Environmentalism – Bitch Flicks

‘Mission Blue’: “No Ocean, No Us”

Audiences have to look to documentaries like ‘Particle Fever,’ about the discovery of the Higgs boson, to see women scientists in prominent roles on film. The Netflix documentary ‘Mission Blue’ focuses on one woman scientist, Sylvia Earle, a former chief at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) and pioneering oceanographer and marine biologist who is on a quest to save the world’s oceans from dying.

This (slightly edited) repost by staff writer Ren Jender appears as part of our theme week on Women Scientists.

When characters on TV shows or in feature films encounter “a scientist,” that person is usually a man. The rare times when actresses play scientists in mainstream films (besides the obvious recent example of Ghostbusters) they’re more likely to be a punchline than a real character, like Denise Richards in the James Bond film The World Is Not Enough. Audiences have to look to documentaries like Particle Fever, about the discovery of the Higgs boson, to see women scientists in prominent roles on film. The Netflix documentary Mission Blue focuses on one woman scientist, Sylvia Earle, a former chief at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) and pioneering oceanographer and marine biologist who is on a quest to save the world’s oceans from dying.

If that last sentence seems like an exaggeration, you should probably see this film. Earle, (now 80, but 79 when the film was released nearly two years ago) has been scuba diving as part of her research for the past 60 years (where she got her undergrad degree was one of the first places to adopt this “new” technology) and has seen firsthand the destruction that pollution and overfishing have wrought — even in areas “in the middle of nowhere” we (and she) think might be unaffected. She points out plastic bags and bottles she encounters on the ocean floor along with long stretches of dead coral and hardly any fish in places where both previously flourished.

She asks, “How can we use the ocean and not use it up?” She’s not afraid to take on the fishing industry, describing her stint at NOAA: “I went to one meeting of the fisheries council. And I was never allowed to go again.” When she warned of the (still) impending extermination of bluefin tuna (because of overfishing) she earned the nickname, “The Sturgeon General.” She resigned from her government position so she could further ocean conservation without being tethered by politics.

The film isn’t all doom and gloom. We also see, in some stunning underwater cinematography (both reminiscent of the Jacques Cousteau documentaries and surpassing them) places where ocean life is plentiful: huge schools of fish that seem like shimmering silver walls along with harmless whale sharks and sea turtles touchingly unwary of divers. Earle is a great advocate of everyone exploring the ocean in this way, theorizing that people care more about wildlife and its environment if they can see it: if wildflowers, birds, trees and deer were hidden away from us we might not have many protections for them either. Earle points out that even though she’s not “big and muscly,” she’s been diving her entire adult life and was able to convince her own mother, at 81, to give it a try. She loved it.

The film shows us the deep sea animals that Earle first encountered over 30 years ago in a special atmospheric diving suit she, along with her third husband, helped design. The natural flashing luminescence of fish and other sea creature at these depths look like city neon signs and gaudy Christmas displays all at once.

We also hear of Earle’s own journey first as a child allowed to explore, alone and for hours at a time, the wild places around her home (as few children now get the chance to do) and later her career as a scientist. She is careful to include herself when she says repeatedly that no one foresaw the depletion of a resource — the ocean and its inhabitants — that seemed too vast for human beings to impact. But now Earle says, “No ocean, no life. No ocean, no us.”

Earle became a scientist before second-wave feminism, when hardly any women entered that profession and we see in the media coverage of her accomplishments (when she was often the first or only woman but usually called a “girl”), the sexism of the era, which she undoubtedly encountered on the job as well. But the film’s co-director and interviewer Fisher Stevens (yes, the same one who acted in films like Short Circuit — but more recently was a producer for The Cove) doesn’t ask about these instances, only gushes about how “beautiful” she was. Earle is polite to him, but, at 79, she might be wondering when she will finally be excused from the unofficial beauty pageant all women are subjected to.

This film could use more women. We barely see Earle interacting with other women scientists or divers in Blue (except very briefly in Australia and in vintage footage of her time as part of an all-woman team of researchers) though many more women are in the field now than when she started her career. Not enough women are behind the scenes either: the film was directed and written by men. When we consider Earle is not just a scientific pioneer, but also writes books about ocean conservation for the general public (including one released to coincide with this documentary — as well as children’s books) and is an effective enough speaker for lay audiences that she won a substantial monetary award as part of TED Talks, the omission of her from the film’s writing team is baffling. If her own writing had been included, some elements, like a casual mention of the acidification of the ocean (thanks to carbon dioxide emissions) might have been better explained.

I also would have appreciated more of Earle’s take on her personal life. She was married three times and had three children (with the addition, for about a decade, of stepchildren too) but as her daughter (who now runs the deep sea equipment company Earle founded) tells us she “wasn’t June Cleaver.” Earle was taking part in underwater expeditions halfway across the world from her family at a time when wives and mothers were expected to make their homes and their husbands (and their husbands’ careers) their first priority. Her marriages suffered because of her absences, even though each of the husbands shared her interests. In this era of Lean In and “having it all,” I’m sure I’m not the only one who would like to hear in more detail about the experience of someone who attempted this balancing act before most of the so-called “experts” were born.

When we see the “Happiness is being in over your head.” sticker (illustrated with a scuba diver) in her office we think Earle may be a lot more interesting than the documentary makes her (an impression that Earle in interviews seems to confirm), but she’s still able to get in some good, informative quotes like, “What we’re doing to the ocean, what we’re doing to the planet as a whole comes back to us in bigger storms, more powerful storms, more frequent storms.”

A better film might have tied in Earle’s past status as an outsider (when she was one of the few women in her field) and rebel (in not conforming to the ’50s and ’60s cultural expectations of what a wife and mother should be) to her current role as an environmentalist. When we see (in graphic footage) gleeful fisherman cutting the fins off living sharks and then dumping their mutilated bodies into the ocean to die, we can’t help thinking that this boys’ club gives its members permission to behave badly — as most boys’ clubs do. Because she’s never been one of the boys, Earle can see their cruelty — and its consequences — more clearly: she even films a fishing boat “vacuuming” up its catch — from the vantage point of the fish.

In spite of its flaws, Blue is well worth seeing — and succeeded in making me want to try scuba diving. Some of the shots in the film seem more magical than the brightly colored, hologram illustrations in my childhood copy of The Little Mermaid. As Stevens accompanies Earle through storybook seascapes I thought, “This is the ‘beauty’ he should be gushing over.”

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B1wp2MQCsfQ”]

Ren Jender is a queer writer-performer/producer putting a film together. Her writing. besides appearing on Bitch Flicks, has also been published in The Toast, RH Reality Check, xoJane and the Feminist Wire. You can follow her on Twitter @renjender.

Pollution, Energy Crisis and… Sexism? A Feminist Look at the ‘Soylent Green’ Dystopia

The film’s female characters seem to have accepted their fates and although they may not be okay with it, they don’t do much to fight against it. Today, women’s voices are constantly silenced, even (and especially) when conversations and arguments are about our own bodies.

This is a guest post by Maria Ramos.

Trigger warning: discussion of rape and sexual assault

Soylent Green, Richard Fleischer‘s 1973 classic sci-fi film, makes huge statements about class division, overpopulation, and global warming. Many have drawn parallels between the future depicted in the movie — where the greenhouse effect has taken its toll and much of the world’s wildlife is extinct — to the course of environmental destruction that humanity is currently on in the real world. While the movie’s message about the environment is much needed, its treatment of women makes an even bigger statement.

The dystopian future shown in Soylent Green is downright miserable for everyone but a handful of people — the lucky few aren’t actually seen in the film, but are noted as living away from the chaos of the city in heavily guarded country estates. The movie’s opener lists the population of New York City in the year 2022 at 40 million. Charlton Heston‘s character, Detective Frank Thorn, can’t go to or from his dilapidated apartment without seeing throngs of homeless people in the streets while law enforcement disperses crowds with a garbage truck that literally scoops people out of the way. Food is so scarce that folks take to primarily eating soy and lentil blocks — Soylent Red and Soylent Yellow — while the more popular Soylent Green is in short supply. It’s clear that poverty and overpopulation are major themes in Soylent Green, but the biggest victims of this are the women seen in the film.

Soylent Green stays true to the handling of women in the book on which it is based, Harry Harrison‘s Make Room! Make Room!. Several key details, some names, and the ending change, but one thing stays the same: women are screwed from beginning to end, literally and figuratively. Few women in the film get a break, not the poor or the ones who are “lucky” enough to have access to real food and a place to stay. The latter are actually referred to as “furniture,” and they’re basically attractive women who come as a package deal with the upscale apartments being rented out. A Craigslist ad for such an apartment might read, “Condo comes with a refrigerator, dishwasher, 23-year-old, slim, blonde furniture, and access to a concierge.”

Just like a chair or a hat rack, the women who are considered “furniture” don’t get to choose who uses them and must obey men’s commands, including visitors off the street. They’re routinely subjected to rape, violence and abuse from their renters and any men with whom they come in contact. Leigh Taylor-Young plays the film’s female lead, Shirl, who is at the mercy of the men who rent out the apartment where she lives. She sees her fellow “furniture” friends being beaten up by the building’s owner. Shirl is told, rather than asked, to have sex with Detective Thorn, and has very little control over her own destiny. She displays no anger at her condition and has clearly accepted her lot in life, as have the other women in the movie.

Aside from the sexist treatment experienced by the “furniture,” other women in Soylent Green are treated as disposable. Homeless women are shown being shot in the streets and in a homeless shelter while simply trying to survive. They are picked up by the scooper trucks while struggling to get food and are left to fend for themselves on the streets as they hover over their children.

While overpopulation is the big problem presented in this film, the solutions are rather absurd. No one in the movie thinks to punish the men who rape women and have stripped them of their reproductive rights, as women have no control over their own fertility and bodies in this world. The society depicted in Soylent Green is an extreme patriarchy, and an incompetent one at that. No women have positions of power and none are depicted as heroes who display courage. The men have all the employment opportunities and men make all of the social, political, and economic decisions.

As the film was released in 1973, a time when more women than ever were claiming their own destinies and demanding equal treatment, Soylent Green didn’t depict women’s place in the real world. However, it makes sense in a dystopian setting where political corruption and social chaos run rampant — history shows that women and children typically get the worst treatment in such situations.

One thing that made Soylent Green such an influential movie is that is seems to depict the possibilities if people continue on at their worst. The political system would become a nightmare, police would become defenders of corporations rather than people, and advocating for the rights of women and protecting nature would become afterthoughts. These are all things that have happened in one way or another, especially when it comes to the environment. As the EPA has reported, human fossil fuel consumption in the U.S. alone is adding between 5,000 to 6,000 million metric tons of CO2 to the atmosphere each year, which is thought to be driving temperatures upward. Global warming and climate change are real, and we’re spurring it on.

But would the country’s young women be forced into accepting rape and degradation if our society slips into mayhem in the future? The film’s female characters seem to have accepted their fates and although they may not be okay with it, they don’t do much to fight against it. Today, women’s voices are constantly silenced, even (and especially) when conversations and arguments are about our own bodies. Although definitely not ideal, a future where patriarchal ideas and control over women’s bodies and rights could be a frightening possibility, as seen in the debates around abortion in current political headlines. As for the homeless women being trampled and shot in the streets, that could definitely happen to a significant portion of the female population, especially as violence like this does happen now, particularly to Black women. If we ever see social unrest like that in Soylent Green, women’s rights and social justice would deteriorate as people struggle to survive and men fight to keep their power.

Instead of being outraged at how dreadfully Soylent Green treats women, let’s take it as a forewarning and a lesson. We should think of what we can do to secure the future of women in our society if we ever get to a point where our civil liberties and legal protections are gone. We can either be proactive now, or resign to a life of furniture-like serfdom later.

Maria Ramos is a writer interested in comic books, cycling, and horror films. Her hobbies include cooking, doodling, and finding local shops around the city. She currently lives in Chicago with her two pet turtles, Franklin and Roy. You can follow her on Twitter @MariaRamos1889.

The Margins of Dystopia: Darren Aronofsky’s ‘Noah’

It certainly isn’t a feminist world she lives in, but she does her level best to undermine her husband in an enclosed space. As Noah himself veers away from his family tradition of life-supporting environmental husbandry, Naameh continues to practice what he (used to) preach, preserving her daughter-in-law, the animals, and the land once they find it again.

This guest post by Rebecca Willoughby appears as part of our theme week on Dystopias.

I’ve written before about a Darren Aronofsky film that I liked tremendously, Black Swan. I was a fan of The Wrestler and The Fountain. So when news of the director’s intent to tackle a Biblical epic in Noah was revealed, my reaction was a cautious excitement, but also: “Huh?” After seeing it, the “Huh?” response is pretty much still there.

But I was fascinated by Noah as a representation of dystopia, and, by its conclusion, of a supposed utopia. Its thinly veiled save-the-earth message seemed to simultaneously re-tell the Bible story with a new twist, and reinterpret it for non-believers (see also the “updated” environmental message of Scott Derrickson’s 2008 remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still). It was rather a strange experience, however, that for much of the film I had no idea what was going to happen next. That is not how I expected to experience a semi-familiar Bible story I heard many times as a child. These “inaccuracies” comprised the bulk of the negative reviews of the film, like this one from The Guardian.

It was easier then, perhaps, to see its story as a cautionary tale about our own time and place, removed from specifically Christian ideologies (except maybe for the Rock-Biter-esque Nephilim). So while it was clear enough how the film addressed environmental issues such as sustainable growing practices and the exploitation of natural resources, what did it say about other resources, like people? Human capital? Gender roles? Well, these topics were also disintegrating in the dystopic mess.

How dystopian is Noah’s opening act? Well, after a brief VFX sequence summarizing Creation, we fast-forward right to the murder of Noah’s dad at the hands of a young Tubal-Cain (sorry, spoilers…also something I didn’t expect to say in an essay about a Biblical story). Quite frankly, after sitting through the two hour and 20-minute movie, the plot points of the Bible story and the film have blurred a bit. What viewers know for sure is that Adam and Eve have been dispelled from the Garden, murder is a thing (thanks to Cain), and there are two factions of humans. One is the followers of Tubal-Cain, Biblical forger of bronze and iron, who are aggressively industrial, environmentally exploitative, and eat meat (sometimes human, sometimes CGI, pre-flood fantasy animals). Their existence is shown to be difficult, dirty, warrior-like, and (of course) patriarchal. It is only by accident, for instance, that a raiding party of these denizens leaves young Ila (Emma Watson) alive, and their violence has left her barren, though Noah’s wife Naameh (Jennifer Connelly) is able to save her life. This interaction, specifically, highlights differences between the two groups: essentially, one carries death, the other life.

The tribe of Noah are the descendants of Seth (brother of Cain and Abel, for those following along in the Genesis story), who possess a particular set of skills when it comes to the Earth. Members of their line appear to be caretakers of the land and perhaps the first environmentalists. They’re also vegetarians, in case you were wondering. Their existence is also seen to be difficult, and yet because of their family dynamic, close relationships, and respect for all living things, viewers understand that their ethos is preferable. Their costumes are softer, natural fabrics rather than metal armor and leather; they have names and distinct personalities as opposed to a mob-like, metalwork-blackened horde. The film goes a pretty long way to ingratiate these characters to us, most likely because later Noah himself will come close to tearing them all apart. But throughout most of the film, we see two clearly demarcated factions with clearly defined ideological beliefs in direct opposition to each other. Pretty divisive, and therefore pretty dystopian.

Of course we know that the story goes further than just setting up a conflict on the human scale. Noah’s main internal conflict lies in his troubling dreams and visions. His confusion creates tension not only within Noah’s own mind, but also within his family, as he tries to discern what exactly the Creator wants him to do, and to what end. Much of this conflict has to do with reproduction. Throughout the film, he successfully alienates almost everyone dear to him when he comes to believe that the Creator is so distressed with the human state of affairs that He wishes humanity to completely die out. He refuses his sons’ wives, and threatens to kill his grandchildren. His narrative becomes one of punishment for the variety of ills humankind has visited upon the Creator’s Earth, of which he comes to see himself and his family as equally guilty members in spite of their life-focused ethos.

Charting Noah’s emphasis on life and reproduction may illuminate the film’s dystopian arc. Early in the film, Noah experiences a vision of seeing a flower sprout spontaneously from a drop of water. Disturbed by this vision and his frequent dreams of a destructive flood, he seeks out his grandfather, Methuselah (incredibly, Anthony Hopkins). Methuselah gives Noah a seed, which, when planted, sprouts an entire forest full of trees from which to build the ark. While this seed is certainly a sign of life, and gives life to all of this lush CG greenery, it is a resource grown to be exploited in a way not unlike Tubal-cain’s mining operation. Is this permissible because it’s in the service of the Creator?

While the ark-building is happening, Noah’s children are growing up. Including Ila, who has become an adopted daughter, beloved of Noah’s eldest son, Shem. Because she is barren as a result of her childhood encounter with those violent raiders, Noah goes looking for wives for his two younger sons (after all, they have to repopulate the Earth after the flood). But when he arrives at a neighboring encampment, he sees chaos, violence, fire, and animals being ripped apart for food. It isn’t pretty, and we can understand why this vision seems to support Noah’s new interpretation of the Creator’s plan: his family’s purpose is only to save innocent animals, and when that task is done, humans will die off as the last of his family perishes. It is Naameh who cannot reconcile this plan, and she visits Methuselah to ask him to intercede. Here, we have the restrictions of a patriarchal society functioning within the life-driven Noah clan, where the potential for the continuation of the human race seems to rest not with the women who might bear the children, but with the aging male progenitor: his word may sway Noah and save humanity.

Meanwhile, Noah’s son Ham refuses to abide by his father’s wishes (rejection of the patriarchy) and goes to find his own wife. When he’s captured and imprisoned by Tubal-Cain’s league, he meets Na’al, a female captive. As the flood rains begin, the two escape, and Ham leads Na’al toward the ark to save her. But Noah has waded into the forest to find Ham, and as they run from the Cainian hordes, Na’al’s foot is caught in an animal trap and Noah forces Ham to leave her behind (re-establishment of the patriarchal law). They barely make it to the ark in time to be saved from numerous crazy CG geysers contributing to the rain and rising floodwaters.

And, in a surreal but somehow predictable turn of events, Ila encounters Methuselah in the forest and he magically cures her infertility. With his supernatural blessing, she seeks out Shem and they have a passionate moment in the forest just before boarding the ark. We can see where this is going—Ila will become pregnant and bear Noah’s grandchildren—but it’s significant that her ability to reproduce is granted her by the patriarch of Noah’s family.

All the while, Naameh maintains her role as an herbalist and a midwife and maybe the first organic farmer. Though she’s continually shot down, she does consistently object to Noah’s rule; I can’t quite reconcile this review’s characterization of her as a “drip.” And because representation matters, it’s worth noting that I think Connelly is channeling Linda Hamilton’s arms in Terminator 2 even as she participates in traditionally feminine activities like midwifing and healing. It certainly isn’t a feminist world she lives in, but she does her level best to undermine her husband in an enclosed space. As Noah himself veers away from his family tradition of life-supporting environmental husbandry, Naameh continues to practice what he (used to) preach, preserving her daughter-in-law, the animals, and the land once they find it again.

The end of the film predictably sews things back up between Naameh and Noah, especially after he is moved to mercifully spare his twin granddaughters’ lives after feeling only “love” when about to kill them. The patriarchy is duly restored. Yet there are cracks. In an epic case of middle-child syndrome, Ham quells his rebellious attitude but strikes out on his own just as the rainbow covenant moment glows through the denoument. Additionally, I couldn’t help but notice that there STILL isn’t a wife for Japheth, the youngest son. And who’s going to marry/mate with Ila’s daughters? In its final adherence to the Biblical source, Aronofsky’s film leaves some troubling questions even as its narrative may—through its departures from that source— subvert ancient patriarchal structures that are still part of the female dystopia.

Rebecca L. Willoughby holds a Ph.D. in English and Film Studies from Lehigh University. She writes most frequently on horror films and melodramas, and is currently Visiting Assistant Professor at Bucknell University in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania.

Miyazaki’s Swan Song ‘The Wind Rises’

Hayao Miyazaki is one of the most renowned animators alive. He brought us visually arresting, pro-woman, environmentalist tales like ‘Princess Mononoke’ and ‘Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind.’ He brought us lush tales of magic and mythology, like ‘Spirited Away’ and ‘Howl’s Moving Castle,’ with young women as protagonists and other women as focal, powerful characters throughout. Miyazaki now insists that his latest animated film, ‘The Wind Rises’ (‘Kaze Tachinu’), will be his last.

"The Wind Rises" poster — “The Wind Rises” poster

Written by Amanda Rodriguez
Spoiler Alert

Hayao Miyazaki is one of the most renowned animators alive. He brought us visually arresting, pro-woman, environmentalist tales like Princess Mononoke and Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind. He brought us lush tales of magic and mythology, like Spirited Away and Howl’s Moving Castle, with young women as protagonists and other women as focal, powerful characters throughout. Miyazaki now insists that his latest animated film, The Wind Rises (Kaze Tachinu), will be his last.

The film felt like a goodbye with its insistence that artists can only be creative and productive for 10 years, its somber outlook, and the way in which it concluded at the end of a major era in Japanese history (Japan’s defeat in World War II). The Wind Rises also features one of Miyazaki’s rare male protagonists, Jirô Horikoshi (a fictionalized version of the eponymous historical aeronautical engineer who designed Japan’s model “Zero” fighter plane); I suspect this is because Miyazaki identifies with Jirô and his dreams that are too big and too pure for this world.

Jiro Dream Pilot — “Airplanes are beautiful, cursed dreams, waiting for the sky to swallow them up.”

Considering Miyazaki’s focus on the centrality of female characters throughout his career, The Wind Rises is disappointing in its lack of developed female characters. There’s really only Jirô’s loud and pushy but soft-hearted little sister, Kayo, who grows up to be a doctor. Jirô’s encouragement of her medical school dreams and the achievement of a peripheral female character’s big dreams in the 1940’s are a bit too subtle to consider feminist, but it’s a welcome nod nonetheless. Nahoko is Jirô’s tragic love interest who has loved him completely and selflessly since he rescued her as a girl from the Great Kantō Earthquake of 1923. Though we know Nahoko loves painting, French poetry, and Jirô, there is little else that we know about her beyond that. She exists solely to love and support Jirô and to humanize him in a way that none of his other relationships do.

Nahoko and Jirô meet by a picturesque spring

Though The Wind Rises is (as to be expected) beautiful, it is overly sentimental. Jirô’s reunion with a woman who he helped many years ago only to fall in love with her only to have her be tragically ill was a bit too neat of an unrealistic package designed to give magic and wonder to the external life of a young man who mainly lived within his own head. Not only that, but the ethereal quality of dreams is the heart of the film, insisting that we must make our beautiful dreams a reality no matter what the consequences, no matter how the world may pervert those dreams. This is particularly true of Jirô’s innocent desire to design planes that is warped and manipulated to serve his country’s wartime needs. As a member of the country who heinously dropped two atomic bombs on Japan during World War II, I find this particular theme questionable. Though I valued a glimpse of history from Japan’s perspective, which the US rarely sees, I would have been extremely uncomfortable had I been watching a tale about the creation of the atom bomb and how it was a beautiful dream that life distorted, a dream with deadly real life applications for which the dreamer takes little responsibility. We only know that Jiro and his dreamland mentor, the Italian Caproni, would prefer to design planes that weren’t used for war, but they do so anyway and without question.

This leads me to my final critique of the film. The war and the purpose of the planes that Jirô builds are, strangely, non-issues. The Wind Rises is an oddly apolitical nationalistic film that laments Japan’s poverty, inability to innovate due to economic challenges, and the pain of pride for being a country technologically left behind. The motivations for the war are never discussed. No one is pro-war or anti-war. The film seems to be asserting that Japan’s involvement in World War II was due to a sense of honor rather than conviction or even political profit. Japan, like Jirô, is, instead a little country with a big dream. Miyazaki’s blasé approach to the war does not measure up to the clear-cut environmentalist stance he takes in many of his other films.

Jiro stands before his failed plane prototype — Jirô stands before his failed plane prototype

While Miyazaki continues to deliver breathtaking animated scenes and a sense of wonder and magic, The Wind Rises disappoints on a thematic level with its lack of engagement or curiosity about Japan’s involvement in World War II or an artist’s responsibility for their creations. The borderline cloying saccharine sentimentality along with the lack of strong female characters we’ve come to expect from Miyazaki leave me hoping The Wind Rises is not his swan song, that he will make just one more film that rivals, if not surpasses, the masterpieces he has already given us.

Amanda Rodriguez is an environmental activist living in Asheville, North Carolina. She holds a BA from Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio and an MFA in fiction writing from Queens University in Charlotte, NC. She writes all about food and drinking games on her blog Booze and Baking. Fun fact: while living in Kyoto, Japan, her house was attacked by monkeys.

Miyazaki Month: Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind

Written by Myrna Waldron.

Nausicaa hears the bubbling healthy water inside a petrified tree

Unlike the previous three reviews for this “retrospective,” I was going into this review almost completely blind. I had not seen Nausicaä before today, and only knew that it was a film with a strong female protagonist and a lot of flying around on gliders. Thinking back on it now that I’ve seen the film, it is definitely very good, but I do not consider it on the same artistic level as Princess Mononoke or Spirited Away. The film is unmistakably Miyazaki, as it has his favourite themes of pacifism, environmentalism, feminism, and “Things that fly are really cool.” I think the pacifism and environmentalism themes were a lot more heavy-handed in Nausicaä than they were in Princess Mononoke. I also found the characterization kind of lacking — I can’t even remember the names of most of the male characters. The animation is incredible, of course. The music is a mixed bag. “Normal” scenes are scored simply, with the soundtrack only adding necessary emotional pull. Scenes where the insects rampage, however, are scored with a distinctly 80s-sounding electronic fast-paced musical style which, I feel, conflicts with the rest of the film. It reminded me a lot of boss battle music that you find in video games. Oh well!

I decided to just watch the movie with the English dub on — as I was seeing the film for the first time, it would have been very hard for me to follow two scripts at once without already knowing what the characters are saying and what is going to happen. The English dub is…okay. I was practically gleeful to hear Patrick Stewart’s voice. He could narrate the recipes on the back of a soup can and I’d listen enraptured. I have to say that Alison Lohman was a lacking heroine. She said far too many of her lines in the exact same intonation. I have no idea why they cast Shia LeBoeuf in anything, because his voice isn’t particularly notable, and his delivery was average. Heh, remember when Hollywood tried so hard to make Shia LeBoeuf happen? Uma Thurman was decent as Princess Kushana — there was definitely a lot of coldness and bitterness in her delivery, which gave the character much needed development. And, because I did not check the Japanese script, I don’t know if this is a problem specific to the English script or what, but it drove me NUTS that the characters kept referring to Nausicaä as “The Princess” or “Princess” as if she didn’t have a name. Also, comparing my notes to the TV Tropes article, it seems that the English dub mispronounced/mistranslated a few terms — I heard Torumekian as “Tolmekian” and Ohmu as “Ohm.”

Speaking of Princesses, Nausicaä and Kushana make a very interesting comparison to the traditional Disney-style fairy tale princesses we’ve come to grow up with. Most notably, both of them are tremendously proactive. They don’t wait for other people to do their tasks for them; they act immediately. Nausicaä is tomboyish rather than traditionally feminine. Kushana retains some femininity, but it heavily contrasts with her warlike ambitions and her armour-like prosthetics. There are no tiaras or poofy dresses here — neither woman has any time for that kind of crap. Neither one has any romantic ambitions or entanglements either, as both tremendously value their independence. I suspect that Kushana is meant to be a strong counterpoint to Nausicaä. Kushana is bitter where Nausicaä is optimistic, vengeful instead of peaceful, etc. There is one thing that bothers me though. Both of Nausicaä’s parents are dead, so shouldn’t she now be a Queen, not a Princess? I can understand the Valley of the Wind’s people being reluctant to acknowledge the murder of their sovereign and do not have time to hold a coronation, but to continue to call her Princess robs her of a chance to gain a significant leadership role. The Disney Princesses always remain Princesses. They can get married, have children, and the parents are nowhere to be found, but they must never become rulers. In Kushana’s case, I discovered via TV Tropes that in the extended Nausicaä manga, she has a living father and brothers, so it is understandable that she is still “Princess” despite her obvious leadership role.

Nausicaa flies into a rage after her father is murdered

Nausicaä is a well-developed female protagonist, and Kushana is also a decently developed female antagonist, but I found myself wishing that they had the moral ambiguities found in the characterizations of San and Lady Eboshi. Nausicaä is a rather obvious messiah archetype and practically has no flaws at all. I have to stretch a bit to find some — her sheer determination to help everyone and everything in danger, no matter what, borders on recklessness. Her lapsing into sheer lethal rage at finding her father murdered is a flaw she fears in herself. This dark side of her makes her not so different from Kushana in some ways. However, on the positive side, Nausicaä has a tremendous amount of agency, and is equally as brave, talented and selfless as any ideal heroic male protagonist would be. Her glider, which she effortlessly rides the wind on, is an obvious metaphor for freedom. She also has a distinct talent in that she can communicate effectively with the animals and insects in this post-apocalyptic world. The other people in the world fear these animals and execute them for their own safety, but Nausicaä resolutely believes that they have the ability to reason and are capable of kindness.

One aspect of Nausicaä’s character I appreciated was her interest in chemistry and botany. On her many expeditions, she gathers the supposedly poisonous spores in the Toxic Jungle, brings them back home, and then secretly cultivates them. She discovers that irrigating the plants with clean water and soil removes their toxicity completely. She was doing this in hopes of finding a cure for her father’s poisoning, but his murder almost forces her to give up completely. As time goes on, she even realizes that the forest and insects evolved specifically to clean the earth’s pollution. Observing ancient petrified trees, she deducts that the trees absorb the pollution so it becomes inert. The trees die, petrify, and then become purified sand. This plot point, of course, relates to Miyazaki’s usual message preaching environmentalism. The world of Nausicaä presents a dark future — the pollution humans have caused has gotten so bad that the earth itself is striking back at future human generations and slowly eliminating them. Nausicaä’s discoveries offer some semblance of hope, as she teaches her fellow villagers how to irrigate the plants safely.

Princess Kushana is a relatively sympathetic antagonist. Having lost an arm and both her legs to insect attacks, her wanting to enact vengeance on them is understandable. She even hints that there is further damage to her body that only her future husband will see. A TV Tropes writer interpreted that line to mean that Kushana’s reproductive organs were removed, which I don’t agree with. She’d have quite a bit trouble going to the bathroom if that whole area were removed! And, uh…I don’t really want to think about the subtextual implications of the female antagonist having lost her reproductive organs. I think that line just means that she has deep scarring on parts of her body that only someone who will see her naked would see. Regardless of what actually happened to her body, the contrast between Kushana’s beauty and her missing limbs is very striking. It relates to the contrast/contradiction inherent in her personality — she is clearly intelligent and reasonable, and yet full of rage and imperialistic ambitions. The design of her armour/prosthetics is quite interesting. It’s almost Greek/Roman in style, which makes me mentally compare her to Athena. Since Nausicaä’s name is taken from Greek mythology, I suspect this analogue is deliberate.

Kushana has difficulty getting the incomplete Stone God to attack

The pacifism message is hammered HARD in this movie, almost as hard as the environmentalism message. Nausicaä consistently chooses not to fight, even in the face of certain death, and deeply fears the one part of her that succumbed to rage in the wake of her father’s murder. When she meets her future pet fox-squirrel for the first time, she allows it to bite her finger — without flinching — in order to show it that she is not to be feared. The neighbouring countries/factions to the Valley of the Wind, Torumekia and Pejite, are competing with each other over a Giant Warrior, an ancient artefact left over from the nuclear wars that destroyed the world. When Kushana activates it, it demonstrates enormously devastating destructive power, but immediately collapses and melts when Kushana tries to force it to attack again. The message here seems to be that warmongers put far too much trust into their weapons, and get drunk on the destructive power they are capable of. In comparison to Kushana’s warmongering, Nausicaä’s capacity for self-sacrifice is her most significant character trait. She allows herself to be shot twice to save a baby Ohmu, and even lets it push her into the Acid Lake to demonstrate how dangerous it is. The Ohmu are shown to be intelligent, compassionate creatures, and they revere Nausicaä’s willingness to sacrifice everything for peace. Nausicaä is even a fairly obvious Jesus archetype, in that the Ohmu combine their abilities to resurrect her after she dies trying to stop the herd from rampaging. (Miyazaki claims the Jesus analogue was accidental…in which case, um, really? Maybe it’s my Western education that makes it so very obvious to me.)

I can say quite confidently that I liked Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind quite a bit, but I definitely prefer other Miyazaki films. Still, this film has a LOT going for it. As a feminist, I’m always glad to see a proactive and well-developed female protagonist, although I wish they’d given her a few flaws to make her more relatable. I especially appreciated a nuanced female antagonist who had a sympathetic reason for her extremism. I found the environmentalism and pacifism themes a little heavy-handed in this film (I almost felt like I was watching Fern Gully in some parts), but that may be because I saw his later films with a more balanced approach to presenting those themes. The imaginativeness of the film is probably its strongest point. The airships and gliders are a lot of fun, as is the design of the Toxic Jungle, which manages to be both menacing and beautiful at the same time. If I were to recommend this film, I would suggest to show it to someone who hasn’t seen other Miyazaki films yet, as I have a feeling that the messages in his film would be more effective if they hadn’t already been presented in other films. But, hey, strong female protagonist. A Miyazaki special. Can’t go wrong with that. Thank you for reading my Miyazaki Month retrospective!

Myrna Waldron is a feminist writer/blogger with a particular emphasis on all things nerdy. She lives in Toronto and has studied English and Film at York University. Myrna has a particular interest in the animation medium, having written extensively on American, Canadian and Japanese animation. She also has a passion for Sci-Fi & Fantasy literature, pop culture literature such as cartoons/comics, and the gaming subculture. She maintains a personal collection of blog posts, rants, essays and musings at The Soapboxing Geek, and tweets with reckless pottymouthed abandon at @SoapboxingGeek.