutter – after cocking it using the film advance knob, and never before – using the big dial in the centre:

Unfortunately most of the markings have rubbed off my Zorki's dial, and even the ones you can see are hard to select using the pick-and-drop wheel. In the end I stuck it on what I'm pretty sure is 1/60 and just used the aperture control. Call it the "one sixtieth and hope" rule, perhaps.

And speaking of the shutter and aperture, there's no light meter. Which is good, as it means no battery to die, but also means you're stuck with guessing / Sunny 16 / carrying a separate one. But with the light and shutter sussed I did manage to snap even a few moving targets:

.. as well as some landscapes in the murk, which have a nice 1970s-browny-orangey kind of feel:

Oh, and a bauble-self-portrait, too:

Not too bad for a cold, foggy, bleh kind of day in the docklands. And for all its many downsides, using the Zorki was fun – my plan now is to wrap it up in a hoodie, chuck it in my luggage and get some Zorki shots from CES Las Vegas in January. Oh, and a strange coincidence:

That's the same Docklands clocks, shot in the other direction on the Zenit E, five years ago this month. Time flies, and all that.

More pics from the Zorki 4 here.

Before heading over to Tokyo last year I'd say I was moderately interested in Japanese animation and mildly obsessed with the films of Hayao Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli. Since returning, I've been hoovering up other anime films and television series, attempting to find the gems amongst all the truly godawful rubbish. In particular, I've found myself looking for anime set in a realistic present day setting, whether it's ostensibly a work of comedy (Satoshi Kon's Tokyo Godfathers), science fiction (Hosada's The Girl who Leapt through Time) or, in this case, romance.

I stumbled across 5 Centimeters Per Second on the web at the end of 2009, and it sounded interesting – a film in three distinct parts from Makoto Shinkai, who famously created the sci-fi short Voices of a Distant Star single-handedly on his computer. Getting a copy wasn't easy – details later – but a month or two later I finally got to watch it. As there are relatively few reviews available, I thought I'd put one online. I'll avoid spoilers as far as is possible.

The plot

The sequence of films follows two characters, Takaki and Akari. The first film, Cherry Blossom Story, is set as Takaki makes the (complicated, lengthy) train journey north from Tokyo to see Akari; as he does so a sequence of flashbacks explain how they met and became friends in elementary school before Akari's family moved out of the city. Since her departure a year previously the two have corresponded by post, but with his own family now moving far afield the two have one final – at least for the conceivable future – chance to meet.

The second segment, Cosmonaut, is set  years after Takaki's move to the island of Tanegashima – home of the Japanese space agency, NASDA. This section is narrated largely by Kanae, a female classmate of Takaki who has suffered unrequited love for him since his arrival, and who goes out of her way to arrange 'chance' meetings. The two, soon to graduate from high school, discuss their plans for the future, but Takake is somewhat distant and is constantly seen writing emails on his mobile phone. At several points we see Takaki and Akari together, but these appear to be dream sequences.

The final segment, 5 Centimeters Per Second, is set back in Tokyo. Takaki, now 26, is a computer programmer, and significantly depressed. One day, while walking across a level crossing, he spots Akari. The finale, which makes up the majority of this segment, takes the form of a montage of rapidly cut visuals shown as a song is played.

The look

It's worth noting immediately that 5 Centimeters Per Second looks beautiful. The animation slides between a slightly painted style and the more realistic look that you'd expect from computer animation but throughout the shots, and in particular the use of colour, are remarkable – many of the scenes are set in twilight or night, with an amazing luminous appearance and glowing pink washes that link the narrative back to the cherry blossom tree of the title.

The effect is a world that's immediate and real – Takaki's journey through and out of Tokyo is almost photo-realistic – and yet somewhat otherworldly, and in the second film this is taken even further as the setting introduces another glorious light source to both dream sequences and the segment's climax.

Swirling cherry blossoms are something of a specialism of Japanese animation – there's probably a firm somewhere in Tokyo that specialises in computer-rendering them – but here the blossom and snow swirl and dance beautifully as the camera moves through them, while light sources flare and glint off the surroundings. Even the rapid shots of the final segment, each on screen only momentarily, are beautifully put together.

The effect

Of course pretty animation is all for nothing in a drama if the viewer doesn't feel emotionally involved. Here, though, the Japanese voice cast does a wonderful job of conveying real-sounding emotion without recourse to the squeaky, shouty clichés that plague many teenage anime characters, and the plot is paced cleverly enough to suck the viewer in enough to build a sense of unease from that most mundane occurrance: a delayed train. Although ultimately a simple tale of young love it left me with enough emotion invested as to care what happened to both parties at the end, which is surely a success on the writer's part. And it's always a good sign when you watch a film through to the credits, then immediately pick up the remote control to flick back into the story again. Overall it's a simple but elegantly crafted tale that avoids saccharine sweetness in favour of the affectingly recognisable, and I'd recommend it to anyone.

Where to get it

Picking up a copy of this film (legally) is a pain. There's a Blu-ray, but you'll need to import it from Japan, play it on a Japanese or American Blu-ray player and, not least of the obstacles, understand the Japanese-only audio. A DVD with English subtitles was available in the US, but it's Region 1, out of print and currently selling for $150 or so. In the end I imported a Region 3 DVD from Hong Kong via Ebay – this has the Japanese audio track and English subtitles.

** UPDATE: As of December 2010, the film's being listed for a DVD release in March 2011, and at a pre-order price of just £9 (half price):

Early warning: expect some mild spoilers here.

Earlier this year Helen and I paid a visit – or perhaps a pilgrimage - to the Ghibli Museum in Mitaka, Tokyo. One of the main exhibits was filled with information about a film I hadn't at that point seen: Gake no ue no Ponyo. The exhibit was fascinating, with a special focus on the design and animation of the numerous wave and sea scenes in the film, and I made a note to search out a copy on my return to England. On getting back, however, we found out that for reasons unclear it won't be released here until sometime next year.

Last night, however, I finally got to see it. Ponyo, which seems to have picked up the rather unwieldly English title "Ponyo on the cliff by the sea", was being presented in Japanese as part of the Barbican's Japanimation season with an introduction by Helen McCarthy, and six of us managed to pick up tickets. Actually, on the subject of the title, if anyone with a better grasp of Japanese than I knows where the sea comes from, I'd love to know – it looks like "cliff (no) above (no) Ponyo", or "Ponyo on the cliff", to me.

The story is pretty simple: a young boy, Sosuke, meets a goldfish, Ponyo, and they fall in love. Obstacles are presented and – it's a children's film, so this shouldn't count as a huge spoiler – overcome. As with many of Hayao Miyazaki's films, though, this takes place in an environment where everyday Japan meets the supernatural, and with a subtle theme of environmental concern (the drag nets, the idea of nature being pulled out of whack, the moon, etc).

It's colourful, beautiful and beguiling, with a gorgeous look that mixes realism (the dry dock of the working port, the retirement home where Sosuke's mother works) with childlike drawings (the house on the hill, the simple boats bobbing out to see). And of course the waves – at times magically  transformed into giant fish and in one scene racing the camera as it tracks horizontally – are magnificently animated and almost worth the price of a ticket alone.

The film is funny, too – Ponyo's first encounter with a sheet of glass and her enquiries as to the profession of Sosuke's father, in particular, drew big laughs from the (almost entirely adult) audience, while the slightly crazed driving of Sosuke's mother Lisa raised gasps and smiles. The problems faced by Sosuke, Lisa and Ponyo don't ever seem *that* dangerous or frightening, and the conclusion isn't as uplifting as, say, the girls from Tonari no Totoro travelling by Catbus to check on their mother – but they build up and wrap up the plot neatly.

So, predictably, I'd entirely recommend Ponyo when she eventually swims up to these shores sometime in mid 2010. The English version is being distributed by Disney, is produced by John Lasseter and has a cast packed with well known actors – so I'm sure it will at least get a big release, and I suppose subtitles don't make too much sense for an audience of small children. See it in English, then rent the DVD or Blu-ray for the film as it was intended.