Isao Takahata and Punching Upward

(Warning: The following piece discusses heavy subject matter and contains major spoilers. Please read at your own risk.)

Life’s precious. It’s also really stressful and unforgiving. How do these contradictory statements manage to coexist? How do they do so without overtaking one another? And how do we internalize both? 

I’ve struggled for years to comprehend the messiness of life. I’ve done so with little success. Yet the closest I’ve gotten to a breakthrough came with The Tale of the Princess Kaguya, the last film from Isao Takahata before his death two years ago. Taking roughly 8 years to complete, the movie, one Takahata wanted to make for decades, feels like a labour of love. The film also looks distinct in the Studio Ghibli catalogue, drawing from Japanese watercolour paintings instead of the company’s usual style. It’s also a haunting, cautionary tale about life itself, and it’s easily my favourite from the director.

The Tale of the Princess Kaguya retells one of Japan’s oldest folktales. It follows an elderly bamboo cutter discovering a sprite inside a bamboo shoot. Curious, he takes it home to his wife, only for it to transform into a baby in an instant. As the baby becomes a young girl, the bamboo cutter insists that she be raised in the capital as a princess. However, the girl, renamed Kaguya, has no intentions of living that lifestyle.

When I first watched this movie, I was entranced. I knew it was special, yet I couldn’t grasp why. It was a Takahata movie, but it wasn’t like Takahata’s other films. This is because Isao Takahata’s work usually tests my patience with its pacing. But this movie, despite being the longest Studio Ghibli’s produced to-date, is unique. And I think that has to do with its dual themes of valuing life and pushing away societal expectations.

It takes a while, but as early as the first-act the movie plants its seeds. Whether it’s Kaguya’s father’s overbearing and overprotective nature, or her sorrowful rendition of “Warabe Uta” that she sings to the village children, we’re constantly reminded of what’s to come. This makes the move to the capital in search of a “better life” all-the-more heartbreaking. 

The first sign that the film’s not messing around comes with its most-infamous scene. During Kaguya’s naming festival, she overhears some drunken aristocrats mock her. Furious and hurt, Kaguya darts out of the capital to her old village. The scenery, literally, also becomes sketchy as Kaguya sheds her garments. When complimented by its music, the scene make something clear: forcing youth to live a lie always backfires, especially when they don’t consent.

This message resurfaces throughout, but nowhere is it more-apparent than in Kaguya’s rejection of the five suitors. After hearing vapid platitudes about her beauty, she requests that they each find the object of their comparison and bring it to her. Only three do, but even then she still challenges their gifts. Through this comes the grand thesis statement: empty platitudes are meaningless when not backed with substance. Here, the movie bluntly mocks Japan for failing its youth and demanding they be adults prematurely.

I find this powerful. Despite The Tale of the Princess Kaguya being an anime film, its message resonates in the West too. Far too often we expect our youth to mature too quickly. Sometimes, we even over-sexualize them in the process. It’s a tricky tightrope to walk, and this movie suggests it’s best not walked at all. Let kids be kids! They’ll grow up in due time!

Even with Kaguya rebelling against the nobility, the movie never gives back her old life. Moments of levity, like Kaguya dancing underneath the cherry blossoms, are even cut short when she bumps into a commoner’s child. Is Kaguya never meant to be happy? Must she remain miserable for eternity? This is only outcome if she continues her façade, unfortunately. 

Kaguya’s rejection of the suitors eventually reaches the Emperor of Japan. Realizing she’s turned all of them down, he visits Kaguya one fateful day. As he gazes upon her beauty, he succumbs to lust and gropes her. Terrified, Kaguya recoils and briefly vanishes. This scene always makes me uncomfortable given my youth. But it also reframes the moment in light of Japan’s unwillingness to break the dam with its various MeToo scandals. I wouldn’t be surprised if this film’s looked back on one day as the beginning of “the revolution”, so to speak.

Yet the film becomes even more somber here, especially as it reaches its third-act message. What was once a commentary on isolation becomes a rallying cry against the establishment. Kaguya begins dreading her return to The Moon, as that’s where she came from. From its description, she seems to be crying out for a release in the only way possible: suicide.

And here’s where the movie becomes extra heavy. I know people who’ve taken their lives to suicide. Some were really close to me. Suicide’s no laughing matter, but for some it feels like the only out at the moment. In some cases, the failure to carry it out is even more-stressful. I know someone who was angry that their suicide attempt was foiled, only forgiving the intervention with time. 

I think this is where the film really shocked me. I was expecting heavy content from the same director who made a movie about war and apathy 25 years earlier, but this? Tackling depression, alienation and suicide? From an animated fantasy film? Surely you jest!

But it runs with it. And I have to applaud the movie for sticking to its guns, difficult as that may be. Even Kaguya’s struggle feels honest and heartfelt, and her brief reunion with her childhood friend reminds the audience how precious life is. Because despite suicide feeling like a last-resort, many who do it only want help. Some even regret the decision once it’s too late.

Once the inevitable ceremony of death approaches, and Kaguya’s ripped from her Earthly parents, we get one last attempt at a goodbye. And it’s uncomfortable. And it hurts to watch. Because we’ve grown attached to Kaguya, and we know she never wanted this. It also hurts from her mother and father’s perspective, as the pain of losing a child never goes away. Even the last shot, that of an infant Kaguya in the centre of The Moon, symbolizes the lost innocence of Japan’s youth, forced into Hikikomori Syndrome or suicide in their attempts to cope. 

Much has been made of this movie’s loss at The Oscars to Big Hero 6. While I don’t think a Studio Ghibli movie warrants awards based on its namesake alone, here I can see the argument. Not helping was The Academy’s reluctance to take the film seriously, referring to it, and I kid you not, as “those Chinese fuckin’ things”. That not only insults its ability to tell a complex story of heartbreak and love, it spits in the face of what animation’s capable of as a medium. Because it deserves better than that! 

The Tale of the Princess Kaguya, despite its watercolour animation, is a hard movie to watch. It’s also not for everyone. But that doesn’t make it any less-relevant in a world where materialism overshadows individualism. In a time where a global pandemic has exposed all of society’s systemic flaws, perhaps a re-evaluation of this movie in the grander pantheon is necessary. But I can’t guarantee it won’t make you cry, even though that’s the point. 

And I expect nothing less, too. Rest in peace, Takahata-San. You sure know how to make an exit!

A Month of Miyazaki, 14 Years Later

In March of 2006, as a celebration for Hayao Miyazaki’s 65th birth year, Toonami, the legendary action anime block on Cartoon Network, hosted a month-long event every Saturday night for four weeks where they’d highlight four of his movies. 

Event streaming a director’s filmography isn’t a new phenomenon. Turner Classic Movies, a channel dedicated to what its name implies, does that frequently. Even streaming Hayao Miyazaki movies in honour of his 65th birthday had been done by TCM earlier that year, with the moments between films featuring a conversation with John Lasseter. But what made Toonami’s event unique was the target audience. Whereas TCM’s marathon was aimed at general audiences, A Month of Miyazaki was for anime fans. More specifically, it was for fans who enjoyed the endless reruns of Dragon Ball Z. As such, this was a real treat.

Of course, being Toonami, the advertising had to reflect the target demographic. Miyazaki’s body of work consists of a variety of movies, but Toonami wanted action films. They also wanted action films in-line with their standard offerings. As such, they ended up with their four finalists: Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke, Castle in the Sky and Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind. And they promoted these films with some of their best bumpers.

It’s worth noting two points: first, I didn’t grow up with A Month of Miyazaki. Aside from living in Canada, hence we didn’t get Cartoon Network, I had no clue who Hayao Miyazaki was until 2010. I, therefore, have no childhood nostalgia to speak of. So when I point out my thoughts, they’re all coming from a post-facto reflection. It might diminish them slightly, but it’s worth keeping in mind. 

Second, and this wasn’t planned, these four movies happen to also be my favourites from Miyazaki. In the case of Spirited Away specifically, it’s my favourite movie of all-time. The other three fit in nicely: they were discussed in detail Infinite Rainy Day. Yet Spirited Away isn’t an action movie, even if it’s amazing. But I guess the block needed one more pick, so they went with the Oscar winner.

The most-striking part about A Month of Miyazaki was the production value. Toonami was always able to skirt around budget restrictions, providing excellent promos and bumpers despite their cheaply-rendered, CGI stock footage, but this in particular stood out. Whether it was the excellently-cut images from the promos, the baritone narration that got people pumped, or Chris Devoe’s remixes of the movies’ tunes, people were in for a treat. The promos even used those paper cut-outs from Spirited Away as the official mascot. Essentially, they meant business here.

I can’t stress how cool this would’ve been had I lived in The US. I was a few months away from my 16th birthday at the time, and my tastes in entertainment were becoming more edgy. I wanted films that were action-packed and cool, so this would’ve been a perfect fit. Plus, these were foreign films. Add in that all four movies hold up now, and the deck was stacked in my favour. But, sadly, it wasn’t meant to be for me. 

In terms of legacy, I think it was pretty obvious. Ignoring how Toonami was struggling at this point, for a variety of reasons I won’t discuss right now, A Month of Miyazaki showed how the block could cater to diverse interests. I know people who are pathologically-averse to anime, yet don’t mind Miyazaki movies. Having these movies syndicate for a month was an excellent way to cater to them while also appealing to the converted. It also allowed for younger anime fans to experience them for the first time, which was a bonus.

Can A Month of Miyazaki work today? Maybe, and maybe not. On one hand, licensing Studio Ghibli’s work for TV’s expensive, and modern-Toonami’s demographic’s a little on the old side for these movies (save Princess Mononoke. That could still work.) Plus, with the advent of streaming, like Netflix and HBO Max, this wouldn’t catch on to the same extent; after all, why bother when you can watch these movies for no extra cost? And without commercials/time constraints?

On the other hand, it’s not like this couldn’t work at all. For one, the Disney-Studio Ghibli deal ended in 2012, so they’re not tied down to a specific licensor. And two, Miyazaki’s directed two movies since then, soon to be three. Who’s to say it couldn’t be tried again in honour of his 80th birthday this January? And who’s to say it has to be the same movies, let-alone from his body of work? Anything’s possible! 

Regardless, the legacy of A Month of Miyazaki remains clear: it was a cool experiment and treat for anime fans. Did it save Toonami from going under for a while? No, as evidenced by them ceasing broadcasting for a few years later. But it was a highlight nonetheless. Traverse the online anime community long enough, and you’ll find people who got into Hayao Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli through A Month of Miyazaki. Like TCM’s event for adults, this was huge for kids and teenagers!

Personally? It was a few years before I knew of Hayao Miyazaki. But I’ve more than made up for that since!

Super Mari-Oh!

Mario’s my favourite Nintendo IP. There, I said it. I’ve loved the character since I was first introduced to him, and his influence is still strong decades later. I even have Tanooki Mario as my Twitter avatar! You can’t get more “favourite IP” than that! 

Still, I can’t bring myself to purchase Super Mario 3D All-Stars. Ignoring how I’ve already made my video game purchase for the month with Bug Fables: The Everlasting Sapling, I think this is a shameless cash grab. It seems like little thought went into it other than “time-sensitive compilation of three Mario games”, which bugs me. Let me explain.

Mario compilation bundles aren’t anything new. Super Mario All-Stars + Super Mario World, on The SNES, is something I have fond memories of playing in the 90’s. That was a supped-up port of five Mario games: Super Mario Bros., Super Mario Bros.: The Lost Levels, Super Mario Bros. 2, Super Mario Bros. 3 and Super Mario World. I actually consider them upgrades from their original versions. But that’s the key, they were “upgrades”.

I’m serious. Ignoring that they were ports on a more-advanced console, hence a new controller layout, each game received major facelifts. Gone were the blocky, 8-bit sprites and single, keyboard jingles of the NES. In were the 16-bit revamps and more advanced versions of classic jingles. The worlds also felt more unique and lived-in, complete with background details not originally possible. Even Super Mario World’s inclusion had slight tweaks, including a new sprite to differentiate Luigi from Mario. 

Essentially, this wasn’t a shameless rehash of five classic Mario titles. No, this was a true upgrade, and it felt like it! I dare anyone to look at the original and revamped versions of each game and say they’re the same! They’re not, and people noticed!

So why can’t Super Mario 3D All-Stars do the same with Super Mario 64, Super Mario Sunshine and Super Mario Galaxy? Ignoring how Super Mario Galaxy 2’s conspicuously absent here, and let’s not act like it isn’t, wouldn’t it make sense to give facelifts for Mario’s 35th anniversary on a Nintendo console? We’ve already seen a graphical enhancement of Super Mario 64 for the DS remake, right? Right?!

I wouldn’t be disappointed if the games weren’t begging for facelifts. But they are. This is especially true of Super Mario 64, a game that, honestly, hasn’t aged gracefully. It hurts to knock on my favourite game from childhood, but between a stiff and uncooperative camera, rampant bugs and glitches, frequent clipping and minimalist level design, the game’s a product of the mid/late-90’s in every sense. It feels antiquated, and a modern-day reworking would do it wonders! But we’re not getting that, unfortunately. 

I also wouldn’t be disappointed if the other games for Mario’s 35th anniversary weren’t getting enhancements. Super Mario Bros. 35’s basically Super Mario Bros., but it now has an online competitive mode for up to 35 players. Conversely, Super Mario Bros. 3D World + Bowser’s Fury takes the under-appreciated, yet still excellent, Wii U game and adds new content to it. Both of these feel like truly-enhanced ports, as opposed to shameless rehashes. So why won’t Super Mario 3D All-Stars follow suit?

It doesn’t help that it’s a time-sensitive release. Even before digital downloads, purposely making a game limited release felt like a cheap scam. With digital downloads being encouraged nowadays, it feels like an even cheaper scam! This part bothers me most because my copy of Super Mario Sunshine’s badly-scratched, so I can’t play it anymore, and finding a replacement’s expensive. I’d be more than willing to swallow my pride and buy this compilation if it weren’t time-sensitive, but it is.

I get it: it’s all about the novelty. These three games being bundled together is meant to excite people who didn’t get to play them the first time around. It’s also neat to see the games on the Switch at all. But that doesn’t negate my concerns about the lack of enhancements and the time-sensitive window. Especially the former, but also the latter! 

I don’t see why it has to be done this way, especially with a lazy rehash. Did time-sensitive anniversary collections exist before? Yes. Is it true that this tactic, historically-speaking, drives up demand for games? Also yes. (Search for the NES shortage of the 80's.) But does that make it right? Not really, especially given Nintendo’s draconian practices surrounding piracy and emulation.

Look, I’m happy for those experiencing these games for the first time. I really am. Super Mario 64, Super Mario Sunshine and Super Mario Galaxy were formative in my childhood, pre-adolescence and teenage years respectively, and I don’t say that lightly. I have fond memories with all three games, ignoring any real qualms I have retroactively. But I’m not buying this compilation for the above reasons. And I don’t care if it’s through Nintendo, who’s also my favourite video game manufacturer.

But at least the fabled “Mariosplosion” happened, right?

Cutie Pies?

Let’s make something clear: I have no interest in Cuties. I’m a childhood sexual assault survivor. I’ve also been the victim of unhealthy expectations, in my case a child savant because of my Autism. The former I’m still paying for, while the latter’s stunted my emotional maturity. For those two reasons, I wouldn’t be able to watch the film without having PTSD flashbacks. 

Anyway, Cuties. For those unaware, there was a controversy surrounding this film that dates back to its announcement. Focusing on a group of girls who are sexualized in order to “feed the machine”, it has one of the biggest critic-audience disconnects in recent memory. While it’s not unheard of for critics and audiences to clash, especially when both have different expectations, I don’t think there’s been a divide this drastic. The movie has an 89% Critic Score on Rotten Tomatoes and a 3% User Score. This isn’t factoring in its 69 on Metacritic and 2.1/10 on IMDB.

I won’t focus too heavily on that aspect. People, be it critics or audiences, are entitled to their opinions. No piece of art, even film, is 100% good or bad, so tastes are always personal. And if I were to start pointing fingers, especially as someone who hasn’t seen Cuties, I’d look ignorant. So I’m avoiding that.

What I will discuss, however, is the reactionary opinions. I see them a lot, but it’s worth noting because people were quick to jump on the film from the moment Netflix announced it. So many Netflix users were furious, and #CancelNetflix was Trending on Twitter. It didn’t help that the media got wind of the movie’s existence and blew it up, which Netflix then exploited. But was it worth the vitriol? 

Well…no, for two reasons. The first is that, based on what Cuties’s own director had to say, the film wasn’t the boogeyman that reactionaries made it to be. According to Maïmouna Doucouré:

“Things happened fairly quickly because, after the delays, I was completely concentrating on the film’s release in France. I discovered the poster as the same time as the American public…[i]t was a strange experience. I hadn’t seen the poster until after I started getting all these reactions on social media, direct messages from people, attacks on me. I didn’t understand what was going on. That was when I went and saw what the poster looked like.”

I think this is pretty telling. Doucouré wasn’t trying to “groom prepubescent girls”. That impression was based in false advertising, a misleading description and a bad poster from Netflix. She also was using Cuties to expose prepubescent sexualization by society; after all, how often do we expect kids to “prep for parenthood”? It happens everywhere, and it was the subject of The Tale of the Princess Kaguya.

Botched advertising’s one problem, but then there’s the outrage against critics who liked the movie. As evidenced on Twitter, there was an orchestrated backlash against those film critics who gave it a positive review. It didn’t matter what their reasoning was, they were the enemy. And many received death threats too. 

This isn’t okay. It isn’t healthy either. It’s one issue to disagree with a critic’s opinion, I do that constantly. But sending out death threats is disingenuous and wrong. It also makes you look immature.

The notion of “the critic as an inhuman adversary who needs humbling” is reductive. It might make for good fiction, but critics have lives too. The key difference between a critic and regular audiences is that they’re routinely subjected to more films than most for work, which makes it harder to impress them. They’re not immune to bad faith claims, they’re human, but their job deserves the benefit of the doubt.

Which is all the more reason why this hate train must stop. Ignoring how critics travel in unique circles, hence conspiratorial reviews are nigh-impossible to coordinate, attacking them for doing their job is the wrong approach. So they liked Cuties and you didn’t? Have you ever wondered why? Try putting yourself in their shoes, you’d be surprised! 

Above all else, this goes to show how irrational the internet can be. The “in group/out group” mentality, or Myside Bias, can be more harmful than helpful. It can even lead to false accusations of “supporting pedophilia”, which, as Doucouré has argued, isn’t the case. I’d also argue that the backlash borders on sexism and racism, but that’s for another day.

Netflix isn’t a saintly enterprise. They’ve been guilty of many bad practices, including underpaying employees and subcontracting cartoons to studios who’ve fired animators for speaking out about their working conditions. The mis-marketing of Cuties is yet another bad decision. They’re a business, and, like all businesses, ethics aren’t always at the top of their agenda.

The above is neither the fault of Cuties nor Doucouré. They’re shedding light on a serious issue, nothing more. By vilifying the movie and the reviewers that praised it, you misconstrue the message for a selfish agenda. And that’s wrong. 

         

Finally, and I can’t believe I have to say this, I don’t want to detract from the seriousness of pedophilia. Pedophilia’s immoral and destroys children’s lives. It’s also not worth celebrating in any form, even film. But that doesn’t mean you should send death threats based on your own understanding of what qualifies as pedophilia. Because that’s policing. And, as we all know by now, “ACAB”.

But I’ll get attacked for writing this anyway, so why bother?

The Robot Tsuwamono

Castle in the Sky is easily one of Hayao Miyazaki’s best movies. It’s probably one of the best animated movies ever made too. It’s easily one of the best action-adventure movies ever made, at least, taking inspiration from Indiana Jones and Star Wars while adding its own spin. And in honour of an upcoming project with a friend, I figured I’d discuss my favourite scene in the movie. Here goes. 

Action scenes are a dime a dozen; after all, it’s really easy to digitally alter a scene so that a bad one looks better than it is. This is especially true of animation, as computers are so sophisticated that you can fix mistakes and robotically orchestrate movement. However, soul matters in the end, and a good action scene should include character beats. That’s why Castle in the Sky’s best action sequence, which occurs nearly an hour in and lasts approximately 12 minutes, is so great.

The scene begins with Sheeta, having been separated from Pazu, reliving a memory. After mindlessly reciting a spell she’d learned from her grandmother, her necklace brims to life and activates a dormant robot several levels below her. This robot has been activated to help her, though we don’t know that initially, and, following an encounter with military guards, it makes its way up the steps amidst sounds of gunfire and shouting. All the while, Muska and a frightened Sheeta watch.

The action really starts when the robot blows a hole through the fortress’s fire door. This robot’s on a rampage, desperate to get to Sheeta. As it clumsily flies to the top of the fortress, we see its desperation. The robot not only scares off Muska and his henchmen, it also intimidates Sheeta into fleeing outside. This is a scary moment, but at least she’s safe for now! 

On its own, this’d be a great action sequence: it’s terrifying. The score from Joe Hisaishi, particularly in the Disney dub, is loud. Judging by the voices shouting and barking orders at one another, there’s lots to fear. Even the visuals-be it the far-off shots that show how terrifying the robot is, or the use of red and orange for chaos and destruction-invoke the feeling of a war-zone. The scene isn’t even 1/3 over, and it already surpasses the action scenes from many films.

With Sheeta outside and her crystal showing the way to Laputa, the robot uses this opportunity to catch up to her and offer its assistance amidst somber music. Sheeta, reluctantly, takes up the offer, but not before a cannon blast knocks her and the robot unconscious. The soldiers, taking this as a victory, climb up the tower and search for her necklace, which dropped in the kerfuffle. But oops! They’ve celebrated too early, which they’re reminded of when the robot springs back to life and starts blasting everything.

The movie then cuts to Pazu and The Dola Gang making their way to the fortress. As they witness the destruction from a distance, they remark how “it looks like there’s some kind of war going on” in one of the few moments of levity. This contrasts with Sheeta waking to the destruction surrounding her, the look of horror on her face saying everything. She even tries pleading with the robot to stop, sending a blast into the distance and nearly killing innocent civilians. It’s a humbling moment that grounds the action in realism, emphasizing the stakes. 

After a cut back to Pazu and Dola making an attempt to rescue Sheeta, we get the most-beautiful shot: Pazu shouting to Sheeta and stretching his hand, Sheeta trying to grab it in return. The contrast of Sheeta’s white gown with the chaos of the flames feels like an angelic rescue from Hell. It’s an image worth framing on a wall. It’s also complimented by music that shifts from dangerous, to upbeat and hopeful, to somber and sad in a matter of seconds as the rescue attempt fails.

And then the movie does the unthinkable: it makes the robot sympathetic. By having it place Sheeta at the top of the tower and gesture to its dented chest, you’re reminded that it’s trying to help her. It may be big, scary and dangerous, but it’s doing what it was programmed for. This makes its defeat at the hands of Airship Goliath, the battleship meant to escort Sheeta to Laputa, and the last interaction Sheeta has with the robot feel tragic.

Obviously, Pazu and Dola make their way back for Round 2 of their rescue, this time succeeding while Dola’s sons distract Goliath. As they fly off and the music turns triumphant, you’re left feeling like you participated in something amazing. Sure, Sheeta no longer has the necklace. True, Muska and the military got what they wanted. But who cares? We’ve witnessed the equivalent of Santa Claus coming down the chimney on Christmas, or Moses parting the Red Sea with his staff. Cue the applause! 

At least, that’s what I feel when it ends. And yes, I always clap, if only silently. Because it’s a great action scene. It’s even made better by Hisaishi’s score being fantastic all-around, using and reusing leitmotifs from the film proper. But it’s also character-driven, with the focus being almost entirely on Sheeta. She learns to appreciate the robot, even grieving its death, and so do we. It makes this intense action sequence tragic by the end, which is what it was going for.

That’s also one of the elements that makes me care about Castle in the Sky. Truthfully, I’m not a big fan of the sub-genre of movie it belongs to. I find those films way too cornball and silly for their own good, replete with mediocre acting and MacGuffin chases I don’t find interesting. By having the intimacy amidst the grandeur, this movie bucks that entirely. I can’t praise it enough!

But why take my word for it? Castle in the Sky’s currently on Netflix and HBO Max, so you have no excuse to not check it out for yourself!

Artists Gone Bad!

A while back, I wrote a piece about how JK Rowling’s transphobia has turned me off her work. It’s a shame, as I love the Harry Potter books and films, even taking loose inspiration from them for my stories. But I can’t take it anymore. Her bigotry’s made it impossible to appreciate her brilliance, something made worse by her most-diehard fans being aggressive to anyone who challenges her. I’m actually at risk for writing this! 

            

JK Rowling isn’t unique, however. Many of my favourite artists have been letting me down as well. Be it John Lasseter’s sexual misconduct allegations, or William Shatner’s transphobia, I feel like I’m in a perpetual Hell on Earth. Life sucks as is, but this? Is no art sacred?

Until a few years ago, this wouldn’t have been an issue worth contemplating. I’d ignore the awfulness of the people themselves and focus on their creations. Like my childhood philosophy of “checking my brain at the door” during a movie, it was the easiest route to take. Unfortunately, age and maturity have made these philosophies moot. Because like how I can no longer not think critically, I also can’t enjoy a piece of art now without thinking about its author’s intent. They’re now forever intertwined.

However, for the sake of fairness, lets examine two approaches to someone’s favourite artist(s) being awful and why I can’t accept them. (And no, pretending they were never talented isn’t one of them, because that’s dishonest.) 

The first approach is to detach what you love from its creator’s beliefs. This is called “separating the art from the artist”. To be fair, it’s pretty sympathetic: an artist’s public life being bad doesn’t mean their work is bad. John Lasseter might have accusations of misconduct, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a pioneer in animation. Pretending the work itself is unique isn’t farfetched. And, on some level, it’s even true.

The big hole you can poke here is that it ignores how intertwined the art is with the artist’s views. Going back to Lasseter, even if you ignore his persona, his legacy, good and bad, is still all-over his work. His films cast their female characters as sex objects, damsels, or virtually non-existent (it took 4 films and a female writer to make Bo Peep interesting, for example). His tenure at Pixar saw a slew of sexist and uncomfortable “jokes” that read as creepy in 2020, including Mike being slapped by his girlfriend for kissing him without consent in Monsters, Inc. and that one scene in Ratatouille. Yes, I thank him for helping to bring Studio Ghibli into the Western consciousness, but is that enough?

Assuming it isn’t, there’s the second approach: so your favourite artist is scum? Well then, attribute the success to someone else! Forget JK Rowling, Hatsune Miku created Harry Potter! Isn’t she talented? 

I can understand wanting to shift focus, but ignoring how Hatsune Miku isn’t real, two problems come up here. The most-obvious is that by attributing the genius to another individual, you play revisionist history and ignore dealing with the creator’s legacy. It’s a cop-out, essentially. It might be “cute” that a Vocaloid is “responsible” for so many works of art, but the creator still exists. Pretending otherwise is ignorance.

The other problem, and this is why I don’t “stan” people, is that the new target of adoration is flimsy. So you want to attribute the success to another, less-troubled artist? What if that artist turns out to be scum too? Are you going to shift it to someone else? How long are you willing to play this game? 

In pretending that someone else is responsible for the art’s success, you ignore how people are still people. We’re all flawed and prone to disappointment. It’s less a matter of “if” and more a matter of “when”. By constantly playing this game, you set yourself up for disappointment. It’s also silly, if we’re being honest. 

I don’t appreciate when my heroes let me down. It bums me out. I’d like nothing more than JK Rowling to understand how hurtful her words are, or for William Shatner to, and I wish John Lasseter didn’t have allegations against him. I’d like nothing more than for Harry Potter, Star Trek and Pixar to forever be pure, like they were when I was a child. But that’s unrealistic, and adult me knows that.

So what to do? It’s tough. On one hand, art’s subjective and personal. I recognize that I’ll respond to it differently than someone else, even if we both like it. But on the other hand, supporting awful people can make me feel guilt-ridden, which I don’t like either. It’s a tough balance.

Honestly, I think it’s up to individuals on a personal level to figure this out. For some, the above two mentalities, flawed as they are, work wonders. For others, however, they don’t. And for the latter camp, it’s important to recognize that art doesn’t exist in a bubble, and to appreciate the impact it has in spite of its creators. That doesn’t mean you don’t hold them accountable, but you shouldn’t let their legacies control your life. 

Then again, I hid my Harry Potter books in a cupboard in protest, so what do I know?