It hurts. Honestly, there’s no other way to put it. If you’ve ever sat through all three segments of Makoto Shinkai’s 5 centimeters per second 2007, you know that specific hollow feeling in your chest when the credits start rolling to Masayoshi Yamazaki’s "One More Time, One More Chance." It isn't just a movie about kids moving away. It’s a surgical examination of how time, distance, and the simple friction of existing in a modern world can grind a connection down into nothing but a vague, stinging memory.
People call it a masterpiece of "shinkai-esque" longing. I just call it a reality check.
Back in 2007, CoMix Wave Films released this as a series of three shorts: Cherry Blossom, Cosmonaut, and 5 Centimeters per Second. Together, they form a narrative arc that spans about a decade and a half. We follow Takaki Tōno, a guy who basically becomes a ghost in his own life because he can’t stop looking backward. It’s a brutal watch because it doesn’t give you the Hollywood ending. It gives you the "I saw someone who looked like you at the train station and my heart stopped for a second" ending.
The Science of Slow Separation
The title itself comes from a bit of trivia shared by Akari Shinohara: the speed at which a cherry blossom petal falls. It’s such a tiny, insignificant measurement. 5 centimeters per second. But over a minute? That’s three meters. Over a year? That’s thousands of kilometers. Shinkai is obsessed with this idea that people don't usually explode apart in some dramatic argument. Instead, they just drift. They drift at a speed so slow you don't even notice you're losing them until they're gone.
The Train Journey That Defined a Genre
The first act, Cherry Blossom, is probably the most iconic bit of animation from that entire decade. Takaki is traveling from Tokyo to see Akari in the snowy depths of Tochigi. He’s thirteen. A kid. He has to navigate a complex web of train transfers while a massive snowstorm delays every single one of them.
You feel every minute of that delay.
The ticking clocks, the cold stations, the heat-sealed bento boxes—it’s claustrophobic. When he finally arrives, hours late, and finds Akari still waiting by the heater in the waiting room? It’s a moment of pure, unadulterated relief. But it’s also the peak. Everything after this moment is a slow, agonizing descent. They share a kiss under a cherry tree covered in snow, and for a second, the universe makes sense. But even then, Takaki realizes the sheer weight of the life stretching out before them. He realizes they can't protect that feeling forever.
Why 5 Centimeters Per Second 2007 Hits Differently Than Your Name
If you came to this movie because you loved Your Name or Weathering With You, you might be in for a shock. Those later films are "maximalist" Shinkai. They have comet strikes, time travel, and magical swaps. They have happy endings—or at least hopeful ones.
5 centimeters per second 2007 is the minimalist version.
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There are no supernatural elements here. No magic ribbons. Just the crushing reality of the Japanese postal system and the rise of cellular technology that somehow makes people feel even further apart. In the second act, Cosmonaut, we see Takaki through the eyes of Kanae, a girl in Tanegashima who is desperately in love with him. But Takaki is a thousand miles away, even when he's standing right next to her. He’s constantly typing messages on his flip phone to no one. He never sends them. He’s just shouting into a digital void, still stuck in that snowy waiting room from years ago.
It’s a specific kind of loneliness that feels very "mid-2000s." Before smartphones made instant video calls a thing, there was this weird gap where you were connected enough to know someone existed, but not enough to actually be with them.
The Visual Language of Loneliness
Shinkai’s backgrounds are famous for being more expressive than his characters. Honestly, the clouds in this movie have more emotional range than most live-action actors. The way he uses light—that "golden hour" glow that seems to hit every power line and train track—creates a sense of ephemeral beauty. It tells you that this moment is beautiful because it’s ending.
The rocket launch in the second act is a perfect metaphor. We see this massive, expensive piece of machinery straining to reach the dark, cold vacuum of space. It’s impressive, sure. But it’s also a lonely journey into nothingness. Kanae realizes that Takaki is looking at something far beyond her, something she can't even see. It’s one of the most relatable "unrequited love" arcs in anime history because it’s not about him being mean; he’s just... occupied by a ghost.
The Third Act: The Reality of Being an Adult
By the time we reach the final segment, also titled 5 Centimeters per Second, Takaki is an adult working in Tokyo. He’s tired. He’s depressed. He has a girlfriend, but he can’t connect with her. He quits his job because the weight of his own existence has become too heavy.
Meanwhile, Akari is getting married to someone else.
This is where the movie loses some people, but it’s where it wins me over. It’s honest. Most "first loves" don't end in a wedding. They end in a box of old letters in the back of a closet. The montage at the end, set to that iconic J-pop ballad, summarizes the years of missed connections and drifting. We see them pass each other at a train crossing—the same one from the beginning. A train passes between them.
And then?
He waits. The train clears. She’s gone.
He smiles slightly and keeps walking.
That smile is everything. It’s the moment he finally stops moving at 5 centimeters per second backward. He’s finally ready to live in the present. It took fifteen years and a lot of emotional wreckage, but he’s finally free.
The Legacy of Shinkai’s Breakthrough
When this film hit in 2007, it changed the trajectory of "slice of life" anime. It proved that you didn't need a massive plot to have massive stakes. The stakes were simply: Will these two people ever be okay?
Critics at the time, and even now, point to the film's pacing as a potential issue. It’s slow. It’s meditative. If you’re looking for a traditional "boy meets girl" story, you'll be frustrated. But if you’re looking for a tone poem about the passage of time, there’s nothing better.
Experts in Japanese cinema often discuss the "mono no aware" present in Shinkai's work—the pathos of things, or a sensitivity to ephemera. This movie is the purest distillation of that concept. It’s the feeling of a sunset you can't hold onto.
Actionable Steps for the First-Time Viewer
If you're planning to watch 5 centimeters per second 2007 for the first time, or if you're due for a rewatch, here is how to actually digest it:
- Watch it in one sitting. It’s only about an hour long. Breaking it up ruins the cumulative emotional weight.
- Pay attention to the background noise. The sound design—cicadas, train announcements, the wind—is just as important as the dialogue.
- Listen to the lyrics of the ending song. "One More Time, One More Chance" was actually written by Yamazaki in 1996 after the death of a loved one. Knowing that adds a whole new layer of grief to the final scene.
- Don't look for a villain. There isn't one. The "villain" is just the fact that Tokyo is far from Tochigi and kids grow up.
- Check out the manga or the light novel. Shinkai wrote a novelization that provides much more internal monologue for Takaki, especially during his adult years in Tokyo. It explains why he felt so paralyzed by his past, which makes the ending feel even more earned.
Ultimately, this movie is a Rorschach test. If you’re a romantic, you’ll find it tragic. If you’re a cynic, you’ll find it realistic. But if you’ve ever lived through a "what if," you’ll find it haunting. It’s a reminder that while the past is a beautiful place to visit, you can’t live there. Not if you want to keep moving forward.
To truly appreciate the evolution of modern anime, comparing this 2007 work to Shinkai's 2022 film Suzume shows a director who has moved from the isolation of the individual to the healing of a nation. But many still argue that he never hit as hard as he did when he was just talking about two kids, a train station, and some falling petals.