Pukkulapottas and Hours in the Forest (2021) Movie Script
1
Have you ever heard of pukkulapottas?
They dwell in the forest,
and they're roughly 15 centimeters tall.
It's said that happiness comes
to those who spot a pukkulapotta.
Of course, that doesn't mean
they actually bring happiness to you.
Happiness isn't some package
someone can carry and deliver, after all.
It's an emotion.
The meaning here is
that if you're able to see a pukkulapotta,
you have the mental capacity
to feel happiness.
And indeed I was happy that spring.
What I'm about to tell you is
what happened that spring
when pukkulapottas became visible to me.
PUKKULAPOTTAS AND HOURS IN THE FORESIt was during a long, long spring break
a break which had abruptly begun
around thawing season
that I first encountered them.
At 1,000 meters altitude,
this area remains chilly even in spring.
And long hours spent indoors meant
fast consumption of firewood.
But there was also plenty of time
to cut more firewood.
The joy of seeing a firewood rack
stacked full during spring
is surely shared by all who use firewood.
Many other good things happened too.
My son learned how to cook curry stew,
and he also got better
at cutting firewood.
The nagging matter of the chaotic
bookshelf was finally resolved.
And I acquired the skill to sew things
on a sewing machine.
It was one such day
when I found something quite strange
on a tree stump in a corner of our yard.
It looked like a very small knife.
No, it wasn't one of my son's toys.
It was well-crafted,
small but obviously practical.
Its owner must be missing it, I thought.
And as absurd as the idea seemed,
I set up a camera with a timer
aimed at the tree stump.
It was my mistake
not to have properly anchored the tripod,
but nevertheless, images of a pukkulapotta
were captured on my camera.
I couldn't believe what I saw.
My idea wasn't absurd after all.
The owner of the knife really existed.
That was my first encounter
with a pukkulapotta,
and I decided I wanted to see
more of them.
So I began setting up my camera
in various spots in the yard.
Since I had no idea
where they might turn up,
it seemed an almost impossible task.
But now that their existence was proven,
I went after them with diligence.
And finally,
I successfully captured them again.
Do take a look at the images
miraculously captured on my camera.
Pukkulapottas seem to pop up
quite frequently,
carrying on with their lives
right alongside us humans.
Their hours seem to pass slowly.
They're obviously on a time clock
different from ours.
Compared to the natural flow
of their time,
the pace of our human activities
must appear quite frantic.
Some truths can only be seen when
one shifts down to a slow, leisurely pace,
and I might say
the existence of pukkulapottas is
one such undeniable truth in this world.
There's a good rule of thumb
for capturing their images.
The rule is to believe in truths
that aren't visible to your eyes.
Have faith in your heart's antenna,
and aim your camera
according to your intuition.
Then your camera will capture
those truths without fail.
Our human eyes are never very reliable.
They see only what they choose to see.
Just because you can't see them,
that doesn't mean they aren't there.
When you get a toy snagged up in a tree,
and find it on the ground
at about the time you've given up,
that just might be
the work of pukkulapottas.
In spring the forest becomes
a showcase of short flowering plants.
These little plants grab this opportunity
to absorb sunlight and blossom
before the taller plants and trees take
the sunlight away from them.
The pukkulapottas seem to adore
the flowers too.
It's safe enough to say
that a camera aimed at flowers
will always capture pukkulapottas.
By the way, do you know that there are
two different kinds of dandelions?
This one is the Japanese dandelion.
And this one is the Western dandelion.
You can tell them apart
by looking at the bracts.
Western dandelion bracts are turned back.
Japanese ones aren't.
Japanese dandelions
have become quite rare,
now that the fields have been taken over
by non-native Western dandelions.
The pukkulapottas seem to be aware
of this issue as well,
and, flower lovers as they are, they show
no mercy with Western dandelions.
The full moon in May is also known
as the Flower Moon.
May is indeed the month of flowers.
The spring cicadas have begun singing.
I wonder how many of them there are
in this forest.
One day after dusk I found a spring cicada
in the process of emergence.
A certain number of the cicadas
deplete their strengths
before completing this process,
and at daybreak,
such ones become prey to the birds.
Therefore no signs of those exhausted
cicadas remain in the daytime world.
June is the month of bellflowers,
and also the month of fireflies.
Put a firefly inside a bellflower and...
See? The pukkulapottas are
already doing it.
I have a pretty good notion
that they're actually aware of my camera.
They're aware, and yet they're appearing
in front of it knowingly.
People have started returning to the town,
and I've begun easing my way back
to normal daily life.
My long, long spring break
was coming to an end.
Somehow my antenna
wasn't working quite as well.
Mega-city Tokyo was coming back
to full throttle.
Are there any pukkulapottas here?
And if there are, how might they be
perceiving the pace of things here?
My life certainly went on here,
as it has in the past
and as it surely will going forward.
Summer has arrived.
My antenna has been rusty
ever since that time in spring.
I can't find pukkulapottas anymore.
The last one I saw was definitely looking
at my camera...
No, not the camera
but looking at ME.
"So long,"
the mouth seemed to say.
As I reflect,
the pace of our human activities is
perhaps overwhelming
compared to the pace of nature.
Some truths can be seen only when
we put ourselves in a slower time flow.
The pukkulapottas are one such truth...
and I can no longer see them.
"See you again."
Have you ever heard of pukkulapottas?
They dwell in the forest,
and they're roughly 15 centimeters tall.
It's said that happiness comes
to those who spot a pukkulapotta.
Of course, that doesn't mean
they actually bring happiness to you.
Happiness isn't some package
someone can carry and deliver, after all.
It's an emotion.
The meaning here is
that if you're able to see a pukkulapotta,
you have the mental capacity
to feel happiness.
And indeed I was happy that spring.
What I'm about to tell you is
what happened that spring
when pukkulapottas became visible to me.
PUKKULAPOTTAS AND HOURS IN THE FORESIt was during a long, long spring break
a break which had abruptly begun
around thawing season
that I first encountered them.
At 1,000 meters altitude,
this area remains chilly even in spring.
And long hours spent indoors meant
fast consumption of firewood.
But there was also plenty of time
to cut more firewood.
The joy of seeing a firewood rack
stacked full during spring
is surely shared by all who use firewood.
Many other good things happened too.
My son learned how to cook curry stew,
and he also got better
at cutting firewood.
The nagging matter of the chaotic
bookshelf was finally resolved.
And I acquired the skill to sew things
on a sewing machine.
It was one such day
when I found something quite strange
on a tree stump in a corner of our yard.
It looked like a very small knife.
No, it wasn't one of my son's toys.
It was well-crafted,
small but obviously practical.
Its owner must be missing it, I thought.
And as absurd as the idea seemed,
I set up a camera with a timer
aimed at the tree stump.
It was my mistake
not to have properly anchored the tripod,
but nevertheless, images of a pukkulapotta
were captured on my camera.
I couldn't believe what I saw.
My idea wasn't absurd after all.
The owner of the knife really existed.
That was my first encounter
with a pukkulapotta,
and I decided I wanted to see
more of them.
So I began setting up my camera
in various spots in the yard.
Since I had no idea
where they might turn up,
it seemed an almost impossible task.
But now that their existence was proven,
I went after them with diligence.
And finally,
I successfully captured them again.
Do take a look at the images
miraculously captured on my camera.
Pukkulapottas seem to pop up
quite frequently,
carrying on with their lives
right alongside us humans.
Their hours seem to pass slowly.
They're obviously on a time clock
different from ours.
Compared to the natural flow
of their time,
the pace of our human activities
must appear quite frantic.
Some truths can only be seen when
one shifts down to a slow, leisurely pace,
and I might say
the existence of pukkulapottas is
one such undeniable truth in this world.
There's a good rule of thumb
for capturing their images.
The rule is to believe in truths
that aren't visible to your eyes.
Have faith in your heart's antenna,
and aim your camera
according to your intuition.
Then your camera will capture
those truths without fail.
Our human eyes are never very reliable.
They see only what they choose to see.
Just because you can't see them,
that doesn't mean they aren't there.
When you get a toy snagged up in a tree,
and find it on the ground
at about the time you've given up,
that just might be
the work of pukkulapottas.
In spring the forest becomes
a showcase of short flowering plants.
These little plants grab this opportunity
to absorb sunlight and blossom
before the taller plants and trees take
the sunlight away from them.
The pukkulapottas seem to adore
the flowers too.
It's safe enough to say
that a camera aimed at flowers
will always capture pukkulapottas.
By the way, do you know that there are
two different kinds of dandelions?
This one is the Japanese dandelion.
And this one is the Western dandelion.
You can tell them apart
by looking at the bracts.
Western dandelion bracts are turned back.
Japanese ones aren't.
Japanese dandelions
have become quite rare,
now that the fields have been taken over
by non-native Western dandelions.
The pukkulapottas seem to be aware
of this issue as well,
and, flower lovers as they are, they show
no mercy with Western dandelions.
The full moon in May is also known
as the Flower Moon.
May is indeed the month of flowers.
The spring cicadas have begun singing.
I wonder how many of them there are
in this forest.
One day after dusk I found a spring cicada
in the process of emergence.
A certain number of the cicadas
deplete their strengths
before completing this process,
and at daybreak,
such ones become prey to the birds.
Therefore no signs of those exhausted
cicadas remain in the daytime world.
June is the month of bellflowers,
and also the month of fireflies.
Put a firefly inside a bellflower and...
See? The pukkulapottas are
already doing it.
I have a pretty good notion
that they're actually aware of my camera.
They're aware, and yet they're appearing
in front of it knowingly.
People have started returning to the town,
and I've begun easing my way back
to normal daily life.
My long, long spring break
was coming to an end.
Somehow my antenna
wasn't working quite as well.
Mega-city Tokyo was coming back
to full throttle.
Are there any pukkulapottas here?
And if there are, how might they be
perceiving the pace of things here?
My life certainly went on here,
as it has in the past
and as it surely will going forward.
Summer has arrived.
My antenna has been rusty
ever since that time in spring.
I can't find pukkulapottas anymore.
The last one I saw was definitely looking
at my camera...
No, not the camera
but looking at ME.
"So long,"
the mouth seemed to say.
As I reflect,
the pace of our human activities is
perhaps overwhelming
compared to the pace of nature.
Some truths can be seen only when
we put ourselves in a slower time flow.
The pukkulapottas are one such truth...
and I can no longer see them.
"See you again."