XXII. The Wind Rises
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
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
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.)
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