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!

One Villainous Scene: Muska Threatens Sheeta About Laputa

This week was a toss-up for content. On one hand, I had a rant prepared on the situation with Ben & Jerry’s, and how that was being weaponized. On the other hand, Chiaki J. Konaka was prime for discussion. But while both will (hopefully) receive pieces, right now I’ll tackle something easier. Let’s hop on the “One Villainous Scene” train.

Villains are interesting to discuss. They not only, when done well, give something for the protagonists to not become, but they often have the best lines. They’re fun, colourful characters that create tension, giving us something to latch onto and despise. And they’re routinely more interesting than the leads. All of this is why they’re used as storytelling devices.

There are many fun villains out there. Some are big and flashy, while others are small and reserved. If I had to pick one villain and a scene that encapsulates them, it’d have to be from one of my favourite animated films. I’m talking Colonel Muska interrogating Sheeta in Castle in the Sky. I’m such a shill that I’m analyzing two separate scenes from it on The Whitly-Verse. Sue me.

Castle in the Sky’s a film from Hayao Miyazaki that feels like a family-friendly Indiana Jones. Set in Wales at the turn of the 20th Century, it follows Pazu and Sheeta in their quest to find a floating city while being hunted by the military and chased by sky pirates. Along the way, the two become friends, make allies and encounter dark truths. And all of this in, arguably, Miyazaki’s silliest feature. It’s awesome.

The scene I’m zoning-in on takes place roughly a third of the way in. It occurs right after Pazu and Sheeta are captured by the military and taken to a fortress to be interrogated. Pazu, on one hand, is sitting in a dungeon, one he routinely tries, and fails, to escape from. But this is really about Sheeta and Colonel Muska, the film’s antagonist. Sheeta’s been refusing to cooperate with the military, so Muska, who’s been playing his cards close to his chest, takes matters into his own hands. What follows is a turn to seriousness.

Muska visits Sheeta’s chamber under the pretence of giving her a new dress. Sheeta, understandably, wants to know if Pazu’s alright, to which Muska promises she’ll see him later. The two ride a long elevator to the base’s bottom cellar, and Muska shows Sheeta a damaged machine lying in the middle of the room. Sheeta’s shocked and intrigued, something made worse when Muska mentions that this machine, a robot, had crashed onto an elderly couple’s farm from the sky a long time earlier.

I have to make this disclaimer now: I’m referencing the movie’s English dub with this piece. Specifically, the early-2000’s Disney dub, complete with added jokes and a classical rescoring from Joe Hisaishi. The reason is that, aside from being my introduction to it, there’s a unique charm to this version that’s worth analyzing. If that’s enough to deter you, then stop reading this.

What makes this scene unsettling is how it establishes Muska as the antagonist while also grounding Laputa. Prior to this, not only was Muska a background character, but Laputa was a lighthearted goal with low stakes. If anything, Dola and her pirates were the real threat initially, with their battle with Pazu and Sheeta being played for laughs. This was the moment Laputa became serious, and it happened with a robot, a chamber and a colonel frightening a child. This was the end the fun, essentially.

With Sheeta shown that Laputa wasn’t a story passed down by her family, Muska mentions that while the robot’s composition is unknown, its emblem reveals that it was a guardian of the Laputian royal family. Its emblem’s also on Sheeta’s pendant that she wears around her neck. Because the two are interconnected, it’s safe to assume that Laputa’s more powerful than anyone had thought. Of course, Muska’s only sharing this to intimidate Sheeta into cooperating, but it’s chilling to hear all of it anyway. Especially with the quiet, haunting orchestrations in the background.

And then Muska lets the mask briefly slip, as his megalomaniacal demeanour kicks in and he explains how dangerous Laputa is. When Sheeta refuses to cooperate yet again, he ups the ante by threatening to harm Pazu. To top it off, he reveals Sheeta’s royal name, hinting that there’s something he’s not letting on. Considering Sheeta’s already vulnerable, this is the cherry on top.

It’s also brilliant. The scene is short, but so much is revealed: we learn that Laputa’s real in this world. We’re introduced to the darker lore. We see how threatening Muska is, and how he commands the room with few words. And we’re reminded that Sheeta’s a vulnerable kid, which is reenforced by her crying after discovering her pendant’s secret.

You know what helps? The voice acting. I know the English dub gets derided, but this scene is Mark Hamill and Anna Paquin at their best. Hamill especially, being another example of his range beyond Luke Skywalker and The Joker. He relishes every line, chewing the scenery like it’s his dinner. It’s delicious, and he knows it.

Above all else, this is a memorable moment in a memorable movie. I know Miyazaki doesn’t really like shallow villains, he thinks them untrue to life, but Muska makes me wish he’d done more of them. Because, honestly, he’s really good at writing them. Colonel Muska’s the most Hollywood-esque he’ll ever go with his antagonists, but bless him for going there. Because Castle in the Sky wouldn’t be the same without him.

Now, about Miyazaki’s upcoming film…

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.)

My Indypendant Analysis

This past week and a half has been stressful for…obvious reasons. Let’s keep it at that. And because it’s been that way, I figured I’d distract myself with a goal I’ve been meaning to achieve. So I watched the Indiana Jones quadrilogy for the first time. And I have many thoughts. But I figured I’d do something a little bit different with my analysis this time. Here goes. 

The Good

Let’s start with positives: these movies all look amazing, right down to their special effects. Even the fourth movie, with its uneven lighting, has lot of talent there. Whether it’s the 30’s aesthetic of the first three films, or the 50’s aesthetic of the fourth, they all have an old-time vibe that makes them unique while still feeling different. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, in particular, references James Bond right in its opening, which makes sense given that Indiana Jones was based on the character.

Indiana Jones himself is also a compelling screen presence. I have some issues with his character, but, be it a combination of his “everyman adventurer” feel and Harrison Ford’s charisma, Indy screams “I want to be with this character”. Similarly, I like how he bounces off of Marion in the first movie, Willie and Short Round in the second, his father and Dr. Schneider in the third and Mutt and Marion in the fourth. There are strong dynamics when the characters are together on-screen, warts and all.

I like the fight choreography in these movies, even in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. A lot of them were done practically with real stunts, and it shows in the passion they ooze. Whether it’s Indy in the truck in the first movie, or even Indy in the jungle in the fourth, there’s no denying the appeal of these fights in an industry now dominated by special effects.

I also like some of the jokes. In Raiders of the Lost Ark, there’s the infamous moment where Indy shoots the swordsman and calls it a day. In Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Indy’s father mentions that Dr. Schneider talks in her sleep. These are human moments that make for pleasant laughs. Not every joke lands, admittedly, but when they do...

I really like the scores. It’s John Williams, so you know it’ll be good, but he definitely shows his range here. Even The Raiders March, which I consider one of his weakest themes, is catchy and hummable. I should know, I’ve hummed it before! 

Finally, these movies are fun! They’re not “deep”, but they don’t have to be. They’re the epitome of “popcorn fluff”, complete with moments where I can see people getting excited. It’s good stuff, and Spielberg and Lucas know how to pull it off. And I mean that as a compliment.

The Meh

I don’t consider these movies timeless, and that’s because of following:

For one, the films have little to say. The closest they get to profound is in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, as that movie touches on child slavery and wealth disparity. But even then it has…other concerns I’ll cover later. For now, the first movie is the shallowest thematically, while the third and fourth deal with family dynamics.

Moving to more substantive complaints, some of the jokes don’t work now. In Raiders of the Lost Ark, there’s a scene where one of Indy’s students keeps closing her eyes to reveal the words “love you” on her eyelids. It’s distracting. Conversely, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom has a gag about Willie being horny that doesn’t work. Some of these jokes not working are personal preference, but still.

Speaking of falling flat, I don’t really buy the depth of Indy’s female companions. Marion’s routinely cited as being the best, but a lot of that seems like it’s strictly because of the fourth movie. Initially, she feels like a milquetoast deadweight, getting little to do outside of drink alcohol and bicker with Indy. She’s actually barefoot more frequently than she is helpful. I know that’s weird to point out, but re-watch the movie to understand why.

Dr. Schneider’s a bit better, but not much. She gets more to do than Marion, but after her villainous reveal she flip-flops between having a conscience and being evil. She does it so often that it gives me tonal whiplash. Not to mention, her “romance” with Indy is forced. 

Then there’s Irina Spalko. She’s boring. I know people like her for her sword fighting, but what else does she have to offer? I know next-to-nothing about her personality. And she dies in an over-the-top manner at the end. Like every overkill death in these movies, it’s excessive.

These movies defy reality and logic frequently. We’re expected to suspend our disbelief because “movies”, but it strikes me how Indy hiding in a lead-lined fridge to escape a nuke is “jumping the shark” when Indy had already fallen in an inflatable raft from a crashing plane, with no parachute, and survived. You want to talk unbelievable? Start there.

The movies also have a tendency to drag. This is especially the case with Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. The opening of the movie, which has little to do with the film proper outside of Indy’s relationship with his father, could’ve been shortened and still made its point. Conversely, Indy getting his diary signed by Adolf Hitler, while funny, could’ve been cut altogether. That’s not to say the exposition in the other movies wasn’t sluggish, but here the pacing problems are most-apparent.

The Bad

I’ll state the obvious now: these movies, particularly the first three, are laden with characterizations that’d never fly now. In Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Indy’s an aggressive alpha-male who coerces women into kissing him. This wouldn’t fly now with Me Too retroactively dating these movies’ romances. And let’s not forget Lucas and Spielberg’s conversation about Indy’s relationship with Marion…

Speaking of dated, the original films are racist and sexist. This is especially true of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, for three reasons. The first is Willie. I left her out of my companion complaints because she deserves her own criticism. It’s not that she’s a fish out of water, or that she screams a lot. Marion was a fish out of water and screamed a lot too. Willie’s problem is that she’s also written like a dumb blonde/valley girl, constantly whining about everything. Her writing’s so bad that she drags down the film’s quality whenever she’s there. 

The second issue, spring-boarding from there, is Short Round. He’s cute, but he’s the epitome of a Chinese stereotype. And I mean that in an “I take you money and girls” way. Nothing he says is funny, even when it’s supposed to be, and that’s all because of his racist accent. Like Willie, he drags down the movie when he’s on-screen. But whereas Willie had tangibility, Short Round has none.

The third, and most-egregious, issue is the film’s portrayal of India, where most of it takes place. More-specifically, the material involving the palace. There’s a scene where Indy and company are fed snake skins containing live eels, roasted scarabs, eyeball soup and chilled monkey brains. Ignoring how much of India’s vegetarian, this is more off-putting than charming. When coupled with the antagonist’s rituals and the White Saviour narrative, it actively ruins the film’s “eat the rich” message.

I also find some of these films’ deaths excessive. The scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where the Nazis’ faces melt and explode? I know they’re Nazis, but yikes! Walter Donovan’s death in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade? See above. Mola Ram ripping a guy’s heart out and watching it burn in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom? Are we sure about this? Perhaps I’m being stingy, but this is more unsettling than cool.

Finally, the Euro-colonial nature of these movies feels gross in hindsight. Think about it: Indiana Jones steals artifacts from developing countries and ships them to The US for safekeeping. He also skirts human rights laws in the process. And he never faces any lasting repercussions. He’s even painted in a positive light at the end of each film by “choosing selflessness over selfishness”. Ignoring the White Saviour component, that’s troubling!

Overall Thoughts

I feel bad for being critical of these films. I like them, even when they’re at their silliest! And I can see how they’ve attracted fans. But time hasn’t been so kind to them. And given that I have no nostalgic attachments, since I only recently watched them in their entirety, that’s a problem. A true classic transcends time, and these movies feel dated. 

Perhaps my standards aren’t the same as someone from the 80’s and 2000’s. Perhaps I’m a cynical coot who can’t enjoy himself. But I’ve liked many films likes these in the past, like Castle in the Sky, so maybe it’s not that? Maybe, ignoring the occasionally flat and hammy acting, there’s something about Indiana Jones that feels like he can’t work as well now? I don’t know.

I digress. Are these great movies? No. Are they fun? Yes. Do I appreciate what they did for cinema? Also yes. I simply think better knockoffs exist, like Castle in the Sky. And I prefer re-watching said knockoffs. Make of that what you will.

My Top 12 Favourite Studio Ghibli Movies

It’s October, and you know what that means?

…

…

…That’s right, it’s Autumn! Some of you were expecting me to state the obvious, but I’ve never felt comfortable embracing Halloween as an adult. For one, I’m Jewish, so I’d be celebrating a pagan holiday. And two, Halloween, while fun, is all about scaring people for candy, which runs antithetical to my religious roots. So while I’ve thrown out a satirical piece or two on the holiday during my Infinite Rainy Day days, or even this post that I did last year, in the end it doesn’t click with me. Sorry.

That’s not stopping me from doing something to celebrate, albeit in an odd way: I’m making a Top 12 list! On Studio Ghibli films! That’s right, I’m ranking my favourites from the Japanese powerhouse in honour of both their legacy and Hayao Miyazaki’s decision to come out of retirement again! If I haven’t already written tough lists, then this’ll definitely be tough now! It also won’t be easy because, with two exceptions, I’ve enjoyed every Studio Ghibli film on some level. So this’ll be like prioritizing something too close to my heart. Yay!

I’ll skip the introduction to Studio Ghibli, because I assume you already know them in passing, and instead-to quote Monty Python and the Holy Grail-get on with it. I’ll also keep my list as spoiler-free as possible, but be prepared for any that creep through.

12. Only Yesterday

Beginning this list is a movie representing the best and worst of Isao Takahata as director. Takahata never got the love and respect of his more-famous colleague while alive, which is a shame because he really was talented! I think part of that was his infrequent role as director, as well as being incredibly-demanding, but the 5 movies he made under Studio Ghibli were unique and interesting…even if not all good. Though I’m getting ahead of myself.

Only Yesterday stands out from other slice-of-life/coming of age hybrids in the way it approaches the concept. The story follows a 27 year-old woman named Taeko, who takes 10 days off from her city job to pick safflowers in the country. Once there, she reminisces about her childhood in the mid-60’s, as well as the challenges her 10 year-old self experienced as the youngest of three girls. Between learning about menstruation and being slapped by her father for wandering outside in socks, Taeko starts wondering what her past is telling her. What is it about her childhood that made her how she is? And why is she scared of her feelings for country bumpkin Toshio?

This one’s had to grow on me. If you’ll recall from Infinite Rainy Day, I wrote a review stating this this film was “the most 7/10 movie in the history of 7/10 movies to ever 7/10”. I still stand by that, but I feel like its strengths are increasingly outweighing its flaws. It’s still incredibly-slow and drawn out at points, and I feel like the ending’s a tad forced, but the contrast between the grounded, present-day scenes and the dreamier sections of the 1960’s definitely makes this worth watching for sheer production value alone. Nothing Takahata includes is accidental, and the dual animation styles are no exception!

What makes Only Yesterday so captivating, however, is that it turns the mundane into the magical. Cutting a pineapple to serve is a hassle and nothing special, but this movie makes it feel like you’re experiencing it for the first time. Even in how it tackles school life, though seeped in Japanese culture, resonates with me from my childhood. I remember school assemblies and sports games, as well as struggling with math and acting in badly-made plays. I yearn for my own nostalgia, which is why the pullbacks to adulthood cause me to sympathize with Taeko’s reluctance to grow up. This is a movie that hits harder as you age, making it worthwhile despite being slow.

11. The Secret World of Arrietty

I’ll admit that of all the entries here, this one’s not as fresh an experience as some of the others. I, basically, last watched it for a podcast episode that never ended up being finished. While that makes me sad, it doesn’t mean that I didn’t enjoy the film. It helps that this was the first from Studio Ghibli’s catalogue that I saw in theatres, thanks largely to a solid marketing campaign by Disney. And even if I were to re-watch it, I’m sure I’d enjoy it equally.

The Secret World of Arrietty centres around Arrietty, a tiny human who lives in the floor of a cottage with her mother and father. The family spends most of their time exploring and “borrowing” useless items “that people won’t miss”, as per custom of borrowers. But when a mission with her father leads her to accidentally get spotted by a boy named Sho, who’s come to rest before his heart surgery, the family realizes they’re in danger and decide to move. Complicating matters is the house’s owner, Haru, realizing that something’s wrong, and when she decides to investigate, it’s up to Arrietty and Sho to make everything right.

This movie’s biggest strength is factoring in scale with size: a stalk of grass? That’s a tree for Arrietty. An open draft? That can blow Arrietty away. Even the inevitable borrowing mission, which is pretty mundane when you think about it, plays like a stealth mission, simply because of how much bigger everything really is for Arrietty. I like how creative the movie has to be for its premise to work, perspective frequently being its greatest asset.

Above all, it’s the dynamic between Arrietty and Sho that really sells the experience. The Secret World of Arrietty is a quiet film with not a lot happening, but that’s more than compensated for by the two of them. It’s sweet, believable, occasionally emotional, really hooks you in, keeps you invested and doesn’t relent until the end. It also has its share of intense moments, which I won’t ruin despite them being obvious. Overall, definitely one worth watching several times.

10. Grave of the Fireflies

The controversial ranking. Before you crucify me for not putting this higher, I want to state that putting this film at #10 wasn’t anything personal; in fact, ignoring that Takahata came out later to state that the movie was an indictment of Gen X-ers, Grave of the Fireflies is, in many ways, a great film. Some of it, dare I say, is brilliant! However, as I’ve stated before, I take issue with certain facets of its storytelling. My issues are few, but they’re big enough to knock the experience a bit.

The story follows two siblings, Seita and Setsuko, as their lives fall apart in late-WWII Japan. Beginning with Seita dying from starvation in the opening (which isn’t really a spoiler), the film goes back in time and shows the events leading to the demise of our protagonists. We see them become orphaned, temporarily live with their aunt, run off to go live alone and, eventually, perish. The entire time, we’re left wondering: is Seita really that great an older brother? Or is his stubbornness a symptom of Japanese society’s greater apathy for its citizens?

The greatest praise I can give the movie is that, at the end of the day, it leaves those questions to the viewer to decide. We’re never told that what Seita’s doing to Setsuko is wrong, especially when other people are doing the same to him, and we understand why he behaves that way. At the same time, he’s not absolved from the consequences of his actions, as evidenced by the well-being of his sister. Considering the original book this was based on was its author expressing survivor’s guilt, it’s easy to see how that translates to the movie. And, rest-assured, those tears are worth it!

I still have my issues with the movie, though: it’s too long and slow-paced for my liking. The opening scene also alleviates a lot of the tension of the climax, and I think it’d have been more-effective to keep it a mystery until the end. And, in true Takahata fashion, there’s lot of unneeded padding. The film could’ve been trimmed down to roughly an hour and still worked, but that’s me. Nevertheless, Grave of the Fireflies is excellent. Bring the tissues, though, as you’ll need them.

9. When Marnie Was There

It was tough picking which of the Hiromasa Yonebayashi films under Studio Ghibli to place higher. Both are small, quiet movies based around mundane conflicts. And both movies are incredibly beautiful to look at, really taking advantage of what animation’s capable of when tackling slice-of-life. I think what won me over to When Marnie Was There, however, is that this is the lesser-talked about and more-often maligned of Maro’s works, when it shouldn’t be. Because it’s great, especially coming from someone who has mental health issues.

When Marnie Was There focuses on Anna Sasaki, a pre-teen with asthma and depression who spends time at a country cottage in order to recuperate. While there, Anna keeps getting visited by a lonely girl in the nearby marsh house across the lake. Her name is Marnie, and the two form a bond. But why can no one else see Marnie? And who is Marnie?

This movie excels at atmosphere. I initially thought this was the anime version of an E.A. Poe story when the trailer first debuted, and it’s easy to see why: it has all the markings of a classic ghost story, right down to the tragic backstory. It doesn’t end up going that route, but it’s still really sad when you realize what’s going on. And boy, is there a lot going on! I’d go into more detail, but it’s best if you experience this one blind.

People are overly-critical of this one. I know that my initial review was pretty critical itself, but time has softened me on the film. I still see some of the complaints, like the anticlimactic twist, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t judge it for yourselves. Especially since the movie was Studio Ghibli’s last film for a while, and there are surprisingly overt parallels between it and the studio’s legacy. I’d say more, but-again-it’s best if you go in blind. And I definitely recommend seeing it, if only to say that you didn’t think it was good.

8. My Neighbor Totoro

The movie that retroactively made Studio Ghibli a household name, this is the one Miyazaki movie where my outlook has changed significantly in the years since my first viewing. Why? Because while I initially enjoyed it, I also thought it was a little overrated. Only once my dad had his heart attack did I fully-appreciate it. It’s still not the studio’s best, or even my favourite from director Hayao Miyazaki, but is it worth watching? Yes.

The film, essentially, contains episodic vignettes. It details Mei and Satsuki Kusakabe’s adventures in the country, where they moved to be closer to their ailing mother. The film has them meeting soot gremlins, encountering nature and befriending a giant forest spirit named Totoro. It really only gets to a narrative in the last 25-minutes, but by then you’re so invested in what’s going on that you forgive it. Also, the narrative part, without giving anything away, is heartbreaking.

It’s really hard to explain why you should watch this without giving anything away, but it’s easy to explain its appeal given that Totoro made a cameo in Toy Story 3. My Neighbor Totoro, essentially, is the Japanese answer to the Winnie-the-Pooh stories, even containing plenty of thematic similarities: childhood, the innocence of youth and the fragility of life. It also doesn’t cheapen out on its themes, getting pretty heavy on occasion. It’s something kids can appreciate, but adults can appreciate more. As someone who’s experienced what I have in my life, I can attest to that.

It’s possible that My Neighbor Totoro won’t be for everyone. Some of you might even find it boring, especially since not much happens until the end. But that’s okay! Not all movies need to be grandiose adventure stories, sometimes the simple vignettes will do! And in the case of this movie, it opts for the latter. So give it a chance, pop it in and decide if it’s for you.

7. The Tale of the Princess Kaguya

Every Studio Ghibli fan has an Isao Takahata movie that they inevitably call “his best”. For many, that’s Grave of the Fireflies. While I definitely enjoy that film, my pick has to be his last feature before his death, The Tale of the Princess Kaguya. I wasn’t initially expecting to be blown away, even though the trailers were promising, but I was. And part of that wasn’t only that it was a total departure for the late-director, but also because of its premise.

The Tale of the Princess Kaguya’s about an elderly bamboo cutter and his wife, whom are blessed with a mysterious child from the heavens. Growing at an alarming rate, the child, later named Kaguya, brings the couple gifts by proxy, leading the absent-minded bamboo cutter to believe that his daughter’s royalty. Eventually they move to the city to marry Kaguya off and earn riches, much to Kaguya’s disapproval. But the more she tries to worm her way out of her situation, the worse it gets, until she falls into despair. What results is misery, regrets and, true to form, a heartbreaking finale.

In my initial review for the movie, I mentioned that The Tale of the Princess Kaguya was a scathing indictment on the Japanese education system. I still hold this to be true, as it never stops beating down on how Japan raises its youth to be miserable and obedient slaves to the system. While Grave of the Fireflies’s also a scathing indictment on society, what separates the films is that that one openly blames the youth. This film, in contrast, places the brunt of its attack on the system, demanding that it change first if anything’s to be fixed. It’s something I understood right from the get-go, and it’s something I recognize even more now. It’s a brilliant, if not upsetting, watch.

I also have to commend the movie for its water-brush aesthetic, really driving home its fantastical, dreamlike nature. Not that The Tale of the Princess Kaguya’s necessarily a hard fantasy, though it does have some of the familiarities of the genre, but the movie really lends itself well to the change in visual format. Because it’s really an allegory for society at large, and even people in the West can appreciate that on some level. I can’t say some of the pacing doesn’t feel off, especially as the longest movie from the studio runtime-wise, but it’s minimal enough to not really bother me. And I’m usually critical of Takahata’s work for that.

6. Kiki’s Delivery Service

Now we get to the more personal entries. Kiki’s Delivery Service took me completely by surprise when I first watched it. I was in a bad place mentally, and I was in desperate need of a pick-me-up. I ended up buying it alongside another entry that we’ll cover later at my then-local HMV and watched it immediately. To say it delivered is an understatement. To say it over-delivered sounds more realistic.

The movie follows Kiki, a 13 year-old witch who leaves home to go train abroad. She ends up in a small city named Kuriko, where she befriends the owner of a bakery. Having nowhere to go, she agrees to stay at the bakery and start a delivery service to make ends meet. As expected, hijinks ensue, friendships are made, and maybe hearts are melted? The latter’s anyone’s guess!

Kiki’s Delivery Service gets better with each successive viewing, as I end up appreciating it more. I gravitated to it initially because of how it speaks to the creative experience, especially since I’m a writer who frequently struggles with dry spells. But now that I have a part-time job as a courier, I appreciate Kiki’s struggles even more. They say walking a mile in someone else’s shoes is a good way to empathize with them, and I guess I do that literally for Kiki. Who knew?

The movie’s biggest-strength is its more laidback narrative. It has a story, but the story feels like a more-cohesive My Neighbor Totoro in execution. It’s also really atmospheric and relaxing, save for the hectic climax. I’m especially amazed at how well it flows and works as a movie, especially since it almost never came to be. I still recommend watching it. You really can’t go wrong!

5. Whisper of the Heart

This one’s the most personally-affecting of all the entries. Not because it’s the best, because it’s not. Not because it’s the easiest to watch, because it’s not. Not even because it’s the most-timeless, because-again-it’s not. What makes Whisper of the Heart so personal is that it captures the creative experience like no other Studio Ghibli film, not even Kiki’s Delivery Service, does. And it makes it look easy.

The movie centres around Shizuku Tsukishima, a teenaged bookworm who discovers that a mysterious boy has been checking out books from the library before her. Initially, she thinks that the boy’s a bit of a jerk, but the two break down their insecurities and become friends. They even start to fall for each other, much to their surprise. Unfortunately, the boy, named Seiji, is in the process of deciding to pursue his passions in Italy. Even so, inspired by his determination, Shizuku begins writing a novel she’s been interested in for some time, hoping that it’d be finished once he returns.

The real meat-and-potatoes of this movie isn’t its story, but its underlying content. Like I said, Whisper of the Heart’s about the creative experience, most-notably the ups and downs of it. Creating something takes time, passion and a lot of failure to pull off, and this movie doesn’t glamourize that. It shows how much of a personal toll a passion project can have, and as a writer that speaks to me. It speaks to me even more than Kiki’s Delivery Service, and that movie already speaks to me a lot!

The film also has a running-motif of music playing an important part in the story proper, even revising a specific song several times. As someone who’s jammed with relatives on several occasions, this also resonated with me. It’s also upsetting that not many people know about this movie, as it was the magnum opus of its late-director, Yoshifumi Kondō, before his untimely death in 1998. For now, people largely think of as another Hayao Miyazaki movie, which is disgusting. You should totally fix that by seeing it, even if it’s not your cup of tea.

4. Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind

I know this isn’t technically a Studio Ghibli film, but the company wouldn’t exist without it so I’m including it here. Also, it’s largely considered to be an unofficial-official film in its library. Not to mention, Studio Ghibli has grandfathered it into their library. And it has the studio’s logo cemented on its box-art. In other words, suck it!

Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind takes place in a post-apocalyptic world, thousands of years from now. The world is overly-polluted, and the remaining pockets of civilization are fighting for resources. Amidst the chaos, a tiny kingdom, The Valley of the Wind, has thrived thanks to good irrigation and strong wind currents, and its beloved leaders, King Jihl and Princess Nausicaä, have helped keep it that way. Unfortunately, The Valley of the Wind is caught in a crash-landing of foreign ship one night, only to be invaded the following morning by the warmongering kingdom of Tolmekkia. Its ruler, Princess Kushana, plans to use The Valley of the Wind for her own war against Pejite, and wishes to do so with an ancient weapon long-thought dead. Amidst the chaos, Nausicaä must make the choice of prioritizing her kingdom over the enemies abroad.

This is a movie that I once, many years ago, said I love more than I respect. I still hold that to be true. The film’s littered with bizarre contrivances, rushed pacing and ham-fisted writing, such that it’s hard to take it seriously. And many people don’t, even calling it “overrated”. But I’m not one of them. And I think that’s because it’s not a movie rooted in logic, but rather emotion.

Ignoring that, it’s still an immensely well-strung experience. I’d even call it excellent, especially in how it ties together themes of war and environmentalism. No doubts that that’d resonate more now than in 1984, especially with the current shape of the planet. It’s also a draining experience emotionally, such that, more than any other Miyazaki film, it borders on overkill. But that’s never stopped me from loving it, so what do I know?

3. Princess Mononoke

I’m gonna get lots of crap for putting this not at #1. While Princess Mononoke’s a masterpiece in every sense of the word, I haven’t been shy about my problems with it in the past. I think it takes a while to get going, is overly-dense and sidelines much of its massive cast in favour of overarching themes that, while important, feel a little too blunt. Also, one of its characters doesn’t get the comeuppance she deserves. However, this is supposed to be me telling why you should see the movie, so I’ll stop with the criticism.

Princess Mononoke’s about Prince Ashitaka and his quest to find balance in a world full of conflict and chaos. After having his arm cursed while fending off a demon boar, Ashitaka goes into exile and journeys to the west to find a cure. He finds a mining town run by Lady Eboshi, a woman who’s both a compassionate leader and a blood-hungry tyrant. Eboshi’s indebted to the emperor of Japan, and she figures the best way to pay her debts is to obtain the unthinkable. As Eboshi and the gods of the forest, led by San, duke it out for supremacy, it’s up to Ashitaka to set it right. But can he do the impossible, or will his curse kill him first?

This is the closest you’ll get to an animated film epic on-par with some of the greats in live-action. It’s also one of the few, mature animations that don’t feel overly gory or edgy for the sake of it, as many of its counterparts tend to be. Every choice in Princess Mononoke is earned, right down to its violence, which is important given its subject matter. It’s also densely-packed with lots happening in it. So yeah, not for kids.

One of the movie’s biggest accomplishments is conveying a heavy subject without feeling cheap or tacky: environmentalism. Princess Mononoke isn’t exactly subtle, but unlike other movies dealing with the subject it takes its time fleshing-out both sides. It gives weight and nuance to both civilization and nature, even while it still picks a side. That’s really refreshing, even though I’m not completely against pro-environmental stories. I’m still hesitant to call it flawless, but I whole-heartedly recommend the experience to anyone willing to give it a chance.

2. Castle in the Sky

The film that started it all, Castle in the Sky’s one of the few films in the pulp-serial adventure sub-genre I not only tolerate, but love. It’s interesting saying that because the movie’s direct influences, Star Wars and Indiana Jones, I’m not nearly as big on. Ignoring how I went into this initially without any expectations and was still blown-away, that it’s managed to outdo its direct predecessors is nothing short of a miracle. And, what’s better, it’s self-contained. Eat your hearts out, Lucasfilm!

Castle in the Sky tells the tale of two pre-teens, Pazu and Sheeta, and their quest to find the mythical, flying city of Laputa before a gang of pirates and the military. For Pazu, finding Laputa is a personal venture, as it’d mean clearing the name of his late-father. For Sheeta, however, Laputa’s her birthright, as evidenced by her mysterious pendant. But while they both have reasons for finding the city, their journey forces them to decide what’s more important: glory, or the fate of the world?

It’s really easy to guess everything in this movie, right down to its third-act twists and reveals, but like so many others in the sub-genre, it doesn’t end up mattering. Castle in the Sky knows that it’s goofy. It knows it’s littered with plot-holes. It even knows that its premise, even by 1986-standards, is cliché! But it embraces all of that as part of its aesthetic. And isn’t that what matters?

This is the kind of movie I can pop-in at any moment and be satisfied with. It’s also the kind of movie that I’d recommend to friends and family-alike, which I have. Why? Because it’s fun! If that’s not the heartiest of recommendations, I don’t know what is!

1. Spirited Away

You saw this one coming from a mile away. Considering that I can never shut up about it either, you knew it’d be my #1 choice. And why beat around the bush? It’s that good! I’m not joking!

In Spirited Away, 10 year-old Chihiro Ogino’s moving to her new house with her parents. She’s already bitter about it, but when they stop in an abandoned theme park along the way, she decides to mope on her own as her parents gorge on an open food stand. Unfortunately for her, the theme park is actually a bathhouse for the spirits, and when Chihiro returns to her parents, she discovers them turned into pigs. Desperate to save them from being eaten, Chihiro takes up a job at the bathhouse. The job is cruel, tedious and unwelcoming, but so long as she does what she’s told, she at least has a chance at surviving this.

Hayao Miyazaki’s later works routinely get chastised for “not being good” by fans. I don’t think that’s entirely-fair. I find that late-Miyazaki’s excellent, irrespective of quality! And nowhere is this more apparent than this movie, which is, arguably, the pinnacle of his career. I don’t care about the debate with Princess Mononoke fans, this is my pick for best Miyazaki movie!

I think most of that falls on Chihiro. Not only is she the most-realistically portrayed 10 year-old ever, but she’s forced into a horrible situation against her will and manages to rise above it! They say bad times bring out who we really are, and this definitely holds true with Chihiro. Fictional or not, she’s everything admirable about children under pressure, and we get 2+ hours to see why. I’d take that any day over films that patronize children! So check out my favourite Studio Ghibli film, I guarantee you’ll enjoy it!

And there you are: my Top 12 Studio Ghibli movies! Feel free to comment if you choose, and have a Happy Hallo-I mean, wonderful Autumn!

One Musical Scene: Remembering Laputa's Forgotten Robot Soldier

Music’s integral to the moviegoing experience. It not only enhances its energy, but when timed correctly it also helps set the mood. There are plenty of great composers out there, but my money is with frequent Hayao Miyazaki collaborator Joe Hisaishi. Hisaishi’s worked with Miyazaki since the mid-80’s, giving 10 of his 11 movies to-date a distinct sound. And while Hisaishi switched from electronica to orchestrations in the 90’s, it’s his controversial rescore of Castle in the Sky that I want to focus on. Specifically, I’d like to zone-in on one of my favourite tracks: The Forgotten Robot Soldier.

Two notes: one, there’ll be minor spoilers. I know the movie’s almost 40 years old, but I want to be fair. And two, this track deserves to be listened to on its own. So I’ll share it upfront:

Beautiful, isn’t it? (Courtesy of Chellon88.)

A lot of beauty exists in these almost-5 minutes of music. But it’s what they do in-conjunction with the scene they’re matched to that makes the difference. It plays right after our protagonists, Pazu and Sheeta, have landed on the floating island of Laputa. It’s strange that we spend a short time exploring before everything goes awry, but those precious few minutes are enhanced by the music itself. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

It begins as Pazu and Sheeta are greeted by a robot. The last time we saw one was when it caused destruction, so the calming melody eases the tension. It also highlights the innocence of the Laputian robots by having it remove The Crow’s Nest to reveal a bird’s nest. These robots aren’t inherently good or bad, they do what they’re programmed to do. Do I detect some of Miyazaki’s trademark character ambiguity?

With the nest saved, the robot requests that Pazu and Sheeta follow it to the garden. Which they do, and we get cuts of the wildlife going about their lives. We see tadpoles swimming in the pond, bugs flying and land mammals, particularly fox babies, scurrying along the grass. The music is somber, as if it’s sad that this once-prosperous kingdom’s now an empty forest. The question looms: what happened to Laputa?

We don’t get an answer right away, yet the music turns triumphant as Pazu and Sheeta wander into the garden. While it looks barren and empty at a passing glance, the ecosystem of Laputa’s really complex. So complex, in fact, that the opaque walls on the outside are fully-transparent and reminiscent of a greenhouse on the inside. Even with Laputa no longer having people, it’s still rich with life. It’s reminding the audience that nature doesn’t need humans, so we should be more respectful of it.

The music becomes haunting again as Pazu and Sheeta stumble upon another robot near a tombstone, this one motionless and covered in moss. Sheeta’s shocked, confirming that Laputa has been long-abandoned. The music then changes to somber as Sheeta’s offered a flower by the robot from earlier to place at the graveside, which she accepts and thanks it for. As she places it, she asks the question on everyone’s mind: what happened here, and is this the last robot? Again, we don’t get answers right away, but the feeling of isolation lingers. It’s as if this robot’s been forgotten?

And then, as if providing a bit of hope, we witness the foxes from earlier scamper up the robot and rest on its shoulder. It’s cute, but it brings closure to Sheeta’s concerns. Because while the robot might be “the last of its kind”, it has all the animals for company. That’s another lesson the movie imparts: you don’t need companionship solely from humans. Sometimes animals are enough. Think of all the pets people have in real-life…

As the music comes to its harrowingly-optimistic end, the movie zooms in on Sheeta wiping tears. She’s clearly moved by this encounter, and she’s not afraid to show it. I don’t blame her, as this is melancholic in its own right, displaying the beauty of isolation while reminding everyone of the loss tagged with it. It’s helped by the music, emphasizing the calm before the storm (in this case, an explosion caused by the military). It’s not exactly a long scene in general, but it’s effective.

Much has been made about whether or not this movie needed rescoring. One of the biggest points against it is that the movie had moments of musical silence to enhance the background noise, moments that are “ruined” by a Hollywood-esque score. While I can see that, I still think the orchestrations help anchor Castle in the Sky as a movie in the vein of Star Wars or Indiana Jones films. It has all the hallmarks of both, right down to the hokey storytelling, so why not? Especially if it gives us the aforementioned track?

Either way, this is the epitome of an orchestral stroke of brilliance. And it warrants itself as one musical scene!

Mario's Melodic Maps

Super Mario Bros. 3 is awesome. It’s not only widely-regarded to be the best NES Mario platformer, it’s also one of my favourite Mario games. Yet while there’s much to discuss, I think the unsung hero’s the music. Particularly the overworld map tunes, which are still impressive over 37 years later. So why not discuss them? Yeah, let’s do that.

As always, this list is subjective. Also, I’m ranking these not only by how good they are, but also by how well they complement their respective maps:

9. Warp Zone

I’m going to say something controversial: if I were judging it solely on its catchiness, this’d be near the top of the list. Not only does it evoke the feeling of being swept away to a heavenly place, it’s easily the catchiest tune in Mario’s pantheon. So much so that it’s been referenced in future Mario games to underscore otherworldly retreats from reality, like in Super Mario Sunshine where you visit a 5-star hotel. It’s so lulling that it even can put me to sleep. That’s not easy given that I have insomnia.

However, we’re not judging solely on music. Warp Zone’s definitely relaxing, but its map isn’t essential. It can also only be accessed with a Warp Whistle, of which there are only a handful. And the map allows you to, as implied by the name, warp to other levels, making it feel like cheating. Essentially, this is really a placeholder, one most gamers will never experience.

Nevertheless, I really like it. Super Mario Bros. 3’s notorious for pushing the envelope of The Nintendo Entertainment System/Famicom, and this encapsulates that. After all, it’s a tune in a dreamlike environment! And it’s entrancing! What’s not to love? I’m waiting for an answer…

8. Castle of Koopa

Moving on to entries you’ll actually experience, Castle of Koopa is one of the weaker entries here. I say that both as music, and a map. Musically it’s haunting, but Super Mario World revamped it with its final boss theme. It keeps getting darker and darker, but never resolves itself melodically. Instead, it loops endlessly, made more frustrating by the map having sections that feel disconnected geographically. One section even occurs in darkness, and it’s annoying keeping track of my location.

If there’s one area where this is saved, it’s in the feeling of doom and gloom. This is the final world, and it lets you know that. Between the map being surrounded by flames, interruptions from thunder and hands that drag you into specific levels, the game knows that you’re nearing the end. It throws out all the stops to make you earn your victory. Couple that with Princess Peach being held captive by Bowser, and the stakes couldn’t be higher.

I know this is low on the list, but I don’t dislike Castle of Koopa. Quite the contrary! I like all these tunes! But it doesn’t do it for me like the others do. You’re entitled to disagree, though. And I wouldn’t begrudge you for it.

7. The Sky

Another low entry, The Sky’s tune isn’t terribly inspired. The only point of note is the drum beat, which begins with a bang before repeating on loop. It’s a shame because the map itself is unique and inspired, with the first and second halves divided by a fake-out castle where you ascend to-you guessed it-the sky. I’m not sure why this tune was chosen for this map. Couldn’t it have been swapped with Warp Zone? That’d make more sense!

Whatever! For what it is, it’s catchy. The banging of the drum makes it hard to get out of your head, and that’s good because there’s not much else to discuss. It’s a repeat of the drum, interspersed with mildly-catchy notes. Those notes prevent it from getting stale. That’s it.

But…why have this be the choice for such a cool map? Seriously, no other world changes thematic layouts halfway through, not even the one with Bowser! You couldn’t have come up with a better choice of music? Really?! Oh well!

6. Big Island

Come to think of it, The Sky and Big Island should’ve swapped places. Why? Because the former’s otherworldly, while this map’s gimmick is that everything’s gigantic. Since the enemies here can stomp you flat or paralyze you temporarily by ground-pounding a platform, a heavy drum beat fits. Instead, here’s a high-energy disco theme with a fast beat and a catchy melody. Okay, sure.

That harmonic dissonance is Big Island’s greatest strength and greatest weakness. On the plus side, it’s really catchy, preparing you for enemies three times their normal size. On the flip side, that makes you feel intimidated in each level. Having the map beat pump you up only gets you so far before you freak out. It’s a weird choice to have, essentially.

Still, does Big Island’s theme work? Yes. Yes it does. It’s not only easy to hum, it’s also faster-paced than everything else, making it unique. I simply wish it’d been used for a different level.

5. Pipe Maze

Pipe Maze is a fittingly middle-of-the-road entry. As a tune, it evokes film noir in its vibes, like you’re traversing an underground economy. This is complimented by the map being interconnected pipe mazes, with each taking you somewhere new and unexpected. Essentially, the marriage of music and level theme is perfect. It’s a classic example of “setup” and “payoff”, which is what you’d expect. So why isn’t it higher?

For two reasons. And both have to do with the world’s gimmick. For one, a level map themed on pipes isn’t terribly inspired. Yes, the levels are unique, relying on the concept of interconnected pipes. But pipes being the modus operandi is annoying. Couldn’t the game have chosen something more inspired?

And two, these pipes can be frustrating. Not only in the levels, but also in the overworld map. I frequently find myself trying to figure out which pipes take me to which sections, and for someone with a faulty working memory that can be challenging. Factor in that this is an 80s game, and those are notorious for not giving any guidance, and it’s easy to become confused. So while the tune is neat, the world…not as much.

4. Desert Hill

Getting to the upper-half, Desert Hill’s what I remember most as a kid, with it being exotic. But that could also be because I never progressed past it until I beat the game as an adult. Still, it’s really awesome. Whenever I listen to it, I picture the hot, glaring Sun beaming down on me like I’m in The Sahara, and it’s fitting that it’s attached to a desert-like map. Go figure!

That’s a testament to this level though, as well as its tune. Ignoring how Desert Hill was the bane of my youth, the tune feels like it’s drawing from Arabian-style music. This is especially-apparent in how sly and slow its notes are, really dragging the feeling of being in a harsh, unforgiving climate. Which, for all intents and purposes, isn’t untrue to what’s going on. But I digress.

What sells it is the terrain of the map. Not only does it have a lot of sandy browns, but there are pyramids and mini-oases scattered everywhere. It’s no surprise future Mario titles would take inspiration from this level, because it works. It anchors you with sand dunes, pyramids and an angry Sun that tries to kill you. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

3. Iced Land

One of the biggest strengths of Iced Land is that it’s endured enough to be referenced in the Paper Mario series. That’s because, despite the map being a tundra, there’s an eery, ethereal quality that gives me shivers listening to it. Snow levels in Mario games aren’t usually this eery, and the world map glistening periodically from the ice caps makes you feel like you’ve entered a hellish world you have to escape from. Either that, or survive. I’m unsure if one or both are true.

That said, the tune is quite powerful. A tundra, like a desert, is notorious for being harsh and difficult to live in, as the only major difference between the two is temperature. That’s right, a tundra’s basically a frozen desert! And while you’d think a tundra would be worse, because it’s colder, it’s not. Still, it’s nice to think that anyway. And the tune here doesn’t convince you otherwise.

Another advantage? This tune’s similar to Castle of Koopa, complete with a lack of resolution, but it works so much better. Because while Castle of Koopa’s lack of wholeness is frustrating due to the map itself, as well as being improved upon in future titles, Iced Land drills home the existential dread that compliments the map perfectly. That’s hard to do, since Mario games rarely have foreboding themes for their “Winter levels”. You can’t help admiring that, which is why I love it.

2. Ocean Side

And here we get to my favourite map tune. It’s not the “best” one, we’ll get there, but it’s my favourite. Why? Simple: it became the file select music for the Zelda franchise. That’s right, one of that series’ greatest pieces of music started as Ocean Side. Is your mind blown?

It should be! Aside from both franchises having the same composer, hence cross-pollination, this particular tune’s also really memorable. It might actually be too memorable, as this map’s gimmick is water. Lots and lots of water. Water’s usually a video game designer’s biggest irritant, as it’s hard to program. So for an otherwise frustrating concept to be underscored by such awesome music? It’s jarring, and I mean that in a good way.

It's especially jarring because water levels in Mario games are my least-favourite. Swimming and floating in an element not weighted by gravity can be challenging, made worse by Mario moving slower than if on land. My most frustrating experiences with Super Mario Bros. 3 involved navigating water levels for that reason. So for a tune to bring this map so many rungs higher up with its melody alone? That’s the highest praise I can give this Zelda tune prototype.

1. Grass Land

Now we get to the “best” map tune. Picture this: it’s 1990, or 1988 in Japan, and you’ve purchased Super Mario Bros. 3. You take it home, pop it into your console and press the power button. After the intro screen, you’re greeted to the game’s first map. And alongside learning the ropes, you’re greeted to a catchy jingle with hummable bops. In those first 5 seconds, the game’s music has already imprinted on you.

Doesn’t that make you feel good? I know it does for me! And I like how, despite being short and looped, Grass Land’s a complete melody. It has a tune that it remixes in three different ways, each with a brief silence afterward, and then it ends. That’s some impressive sound design for an 8-bit game that’s testing its console’s limitations.

Additionally, it’s fun to listen to! It’s fun to listen to in the game, and it’s fun to listen to on its own. The map itself is good on its own, but this? This glorious tune? A tune that’s an iconic bop in its own right? That it resonates with me now like it did when I was younger is a testament to its timeless. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

And that about does it for me! Feel free to listen to the tunes yourselves, and I’ll see you next time!

Ranking Studio Ghibli

I know what you’re thinking: didn’t I do this before? Firstly, good memory. Secondly, that was different. And thirdly, this is a redo of an old post from ScrewAttack that can’t be accessed anymore. Don’t expect this regularly, but let’s get started:

(By the way, spoilers.)

Skip It:

Studio Ghibli doesn’t have many truly bad entries. That’s impressive considering they’ll be turning 40 years old next June. Not even Pixar can boast their track-record of quality, and they’ve been making movies since 1995. That said, the studio does have two stinkers from the same director, who, unfortunately, is also Hayao Miyazaki’s son. It’d be easy to assume that Earwig and the Witch would be “worst Studio Ghibli movie ever”, and there’s good reason for that, but I think Tales From Earthsea’s more frustratingly awful.

A good chunk of why is the lead, Arren. While Earwig can be grating, she doesn’t spend most of her movie being a moody and whiney teenager who can’t crack a smile. That’s not an exaggeration: for nearly 2-hours, Arren’s resting face is a frown. And an insecure one to-boot. This makes it impossible to mine depth from him, as he has no room to emote. The one exception is when he saves Therru from slavers, and even there he’s more unsettling than fun.

Speaking of Therru, she’s no more interesting than Arren. Her English VA can be criticized heavily for being a bad actress, but Therru has nothing to show for it anyway. She tries acting tough around Arren, but she’s one-note emotionally. She’s actually worse considering she spends most of the movie as a damsel in distress, which feels really out of place for Studio Ghibli. Also, her facial “burn” comes across more as a birthmark than parental abuse.

The rest of the cast…is equally bland. Tenar and Sparrowhawk are implied to have a history, but it’s not shown. Sparrowhawk’s touted to be a great wizard, but, again, it’s not shown. Even Sparrowhawk’s history with Cob’s not shown. All of these don’t take advantage of film as a medium, making for a boring experience. It’s a shame because once the opening title appears, everything that could’ve been interesting, including Arren murdering his father and stealing his sword, goes by the wayside.

The movie also doesn’t look interesting visually. Earwig and the Witch is uglier than Toy Story, but I can forgive it because it’s Studio Ghibli’s first fully-CGI feature. Tales From Earthsea, however, is traditionally-animated. Also, Earwig and the Witch has fluid animation, while this movie looks stiff even when it isn’t. For something with a budget of roughly $22 million US, which is plenty for an anime film, that Tales From Earthsea looks like a student film is kind of embarrassing. Doubly-so since Gorô Miyazaki’s an architect, and he knows how to make something aesthetically-pleasing.

The movie itself is a series of missed opportunities and wasted ideas. The concept of dragons barely plays into the experience despite being hyped as important, and you only see them in three short scenes. Cob’s vocal affectations, aside from giving Willem Dafoe a chance to whisper his lines, don’t add to his menace, and he abandons them in the finale anyway. Even using “real names” doesn’t get explored fully. Oh, and the action scenes, however few there are, are bad and short.

I feel awful trashing this movie. After all, Gorô’s next feature was a drastic improvement, and this one has excellent music and spatial geography. It also touches on themes of addiction and corruption, even if neither are really explored. But that’s the problem: it’s wasted potential. It’s like a 2-hour finale of a TV show we haven’t had, leaving a lot implied, but little shown. Sure, the song Therru sings is neat, even if it drags on, but you could save yourself the trouble and listen to it on YouTube. If you’re not a film collector, or a diehard Studio Ghibli fan, then this one’s worth a pass.

Meh:

I’ve shared my thoughts on Isao Takahata’s work before. He was incredibly talented, and his five contributions to Studio Ghibli were all uniquely his. But even a great director has their weakest movie, the one where the pieces don’t quite mesh together. For many, that honour belongs to Pom Poko, a period drama that doubles as a mouthpiece for environmentalism. It’s not my favourite, but for my money his worst debuted five years later. That’s right, I’m talking about My Neighbors the Yamadas.

On the surface, there isn’t much to be lukewarm on. This is a series of vignettes based on a popular comic strip in Japan, all punctuated by haikus. But while funny, and the most experimental Takahata ever was, these skits drag. The movie isn’t so much a movie as a “Best of” collection that SNL used to put out in their heyday, except animated. But while those were roughly an hour, this borders on two.

Again, I feel bad for being harsh. It looks nice visually, evoking the watercolour vibe Takahata would perfect 14 years later. And its skits are funny. The segments tackle topics like cooking dinner, folding laundry and studying a test in ways that feel real, but aren’t real. Enough belly laughs exist for it to have fans, as it’s so different. I’ll admit that I even laugh occasionally.

Nevertheless, its length hurts it. It’s one issue when a movie’s only vignettes. I’ve seen films that excel at this, some animated. But it’s another issue when this format’s way too long. You can’t go any longer than 70-minutes max, unless you know what you’re doing, and My Neighbors the Yamadas is much longer. So while not terrible, it’s not good either.

I also think its setting dates it. It’s true that most Studio Ghibli movies are period pieces, but they still feel universal. This one screams late-90’s in a bad way, right down to Nonoko having a Game Boy. Nothing against Game Boys, but little details like that freeze this in a specific time period. But hey! At least the characters sing “Que Sera, Sera” near the end of its runtime, if only to highlight how mundane the experience is.

Hit-or-Miss:

When it comes to Studio Ghibli movies I’m mixed on, several entries qualify: do I pick Howl’s Moving Castle, which I still find frustrating despite growing on me over time? Maybe Porco Rosso, which I respect more than I love? How about Ocean Waves, a made-for-TV movie that suffers from its condensed length? These are good candidates, but if you want the perfect example, then The Wind Rises is it. Because it truly is hit-or-miss.

On paper, it has several aspects in my favour. For one, it’s a biopic, which I love. Two, it’s a period piece, and I find those fascinating. Three, it’s a WWII movie set in Japan, making it instantly unique. And four, it’s from Hayao Miyazaki, a man who makes good movies. With all that in mind, what could make it hit-or-miss?

The simple answer? Its storytelling. Ignoring how its core message gets diluted as it goes on, Miyazaki isn’t the director for biopics. He bases his movies on storyboards, and I respect that, but a biopic needs a good screenplay too. Miyazaki has plenty of admiration for the late-Jirô Horikoshi, especially given that he’s fond of aviation, but he treats him like a mythical hero. Since Jirô created the planes that bombed Pearl Harbor, that lack of grounding in reality avoids accountability.

Another problem is the pacing. Anime’s notorious for being slow-paced, but this movie’s first hour drags. It only picks up once adult Nahoko appears, as their romance is this movie’s emotional anchor. It’s also its saving grace, giving real stakes to Jirô. Unfortunately, Nahoko’s not in the movie as much as I’d like, being a plot device for a director who, honestly, has done better with writing women.

This movie does a disservice to women in general. Kayo, for instance, is underwritten. She only appears a handful of times, and much of her dialogue involves her berating Jirô. Nahoko’s servant, Kinu, and Jirô’s mother become afterthoughts, while Jirô’s boss’s wife, who officiates Jirô and Nahoko’s wedding, barely has any lines. It feels like this is a male-centric movie, which’d be fine if Miyazaki didn’t have an excellent rapport of female characters.

There are other issues that make this hit-or-miss, including Nahoko’s death being an afterthought and the animation rarely feeling whimsy. But that doesn’t mean The Wind Rises lacks any strengths. It simply means that the movie doesn’t rise to the usual heights Miyazaki’s known for. Still, it earned itself an Oscar nomination, so who knows? Maybe you’ll disagree with me!

Diamond in the Rough:

There aren’t any Studio Ghibli movies I’d consider “underrated”. There are, however, several that are “under-appreciated” or “overlooked”. Hiromasa Yonebayashi’s films for example, deserve more credit, while Ponyo receives undeserved hate. But if we’re talking “cream of the crop” of lesser-known entries, Whisper of the Heart takes the cake. It’s not under-appreciated, but it taps into something only Hayao Miyazaki’s Kiki’s Delivery Service gets at: the creative spirit of youth. And since it’s director Yoshifumi Kondō’s only directorial work, it deserves a closer look.

Whisper of the Heart’s biggest strength is that it’s the studio’s attempt at magical realism and the studio’s attempt at a grounded drama. If Studio Ghibli’s the Japanese-equivalent of Disney, this movie’s the anime film version of a Walden Media/Disney production. It’s really a teenage love story focused on writing and music, albeit with whimsy thrown in for good measure. But it’s that feeling of the otherworldly happening at any minute that sets it apart from even The Cat Returns, its unofficial sequel. That makes it unique.

The real strength here is the relationship Shizuku shares with Seiji. It’s a cliché romance, right down to the two of them initially detesting each other, but it does that in such a way that feels age-appropriate. Shizuku and Seiji are teenagers on the younger end of teenage-hood, so their romance feels less Young Adult and more Romeo and Juliet without the jailbait or tragedy. The two have a real bond that overlaps with their creative passions, and it’s nice to see that play out in an organic manner. Considering how easily this story could’ve felt inauthentic, that alone gives it an edge.

Outside of that, this movie celebrates youthful joy. Particularly, it celebrates optimism through art, whether it be music or writing. Shizuku and Seiji have natural talents they try to nourish, whether it be writing fiction for Shizuku or going to Italy to become a violin maker for Seiji. It’s a nice celebration of the creative spirit that you don’t see often, and I applaud its portrayals of the ups and downs of art. I wish more movies would do that...

The movie’s highlight is the jam session where Mr. Nishi and his friends join in unprompted. Is it silly? Yes. Is it embarrassing? Again, yes. But it’s true to life, as that’s how jamming sessions play out.

Of course, it also doesn’t skimp out on the fantasy aspects of Shizuku’s imagination, which are the highlights of the second-half. Shizuku might be 14 years old, but she has quite the knack for storytelling. This is fully-realized through The Cat Baron segments, where the visuals really flourish. That, when combined with the late-John Denver’s most famous song being the movie’s leitmotif, makes the buildup in the first-half worth it. It’s delightful.

I’ve waffled back-and-forth over whether or not Whisper of the Heart’s a movie for everyone. I don’t think it is, but it speaks to creatives who are young at heart. Because it’s a celebration of youthful naivety pre-adult cynicism, and it’s Kondō’s masterpiece. It’s merely a shame he’d die of a brain aneurysm three years later, as he definitely had one or two more masterpieces left in him had he lived long enough. I also think the movie’s closing line’s too silly even for this, but that’s puppy love!

Bronze:

When it comes to third place, you’d better believe the stakes are high. And there are many titles that could take this spot, including my previous entry. Even with action movies, there are several choices worthy of being #3. Still, I had to come up with something, and this was it. Apologies to fans, but Princess Mononoke is the Bronze entry. (Please don’t hate me.)

It's not like there isn’t an argument to make for this being #1. It’s a fantasy war epic on-par with the Lord of the Rings Trilogy. It tackles environmentalism in a way that doesn’t feel overly-preachy, acknowledging the sensitive balance between nature and humanity. It has excellent music from Joe Hisaishi, arguably his best, and animation techniques that were groundbreaking for 1997. And it’s gory without feeling gratuitous. All of that works in its favour.

My issues aren’t dealbreakers, but they’re enough to hold it back. For one, the movie takes its time, as it has a lot to set up. Two, most of its side-characters blur together. And three, Jigo, the orchestrator of the film’s central conflict, experiences zero consequences. These are glaring enough flaws to slightly diminish my enjoyment.

That’s not to downplay its strengths. I love Ashitaka and San’s relationship, being one of mutual respect and admiration in spite of their quarrels. I love how the animals communicate, something that could’ve easily looked awkward. I also love the action scenes. Hayao Miyazaki might feel more at home with fantastical dramas for family audiences, but he’s a great action director. It shows here.

Lady Eboshi’s also the most-complex antagonist Miyazaki’s ever had. He’s not known for conventionally-threatening baddies, but Eboshi’s exactly that. He prefers layered baddies, and Eboshi’s that too. She’s so multi-faceted and threatening that despite rarely showing her softer side in her face, you see it in how she treats the citizens of Iron Town. It almost makes me wish she hadn’t gotten her arm ripped off by Morro’s decapitated head. Almost.

Princess Mononoke earns its PG-13 rating. It’s violent, but not excessive. It touches on mature themes, but it also treats its audience with respect. It’s unafraid to get heavy, but it’s never too complicated for its target demographic. Even its occasional profanity feels appropriate!

This is a great movie. Is it long? Yes, but it earns that. Is it my favourite action movie? No, but it’s up there. It’s simply fantastic overall, and something I’d recommend to older viewers in a heartbeat.

Silver:

Being the runner-up is no laughing matter here. It not only means you’ve outdone everything below you, but also that you’ve fallen slightly shy of what’s ahead. And this is truly a fantastic movie. So fantastic, in fact, that you should already know it if you’ve read my work. (It’s not like I haven’t already written three pieces on it for The Whitly-Verse!) That’s right, second place goes to Castle in the Sky, the best Star Wars/Indiana Jones knock-off I’ve ever seen.

It's hard to not like this movie, as it has everything you could want: characters who are memorable? Check. Fun, witty dialogue that makes you laugh? Check. Excellent action and music? Check. A deliciously-evil villain named Colonel Muska? Wait, what?!

Yeah, Muska’s the one time a Studio Ghibli antagonist gets to be conventionally evil. He’s not only stylish and cool, but everything he says is memorable. It helps that Mark Hamill hams it up in the Disney dub, using a variant of his trademark Joker laugh in the third-act. Hamill’s notorious for his manic energy, and he lets it loose here. If anything, he’s the reason to watch this dubbed. No joke.

The movie blends goofiness with seriousness expertly. If you should know anything about me, it’s that I’m not a fan of the tonal whiplash found in pulp serials. I find the tones don’t normally mesh well, leaving me confused. But Castle in the Sky sidesteps this by giving you time to absorb the tonal changes. They’re not thrown at you without warning, they’re usually foreshadowed by silence.

Another aspect that I like is the McGuffin chase. Many movies like this have a McGuffin that either feels too grand to pay off, or too small to care about. Laputa has neither of those issues, as we not only spend time exploring it pre-destruction, but we also get personal stakes with Pazu and Sheeta. We care because they care. It makes the inevitable feel much weightier.

Speaking of, this movie knows how to make the familiar fresh and exciting. Castle in the Sky relies on running with clichéd storytelling, including plot-holes that enhance the experience instead of detracting from it. (Why was Pazu’s father called a liar when he had photographic evidence of Laputa?) While these clichés would feel forced with a lesser-storyteller, Miyazaki uses them to his advantage. He does them so well that when Muska’s revealed to be distantly-related to Sheeta, you go along with it instead of rolling your eyes. That’s awesome.

The movie has plenty of really great details too. Like how the 2003 Disney dub brought back Joe Hisaishi to update his synth score, making the new orchestrations the definitive experience. Or how the movie feels like a Saturday morning Disney cartoon, thus making it accessible to Western audiences. Or even how the 2003 Disney dub has added banter that makes the re-release feel barren without it. These are all pluses, and they’re why this movie gets the silver medal.

Gold:

Those who pick this film, the first anime to win an Oscar, start with the same, tired charade: “Call it cliché, call it predictable, but I have no choice! It’s that good!” Truthfully, I’ve been guilty of those words myself before. But it’s true. You knew when I started this that Spirited Away would be the gold entry.

There’s too much to love about this movie, but I’ll share some highlights: Chihiro’s Miyazaki’s most-relatable protagonist. She lacks the magic of Kiki or Sophie, the optimism of Satsuki or Mei and the precociousness of Sōsuke. She’s not a fighter like Nausicaä or Ashitaka, nor can she learn to fight like Mahito. Essentially, she’s a normal, 10 year-old girl. And she’s a whiney brat. But that’s exactly what makes her interesting.

Hayao Miyazaki has never written a protagonist like her before or since. Everything we know about Chihiro comes over time. She doesn’t mature through some grand sense of self-growth, she simply learns to take more responsibility. Yes, she’s doing everything she can, including giving up her name, but it’s in service of helping others. In that sense, she’s the most selfless heroine Miyazaki’s ever put to film.

It helps that every character, even a minor one, is memorable. That’s something Princess Mononoke, bless it, couldn’t quite nail. Even the characters who don’t talk, like the giant heads, are interesting enough to want to know more. That’s the beauty of excellent character writing: even if you’re not important to the story, you’re important to the world around you. And the characters who are important? They’re essential.

This movie’s delightfully bizarre. I’m not a fan of gonzo nonsense for the sake of it, hence I never got into Alice in Wonderland, but Spirited Away makes sure its gonzo nonsense either expands its world-building, or serves the plot. This includes The Stink Spirit, a not-so-subtle commentary on pollution. He’s gross, he creeps people out, and his treatment from Chihiro leads to a medicine ball. This medicine ball’s used to cure both No Face and Haku later on. Everything of note, right down to the little details, has a pay-off moment. Considering that, like I said, Miyazaki works from storyboards, that’s impressive.

I also appreciate the movie’s tender moments. Whether it’s Chihiro crying over her parents while eating rice balls, Chihiro sitting quietly on a train, or Chihiro embracing Haku in the sky once she remembers his name, it’s all as impactful as the loud or frightening moments. This movie’s an emotional roller coaster that hits every beat in the correct order. In fact, Toonami, an action block, even included it in their “A Month of Miyazaki” series. It’s no action movie, but it definitely warranted that honour.

This is what comes to mind when people ask for recommendations. It’s also what pops into my head when I think of accessible anime for a Western audience, as, while seeped in Japanese mythology and iconography, it has something for everyone. It’s got a great story with a powerful message, its characters all endearing, and it isn’t afraid to get trippy. It’s also visually and musically arresting, with plenty of great examples of both. And it’s funny and sad, with moments that’ve made me cry. It’s great all-around, and it’s the best offering that Studio Ghibli has put out.

That about does it for me! If you’ll excuse me, The Boy and the Heron recently got added to Netflix...