Much like many other SoL series along similar notes, Tamayura is best described as a simple, modest story. It’s set in an unassuming town with ordinary characters that do mundane things in each other’s company. Rather poignantly, this is where the beauty of the show lies — the single greatest strength that Tamayura displays, which both informs and rounds out its entire progression from start to finish, is that it is more than what meets the eye. This is not to say that it conceals the types of inquisitions it embarks upon, but rather that the humble candor of its various ingredients represents the very essence of its subtle but substantial nuance, and leaves viewers with a beautifully inspirational message that transcends the bounds of its concepts.
The structure which best explores Tamayura's supposed thematic breadth is the role of photography in its storytelling. This is the premise which incites the events of the first installment, and serves as a medium which connects the present-day disposition of the main character (henceforth referred to her nickname of Potte) to her late father, who was a photographer himself. The show doesn’t shy away from using spoken dialogue to express the emotive power of photos, such as how freezing a moment in time can tell a story that’s only visible through still life, how they serve as tangible legacies for pasts and experiences left behind, and how photos can articulate feelings that escape written word. It’s clear how much its main character loves taking pictures, but beyond allowing us to listen to Potte’s sales pitch, the show immediately compliments its script by demonstrating its control over the various adjacent and spurious motifs that evolve from the simple triggering of a shutter. While the show is not wholly about photography, its various abstractions within the context of Tamayura are relevant to the entire show all the way to the final movie.
The framework of loss is a very consistent idea throughout that bears its fangs in various magnitudes. Perhaps more important is what can be gained from its loss; not in spite of it, but because of it. The most evident aspect of loss in Tamayura can be seen in the fact that Potte lost her father when she was young — and how she moves to the city he grew up in and takes up his hobby in his stead. There’s even a photo of him taken by Potte on prominent display at the front of the photo store where she gets all of her films developed (pictured above). The conceptual impetus of photography goes hand in hand with these narrative elements to demonstrate how both Potte and Tamayura frames its revival — its abstract dimensions exemplify the duality between impermanence and legacy — the simple act of taking a picture both preserves the moment, while also relinquishing it to the past. The photo of Potte’s father is perhaps the most significant indicator which advances part of this idea, that he is no longer in his family’s life, Moreover, the fact that her daughter is choosing to pick up his camera for herself represents the complementary desire to confront this loss and overcome it in her own way; that is, by creating new presents and pasts that can sit alongside her cherished memories of her father rather than “overwriting” them altogether. Its message is never explicitly spoken, but the gentleness of its plea is nonetheless vibrantly portrayed: to let the warmth of its here and now — and the gratitude of what came before it — frame the optimism of what’s to come.
It’s important to note that initially, Potte’s pursuit of photography follows directly in her father’s footsteps. Aside from using the same camera that he used when he was still alive, Potte also seeks out places which resemble the same views and landscapes that they experienced together, as if to “re-live” what passed her and her family by — in other words, what she chooses to see through her viewfinder is identical to what her father saw. This is how Tamayura chooses to begin its journey of loss, and as the series progresses, both her and the show itself demonstrate a desire to learn more about the discipline itself, become more involved in the diversity that the world has to offer, and create photos that Potte can claim as truly her own: never ceasing to take inspiration from her father, but eventually diverging from his path. The aptly titled third installment in More Aggressive is a good indicator as to the direction that Tamayura eventually takes — it does well to linger on its memories and legacies, but eventually, it recognizes the need to embark on new chapters of its narrative.
This neatly transitions into the nature of photography as a hobby, and how it relates to the rest of the cast that I can finally talk about — the evolution of Potte as a character is adjacent to how the show progresses its overarching ideas separate from photography and the relationship she has with her father. The wonderful ensemble cast capitalizes excellently on the motifs explained earlier, how each of them have their own sets of passions, goals, and pursuits that serve as guiding points as well as obstacles towards cognizing their futures. All of its characters have to struggle with loss and new discoveries in one way or another; namely, in the fact that the safety and modest comforts of a hobby do not necessarily translate to a concrete path for the future. There’s a tenuous yet meaningful uncertainty to how the show advances itself, and this becomes more and more pronounced as you approach its conclusion. After all, a major focus of Tamayura is letting itself indulge in what its today has to offer. This is of course represented quite rudimentarily by its main lead taking photos in the wake of her father, but it also entails the cast growing their friendship with each other, finding happiness in routines and activities which illuminate their everyday, and living the most fulfilled lives they can with what they know best — themselves, and each other.
This blissful comfort comes to a head as the show transitions towards focusing on the inevitable future which awaits it: how graduation will necessitate that its cast go its separate ways. An absolutely fitting nod to how Potte must learn to capture a present and a future where her father is absent, and how the rest of its cast must reconcile and find assurance within what’s guided them up to this point to inform where they go henceforth. Managing an inn with your parents is a wonderful way to spend time with your family, and learning more about yourself through making pastries and sweets is a beautiful way to include your loved ones in your avenue of self-expression. As aforementioned, photography is more than just a hobby for Potte, it’s her way of connecting, reconnecting, and preserving her link with her father. But are all of these career paths? Are they what its characters want to do for their foreseeable future? Tamayura uses these various threads, thematic junctions, and abstractions to frame its journey of self-exploration, the magnitude to which it lets its past stand alongside its present, and to shape what the faraway yet imminent concept of the “future” means to each and every one of its characters. Junichi Satou’s wields a masterful control over all that the show’s motifs and abstractions have to offer, and this control is embedded into the day-to-day lives of its cast in such a gentle manner that the breadth of his kindness escapes complete articulation — the best way to grasp its scale is to watch and cherish his story.
“Photography” is so much more than just the act of pressing a button and having a photo come out. What it most importantly entails within Tamayura is how it creates lingering memories, and how these memories adorn what’s to come. The intricate subtleties that each episode and each character possesses are an ode to this duality — a warm, softhearted inquisition into how its cast wrestles with and moves on from losses of various magnitudes. The comfort that their hobbies and passions once gave them in the wake of an insurmountable graduation, the time they spent with each other that can no longer persist in the same manner… the death of a loved one and how life must be lived beyond their presence. Slowly but surely, this show depicts how lovingly thankful it is to have experienced its past, and how this gratitude must inspire & revive what lies beyond the experiences its characters have had the privilege to cherish.
As I explained in the outset of this review, Tamayura is a simple show with a welcoming non-complicatedness. And yet, to truncate what it has to offer to merely its simplicity is a disservice to the vibrancy which it displays in subtle yet full force. It’s a beautiful story about overcoming loss — no matter how mundane or significant they may be, there will always be a discomfort to parting with what once gave you joy. Tamayura embraces that uncertainty, made all the more powerful by its leisurely approach to its everyday, and its eventual resolution surpasses even that. All of its themes lovingly compliment each other to deliver an ending that resoundingly concludes the individual journeys of its cast and the ideological progression of its story. It certainly holds everything that makes a photo so emotive — and it also demonstrates how embracing the temporal significance of our lives shines a gentle light on what we’ve lived through, allowing us to earnestly look towards what we’ve yet to experience.
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