Studio Ghibli Retrospective 9

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

XXV. Epilogue/Conclusion

When I wrote my Studio Ghibli retrospective the first time, way back in 2013, I was in a much different place than now. For one, I was still writing for ScrewAttack, which is now defunct. And two, I hadn’t fully-grasped how to tackle these movies in a long format. Since then, not only has the company released more films, but, judging by recent news, it’s possible they might have more on the way. Hayao Miyazaki has announced another film in time for the Tokyo Olympics, while Goro Miyazaki has a project scheduled shortly after that. It’s exciting, but it means that this retrospective will be dated, yet again, in a few years.

I’m not upset, though. It’s important to seize your moment when it arrives. Does it suck that I might have to do this again? Maybe. But for now, I’d rather not focus on that.

And what a task this was! When I initially decided that December of 2019 would be dedicated to Studio Ghibli’s work, I didn’t realize how big an undertaking that was. Between re-watching 8 of their movies, making sure I had a working memory of the remaining 15, choosing the appropriate angle, actually writing it, making adjustments to my schedule and then editing, formatting and slotting in these blog posts, it felt like my work was cut out for me! It was the most intense retrospective I’ve ever written, and at times it was even gruelling to finish! It also didn’t help that I’ve struggled with projects like this before, so the pressure was on.

Fortunately, I was committed and dedicated. Unlike, say, my Digimon retrospective on Infinite Rainy Day, which is still unfinished, I was absolutely sure I could do this. I was gonna make sure. And if it didn’t pan out? Well…I wouldn’t even contemplate that.

Sufficed to say, I actually did finish writing, editing, formatting and scheduling this, so good on me!

Back to Studio Ghibli, the reason why this spoke to me is because it had a certain appeal that few animation studios can replicate. Maybe Disney, possibly Pixar too. But not much else. And that works in its favour when a Japanese animation house, one with entirely different origins and objectives than the biggest conglomerate, can still evoke that “Disney magic” in people of all ages. I know it can for me.

I’d go one step further on that, saying that I like Studio Ghibli more than most of Disney’s output. There are two reasons for that: the first is that Studio Ghibli takes more creative risks than Disney. Because of the image that they’ve crafted for themselves, Disney often feels scared to try and be adult. They’ve done it occasionally, mostly through Touchstone Pictures, but even then their output feels less like them and more like any other film house.

Studio Ghibli doesn’t have that problem. They can make a Ponyo one day, which appeals most to Disney’s target audience, then turn around and give us a Princess Mononoke another, which wouldn’t appeal to them at all. It’s that level of creative flexibility that makes me admire them, as it shows that they can cater to everyone. That most of their library’s pretty consistent on a quality level doesn’t hurt.

The other element working in Studio Ghibli’s favour is that they don’t feel corporate. This was true in 2013 when I first wrote this, but it’s especially true in light of Disney’s practices in the 6 years since. Disney might put out good content on occasion, but it always feels cynically motivated. It always feels like they want control, even purchasing smaller properties and milking them dry. I end up feeling conflicted as a result.

Studio Ghibli lacks this problem, at least superficially. I’m sure they still care about money, and they’ve exercised some frustrating corporate decisions too, but their work doesn’t feel cynical. When I watch even their weakest movie, Tales From Earthsea, I feel like it was made with the best of intentions. It still feels genuine.

And now, with the closing part of this series, I’d like to give each of the 23 films I’ve discussed a score:

The Castle of Cagliostro-4/5.

Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind-4.5/5.

Castle in the Sky-5/5.

Grave of the Fireflies-4/5.

My Neighbor Totoro-4/5.

Kiki’s Delivery Service-4.5/5.

Only Yesterday-3.5/5.

Porco Rosso-3.5/5.

Ocean Waves-3/5.

Pom Poko-3/5.

Whisper of the Heart-4.5/5.

Princess Mononoke-5/5.

My Neighbors the Yamadas-2.5/5.

Spirited Away-5/5.

The Cat Returns-3/5.

Howl’s Moving Castle-3.5/5.

Tales From Earthsea-1.5/5.

Ponyo-4/5.

The Secret World of Arrietty-4/5.

From Up On Poppy Hill-3.5/5.

The Wind Rises-3.5/5.

The Tale of the Princess Kaguya-4.5/5.

When Marnie Was There-4.5/5.

Keep in mind that these are personal ratings. Either way, thanks for sticking it out, and I’ll see you all next time!

Studio Ghibli Retrospective 8

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

XXII. The Wind Rises

This is, without a doubt, Hayao Miyazaki’s most-unusual project. He’s dabbled in realism, and even period pieces, but a biopic? And one on the Japanese godfather of modern fighter planes? In animation? That’s new.

So how does it fare? It’s…interesting. Like Miyazaki’s lesser works, it wouldn’t call it great, but it definitely has moments of inspiration. But while it’s not a bore, it does feel like a run-of-the-mill biopic. Take that as you will.

Interestingly, the film’s primary focus, the airplanes, that are the least-interesting part. I could potentially be biased, I wasn’t big on Porco Rosso’s aviation either, but hearing the technical lingo doesn’t strike me as exciting. It’s dry, incredibly-complicated and keeps going in one ear and out the other. Maybe someone who likes this stuff will get more enjoyment out of it.

The film’s romance subplot, involving Jiro and the ill-fated Nahoko, fares much better. But it’s cheesy, and it feels straight from a Golden Age Hollywood romance epic. Ironically, that cheesy romance is the most-interesting part. I guess it’s because it actually moves the film forward, instead of making it feel plodding or exposition-heavy.

A lot of the side-characters also feel pushed aside because Miyazaki didn’t know what to do with them. Either that, or he didn’t care. The biggest casualty is Kayo, Jiro’s sister. She’s only in a handful of scenes, and the majority are spent with her berating Jiro for being “so insensitive”. I’m sorry to say this, but she’s actually pretty annoying.

The movie does have other strengths, however. The incorporation of historical elements, like the great earthquake of the 1920’s, are shown on full-force, and you feel their weight. Joe Hisaishi’s score is as good as ever, even if he overuses many of the same tracks. The animation, even for a Miyazaki movie, is dynamic, driving home some of the more exposition-heavy moments. Even the background noise is unique and interesting, being composed of acapella sounds instead of conventional noise. There’s a lot of good to be had here.

Which is a shame that I’m not as invested as I should be. And I don’t think it’s because it’s a biopic, because I love biopics. I think it’s because Miyazaki’s not as in-tune with non-fiction as with fantasy. Honestly, the moments where it deviates into fantasy, be it Jiro’s romance or the dream sequences with Caproni, are when it’s at its best.

Still, it’s worth a watch. Or two. Or perhaps three or four. The Wind Rises definitely has a lot going for it, and I like its running motif about wind. I only wish I loved it more, and that its loss to Frozen at The Oscars didn’t feel like it overshadowed the movie’s quality. But that’s me.

XXIII. The Tale of the Princess Kaguya

A film 8 years in the making, this is, in my opinion, Isao Takahata’s magnum opus. It’s weird saying that, seeing as everyone usually points to Grave of the Fireflies when discussing Takahata’s best work. But I can’t lie: despite being the longest Studio Ghibli movie, clocking at 137-minutes, it really feels like everything the director’s career was leading up to. I don’t even mind that it occasionally drags.

The most-striking part about it is its animation style. Building on what My Neighbors the Yamadas started, The Tale of the Princess Kaguya goes for an otherworldly, fantasy-style approach. At times, it even drops fluidity and goes full-out sketchy, like when Kaguya storms out of the royal courtyard. It’s a stylistic choice that’s confused some and annoyed others, but I love it!

I also love how the movie deconstructs the traditional princess archetype that Disney films revel in, even though it’s not a Disney movie. Kaguya has no interest in being royalty, she simply wants to live her days with her childhood friends. She’s forced into a life without her consent, and she rebels by playing to vapid nature of her suitors. Seeing them fail is, arguably, the best part.

Yet despite the funniness of it all, The Tale of the Princess Kaguya’s a somber and depressing movie. Like Grave of the Fireflies, this is a film about the youth of Japan. But unlike Grave of the Fireflies, it doesn’t feel like it’s talking down to them. The movie’s about the dangers of the Japanese education system and how it negatively impacts children, and it shows through Kaguya’s struggles.

The movie’s also really sad, especially in the last-third. Whether it’s Kaguya struggling with depression, Kaguya fighting suicidal thoughts, or even the heartbreaking ending, the movie never fails to get me to cry. It’s especially tear-jerking because you feel for Kaguya and her parents. You understand her struggle, but you also get why her folks, her father in particular, act the way they do: they want what’s best. I’m sure anyone who’s a parent can understand.

The movie’s also beautifully-scored. It’s Joe Hisaishi once more, but his orchestrations feel more traditionally Japanese in style. There are plenty of tracks that are as somber as they are quiet and bitter, and they set the mood. Not since Okami have I listened to a score so distinctly Japanese. It’s great.

The Tale of the Princess Kaguya’s an example of what Studio Ghibli can do at their best. It drags occasionally, and it feels overly sappy in others, but when it works, which is 90% of the time, it really works. It’s so good that, unlike The Wind Rises and Frozen, I actually am disappointed that it lost at The Oscars to Big Hero 6. It feels like the more artistic and ambitious movie.

Also, its use of nursery rhymes is the cherry on top.

XXIV. When Marnie Was There

The most-recent movie from Studio Ghibli, and Hiromasa Yonebayashi’s second, this sums up Studio Ghibli’s legacy. It’s quiet, it’s atmospheric, and it’s contemplative. At times, it even feels like a campfire ghost story, except with a sad conclusion. Take that as you will.

I know a lot of people have issues with the movie’s rug-pull reveal, but it doesn’t bother me in hindsight. For one, Marnie’s always been a mysterious character. And two, Anna’s that desperate for companionship. The movie even plays on the “is she real, or is she not?” motif , so when you finally get the answer it doesn’t feel cheap.

Speaking of, I really like Anna and Marnie’s relationship. The two clearly understand their respective traumas, and in some ways they even envy one-another. Yet they never patronize their respective experiences, instead developing a friendship that transcends time and space. It’s a weird bond, but it works.

What also works is this movie’s use of perspective. Like The Secret World of Arrietty, this is a film about two people, one of whom is sick. But whereas Sho suffered from a heart defect, Anna has asthma and depression. She doubts her ability to cope routinely, and only by opening up about her past can she learn to heal. Though not before getting into confrontations with other people, I suppose.

I like this movie’s atmosphere. It feels like it could’ve been a story by Edgar Allan Poe. It definitely has the trappings of one-a disturbed protagonist, a spooky relationship, a fleeting feeling, an ominous setting-so it’s not like it couldn’t have…save for one detail: it’s meant to make you cry, not feel uncomfortable. This is Studio Ghibli, who at this point was worrying about its future, doubting its own legacy, and perhaps gaslighting its greatness. It’s a sad and humbling look on how its views its place in film history.

When Marnie Was There’s a fitting close to a long road of classic after classic. It wasn’t a box-office success, and the studio would go through restructuring after its release, but I think it’s worth a watch. I actually implore people to check it out, even if only to say they don’t like it. Or to say they listened to Priscilla Ahn sing “Fine On the Outside” during the credits. Whichever comes first, I won’t judge.

(To be concluded.)

Studio Ghibli Retrospective 7

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

XIX. Ponyo

You’re never gonna find a cuter movie under the Studio Ghibli mantle. Everything from the protagonists being little kids, to the animation looking straight out of a children’s storybook, to even the premise being loosely-based on a Hans Christian Anderson story, Ponyo screams “cute”. It screams it from the top of its lungs, over a gigantic cliff-side, in its high-pitched voice, until it gets blue in the face and falls asleep. Bless it for that!

When I first saw this movie in Blockbuster, I was worried it might be too childish. Plus, I’d recently come off of Howl’s Moving Castle, so I approached it with trepidation. Fortunately, the movie lives up to that Hayao Miyazaki spark. It’s not his best, but I can’t think of a better movie that’s so unapologetically childish. I mean that in a good way.

The most-obvious reason why this movie works is the leads. Sosuke’s your precocious 5 year-old, wanting to live up to his father’s legacy while having the wide-eyed innocence of a pre-schooler. He’s brave, reserved, but caring and emotional when necessary. Even when he thinks of others, which he does a lot, it’s coming from a child’s point of view. He’s the audience point-of-view.

Ponyo, while having that same innocence, is a nice foil to Sosuke. Being a fish transformed into a little girl, she’s yet to experience the tribulations that come with that. So she’s in wonderment of everything, and it’s infectious. Be it jumping for joy over fixing the generator, greedily gulping down her cup of honey-ginger milk, or excitedly exploring the rising ocean in search for Lisa, you can’t help but smile. I’ve heard from some people that she’s annoying, but what were they expecting?

Ponyo’s weirdness is off-putting to some, too. Detractors have called its story shallow, its characters uninteresting and its twists and turns jarring. I’ve even heard complaints that the movie’s boring. Ignoring how much of the complaining could easily apply to Howl’s Moving Castle, Ponyo not caring if people don’t like it probably explains why I like it. It has nothing to prove, and it’s a Hayao Miyazaki movie. Not only is weird the director’s modus operandi, but he’s earned the right to make a divisive movie.

If there’s one area that people are universally in agreement over, it’s the Joe Hisaishi arrangements. Going for a more operatic approach, akin to Wagner, the music feels lifted out of a German epic. There’s even a callback to The Ride of the Valkyries when Ponyo rides the typhoon-sized waves. It’s delightful to listen to.

There’s really not much to say beyond that. Ponyo herself is cute. Her energy is cute. Her relationship with Sosuke is cute. The animation style is cute. And the music, grand as it is, is doubly-cute. It’s simply cute, even if it ends on a bizarre final shot.

XX. The Secret World of Arrietty

The directorial debut of Hiromasa Yonebayashi, The Secret World of Arrietty’s the first Studio Ghibli movie I saw in theatres. My attachment to it, therefore, feels incredibly personal, perhaps to the detriment of being objective. Still, I’ll try. And ignoring any nostalgic biases, the movie’s actually really charming.

I think The Secret World of Arrietty works because of how it plays with scale and size. Arrietty’s no bigger than a male adult’s hand, and the film never lets you forget that: whether it’s climbing a table leg or opening a ventilation shaft, objects that we take for granted can be hazards for her and her family. The movie constantly plays this up for suspense and excitement. Even the “heist” early-on, where Arrietty and her father “borrow” some items from the kitchen, feels straight out of an old-school spy show on TV. It’s great!

That’s not to take away from the human element, which is where Yonebayashi always excels. Sho, the point-of-view human, is a sickly boy with an unnamed heart condition. Every breath is precious, and he knows this. Conversely, due to his condition, he treats all life as equally precious. He’s the kind of kid who wouldn’t hurt a fly if it bit him on the neck. So while his discovery of Arrietty and her family is nerve-wracking, it’s not him they have to watch out for: it’s everyone else.

And the movie follows through on that with Haru. You never once doubt that she’s gonna be trouble, and Sho constantly outwitting her to save Arrietty makes for some tense moments. Even the climactic rescue’s pretty nail-biting. I’m definitely on edge each time I watch it!

I also like how the movie has consequences. Sho and Arrietty might have a mutual respect for one another by the end, but it’s made clear that their friendship is doomed. The two are from different worlds, and they can’t be together. It’s like Arrietty’s father says, “the humans’ curiosity can never be stopped”.

I also really like Cécile Corbel’s score. Initially, it’s a bit jarring to hear her harp over tense moments, or hear her calming voice over serious ones, but it creates an otherworldly feel. Corbel, a big fan of Studio Ghibli, put lots of care into making sure that every track fit, and you can tell. She knows when to draw you in and when to hold back, even if it’s jarring initially, and nothing feels wasted. She even sings the film’s theme song in the credits, which is calming to listen to. Forget tea, I’ll take Corbel’s voice any day of the week!

If Ponyo’s big draw is that it’s unashamedly cute, then The Secret World of Arrietty’s is that it’s relaxing. Even in moments of heightened suspense and tension, you never feel overwhelmed. Which is good, because the movie’s also pretty basic story-wise. That, and it’s cool to see the ordinary be animated as this big adventure. I wish more movies would do that.

XXI. From Up On Poppy Hill

Goro Miyazaki’s sophomore attempt, the difference between this and Tales From Earthsea is striking. How did the guy who directed Studio Ghibli’s biggest mistake manage to make one of their more unusually-charming films? Perhaps part of it falls on experience, and part of it on being comfortable with the subject matter. But a big chunk is most-likely due to everyone having more faith in him. It’s like they always say: if at first you don’t succeed…

There’s a lot going for this movie, and a lot more that could’ve been. In terms of the former, the film feels like straight out of the most-cliché, cookie-cutter handbook: girl meets boy. Girl falls in love with boy. Girl and boy discover The Westermarck Effect. Girl and boy realize they can’t date, but still love each other. And while I won’t ruin the ending, it too feels generic. And yet it works. It works because the characters are likeable and really well-written in spite of that.

Of course, plot B is more compelling than plot A, as it takes more centre-focus. The old clubhouse from the Latin Quartier has so much character and time invested that you actually grow attached to it. You care because the characters care, and you don’t want it to be demolished. Even before it gets renovated, it still has so much life that, like Howl’s Castle, it’s easily the most-interesting part.

Being a movie focusing around nostalgia, the movie pays frequent tribute to Cinemascope musicals. There are several songs throughout, and the soundtrack feels like ripped from a 60’s Broadway show. And they’re all good songs, with most being toe-tappers. I think my favourite is “Sakiyuki”, sung by the late-Kyu Sakamoto. It not only fits its scene, but, to paraphrase Umi, “it’s nice”.

The movie’s also hilarious, arguably the funniest Goro’s worked on. There are several moments where I genuinely burst into laughter, and most were because of the script. I think the best joke is in the politician’s office. Anyone who’s ever had to play the waiting game can relate, and it keeps building on the same joke. Of course, the casual delivery of other lines in the movie helps with the chuckles.

From Up On Poppy Hill’s a nice, quaint movie about a nice, quaint period in history. Like My Neighbor Totoro and Only Yesterday, it has a tendency to “Okay Boomer” a lot, but it doesn’t matter. The film celebrates the power of youth, feeling more like a Millennial power story. And it’s one where everything works for the better. We need more of those.

(To be continued.)

Studio Ghibli Retrospective 6

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

XVI. The Cat Returns

I’m tempted to call this movie“Alice in Wonderland meets Cats” and be done with it, I really am. But I don’t think that description does it justice. For one, it’s not both of those. And two, it feels more like The Princess Bride than anything, especially in tone. Still, it’s not an “amazing film”, so who am I to dwell on comparisons?

The film’s a weird, wacky adventure story about an insecure girl who visits a weird and wacky kingdom over a misunderstanding. Or perhaps it’s not so simple? Between the cat-related gifts that Haru receives, or being kidnaped and taken to The Cat Kingdom, I guess it might be more serious. I’m still debating that one.

How’s the film? Fine, I guess. Like Ocean Waves, this was a first-time project from a director who’d never work on a Studio Ghibli project again. Also, like Ocean Waves, the movie’s blissfully short. It barely clocks in at 75-minutes, making it harmless and easy to sit through. Yet, like Ocean Waves, its short length feels like a mask for pacing problems, even if it’s technically superior.

I think my biggest issue is that we have about 35 minutes spent in The Cat Kingdom, a place filled with intrigue and one that deserves much more time in. The rest of the movie focuses on the real-world drama of Haru following her daring rescue, and it’s as contrived and silly as possible. Even Haru acknowledges how dumb it is, so why should I care? What good is it to invest my time in these hijinks?

That’s pretty much the movie in general: Haru’s getting cat-themed gifts, even though she’s a human! Isn’t that silly? Now she’s being kidnapped by sentient cats! Isn’t that silly? Now she’s turning into a cat? Isn’t that-you get the point.

Even The Cat King, who’s delightfully hammy, feels wasted. He’s built up as a stuck-up, playful lecher who only wants what’s best for himself. He throws entertainers out of his castle window because they’re “not entertaining enough”. He even hits on Haru. This slime-ball of a character should be a gem! So why’s he wasted in such a disappointing manner? The only reason I can think of is “time”.

The movie also isn’t subtle. As in, it spells out its message right up front and to Haru: always believe in yourself. Inspiring! But while this remains the underlying theme, and shows up routinely, it never feels like anything more than fortune cookie-level. And that cheapens what could’ve been a much grander narrative.

I’m being too hard on The Cat Returns. For such a minimalist project, it looks and sounds great. The characters are surprisingly detailed, and the music contains a great waltz that occasionally pops into my head without warning. I also like the part where Haru walks on birds. More of that, please!

The movie’s also really funny. I keep finding myself laughing at how absurd parts are, even during the “isn’t that silly?” moments. I simply wish that the story was more on-point with the comedy, or that it was longer. Because while Ocean Waves being short was a blessing in disguise, The Cat Returns being short works to its detriment. And that saddens me, as I like the premise. Still, I know this movie’s popular amongst younger Studio Ghibli fans, so…

XVII. Howl’s Moving Castle

I hated this movie initially. I found it confusing, I thought its characters were dull, and that it dragged on aimlessly for too long. And that worried me, because it’s a Hayao Miyazaki movie. Still, I persisted. And while I don’t exactly love it, even after several re-watches, I can at least respect it. I guess that’s character development?

Getting the obvious problems out of the way, the story’s a mess. Miyazaki’s not one for excellent writing, since he always writes his films as he goes, but his other works have some level of consistently. At least they flow like actual movies. Howl’s Moving Castle feels like it’s making itself up as it goes, a classic case of “the tail leading the dog”. Fitting, seeing as how the movie was originally meant as a Mamoru Hosoda project, with Miyazaki coming on later.

The Witch of the Waste also bugs me. Initially, she’s the primary antagonist. By the halfway point, however, the movie shifts gears, and she’s reduced to a pile of mush with an inconsistent bout of dementia. It’s like Miyazaki didn’t know what to do with her, so he relegated her to the sidelines while focusing on Sophie and Howl’s relationship.

Sophie doesn’t fare much better. Beginning as a bore, she’s cursed by The Witch of the Waste. This isn’t terrible, she’s a lot more fun old, but her curse is inconsistent. Even with the subtle implications that it’s tied to her self-esteem, it flip-flops and never settles on any solid rules. Even in the second-half, when Sophie starts gaining confidence, her age fluctuates rapidly. It eventually settles on a midway point for…reasons, but even then it’s confusing. Why keep Sophie young, yet still make her hair grey?

There are also little details about the messaging that bug me to no end. The theme about war, which this movie portrays as non-discriminatory, feels like a side-plot with no reason for existing. It even ends with an incredibly-anticlimactic resolution, one that raises more questions than answers. I get that this was supposed to be a commentary on The Iraq War, something Miyazaki’s confirmed, but it’s so messy and immature about it.

That’s not to say it’s all bad. Like every Miyazaki film, the animation’s gorgeous, with Howl’s Castle being the centrepiece. The score, by Joe Hisaishi, is some of the composer’s best, with The Merry Go Round of Life being my favourite piece from the studio. I also like most of the characters, including Howl and Sophie. And I buy into their romance, which has an excellent pay-off.

This is my biggest frustration with the movie: there’s a lot of great here, but also a lot of bad. And they feel at odds, such that it makes for complicated viewings. My concerns also haven’t abated since I first saw it-if anything, they’ve gotten worse! But I’ve also come to appreciate this gonzo production, so I guess that’s something!

XVIII. Tales From Earthsea

So remember how I said there were two Studio Ghibli movies that were actively not good? This is the second. And it’s even worse than My Neighbors the Yamadas. At least that movie, for all its meandering and overkill, holds together. Tales From Earthsea is a literal train-wreck from the moment it says go. And it stays that way until the end.

I feel awful for Goro Miyazaki. He had a large legacy to live up to, and he could never do it. While this movie’s a huge mess, and let’s not undersell that, I still think he didn’t deserve to be saddled with making it. It’s kinda unfair to him.

The problems with this movie are obvious from the start: the animation’s generic, even if it looks detailed. The plotting’s even more bonkers than Howl’s Moving Castle, committing the cardinal sins of too much exposition and not enough flow. Cobb teeters between being too dull a villain to be interesting and too over-the-top to take seriously. The movie promises adventures it never shows. And Arren’s the most uninteresting Studio Ghibli protagonist ever, even though he’s supposed to represent depression.

But the biggest sin is that it’s boring. For a high-fantasy premise, not a lot of excitement happens for most of it. There could’ve been potential for so much more, but it’s not utilized; in fact, if it weren’t for the movie’s score, I’d probably not even know how to react to half of the scenes. That’s a big problem!

Does it have any saving graces? Aside from the music, that is? Well, Therru’s vocal solo halfway is pretty good. It may drag on, but it feels heartfelt enough. Still, that doesn’t compensate for such a dry, boring movie with such dry, boring characters. It hurts to say this, but Goro earned his Japanese Razzie. It hurts because, like I said, I think he deserved better.

(To be continued.)

Studio Ghibli Retrospective 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

XIII. Princess Mononoke

Princess Mononoke’s a legitimate war movie. And one centred on something close to Hayao Miyazaki’s heart, too: the environment. It’d seem like this’d be an excuse to preach about the current disarray mankind has thrown the world into, but it actually shows lots of restraint. Even amidst the film’s lack of subtlety, which was never that important anyway, there’s quite a bit of depth. It has a lot of nuance and layers.

Arguably, the best praise I can give is that it doesn’t paint either side of the conflict, humans and animals-alike, as one-dimensional. They’re equal parts compassionate and destructive, in different ways. The humans can be destructive and apathetic to nature, as evidenced through Lady Eboshi, but kind and caring to their own, as also evidenced through Lady Eboshi. Subsequently, the animals of the forest, majestic and graceful, also have their impulsive, vicious sides. Amidst their constant back-and-forth, you see and understand both sides.

The one constant is Prince Ashitaka, the outsider and audience POV. You’re meant to sympathize with him. He’s the one whose life was influenced negatively by the conflict. He’s also the one who keeps making grand speeches about wanting everyone to get along. It can feel a little self-righteous at times, but it works. Plus, he’s awesome in combat.

The film conflicts the viewer constantly: who do we root for? The humans? The animals? Both? Neither? We’re meant to be uncertain.

That’s not to say that the film doesn’t present clear lines. Ultimately, nature wins. The fighting is bad for everyone involved, yet it’s inevitable. And it’s cyclical, with it happening whenever expansion on either side becomes necessary. That honesty’s welcomed in a world where environmental movies lack it.

Everything’s also complimented by the aesthetic, which uses hints of CGI for select shots, and the music, which is my favourite from Joe Hisaishi. Yet even amidst the grandness, there’s something small about the ordeal. It never loses sight of the intricacy of the premise, despite its violence and bloodshed. That’s something to be admired and respected.

I’ve made no secret that I have issues with the movie, even if none of them hold it back: for one, the plot takes a while to set up. The second-half’s also significantly better than the first-half. Many of the side-characters blur together into a collective voice. And while one of its antagonists gets their comeuppance, the other doesn’t. None of these are deal breakers, though.

For what it’s worth, this is a brilliant film. It’s layered, introspective and dense. This is the kind of movie you show to film students who are interested in environmentalism. It’s also the kind of movie you show general audiences looking to have their brains picked. I wouldn’t call it my favourite Miyazaki movie, but it’s pretty high up there. And at almost 134-minutes, it’s epic, too!

XIV. My Neighbors the Yamadas

I always feel hesitant saying this, but this is one two Studio Ghibli movies that I don’t like. The reason’s simple: it’s not a movie. It’s a series of skits loosely connected by Haikus, and ones that have next-to-nothing to do with one-another. It’s also way too long for its own good. It may be pretty, and it’s occasionally funny, but I keep wondering what the point is. Maybe that’s on me though, I don’t know.

To be fair, the movie’s not the worst. It’s not even Studio Ghibli’s worst movie. Yet while I don’t loathe it, I keep failing to understand why the Japanese-equivalent of a “Best of” collection received the feature-length treatment. Even as a slice-of-life comedy, it’s not interesting enough to warrant more than 40 minutes. And that’s being quite generous.

Perhaps I’m being unfair. The movie, if you can call it that, plays to the mundaneness of everyday life, particularly in the family unit: struggling with your grades in school? Cue your mother yelling at you to “study harder” repeatedly. Your girlfriend’s on the phone? Chances are your family’s listening in. Even sibling rivalry and family squabbles are represented here.

I understand a lot of this in theory: it’s an ode to family life. It’s supposed to be episodic, silly and without depth! But if that’s the case, then why not make this a series of shorts? Why not keep this as a 4-Koma Manga, which suits it? There are only so many ways to draw out a punchline before it gets boring!

Fortunately, the movie looks pretty. Its designs are sketchy and cartoony, perhaps to emulate the newspaper funnies aesthetic, and it’s well-scored. It also gets me to laugh a lot, which I assume is a positive. And it ends on a sweet note, which is nice. But, again, I can’t justify this movie’s existence. Not even explaining its premise sounds interesting, which is disappointing.

Oh, and did I mention that it drags?

XV. Spirited Away

This was the first Studio Ghibli movie I ever watched. It’s also my favourite. I was surprised to find out that that wasn’t an original sentiment, but I can’t hide it. This really is fantastic, is it’s as relevant to a pre-teen girl as to an older man. It also won an Oscar, which never happens with an anime film.

The best part about this movie is Chihiro, the protagonist. She’s so great because there’s nothing really special about her: she’s whiney. She’s insecure. She’s easily afraid. She lacks self-confidence. These are all parts of her character that she has to confront, and she does. I like that because most of Hayao Miyazaki’s protagonists have something special or enhanced about them. Be it a magic pendant, a broom, or a curse, that seems to be his modus operandi. Spirited Away’s about a normal, 10 year-old trying to save her parents from being eaten. That’s it.

And it works. Because Chihiro, by being herself, influences everyone around her. Even the grumpy Yubaba, who’s implied to be the antagonist, is softened by her, to the point of becoming nothing more than a miserable old grump. I guess that’s more-relatable than some grandiose adventure, huh?

The movie also has some really memorable moments. Scenes like The Stink Spirit being cleaned come to mind, for one. It’s Miyazaki rearing his environmentalist head again, but it works! You feel the creature’s pain, and you desperately want it to have a bath and be purified. And when it’s revealed to have been trapped in toxic sludge, it’s really satisfying!

There’s also that somber, really quiet train ride in the third-act. That scene’s been deconstructed to death, but I’d be lying if I denied its power. I wish more films would have quiet moments like that one, underscored by a composer like Joe Hisaishi. I firmly believe animation would be taken more seriously by adults.

Spirited Away’s a special film. It takes an Alice in Wonderland-esque premise, which I should despise, and makes it appealing. It’s funny, it’s sad, and it’s uplifting. It tackles themes of greed, corruption and the importance of self-sacrifice and love. It might not be the shortest of animated films, it’s over 2 hours, but that doesn’t matter. I strongly think more films, particularly animated ones, should strive to be as challenging as this. You can quote me on that.

(To be continued.)

Studio Ghibli Retrospective 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

X. Ocean Waves

This movie was a test project for Studio Ghibli’s up-and-coming animators, writers and talent. It was meant for TV, and was supposed to be modest. However, the film’s length kept increasing, the production schedule went overtime and, as a result, the budget swelled. Basically, Ocean Waves should’ve been a disaster. Yet while its director, Tomomi Mochizuki, would never work on a Studio Ghibli project again, the film manages, though littered with problems, to be somewhat competent. I guess life’s funny like that.

On paper, there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s a send-off of teenage angst, contrasting with the 20-something realization that, yes, you really were that dumb in high school. I should be able to relate, seeing as I was a obnoxious as an adolescent. Yet there’s a crippling flaw that holds it back from really connecting: it lacks consequence.

Perhaps the biggest frustration is Rikako. Her dilemma’s simple: she buries herself in her studies, often at the expense of everyone else, to cope with family troubles. She’s rich, but with that comes a ditz that makes her shallow and emotionally-compromised. This is all material for good writing, but it never goes beyond surface-level. To quote Taku, it feels like a really bad soap opera.

And that’s what it is. That’s not to say the movie doesn’t try, it does, but it’s hard to get invested when the film’s so shallow. Even Rikako, who’s basically Haruhi Suzumiya if her actions actually came back to bite her, doesn’t really grow much. She remains impulsive, and we’re supposed to accept that. To top it off, the movie time skips and expects the audience to accept that Rikako has matured.

It doesn’t help that the film’s other characters are pretty weak, too. Taku, our narrator, has no depth beyond acting slightly judgmental of Rikako, even if he goes along with her schemes out of guilt. Taku’s close friend, Yutaka, doesn’t fare much better, being a quiet, boring kid who has a crush on Rikako. The film wants us to believe there’s a legitimate love triangle with tension, but I don’t feel it. It comes across as hollow and empty.

If Ocean Waves has a saving grace, it’s its length. Normally, dull dramas plod along endlessly, but this film’s a little over an hour; in fact, it’s the shortest movie in Studio Ghibli’s repertoire. It’s also a quick watch. But between Rikako’s crocodile tears, the repeated face slaps and the awkward time skip, I’m wondering what the point of it was: that high school’s rough? That teenagers say and do stuff they regret later on? What’s going on here?

I don’t want to come off unfair, though. The movie isn’t terrible, and I find myself fascinated with the electronica accompaniment and great-for-TV animation. It’s also, like I said, blissfully short. But it’s not terribly compelling, containing depth on-par with a Limp Bizkit album. Even as a first-time film, I expect better from someone working under Studio Ghibli.

XI. Pom Poko

This is an oddity of a film. Isao Takahata’s attempt at environmentalism, it takes a real-life period of history, the development of The New Tama Hills Project, and shines light on how devastating that was for its wildlife. And, for the most part, it succeeds. Yet due to its length and bizarre concept, Pom Poko remains, to this day, incredibly-divisive. I get why, as it had to grow on me.

I think its biggest draw is its take on Tanuki lore. Tanuki are known for the ability to shape-shift, and the movie addresses that. Yet instead of playing it straight, the Tanuki are personified. They walk on their hind legs, they wear clothes, they even speak the language of the humans. This leads to lots of great comedy, but it also makes for a weird disconnect.

Oddly enough, this is a war movie. It’s not a conventional one, the Tanuki are demonstrated to be too lazy and passive to fight the humans head-on, but it does play with the wartime structure: there are guerrilla skirmishes constantly, the Tanuki play tricks on the humans and gaslight their fears, and innocents routinely die. And between the constant jokes and schmaltzy rhymes, Pom Poko’s pretty graphic. You don’t pick up on that initially, but it really is.

The movie’s also upfront about its war themes. It establishes early on that this is a fight the Tanuki can’t win, but it gives valour to their efforts. Each time they have small victories, they celebrate. Each time they make progress, they celebrate. Even in the end, when they give up, they still celebrate. Because that’s what Tanukis do.

The biggest selling point, and most-obvious punch-line, is its emphasis on Tanuki testicles being magical. This is true to Japanese lore, but it can make for some weird jokes at the expense of storytelling. If you think about it, they’re testicles, and they’re being used to fight humans. The comedy writes itself!

Still, the movie does drag a bit (no pun intended). The big set-piece, during the lantern festival, is impressive, especially with all the call-backs and references to Japanese culture, but it goes on for too long. Even the narration, which is lovely, tends to maunder. I understand that this movie’s riffing on a traditional documentary, but a little more “show, don’t tell” would’ve been nice!

It’s hard to say if everyone will like this. For some, it might be boring, or gruesome, or probably both. But for others, it’s an interesting dive into a piece of history that wasn’t so well-known. Personally, I think it’s fine. It had to grow on me, like I said, but it’s fine. That may not be high praise, but take it for what it is.

XII. Whisper of the Heart

The story behind Whisper of the Heart’s incredibly tragic: initially, it was meant as a test film for Hayao Miyazaki’s successor, Yoshifumi Kondō, to see if he could lead Studio Ghibli after Miyazaki’s retirement. Miyazaki even wrote the screenplay, intending it to be his swan-song project. Yet, as irony had it, Kondō died of an aneurysm three years later, whereas Miyazaki would continue directing movies. Go figure!

The ultimate shame is that, had he survived to work on another film, I think Kondō could’ve rivalled or surpassed Miyazaki creatively. Because Whisper of the Heart, which celebrates the artistic experience, is really that good. Everything about it, save for its final line, is a wonderfully-pure expression of what it means to be an artist. As someone who writes regularly, that speaks to me personally. If Kiki’s Delivery Service is about the struggle to keep your passions alive, then Whisper of the Heart’s about what drives that passion in the first place.

Shizuku’s easily the most-relatable writer I’ve seen on film. She oozes optimism, routinely doubts her skills and struggles to balance her priorities. She gets so wrapped up in her passions that they sometimes consume her, to the point of emotional torture and lack of sleep. As someone who struggles with prioritizing, I can relate. And the film doesn’t romanticize anything, which is nice.

Of course, the underlying motif is the song “Country Roads”. It surfaces and resurfaces multiple times, and that’s not accidental: it’s symbolic of the creative struggle. If the song itself is about raw passion, then the movie taking advantage of that is acknowledging that passion drives art. Even bad art can carry weight if driven by passion.

The film’s best moment, ignoring the dream sequences in the second-half, is when Shizuku and Seiji jam with Seiji’s grandfather and his friends. As someone who’s jammed with friends and family before, this feels incredibly personal. It’s a reminder that the greatest joys are the simple ones. It also a really well-executed scene.

Whisper of the Heart is, to put it bluntly, delightful. It’s funny, it’s sad, it’s deep, it’s inspired, it’s basically the creative experience without any of the sentimental fluff. It can be cheesy, admittedly, but that’s to be expected in a teenaged slice-of-life drama. It’s too bad its final line’s so bad, or else I’d have nothing to complain about!

(To be continued.)

Studio Ghibli Retrospective 3

Part 1 Part 2

VII. Kiki’s Delivery Service

This movie speaks to me in ways many other Studio Ghibli films, not even some of Hayao Miyazaki’s works, don’t. That’s because I’ve lived Kiki’s Delivery Service. My first real job, one I’m still in, was as a courier, so I’ve seen a lot of what she goes through: getting lost during a delivery? Check. Getting caught in bad weather? Check. Dealing with grumpy customers? Check, check, check!

It’s interesting seeing how much of the movie deals with burnout. Kiki starts out optimistic and willing to do what she loves, which is flying. She uses that skill to deliver parcels. Yet as time goes on and the stresses pile up, Kiki starts losing interest and doubts herself. And, naturally, her powers start to fade too. As someone who’s been in that position as a writer, it hits home.

So it’s fitting that the climax, which involves saving Tombo, is about Kiki’s struggle with herself. I’ve heard people say the movie doesn’t have a villain, and I disagree. It may not be literal, but it’s self-doubt. Whenever Kiki doubts herself, that’s when something goes wrong. Even in the climax, where real pressure is on her, her doubt is something she has to fight.

That’s not to say the movie’s a downer, because it’s not. It’s largely cheerful and entertaining, with lots of really cute moments. You get sucked into Kiki’s world, you care for the friends she makes, you really get a glimpse into her life as a teenager struggling to make it. Add in some pleasant orchestrations from Joe Hisaishi, as well as some Japanese bops, and you’re in for a great time. I can’t stress that enough.

But the best part is Kiki’s relationship with her cat, Jiji. Jiji’s as snarky as wise, and his constant banter with Kiki makes the movie work wonders. It almost feels like a buddy movie, except substitute two people with a witch and a feline. And when Jiji stops being able to speak? That hurts.

My connection to Kiki’s Delivery Service has only grown over the years. It’s even gotten me to cry lately, which is something it used to not be able to do. The film had a lot of behind-the-scenes complications in production (it was basically Studio Ghibli’s Ratatouille), but that it worked anyway is amazing. That it’s so personal doesn’t hurt.

VIII. Only Yesterday

Isao Takahata’s second feature-film for Studio Ghibli, this is also his most-intimate. The movie marked a company shift from conventional fantasy to serialized drama, though they’ve flip-flopped between the two modes since. Either way, Only Yesterday, which took forever to come stateside, is basically the ode to 20-somethings that 20-somethings never knew they needed. Like My Neighbor Totoro, it has some of that “Okay Boomer” energy, but whereas that film stayed in the distant world of the countryside, this film divides its time between the country-bumpkin “adult world” and the sentimentally-relatable “child world”. It even has two distinct art-styles to help the audience know which is which.

I wasn’t initially sure what to make of this movie. I knew I liked it fine, but I didn’t have a pulse on why. It was only on re-watch that it clicked. Even now, I find myself appreciating it more and more, and that’s more than I can say for Grave of the Fireflies (which, while technically better, doesn’t click with me as much). That, and it dragging is part of the point this time.

There’s a lot that I can relate to, both on the child and the adult side. For the former, Taeko struggling with math, acting stubborn for no reason and being disappointed after trying a new fruit are all lifted from my own childhood. Conversely, the adult section touches on self-sustainability, the struggle with being single and the fears that come with companionship, all of which I also relate to. And given how adult Taeko’s pretty close to my age, I feel her situation. I understand what drives her, which is strange for someone from another decade. But I guess that’s expected when you’re writing about the mundane.

The music’s also pretty good. Drawing inspiration from Eastern European sources, there are plenty of upbeat and melodic tracks that make for ear candy on top of the eye candy. It’s unusual to have a moment in the countryside be punctuated by Slavic folk melodies, but it works. It makes the experience feel more immediate and sweet. Even the incorporation of “The Rose” at the end, sung in Japanese, is perfectly-suited for it.

Only Yesterday’s a charming, if overlong, experience. It’s longer than Grave of the Fireflies, and in some ways feels it, but that doesn’t detract from its strengths. Like all of Takahata’s films, I won’t say it’s for everyone, nor will I promise you’ll enjoy it, but if you’re willing to try something different, you can settle for worse. It’s quaint.

IX. Porco Rosso

I’ve always considered this my least-favourite Hayao Miyazaki movie. To be fair, it’s grown on me over the years, such that I respect it a lot more now, but even with the admiration it’s never fully won me over. And I think part of that’s because of its weird blend of somber and silly. Unlike Castle in the Sky, which managed the feat perfectly, Porco Rosso is at an awkward crossroads. Should I laugh, cry, or both simultaneously? I’m never sure.

That’s not to say the two components separated don’t work, however. Comedically, this is easily Miyazaki’s best movie. Moments like the sailors making an arrow to guide Porco, or the cruise liner calmly announcing that they’re under attack by seaplane pilots, permeate the film, and they always get a laugh from me. I especially like The Mama Auito Gang, who are this movie’s answer to The Dola Gang. They’re precious, hilarious cinnamon buns.

The movie also knows how to do serious well. The drama, borrowing from Hollywood’s Golden Age, is somber when necessary and romantic when necessary. You have Gina’s lament about her dead husbands, Porco flying over The Hotel Adriano and Porco’s back-story in one movie, and it all works. The only downside is that I’ve never fully been behind Porco’s reason for being a pig, and he’s so nonchalant about it that I have little reason to care. The film wastes a potentially-fascinating plot-point by shrugging its shoulders and not focusing on it, even though it frequently teases it.

It’s the blending of the serious and comedic that causes the movie to stumble, however. Nowhere is this best demonstrated than when Gina chews out Porco for visiting Milan. She reminds him of the stakes involved, but when he turns down her request to come home, which is played as serious, she yells at him and that’s the end of it. No tears, no showing Gina’s reaction, it simply moves on.

Fortunately, Porco Rosso more than excels in its atmosphere. Aside from the backdrops, there are plenty of moments where you get serenaded with lounge/Italian-favoured music, courtesy of Joe Hisaishi. This is a mellow movie, and you’re reminded of that in-between the comedy and the drama. Even in the drama that’s there feels it, like when Porco and Fio escape Piccolo’s shop ala silent era spy thrillers.

I can’t go without mentioning the film’s anti-populist message. Porco’s a bounty hunter in a time period of growing Fascism, and the movie doesn’t shy away from showing that that’s bad. Porco even states that he’d “rather be a pig than a Fascist”, even though his misogyny’s still tolerated. The film doesn’t focus too long on the populism, but it nails it hard when it’s present. And in an age when Fascism’s on the rise again, it feels like Porco Rosso’s more relevant than ever.

I’m in the minority over my frustrations, and I get it. Porco Rosso has an awful lot going for it, including its feminist-friendly themes. It’s smart, it’s well-paced, and it’s never boring. But it doesn’t engross me in the way I’d hoped, especially during its finale. Yet while I might not personally love it, that’s not stopping someone else from considering it a favourite. I wouldn’t be upset about that.

(To be continued.)

Studio Ghibli Retrospective 2

Part 1

IV. Castle in the Sky

This is one of the first movies from the studio that I watched, and it blew me away from the get-go. It’s weird, because I had every reason to hate it: it’s silly. The drama’s weirdly-blended with comedic moments. The characters are archetypes. The tone pays homage to Star Wars and Indiana Jones, those goofy serials you kinda wish were made more now, yet understand why they were phased out. Even the story, which pays tribute to Jules Verne and Jonathan Swift, seems a quintessentially-80’s action movie. Being that I didn’t grow up in the 80’s, hence I have no attachment to the decade, I was amazed at how drawn into the experience I was.

I think part of it’s Hayao Miyazaki’s ability to drive home any kind of film. Like a hybrid of Spielberg’s sentimentality and Disney’s whimsy, Miyazaki can capture his audience and hold them tight. In the case of Castle in the Sky, there’s a youthfulness that makes this experience feel timeless. It’s the kind of film that could never be made by Miyazaki today, he’s way too jaded now, but any freshman would kill to make a movie half as good.

The story itself is, arguably, nothing special. It’s a “race to the __” film, a standard MacGuffin chase. We know where it’ll end, but it’s the destination that counts. Even plot-holes like “How could no one believe Pazu’s late father about Laputa when he photographed it?” become secondary to “Who really cares?” Because, let’s be honest, who really cares?

What matters are the characters. Pazu and Sheeta are standard, pre-teen wide-eyes, but their energy and optimism drive home what would’ve been an otherwise uninteresting pairing. The Dola Gang are as funny and entertaining as the hyenas from The Lion King, and they’ll definitely keep kids and adults entertained. But my favourite character’s Colonel Muska, the film’s villain and only other Miyazaki antagonist (outside of Count Cagliostro) to actually be played up as all slime. He’s straight out of a Bond movie, with his calm demeanour, condescending attitude, sophistication and, yes, villainous cackle.

It helps that the action sequences are equally spectacular. My favourite is in the fortress, where a resurrected robot runs amuck, destroying everything, in an attempt to rescue Sheeta. It’s fun, it’s suspenseful, but it’s also incredibly melancholic. It even ends on a bittersweet note. That’s not to downplay the other action scenes, which are equally as impressive.

It’s fitting that the rug pull, when the characters finally reach Laputa, feels sad and empty. Laputa, having long been abandoned, is now a garden. The robots of Laputa, once their faithful servants, are now its humble caretakers, having outlived its civilization. It’s a humbling experience to witness, reminding the viewer that nature will always win out.

Perhaps that’s why the film’s only flaw, Sheeta’s heartbreaking speech, feels out-of-place: it’s unnecessary. We’ve already seen what she preaches. Even with the rescoring, courtesy of Joe Hisaishi for Disney’s dub, that part could’ve been trimmed and nothing would be lost. But it’s too late now to fix that...

Castle in the Sky’s exactly what it’s sold as: a high fantasy adventure that’s equally fun and moving. It’s long, but moves (mostly) quite briskly. It’s also nice to see a film like this actually attempt discussions about respecting nature, something that’d be done again in Princess Mononoke. It’s silly, often screwball, and occasionally emotional, but it never loses its sense of fun. That’s all I can really ask for.

V. Grave of the Fireflies

Now we arrive at Isao Takahata’s first film for Studio Ghibli. Initially, the film was meant to balance Miyazaki’s My Neighbor Totoro, a heartbreaking Ying to an uplifting Yang. The two were even released as a double-billing, on the same day and often in the same theatres. An ambitious idea, but hindsight’s 20-20. Grave of the Fireflies is fondly remembered by fans today, but it was initially avoided like the plague and became a commercial failure.

I also have several issues with it. This isn’t to say that it’s “bad”, or that I don’t enjoy it, but each time I watch it I get the uneasy feeling that it could’ve been so much better. Perhaps the most-frustrating part, aside from its pacing, is that it spoils the ending in its opening. It’s no shocker that Seita and Setsuko don’t make it, that’s not ruining anything. Their unfortunate choices are what cause their demise. Yet by giving away the denouement immediately, only to flashback to how it started, much of the tension’s deflated.

It doesn’t help that the film’s notoriously-slow. Takahata’s biggest drawback has always been how meandering his films can get, and this one’s no exception. It’s not even 90-minutes, and yet it feels much longer. On one hand, this allows you to soak in what’s happening. On the other hand, it’s really tedious to sit through.

I also find some of the plotting monotonous. Most of the middle-act is about food, the lack of it, and the desire to steal more of it to stay alive. In theory, it works: wartime makes decent people amoral. Yet because so much of it’s so repetitive, I find myself getting antsy. That’s not a good sign.

Fortunately, this isn’t to dismiss the film. For all of its flaws, Grave of the Fireflies is beautifully animated and well-scored. The protagonists, Seita and Setsuko, are as likeable as they are real, with plights that make sense. Even when Seita’s pride gets in the way, which it does often, there’s an underlying sense of sympathy. You understand why he behaves the way he does, even though he’s never exonerated.

The film’s saving grave its final 20 minutes. Everything from the doctor’s remark that Setsuko needs food, right up until Seita’s ghost, rather condescendingly, glares down at modern-day Japan, is as effective as it is tragic. It gets me every time, such that Setsuko’s ghost running through the kids’ hiding place, set to “Home, Sweet Home”, is where the tears start. That’s not including the ending, which is equally upsetting.

It’s a shame that Grave of the Fireflies bombed financially, as its legacy has remained quite strong. Ironically, by not being bankrolled though Studio Ghibli’s usual publisher, the film’s also harder to find than the rest of the library. Still, for what it’s worth, it’s deserving of a watch. I wouldn’t call it my favourite from the late-director, but it’s pretty good in its own right.

VI. My Neighbor Totoro

The counter to Grave of the Fireflies’s depressing tone, My Neighbor Totoro feels like a celebration of childhood. It’s weird saying that about a film set in the 1950’s, especially since it’s not a childhood I’m familiar with, but that doesn’t make it less impactful. This is the Studio Ghibli movie I should be saying, “Okay Boomer” the most to…but then I stop and realize that, yeah, I still get it. Because it holds up.

Mei and Satsuki click because they embody different parts of childhood. Mei, being younger, is the early years, while Satsuki is the transition period. While Mei’s busy roaming the backyard and befriending the animals, Satsuki’s trying to help the family despite her busy father and sickly mother. And then, to tie it all together, there’s Totoro, the woodland spirit who helps them out on occasion. He may not appear until a little over 30-minutes in, and he only has a handful of scenes, but he’s managed to become the official mascot of the company.

Perhaps the reason why this movie works is because it grounds its fantasy in realism. Both Totoro, and later the Catbus, are there, and they’re given time to breathe, but they never crowd out the thematically-connected vignettes about a family coping with an ill mother. There’s still time for life at school, home and the hospital, it’s merely infused with a twinge of magic. All-the-better when the plot kicks in the last act, where everything gets heavy and the tears start falling down my cheeks again. Some might call that “forced”, but I call it “reality”.

Whether it’s the now-famous umbrella scene, or when Totoro helps Satsuki and Mei grow their acorns into a tree, there’s no shortage of whimsy and fun here. And at under 90-minutes, it also doesn’t overstay its welcome. My Neighbor Totoro’s like a fun, brief stay at your country cousin’s house: you never know what to expect, and your imagination can’t stop running wild. Bless it for that, even though it nearly tanked Studio Ghibli.

(To be continued.)

Studio Ghibli Retrospective 1

The year was 2010. I was 20, and about to enter my third year of university. Having experienced a strike in my freshman year, a draining Summer holiday and a second year that was equally draining, I was-quite literally-considering dropping out of school. Additionally, I’d lost my post-graduate scholarship, was depressed and had mental health issues that hadn’t been diagnosed yet. In short, my life was a nightmare.

It was also the year that I first watched that copy of Spirited Away that was lying around the house.

I’ve mentioned before how Studio Ghibli has helped me personally, so I won’t rehash that. Yet it’s been 9 years, and given that their biggest name has another film in the pipeline, I figured I’d use December to share how their works have impacted me. I’ll try to keep my thoughts as spoiler-free as possible, though I can’t promise anything.

I. Introduction

Hayao Miyazaki was born on January 5th, 1941 in Tokyo. The second-eldest of four boys, Miyazaki spent much of his childhood with an ailing mother. His father was also an airplane manufacturer, which left an impact on him. But it was his obsession with Manga and animation, particularly that of Walt Disney, that really spoke to him, convincing him to pursue a career in both. He graduated from Gankushuin University with degrees in political science and economics in 1963, eventually coming to Toei Animation as a grunt animator.

Isao Takahata was born on October 29th, 1935 in Ujiyamada. The youngest of seven, Takahata lived through WWII, including the bombing of Okayama. After graduating from Tokyo University with a degree in French literature, in 1959, Takahata was introduced to The King and the Mockingbird. It’s this film that’s said to have sparked his interest in animation, leading him to Toei Animation as well.

I mention these stories as context for how Miyazaki and Takahata met. Despite having different backgrounds, the two eventually collaborated on Takahata’s directorial debut, Hols: Prince of the Sun in 1968 and become lifelong friends. Their friendship would last through several career changes and the eventual founding of Studio Ghibli in 1985. And perhaps that was for the best, as Hols: Prince of the Sun wasn’t the hit Toei wanted and forced both of them to go their own ways.

But that’s okay, because it began what’d culminate in Studio Ghibli’s foundation anyway.

II. The Castle of Cagliostro

This was Hayao Miyazaki’s first feature film. Depsite Miyazaki having well over a decade of animation experience at this point, this is considered his “big break”. Fortunately, unlike Takahata, The Castle of Cagliostro, based on the popular Lupin III series, would fare much better in both reception and sales. But does that mean that it holds up now?

Well…yes. It’s not the best action movie out there, though Steven Spielberg argues otherwise (allegedly), but given what Miyazaki and TMS Animation were able to do in less than a year, and on a tight budget, it’s really impressive. The animation, though limited, is fluid and expressive, the minimalistic music helps with the atmosphere and it’s funny and clever despite being self-contained. It’s also been a big influence on Western animation, including The Great Mouse Detective and Batman: The Animated Series.

That said, the movie took a while to click with me. I bought it at HMV because it had Miyazaki’s name attached, but my initial viewing left me bored and disappointed by how slow and simplistic it was. I nearly turned it off partway, stopping myself only because I felt like giving it a fair chance. I ended up being slightly satisfied, but only subsequent watches have helped me appreciate it for what it is.

I think the little details are what warmed me to it over time. The Castle of Cagliostro’s self-contained, but it has lots of big and little details that make it special. Details like how the castle has clearly-defined geography, or how Lupin’s fake-out ring that he hands back to Lady Clarisse is foreshadowed earlier, can be overlooked the first or second times because of what’s happening on-screen, but they allow for fun tidbits to return to. But there are also noticeable details that grab you immediately, like how Lupin and Jigen are able to defy physics in the opening. That blend of gravity defying stunts and grounded realism allows me to accept wacky injuries and crazy jumps, yet still question Lupin getting over his amnesia so quickly.

That’s the movie in a nutshell: silly, yet fun. I know long-time fans of the series often single it out for deviating from the “Robin Hood-meets-James Bond” style characters are famous for, but I think it works in its favour. Especially with Lupin, who’s been upgraded from predatory goofball to charming thief. It’s not really for everyone, and I still think Goemon is under-utilized, but for what it’s worth, it’s worth a watch. Or maybe even two.

Oh, and Count Cagliostro, one of Miyazaki’s two conventional villains, has a brutal comeuppance.

III. Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind

This film almost didn’t happen. Initially, Hayao Miyazaki pitched a feature-length film to Tokuma Shoten. However, because no one would bankroll an original project, Miyazaki was forced to start a Manga instead. It was only once the partway-completed work was shown again that Miyazaki, now in his 40’s, received the okay to make his film. And he did.

Due to time and budget restraints, Miyazaki chose the first volume-and-a-bit of the Manga. But he was determined, alongside his small team of animators, to make this a reality. So when Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind debuted to critical and fan praise, it was a huge relief. The gamble paid off, and the movie’s still regarded by many as one of his best. Not bad for a budget (allegedly) on-par with an episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender, huh?

There’s a lot to unpack thematically, but the biggest ones are nostalgia and environmentalism. The former is shown mostly through its keyboard and electronica music, composed by Joe Hisaishi, and having a wide-eyed, pacifist princess as the protagonist. Nausicaä could easily wipe out an entire army on her own, but she chooses the path of least resistance. She doesn’t want war, despite it being brought to her by force, but peace. She wants harmony between all races, humans and insects alike, essentially.

The environmental component is a huge part of this movie. It’s easy to be cynical about environmental movies, since they’re usually cheap and hacky in nature, but even in 1984 there was a certain level of nuance and tact to this one’s writing. The film isn’t subtle in its message about protecting the Earth, but it’s layered. It strives for balance while showing how hard that is through antagonists like Princess Kushana, and it succeeds.

Melding everything together is how this movie caters to emotion. Like Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, much about the story doesn’t make sense: why was Kushana sent to collect The God Warrior if she knew it couldn’t be taken back to Tolmekkia? How do the Ohmu know how to heal Nausicaä’s wounds if it wasn’t established prior that they could do that? How can the Ohmu read minds? And how is Nausicaä’s Jesus moment at the end, one that’s immediately undermined via a deus ex machina, responsible for fixing the world? You’re never given answers, but your emotions fill in the responses.

Speaking of which, the movie’s draining. Between the moments where people die and Nausicaä cries, expect your tear ducts to be crusted over by the finale. That’s intentional, though, as you’re meant to feel that way. And, in this instance, it doesn’t feel cheap or manipulative.

That’s the best summation I can give: emotionally draining, yet incredibly satisfying. The film, like I said, was a big hit, allowing Hayao Miyazaki to become a household name. But since it was also hampered by a short production, Miyazaki decided it was time to work independently of the studio system. Thus, in 1985, Studio Ghibli was officially founded!

(To be continued.)