Film Name: 哆啦A梦：伴我同行 / Stand by Me Doraemon
Of course, I cried too—and I cried at the same spot both times I watched it. I’ve always been a softie. But I still clearly feel that all the accolades this film has received are solely because it’s “Doraemon,” not because it’s such an outstanding movie.
When Doraemon realized he was about to part ways with Nobita, he offered this spot-on description of his friend: Clumsy, foolish, lazy, cowardly, slow-witted, hopeless at sports, timid, scatterbrained, unreliable, trouble-averse, good-for-nothing, forgetful, a do-gooder, a show-off, and a crybaby.” But realistically, the film couldn’t possibly showcase all these flaws in just over 40 minutes. We know the Doraemon narrative uses the story of Nobita Nobi—a boy embodying every conceivable weakness, ordinary to the extreme—to highlight Doraemon’s unwavering loyalty, reliability, and steadfast support as a helper. The subsequent emotional resonance stems from prior exposure to Doraemon comics and animations—imprints etched into our childhood memories. The film leverages this vast audience knowledge to craft the poignant feeling of recovery after loss.
Thus, within a single film’s runtime, it’s impossible to fully showcase Nobita’s “flaws,” thereby failing to highlight Doraemon’s “virtues.” The film invests considerable effort in depicting Nobita’s relationship with Shizuka, yet ultimately centers on the recovery of Doraemon. While it employs a clever device—linking Nobita’s happiness to his connection with Shizuka, with Doraemon’s presence serving as the key to that happiness—this narrative structure still prioritizes the means over the end. Does Nobita’s happiness truly stem solely from marrying Shizuka? Shouldn’t his joy also come from having a friend like Doraemon? If he glimpsed fleeting happiness in his future marriage to Shizuka, wouldn’t learning he’d lose Doraemon in exchange plunge him into even greater misery? Why couldn’t Doraemon grasp this profound unhappiness and choose to stay by Nobita’s side? Thus, the film’s plot is riddled with inconsistencies.
So my tear-jerking moment came during Shizuka and her father’s dialogue—more precisely, when her father told her, “Your birth was the greatest gift of my life.” My vision blurred as I watched the entire scene of them walking through the backyard pond under the starry sky, because I truly understood this father’s perspective and couldn’t help but recall many memories with my own father. Conversely, Doraemon’s final reappearance felt slightly jarring to me. Knowing you hadn’t invested effort in depicting emotional exchange between Doraemon and Nobita, how could you expect me to feel particularly moved by such an ending?
Furthermore, as someone who’s watched the Doraemon TV series countless times, I found several innovative elements in this film rather hard to accept.
First, the character design of Nobita. Compared to the manga and TV series, this yellow-clad figure barely resembles Nobita Nobi. The distance between his glasses and hair has been exaggerated, and most crucially, his tiny beady eyes have been replaced with large, sparkling ones. Previously, all the white space around his eyes was created by his glasses. But in the film, his eyes themselves have blank space, with a transparent frame around them. The result is that even without his glasses, Nobita’s eyes remain strikingly bright and expressive. This directly contradicts the original intent—Nobita is practically useless, and even his appearance is ordinary, bordering on slightly unattractive.
The 3D version of Nobita strips the character of the charming simplicity found in the comic’s line art, transforming him into a human-shaped piece of modeling clay. A simple example: in the 3D film, Nobita’s smile looks like this. Yet in both the manga and TV anime, when his mouth is depicted with lines, that small, curved stroke at the corner of his lips is utterly captivating, utterly charming, utterly delightful. In the film, this linework is completely lost.
Secondly, the portrayal of Nobita’s home and family. I don’t understand why the film changed the sliding door in Nobita’s room to a knob-operated door, with clearly visible wood grain—a stark departure from the simple Japanese-style design seen in the manga and TV anime. I also can’t fathom why Nobita’s mother wears that patterned dress. In both comics and animations, she consistently wears a pink dress—the same dominant color as Shizuka’s outfits. This is no coincidence; it carries symbolic meaning. Yet the 3D film, evidently flush with cash, “bought” Nobita’s mother a garish new outfit.
Third is the depiction of scene details. The strength of 3D animation lies in its ability to render minute details within settings. For instance, the patterns on the tatami mats in Nobita’s home, the designs on the doors, the trees and their fruits in other households’ yards along the street, and so on. On the surface, these details enhance realism. Yet to me, they undermine the aesthetic beauty born from simplicity found in the original Doraemon comics and TV animations. What’s wrong with depicting tatami mats as plain white rectangles? Excessive detail actually distracts viewers from the central characters, forcing them to expend mental energy on so-called details that contribute little to the plot or emotional progression.
Of course, I must reiterate that I still cried watching it, because after all, this is Doraemon—an extraordinary, timeless, and in my view, arguably the most outstanding manga work in Japanese animation history. Its intrinsic textual value far surpasses that of the film itself. The emotional investment sparked by the film, driven by the awakening of memories, far surpasses the emotional investment in the film itself. Therefore, I’d like to take this opportunity to share a few insights about the Doraemon text itself.
First, in terms of genre, this is a story about a helper. It shares the same genre as “Wallace & Gromit,” where the protagonist is quite weak but has an exceptionally loyal and remarkably capable helper. The core conflict revolves around how the protagonist creates trouble and how the helper provides assistance and cleans up the mess. Thus, from a genre perspective, it offers significant reference value.
Second, Doraemon’s gadgets fundamentally embody human desires. The Bamboo Dragonfly was created because people yearned to fly; the Time Machine emerged from the desire to glimpse one’s future self. Each gadget in Doraemon corresponds to a human desire, many of which address fundamental human needs. This is why it remains timeless, resonating with generation after generation and sparking viewers’ longing to possess such tools. This stands in stark contrast to the magical gadgets used by Slow Goat Village Chief and Big Big Wolf in “Pleasant Goat and Big Big Wolf.” The latter’s gadgets exist solely for mutual combat, devoid of any human desire.
Third, is Nobita truly a good-for-nothing? In my view, he is not only not useless but actually quite clever (beyond the compassion and generosity deliberately portrayed in the comics). His intelligence simply doesn’t manifest in academic performance. For every gadget Doraemon produces, he creatively devises at least three different uses. It was his idea to use the image-projecting mirror for advertising—that kind of mind truly has the makings of a CEO!
Fourth, it’s fundamentally unfair that Nobita possesses Doraemon. Some might argue that someone as clumsy as Nobita deserves assistance, but enhancing one’s competitiveness through gadgets is inherently unjust. Take the time machine, for instance. Though Doraemon’s stories emphasize the conservative view that the future shouldn’t be altered by time travel, we still notice that only Nobita (and his direct descendants) have ever used it. While Doraemon shares many gadgets with Suneo, Shizuka, and Gian, the time machine is never shared. In other words, Nobita alone possesses the ability to see into the past and future. This is unfair to everyone else living their lives honestly.
Perhaps, just as the film concludes with a lie gadget fulfilling a desire, that story truly only happened on April Fools’ Day. Ultimately, we must return to reality. Being moved by familial affection might indeed feel more genuine than being moved by Doraemon’s return.
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