Tag: Hayao Miyazaki

The Future of Anime Is Female: ‘Yuri!!! On Ice’s Director Sayo Yamamoto

Thankfully, this hasn’t stopped animator/director Sayo Yamamoto from not only surviving over the past two decades — but thriving. And in style. Like Attack on Titan, Yamamoto’s ‘Yuri!!! On Ice’ has become a breakout hit, and amazingly, it’s only her third time as a series director. … Yamamoto’s success as a woman director shouldn’t be the exception to the rule in the anime industry.

Yuri!!! On Ice

This guest post written by Hannah Collins appears as part of our theme week on Women Directors.

The meteoric global success of Mokoto Shinkai’s feature-length anime, Your Name, coupled with recent news that anime streaming service, Crunchyroll, now has over 1 million subscribers, might lead most to believe that the anime machine is chugging along nicely at the moment. The reality is unfortunately very different for those doing all the hard work to keep that machine churning to meet rabid fan demand. These success stories punctuate a general aura of “doom and gloom” that has hung over the Japanese animation industry for several years now. The workload is unreasonably high, the pay is unreasonably low, and intense pressure to succeed has even proved fatal for some.

Industry legend and beloved grandfather of anime, Hayao Miyazaki, isn’t known for his sunny disposition at the best of times in regards to the future of his trade, made all the more evident by this tweet in 2011. Surprise, surprise — the “end times” for a male-dominated field are apparently signaled by women trying to muscle their way in. Miyazaki wrote:

“They say it’s over for animation in Japan. When we look for new hires only women respond, and I get the feeling that we’re done for. In our last hurrah we borrow from outside staff (i.e. outsource), but soon we won’t be able to do that forever.”

Considering his championing of strong-willed, independent heroines throughout his body of work, this statement was all the more disheartening. Working in such a toxic environment is tough enough, but for Japan’s female population, who still earn up to 30% less than their male counterparts (60% less for working mothers) and are now even labeled as symptoms of its stagnation by male industry leaders, the odds are doubly stacked against them to survive.

Michiko to Hatchin

Thankfully, this hasn’t stopped animator/director Sayo Yamamoto from not only surviving over the past two decades — but thriving. And in style. Like Attack on Titan, Yamamoto’s Yuri!!! On Ice has become a breakout hit, and amazingly, it’s only her third time as a series director. For those who’ve only dipped their toe into the weird and wonderful world of “Japanimation,” her name might not ring any bells, but the shows and films she’s worked on prior to Yuri!!! On Ice most likely will. Beginning with CLAMP’s “X” in 2001, Yamamoto has storyboarded and/or directed episodes of some of the most popular shows of the past decade, including Space Dandy, Psycho-Pass, Highschool of the Dead, Gunslinger Girl, Eureka Seven, Death Note, Ergo Proxy and Attack On Titan, as well as films Redline and Neon Genesis Evangelion: 2.0 You Can (Not) Advance.

In 2004, she got her first big break as a director, helming several episodes of Samurai Champloo under the tutelage of the legendary Shinichiro Watanabe (Cowboy Bebop), an experience that would prove to be hugely influential on her. In the screencaps below, you can see her playful experiments with different styles developing through her work.

Sayo Yamamoto work

Fast-forward four years, Yamamoto is given her next even bigger break: an opportunity to direct a whole series. This was 2008’s Michiko & Hatchin, an action-packed, crime-caper across a Brazilian-inspired land that saw the young and sheltered, Michiko, team up with the dangerous and sultry, Hana, in search of a missing man from their pasts.

Though the series was sadly financially unsuccessful, it garnered enough praise for Yamamoto to be offered another series in 2012, commemorating the 40th anniversary of Lupin III. Never one to follow expectation, Yamamoto opted to craft an origin story, not around the eponymous gentleman thief, but around his love interest and rival, Fujiko Mine, instead. This became the cult series, The Woman Called Fujiko Mine. Similarly to Michiko & Hatchin, Yamamoto was given full creative freedom, allowing her bold, pop art-inflected visuals and thematic fixations — feminine sensuality, comedy, multiculturalism and complex, queer relationships — to begin to blossom.

Yamamoto’s continuing exploration of eroticism through a female gaze is particularly important within a medium infamous for leering “panty shots” and unwanted groping being normalized and excused as “fan service,” with too many female characters swinging between either hypersexualisation or infantilization. During an AnimeFest panel in 2012, Yamamoto made no secret of what attracted her to Fujiko Mine as a character:

“In almost every chapter or episode [of ‘Lupin’] there were some sort of naked female somewhere in there. I felt that the recent TV series animation was really aimed at kids, made intentionally with kids in mind. So I wanted to go back in history and bring back the original manga, how I felt it was intended to be entertaining to adults. […] When I was growing up watching Fujiko in the original series of ‘Lupin’, I always watched her with anticipation of when she was going to take off her clothes.”

The key word here is “adult.” Sexual content alone is not the problem; it’s the context and tenor of that content. Too often in anime and manga, sexuality and “ecchi” humor fixate on teenage characters with a similarly teenage sensibility. Yamamoto, however, crafts stories about adults for adults, with a suitably mature and artful understanding of the power and mystique of sensuality — both heterosexual and queer.

Woman Called Fujiko Mine

Considering Yamamoto’s female-focused track record, directing a series like Yuri!!! On Ice — a show about professional male ice skaters — seemed like an odd move. But, despite men taking center-stage, Yamamoto was characteristically careful not to underrepresent women throughout the series. Also, considering the show falls into the shonen-ai or “Boys Love” (BL) genre (stories about queer male relationships created by and for women) a woman director and storyboarder (Mitsurou Kubo) team was also a logical move. As fans of BL stories like myself know, the genre has long been plagued by problems of the kind of festishization that always seems to sadly come part and parcel of hetero-appropriation of LGBTQ stories. But in the hands of Yamamoto and Kubo, Yuri!!! On Ice thankfully dodges most of this, managing instead to channel Yamamoto’s skillful handling of comedy and adult eroticism into protagonist Yuri Katsuki’s journey of self-discovery with complexity and sensitivity. Aside from the dazzlingly choreographed skating, it’s this competent handling that’s been key to enthralling the show’s fans.

Episode three is particularly pivotal in Yuri’s journey, as he is challenged by his skating idol, Victor Nikiforov, to perform a program titled, “On Love: Eros.” To tackle his severe lack of confidence in his ability to channel the “eroticism” needed for the routine, Yuri imagines a story about an 18th century “playboy,” which Yamamoto and Kubo animate beautifully using a sketchy, shadow-puppet technique to accentuate the fairy tale aspect of the story.

Reflecting upon the narrative he created, Yuri begins to realize that he identifies with both the feminine and masculine characters, a revelation that empowers him both on and off the rink. During his first performance, he compares himself to a “woman” skater and makes the suave and handsome Victor the object of his seducing. The costume Yuri chooses to wear during competitions visually reinforces all this — a replica of one that Victor once wore, incorporating both masculine and feminine elements into its design with a half-skirt layered over the trousers.

Yuri On Ice

Yamamoto’s success as a woman director shouldn’t be the exception to the rule in the anime industry. A report from the Women in Animation (WIA) board formed by The Animation Guild found that a staggering 84% of roles in animation were taken by men and 16% by women in 2006. By 2015, this ratio had shifted slightly to 80% men and 20% women, with just 10% of animation directors/producers being women. Though these figures come from American studios, a comment made by Yamamoto during AnimeFest seemed to corroborate a similar — or worse — gender imbalance in Japan:

“At the time that I started work on ‘Michiko & Hatchin’ [in 2008] there were only about 5 female directors. But as I moved on to ‘Lupin’, I do feel the female influence on the industry is definitely increasing and growing.”

Her optimism is shared by Naoko Yamada (A Silent Voice) who is currently the youngest female director of feature-length anime. In a recent interview, Yamada shared this advice to women hoping to beat the considerable odds stacked against them:

“There’s no limit in a creative industry, so just look at what you like and create and make what you like to create and just be passionate about it.”

The immense popularity of Yuri!!! On Ice and the positive reception of Yamada’s A Silent Voice proves that Miyazaki’s fears are completely misplaced. Female directors and animators are not symptomatic of the anime industry’s failings. Rather — if given enough opportunity, encouragement and fairer wages — they could instead be the driving force behind its salvation.

See also at Bitch Flicks:

Michiko to Hatchin: Anime’s Newest Mom Has Some Issues

Hannah Collins is a London-born writer and illustrator fascinated by the intersection between pop/visual culture and feminism. On the blogging scene, Hannah has attracted over 1 million readers to her blog on gender representation in pop culture. By day, she is currently a freelance illustrator for children’s books and comics, and by night (and any other available hour) she contributes to the Cosmic Anvil and Fanny Pack blogs, as well as her own.

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
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.

Building a war plane
Building a war plane

 

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.

Read also Howl’s Moving Castle and Male Adaptations of Female Work, Princess Mononoke Has No Desire to Marry A Prince, Miyazaki Month: Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, Miyazaki Month: Howl’s Moving Castle, Miyazaki Month: Spirited Away, Miyazaki Month: Princess Mononoke, Animated Children’s Films: Spirited Away

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.

Princess Mononoke Has No Desire to Marry a Prince

Granted, Ashitaka (voiced by Billy Crudup) is an important character. Even so, it is a bit disconcerting when the IMDb blurb about this movie only mentions him, and almost none of the female characters who are equally, if not more, important to the story. Princess Mononoke (voiced by Claire Danes) is the title character, but is only mentioned toward the end of the blurb. This movie is so much more than yet another “save the princess” quest!

San
San

 

This guest post by Jen Thorpe appears as part of our theme week on Child and Teenage Girl Protagonists.

Often, when an animated movie has the word “Princess” in the title, the storyline focuses on how she found, and married, her Prince. Princess Mononoke, however, doesn’t stick to that old, predictable, scenario at all. Instead, viewers are presented with several very strong female characters and a Princess that has absolutely no desire to marry a Prince.

The English version of Princess Mononoke was released in 1997. It was written and directed by Hayao Miyazaki, who is known for his beautifully animated films that tell detailed, unexpected, stories. It has been said that his films present the world in “shades of gray,” ethically speaking. Important characters can be good, and bad, at the same time. Who is the “bad guy”? That’s up to you to decide.

One of the things I love about Princess Mononoke is that it includes so many very strong female characters. They aren’t sitting on the sidelines, either. Much of the direction of the story is driven by women. This is the main reason why I think that Princess Mononoke is an excellent movie for female teens to watch. Here are animated examples of powerful women who are taking action (instead of waiting for their Prince to come).

Oddly enough, most of the reviews of this film that I have read focus on Ashitaka, a male character who is presented at the beginning of the movie. It is as though people are so used to seeing a male character as the focus that they do not know how to discuss a film that is very female-driven.

Granted, Ashitaka (voiced by Billy Crudup) is an important character. Even so, it is a bit disconcerting when the IMDb blurb about this movie only mentions him, and almost none of the female characters who are equally, if not more, important to the story. Princess Mononoke (voiced by Claire Danes) is the title character, but is only mentioned toward the end of the blurb. This movie is so much more than yet another “save the princess” quest!

Princess Mononoke is a human who was abandoned by her parents when she was an infant. (Note: There are “spoilers” from this point forward.) Moro, a giant, white, wolf (voiced by Gillian Anderson) was angered when these two humans “defiled the forest.” In order to escape from her, Princess Mononoke’s parents threw their baby at the giant wolf and ran away.

Moro chose to adopt this human infant. She named her San, and raised her just like her two male cubs. Over time, San became less human. She still looked like a human, of course, but gained the heightened sense of smell and fighting ability of the wolves. San considered herself to be a wolf, and developed a deep hatred for humans.

The first time San and Ashitaka meet, it is by accident. He is on a quest to find a cure for the curse that was placed upon him after a demon touched him. Ashitaka is the last Prince from his village, and will die if the curse is not removed. San is trying to help her mother to heal from a bullet wound in her chest. She is sucking out the poisoned blood from the wound, spitting it on the ground, and getting her face covered with blood in the process.

San, covered in blood
San, covered in blood

 

Ashitaka tries to talk to San, at first, to see if she could confirm where he thought he was at. San silently stares at him for a while, and then yells “Go away!” She leaves with her mother and “brothers.”

San has good reason to hate the humans. Not too far away is Tatara, which is run by Lady Eboshi (voiced by Minnie Driver). It is a mining colony. Lady Eboshi is intentionally cutting down the forrest, and harvesting iron ore, in order to make a fortune. San, who lives in and loves the forest, wants nothing more than to kill Lady Eboshi.

At the same time, Lady Eboshi is doing some wonderful things. She buys the contracts of female prostitutes and hires them to work in her iron forge. These women are bold, strong, and unafraid. There is a scene where many are openly flirting with Ashitaka. They call him handsome. None of the men dare to harass these women (who are quick to “trash talk” right back at the men).

Lady Eboshi has also set up a very comfortable building for lepers to live in. She provides health care, feeds them, and employs them. They are designing rifles that are light enough for women to comfortably use. She hopes to destroy the forest so the animals will go back to being “small and stupid.” The large, intelligent ones who live there now pose a threat to her town (and all humans).

It is worth noting that Lady Eboshi runs her town by herself. She’s not married to the “mayor,” and is not the daughter of a king or other powerful man. She, herself, is powerful enough to run the town and to do it her way.

San launches an attack while Ashitaka is in town. She is much faster than than the male guards in the town, and easily evades them. Someone warns Lady Eboshi that San is there and intending to kill her. Instead of hiding, Lady Eboshi stands in the middle of the street, and calls a challenge to San. At her side are two women, armed with guns. These women lost their husbands to the wolves in San’s tribe, and are looking for revenge.

Lady Eboshi and San fight
Lady Eboshi and San fight

 

Soon, San and Lady Eboshi get into a fight. San uses a knife, and Lady Eboshi has a sword. Ashitaka doesn’t want them to fight, so he gets in the middle and knocks out both of the women. He calls for someone to take Lady Eboshi from him, and then, basically kidnaps San. He fell in love with her the first time he saw her.

San holds a knife to Ashitaka's throat
San holds a knife to Ashitaka’s throat

 

When San wakes, she immediately tries to kill Ashitaka. She still wants nothing to do with him. This is yet another example of a female character who, when presented with the possibility of starting a relationship with a Prince, chooses not to. San has a life that is quite full without him. She doesn’t need a “boyfriend.” San holds a knife to Ashitaka’s throat. He tells her “You’re beautiful.” She recoils in horror.

Long story short, there is a point where San saves Ashitaka’s life. Moro allows him to stay with them, and heal, and then kicks him out when he is strong enough. The next morning, Ashitaka is escorted out of the forest by one of San’s “brothers.” He gives the wolf his necklace, and asks that the wolf cub bring it to San.

The cub arrives home, necklace in mouth, just as San is about to leave for battle. She learns the necklace is from Ashitaka. San stares at it, says “pretty,” puts it on, and heads off to join the fight.

Later, Moro asks Ashitaka to “save the girl you love.” Without giving too much of the story away, San has jumped into battle to be the eyes of a giant boar who is blind. He gets tricked, and ends up possessed by demons (who curse San in the same way that Ashitaka was cursed). He manages to save her life, but cannot remove the curse.

These two play an important role in… shall we say, saving the forest from complete destruction. It is a dramatic, powerful, moment, that results in knocking both of them out. They awake, later, lying in the forest together.

They awake together
They awake together

 

This could have turned into the “happily ever after” moment that many stories about Princesses do. Instead, San and Ashitaka have become close friends. They aren’t getting married, and they aren’t going to live together. Each continues his or her own life, with a new connection to a good friend.

There is so much more going on in Princess Mononoke that I have left out. The story is complex, and interwoven. I will note some of the other strong female characters, though.

The most powerful person in Ashitaka’s town is a Wise Woman. His little sister tried to defend her friend from a demon, by pulling a knife and blocking the friend with her own body.

Protecting her friend
Protecting her friend

 

Toki (voiced by Jada Pinkett Smith) is basically the “woman in charge” while Lady Eboshi is away. I highly recommend this movie as an alternative to the stereotypical Disney Princess movies. It is rated PG-13, likely because some of the imagery could be too disturbing for younger viewers.

 

Jen Thorpe is a freelance writer who also spends a lot of time podcasting and playing video games.  The majority of her writing work (and video game blogging) can be found at No Market Collective.  http://www.nomarket.org   

 

‘Puella Magi Madoka Magica,’ Declaration Feminism

Immortality is not what makes a world better. Hope, friendship, and love do, and love is not limited by sex, gender, ethnicity, or race. Women like Homura and Kyoko can fall in love with other women like Madoka and Sayaka respectively. We have the responsibility to stand up with people like them. This series is part of the reason I try to do that and more. I hope that many others to do the same.

caption
Promotional material for Puella Magi Madoka Magica, featuring (left to right): Kyoko Sakura,
Sayaka Miki, Mami Tomoe, Homura Akemi, and Madoka Kaname.

 

This guest post by Matthew Abely appears as part of our theme week on Child and Teenage Girl Protagonists.

It has been said over and over again that “Religion is the opiate of the masses;”[i] that is just not fair. It is not the masses, it is the privileged and powerful, and it is not just religion that is their opiate, it is anything that provides a perpetual escape from the reality that with power and privilege comes responsibility.  Today a lot of people use anime for this.  Beloved anime like Studio Shaft’s spring 2011 series, Puella Magi Madoka Magica (Madoka Magica for short), among others, are heavily feminist.  Go online and even suggest something remotely like this, however, and a virulent few will inevitably rise to shut such thoughts down.[ii] Not this time.

Madoka Magica has a sequel film premiering in theaters,[iii] and it is high time the series’ social criticism and advocacy were recognized. It is high time many an anime received such praise. Madoka Magica, however, is the right place to start. Why is rape and violence against women such a common cross-cultural occurrence that such a term as “rape culture” exists?[iv] Why is male supremacy likewise just as common that there is a term called “patriarchy”?[v]  Why does patriarchy inevitably stratify along class, race, and related social lines (this is called “kyriarchy”)?[vi] Why would anyone institutionalize evil like this?

Madoka Magica is not a perfect response. It does answer all of the above; however, it is in its subtext only. The merchandise its creators license also objectifies the teenage cast horribly.[vii]  The series, however, is still a good place to start. It may only answer these aforementioned fundamental questions of feminist theory through symbolism and allegory. It however also does something few others works of popular fiction seem to do. It gives an idea of what to do about its answers.

caption
Madoka Kaname, Age: 13.

 

Madoka Kaname sees herself as nothing more than average and plain.[viii]

Until the day an entity named Kyuubey informs her that she has dormant superpowers. Magic is real, and everywhere there are invisible monsters called witches instigating traffic accidents, suicides, natural disasters, and more. Kyuubey explains that he and his species, the Incubators, search endlessly for people with dormant magic in order to offer them a contract.  He will grant a person any one wish, and in return they must let him awaken their magic and pledge to do battle with witches as magical girls. Madoka finds out, however, that Kyuubey is not telling the whole truth.[ix]

He awakens magic by placing a person’s soul in a gem, thus making each magical girl the undead. Magical girls’ powers have limits. Should they exhaust all the magic of their soul gem, they die. Witches are born whenever a magical girl dies from soul gem exhaustion. Magical girls themselves can also transmogrify into witches should they succumb to madness, despair, or choose evil. The birth of a witch releases a lot of energy; the transmogrification of a magical girl even more. The Incubators use this energy to fuel the multitude of civilizations across the Earth and universe that they rule from behind the scenes. They do not, however, use everyone as a battery. The Incubators indirectly institutionalize it so that only pubescent girls must be sacrificed.[x]

It is the most efficient way; it is all for the greater good, Kyuubey claims.[xi]

caption
Kyuubey and Madoka in their penultimate of many “debates.”

 

He is not the only one who does. In the United States and Canada, a man rapes a woman every minute; another man hits a woman every nine seconds; men murder 1,000 women via domestic violence a year.[xii]  The law prosecutes less than 10 percent of these men, convicting and sentencing even fewer.[xiii]  Who cares? Steubenville and Pennsylvania State have football games to win.[xiv] Roman Polanski has too many great films to make and Julian Assange too many great secrets to reveal.[xv]  Society simply cannot afford to have any of these rapists waste away in prison.  People kill or sexually enslave at least 200 million women in and around China and India since the One Child Policy began.[xvi] No matter, class warfare—the population boom—must be stopped.[xvii]  Besides, if Senator Hilary Clinton became president of the United States of America[xviii] or Doctor Wangari Maathai a member of the Kenyan Parliament[xix], their “PMS and mood swings” would destroy progress.

It is all for the greater good. It is building a better, immortal, world, Kyuubey repeats over and over again.[xx]  In this better world, however,all four of Madoka’s friends die more horribly than the last.[xxi]

caption
Madoka’s friends unite only in martyrdom; from left to right clockwise: Mami Tomoe, Sayaka Miki, Homura Akemi, Kyoko Sakura.

 

Mami Tomoe, weighed down by the guilt of her parents’ death, attempts to atone by being the perfect school girl, perfect host, perfect warrior, perfect mentor, and perfect leader. She stretches herself too thin; a witch gores her to death.[xxii] Sayaka Miki, upon finding out that her contract made her a zombie, thinks herself too tainted to deserve the love of her secret crush, especially when it turns out he already loves, and is loved in return, by a much more conventionally feminine girl than she. Sayaka resolves to repress all her passion and desire.  She transmogrifies into a witch.[xxiii] Kyoko Sakura uses her magic to help her preacher father convert people to his new strand of Christianity. Ashamed to have needed magic’s help, he murders Kyoko’s sister and mother, and attempts to kill Kyoko as if they were property, before hanging himself. Kyoko becomes so belligerent and cynical that her attempt to befriend Sayaka Miki, whom Kyoko finds she may actually love, backfires. Kyoko commits suicide, battling the witch she helps push Sayaka into becoming.[xxiv]

Homura Akemi comes to love Madoka Kaname. The first time they meet, Madoka is a magical girl. Madoka dies in battle. Homura wishes for the power to change this. She travels back in time, over and over again, trying to save Madoka by any means necessary, including murder. No matter whom she kills, however, Homura makes Madoka’s fate worse with each loop. Madoka dies in battle. Madoka dies and give birth to a witch. Madoka dies and gives birth to a witch that destroys the earth.[xxv]

The Incubator’s desire for immortality and demands for perfect maximum efficiency affects more than just children’s attempts to find happiness. Only the relationship between Madoka’s parents is based on collaboration and equality.[xxvi] Every other adult relationship shown is based on competition and hegemony. Madoka’s teacher is constantly dumped for being an imperfect wife.[xxvii] Madoka’s mother Junko must constantly prove her worth as a business executive by drinking hard with the big boys.[xxviii]  Their neighbors and community forced Kyoko’s family into starvation and destitution when her father’s preaching diverted from Christian dogma.[xxix]  Sayaka breaks and transmogrifies when she encounters two men on a train waxing loudly about the importance of physical and emotional abuse.[xxx]

caption
It is the only shown moment of direct misogyny that pushes Sayaka past her limits.

 

There are beautiful walkways, malls, cafes, schools, apartment complexes in this better world the Incubators have built,[xxxi] yet there are few if any signs that there is community.  The streets are usually deserted.[xxxii] The cafes full of empty chairs at empty tables.[xxxiii]

caption
Sayaka and her friend/romantic rival, Hitomi Shizuki, meeting in a “crowded” café.

 

Pedestrians do not interact.[xxxiv]

caption
Other people once again ignoring Madoka, Sayaka, Kyuubey, and everyone else around them.

 

Only Madoka notices it when a witch’s curse induces a mass hypnosis in the middle of a street.[xxxv]  Sayaka and Kyoko have two loud battles, one that breaks a water pipe and one on a bridge over a crowded freeway.[xxxvi] Nobody notices them. When they die, no one realizes that Mami and Sayaka are even missing until days later.[xxxvii] No one ever noticed that Kyoko still existed after her father’s suicide.[xxxviii] Three characters (Mami, Homura, and Sayaka’s crush Kyouske) all suffer from traffic accidents. No one explains them, and likewise few people notice how common suicides, accidents, natural disasters, and general strife seem to have become.[xxxix]

caption
Mami explaining to Madoka and Sayaka where witches lurk.

 

This better world the Incubators have built may be immortal, yet there is no reason to live in it. There is no companionship nor trust nor love. Madoka sees this; Kyuubey however, continues to insist that short of returning to being naked in caves, there is no other way to live.[xl] He, again, is not the only one.  Even in the face of impending environmental catastrophe, President George H. W. Bush stated: “THE American way of life is not up for negotiation.” [xli] This same American Life has made its people less and less happy since the 1950s, while the amount of time they work has more than doubled.[xlii]  “Let some people get rich first,”[xliii] Chinese Vice-Chairman Deng Xiaoping declared this to be the way to build a modern China.  No one suffers from as much smog as the Chinese.[xliv] Still, men like this and Kyuubey continue to insist: it is foolish to think that there is another way live well. Madoka comes to disagree.

Madoka wishes for the power to stop all witches throughout space and time from being born, and save all magical girls from transmogrifying into them. It works. Madoka ascends to godhood and recreates the universe into one where Kyuubey cannot transmogrify anyone into a witch.[xlv]

caption
Madoka Kaname, Goddess of Hope.

 

caption
Homura Akemi shares her memories of Madoka with Madoka’s brother, Tatsuya Kaname.

 

Though she sacrifices her own mortal existence and all memory that she ever existed in every mind, except Homura’s,[xlvi] she opens a door. Kyriarhcy and its ilk seem to continue to exist in the new universe that Madoka creates.[xlvii] Homura and the now reborn Mami, Kyoko, and Sayaka, however, now have the freedom and so the responsibility to fight back. The same has been true the viewers this whole time.

Madoka Kaname is not the only one who found another way. Those people so often scored as too effeminate to lead:  like Wangari Maathai, Hilary Clinton, and more–they often have as well. Doctor Maathai and the Green Belt Movement toppled a 30-year dictatorship in Kenya. Their first move: empowering communities of impoverished women to plant trees.[xlviii]  They did not win it alone.[xlix] Those who have the privilege to experience art and anime, can choose to use them like drugs, and attempt to escape from reality. We can all stay individuals relating primarily by competition, pretending this will stave off environmental collapse,[l]  or we could choose to become communities, and continue to prove to everyone, human or otherwise, that there are always other ways to live well than violent sacrifice.

Immortality is not what makes a world better. Hope, friendship, and love do, and love is not limited by sex, gender, ethnicity, or race. Women like Homura and Kyoko can fall in love with other women like Madoka and Sayaka respectively.[li] We have the responsibility to stand up with people like them. This series is part of the reason I try to do that and more.  I hope that many others to do the same.

caption
Promotional material for the series; from left to right: Mami Tomoe, Homura Akemi, Madoka Kaname, Sayaka Miki, Kyoko Sakura.

 

Matthew Abely is a recent college graduate, longtime nerd, and novice ally to intersectional feminists. When not researching, writing, or working, he can be found attending comic book conventions with friends on the United States’ Pacific Northwest and Central Coast, or exercising.

[v] Ibid.

[vi] Ibid.

[xi] Ibid.

[xiii] Ibid.

[xiv] Ibid.

[xvii] Ibid.

[xxi] Ibid.

[xxii] Ibid, 1-3.

[xxiii] Ibid, 4-8.

[xxvi] Ibid, 1-12. 

[xxvii] Ibid, 1. 

[xxviii] Ibid, 1-6. 

[xxix] Ibid, 8. 

[xxx] Ibid, 8.

[xxxii] Ibid.

[xxxiv] Ibid, 5. 

[xxxv] Ibid, 4. 

[xxxvi] Ibid, 6-7. 

[xxxvii] Ibid, 11. 

[xxxviii] Ibid, 5-9. 

[xlvi] Ibid.

[xlvii] Ibid.

[xlix] Ibid.

 

What a Witch: Girlhood, Agency, and Community in ‘Kiki’s Delivery Service’ and ‘The Little Mermaid’

Kiki’s Delivery Service carefully constructs a world where a girl’s agency is expected, accepted and supported, while Disney movies typically present a girl’s agency as unusual, forbidden, and denied. The difference between these two messages is that Kiki’s world anticipates and encourages her independence, while the women of Disney are typically punished for this.

For example, in The Little Mermaid Ariel wants to “live out of these waters,” but her father forbids her exploration of the human world and punishes this dream. Sea witch Ursula exploits Ariel’s desire to discover another world beyond her own as well. This is hardly an isolated incident.

kikis-delivery-service

This guest post by Megan Ryland appears as part of our theme week on Child and Teenage Girl Protagonists.

If you haven’t met Kiki, you really should. She’s a 13-year-old girl who is about to start an adventure in Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989). As a witch, she must spend a year in an unfamiliar city, making her way in the world on her own and developing her skill or special talent. In the film, we meet her on the day she begins her journey and we follow her through her first steps in a new city, the development of her own flying delivery service, making new friends, and a crisis that only Kiki can solve. It’s a lovely story, but there’s something bigger at stake.

My interest is in what this story says about girls and agency as they step into the world. To highlight what’s special about Kiki’s adventure, I’ll be measuring it against The Little Mermaid (1989), released in the same year and also featuring a magical girl leaving home for the first time. Many things about Kiki’s Delivery Service set it apart from the standard fare, but I’m going to focus on the depiction of agency, the role of supportive women characters, and the protagonist’s motivation.

On My Own: Girls Leaving Home

Kiki’s Delivery Service carefully constructs a world where a girl’s agency is expected, accepted and supported, while Disney movies typically present a girl’s agency as unusual, forbidden, and denied. The difference between these two messages is that Kiki’s world anticipates and encourages her independence, while the women of Disney are typically punished for this.

For example, in The Little Mermaid Ariel wants to “live out of these waters,” but her father forbids her exploration of the human world and punishes this dream. Sea witch Ursula exploits Ariel’s desire to discover another world beyond her own as well. This is hardly an isolated incident. In Beauty and the Beast, Belle spends much of the movie trapped in a castle and any travel beyond of the control of the men in her life is punished by wolves, the Beast, Gaston, or townsfolk, depending on the transgression. In Aladdin, Jasmine wants to escape the palace that confines her world, but she is quickly returned – and then spends a not insignificant amount of the story imprisoned. Cinderella‘s world appears to be limited to her household, except for her secret, forbidden trip for a few hours of dancing, for which her stepmother punishes her. I am sensing a trend here.

Kiki begins her adventure with the blessing and support of her family, friends and community. Imagine that. In stark contrast to Disney movies, Kiki’s community gathers together to say goodbye and wish her well. They are excited and worried and happy for her, and this combination of support and concern is important. Kiki doesn’t live in a world of rainbows and sunshine where nothing could go wrong, but that doesn’t mean her parents (neither of whom are mysteriously absent) keep her locked up in a tower or hidden in the woods.

In fact, a neighbour who has come to see Kiki off asks her parents, “Aren’t you worried about Kiki living in a big city all alone?” and this type of concern is familiar to girls, who are often made aware that they are especially vulnerable. However, in this film, another townsperson immediately replies to this worry with an authoritative, “Of course they are, but Kiki will be just fine.” This matters. In this tiny moment, the film sets the rules of Kiki’s world from the start. It’s a world where independent 13-year-old girls can and do exist without punishment. They are not trespassing when they leave home. This is a girl’s world too.

-1

Compare the father-daughter moments in the films for a little more insight into how a girl’s agency is viewed by her family. Kiki’s Delivery Service immediately establishes a bond between father and daughter, in part by showing their sentimental parting. When he hugs her, he wonders at how fast Kiki has grown up and gives her a squeeze, but he also gives his blessing and encouragement. He believes in her. The story begins with a hug and a father supporting his daughter’s wishes.

-1

On the other hand, The Little Mermaid ends the movie with a father-daughter embrace, but this one arguably has a whole different set of meanings attached. Although it does indicate giving his blessing, King Triton is giving his daughter away at her wedding, which leaves a rather different impression. Ariel’s father spends most of story trying to force Ariel into the role and place he feels comfortable with, but eventually comes around to the idea of Ariel leaving the sea–to marry Eric. Safe in the arms of her husband, he can finally let Ariel go.

-1

Other characters follow the same approach to agency as the father in each movie; in Kiki’s Delivery Service, characters explicitly encourage Kiki’s independence, while Ariel’s community is generally (loudly) opposed to her exploration of the human world. These differing perspectives on the acceptability and safety of exploration offer two very different visions of the risks girls face when they leave the nest (or the sea). Kiki’s world falls squarely in the pro-exploration and self-discovery camp. Ariel’s? Not so much.

Women as Friends, Mentors, Advisors, and More

Kiki’s world is also populated with a very different crowd than the average Disney movie. By different, I mean there are women in this movie who all vary in their physicality, personality and treatment of Kiki, making the world it presents surprisingly familiar. There are friends and mothers and business owners and artists and spoiled granddaughters and spunky old women and designers and city girls and scientists and snobs. Kiki interacts with all of these women, alongside a cast of men of many ages, statures and temperaments as well.

In The Little Mermaid, women play a much smaller part. Ariel has a chorus of sisters and encounters a series of women servants, but these women are all largely indistinguishable from one another and exchange few words with Ariel. Ariel is surrounded by men–her father, her chaperone Sebastian, her friends Flounder and Skuttle, her love interest Prince Eric, palace staff like Grimsby and Chef Louis, et al–but Ursula is the only woman Ariel has any meaningful exchanges with.

Ursula is actually a particularly interesting example to pull out of each movie, as there is a character of this name in both. In The Little Mermaid, Ursula is the evil sea witch who lives alone, aside from her eels and the “poor unfortunate souls” she’s tricked. She lures Ariel into a poor deal by dangling her freedom in exchange for her voice as a part of a scheme to steal King Triton’s power. She is considered evil, ugly and cruel, so her eventual death is a cause for celebration.

-1

In Kiki’s Delivery Service, Ursula is a painter and recluse, living alone in her cabin in the woods except for the crows. She also makes a deal to help Kiki, but here she merely fixes a toy in exchange for Kiki completing chores. They become friends and when Kiki is later filled with self-doubt–so much so that she loses touch with her magic–Ursula offers her support and a place to stay. Ursula also explains how she has personally dealt with self-doubt about her paintings and encourages Kiki to stop putting so much pressure on herself and to believe in her abilities. In essence, she acts as a friend, mentor and role model to the younger girl.

-1

Kiki lives in a generally supportive community, yes, but it is important to note that this is a community where she receives friendship, guidance and support from the women around her–like many girls do in real life. Kiki’s role models are the women who provide supportive guidance but always allow her to make her own decisions, unlike the advisors for Ariel (King Triton, Sebastian, and Ursula) who try to force her hand. It isn’t even that the movie is paying special attention to the bonds of “Sisterhood” and Kiki certainly doesn’t get along with all of the girls she meets. We just rarely see women talking to women about something other than men in film, so it stands out as important.

Your Heart’s Desire

A final vital aspect I would like to highlight is the difference in goals between Kiki and Ariel. Kiki is looking to discover her own skills and train as a witch, so she begins her own small business and works hard to earn a living by helping people. Kiki’s desires are personal and internal, and so are her obstacles. The main difficulty Kiki faces is her own self-doubt, lack of confidence and depression, with some hijinks thrown in. Watching Kiki’s tale, we see a girl determining her own fate and discovering her strengths, with the help of friends. She saves the day by overcoming her lack of confidence and recalling her power to fly in time to save her friend Tombo from a surely fatal fall.

In The Little Mermaid, Ariel’s wish for freedom to see the human world very quickly becomes a quest for a kiss and we don’t get to see a return to her curiosity about the world during the rest of the tale. Ariel’s goal just becomes about winning Eric, particularly from Ursula’s tentacles.

-1

Unlike The Little Mermaid, romance is entirely optional and secondary in Kiki’s adventure, and not always desirable. Jiji, Kiki’s cat companion, actually falls in love, but his romance leads to his abandoning Kiki when she most needs him. Kiki’s own potential romantic subplot could be interpreted as an entirely platonic interaction, as Tombo is a persistent fan of the young witch, but Kiki’s feelings toward him are less clear. Kiki isn’t sure how to go about making friends in this new town, including a relatable uncertainty about how to approach Tombo. This growing relationship is slow moving and clearly secondary to Kiki’s obligations to her delivery service business. This makes her priorities seem practically opposite to Ariel’s concerns, as the mermaid gives up her fins and her community for a boy she’s known for three days.

-1

Ariel’s goals are relational and external, and her obstacles are set to match. In The Little Mermaid, the day is saved with little to no action by Ariel, who is a bystander to many of the events. Her friends drag her to the wedding and delay the ceremony, while Prince Eric is the one to defeat Ursula. However, you don’t necessarily miss her participation in the action, because Ariel does get what she wants: Eric. Her kiss. Kiki’s story could not be similarly resolved. We require personal growth and discovery to solve her problem and achieve her heart’s desire.

The divergence in the motivation of the protagonists highlights that the goals of each story are radically different. I’ll admit that I’m comparing apples and oranges. This could be a silly exercise, except that I grew up in an apple orchard, so of course that’s my reference point. Disney is the reference point for many children, especially girls. Although new stories have certainly been introduced since I was a little girl watching The Little Mermaid, I can’t say that Disney has loosened its hold over girls. My point here is to show how poorly served girls are when they don’t have access to tales like Kiki’s, which is constructed so differently from the Disney classics. Released in the same year, these two films present almost oppositional messages about girl entering the big bad world. What I wouldn’t give to hear more about Kiki’s narrative than Ariel’s.

Kiki’s Delivery Service is a coming-of-age story about finding your identity, stepping out on your own, falling and getting back up again. Kiki moves through this critical process with the help of the friends and family–particularly women–around her. In telling this story, it is a movie that supports the agency and power of girls, and doing it without making our protagonist into an Exception. Kiki is no rebellious wild child, no infallible hero, and no chosen one. She’s a 13-year-old girl who gets nervous, gets things wrong, and doesn’t always know what she’s doing. In making Kiki relatable, the film normalizes forging your own identity as something that every witch–or girl–must do.

What does it mean to build and depict a world where girls are supported in their growth and independence, instead of stymied? Among other things, it means that viewers (especially girls) get a chance to imagine a world that doesn’t eat you alive. Not a world without obstacles, but one where those who love you offer guidance and encouragement. It is a hopeful story about the challenges of girlhood and independence, and we need more of them. Kiki is doing what we all have to do: leave home, grow up, and find our place in the world. It’s scary thing, but it’s exciting too. It’s a story we are going to live and story we should be told.

 

Megan Ryland is a writer, feminist and nerd currently living Vancouver, BC. She recently completed her BA in Gender, Race, Sexuality and Social Justice & Political Science at the University of British Columbia. You can hear more from her at her blog Beauty vs Beast and as part of the team posting at The Body is Not an Apology.

 

 

Older Women Week: Kind Grandmothers and Powerful Witches in Studio Ghibli Films

Studio Ghibli

This is guest post by Eugenia Andino previously appeared at her Web site (in Spanish) and is cross-posted with permission. 

The female protagonists in Studio Ghibli films have often been analysed as examples of feminist work; ranging from young women (like Nausicaa or Princess Mononoke) to little girls like Ponyo. The most popular ones, like Chihiro in Spirited Away, are just on the brink of adolescence. While it is true that there are not many adult women in Studio Ghibli films, there are varied, sympathetic and imaginative portraits of older women, normally in supporting roles.
These older women can be broadly grouped in two types.
The main ones are the wise or nurturing women. The first of them is Obaba in Nausicaa. We first meet her when her family meets Lord Yupa, a visitor, and Obaba interprets for them the local legend of a hero in blue, in a golden field, who will save the Valley. Obaba is brave and strong, if somewhat fatalistic; she dares invaders to kill her, and near the end of the film she seems resigned to the end of the people either by the toxic plants, an attack of giant insects, or foreign invaders. In any case, it is remarkable that for the role of symbolic voice of the Valley culture, the film chooses an old woman rather than a wise man or a warrior.
Princess Mononoke is a film with a similar theme, the conflict created by an industrial city whose prosperity depends on the exploitation of a magical forest. The old, wise woman here is Hii-sama. She tries to placate the possessed boar who bites and curses Ashitaka, without success, and then decides that the protagonist should leave the village and find a cure in the west. Since Ashitaka leaves not to come back, she doesn’t reappear. Again, the character gives richness to the film.

 

Dola and her sons

 

Sometimes the nurturing woman isn’t a “wise woman” type but simply kind, nurturing, and treated with great sympathy by the story. This is the case with Granny in My Neighbour Totoro, and of the many women in the home where Lisa works in Ponyo. In the forced absence of Satsuki and Mei’s mother because of her illness, Granny (who is not their grandmother but a neighbor, and the grandmother of Satsuki’s friend, Okagi), gives much needed love and attention to the little girl. At the same time, the film never implies that only women should take care of children, as can be seen in the initial scenes of the two little girls housekeeping and bathing with their father, in a rare, realistic and positive example of fatherhood. In this film and in Ponyo, these kinds old neighbors form a community that gives much needed emotional support to little children with loving but busy parents.
But older women’s roles as family caretakers aren’t only surrogate, as we can see in My Neighbors the Yamadas, a sweet “slice of life” piece composed of vignettes. Here we find a family with Takashi, the father, Matsuko the mother, Shige the grandmother, Noburu, a teenage boy, and Nonoko, a little girl. At the end of the film, Noburu jokes that the family works because all three adults are crazy: if any one of them were sensible, the balance would be broken. There’s some truth to this, as there are a number of unresolved tensions among the adults that would be unbearable with only two of them (or if they didn’t love one another very much). The conflict between Granny Shige and her son-in-law is stated early on the film: the property is hers, but he built the house himself. Here and elsewhere, Matsuko doesn’t take sides and tries to stop the fight. On their part, Shige and Matsuko both argue about their (unenthusiastic) housekeeping. Although Shige is often witty and very funny, it’s not all rosy; for example, the melancholy caused by the nearness of her death and the sickness of a friend is the theme of one of the Shorts.

 

In Spirited Away, we find an example of each category, so let’s introduce the second one: the ambiguous villain or antagonist.
This film has two twin sisters, Yubaba and Zeniba. Their age is doubtful: they look old, but Yubaba has a baby boy. In a way that reminds me slightly of Lady Eboshi in Princess Mononoke, she is, first and foremost, a businesswoman. Her biggest flaw is her greed, but she’s not truly evil. She doesn’t want to cause unnecessary harm, and she always keeps her word, even when she complains that it goes against her interests. Her sister Zeniba starts off as another antagonist, who attacks Haku and transforms Yubaba’s baby boy into a mouse, and then turns out to be grandmotherly and friendly and angry only at her sister for ordering Haku to steal from her. This gives complexity and appeal to the character, showing that “nurturing grandmothers” have their own interests and needs too.

 

Hii-Sama dictates Ashitaka’s destiny
In Howl’s Moving Castle there is another couple, if not so well paired up: Sophie, the main character, is transformed into a 90-year-old woman by the Witch of the West. This gets the main adventures of the film started as she searches for a way to break the spell and finds Howl. Just like in Spirited Away or Ponyo, the spell is broken with love, which isn’t very original. The interesting thing about Sophie’s transformation is that a shy, insecure, and practical girl finds a housekeeping job that suits her well, but only after being cursed with old age. This, in the context of Ghibli films as a whole, suggests again the nurturing, caring values of grandmotherly types. Here, they are certainly compensated and kept refreshing and fun rather than repetitive with the Witch of the West, a rare character because she’s mostly (or completely) villainous, with no redeeming features. And finally, Madame Suliman, of uncertain age (her hair is white, but she doesn’t look as old as the other two), is a powerful magician who used to be Howl’s master and teacher.
The Castle in the Sky includes an ambiguous character which is probably the funniest and most groundbreaking of all of Ghibli’s older women: Captain Dola, an air pirate. She initially appears to be a villain, but later she joins forces with the protagonists, Sheeta and Pazu, against Muska. With her sons as henchmen, stealing treasures is her main objective. She shows a great love for her sons, companionship with her husband, and kindness to Sheeta while still fulfilling the role of reckless, greedy pirate. She’s arguably the most memorable element in the whole film.

 

A grandmotherly Zeniba teaches No-Face how to knit

 

Despite the repetition of patterns, with all these witches and grandmothers, the characterisation of older women in Studio Ghibli films is never stereotypical. If Ghibli heroines can show children that little girls can be clever, courageous and admirable, these secondary characters show that their spark and their charm are not lost with age.
Eugenia Andino Lucas is a teacher of English as a Foreign Language in Spain. She’s also working on a PhD on Gender Violence in the novels of Charles Dickens. You can follow her on twitter: @laguiri and on her blog: eugeniaandino.bachpress.org.

 

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.

    Miyazaki Month: Howl’s Moving Castle

    Written by Myrna Waldron.

    Howl’s Moving Castle travelling through the mountains


    The next film featured in my “Miyazaki Month” retrospective is Howl’s Moving Castle. It was the successor to Spirited Away, which was supposed to be Miyazaki’s Swan Song, but then again so was Princess Mononoke. Dude’s never going to retire, and that’s just fine. It didn’t repeat Spirited Away’s success at the Oscars (losing to Curse of the Were-Rabbit) but is still a fan favourite. It’s also one of his few films to be an adaptation (Ponyo’s retelling of The Little Mermaid being the other one) though it doesn’t even try to be faithful. I have read the original book by Diana Wynne Jones, but it’s been a few years (Yes, I promise to re-read it soon). I do know for sure that the war subplot was definitely not in the novel. TV Tropes says that Miyazaki was incredibly upset by the US invasion of Iraq (as any sensible person would be) so he wove that into his adaptation. Environmentalism isn’t a theme this time (beyond lavish depictions of nature, but that’s a Ghibli thing) but pacifism and feminism make a reappearance.
    • So far, the English dub script is the most accurate of the three films I’ve reviewed. I suspect this is because this film is an adaptation of a Western novel and, as such, includes a Western understanding of Fantasy Tropes rather than Japanese. Far less localization would be required in adapting the script. No Captain Obvious lines this time, thank goodness. There were a few line changes I took notice of, however. In the Japanese version, Sophie says that she hired herself as a cleaning lady. In the dub, however, she says that Calcifer hired her because he couldn’t stand how messy the castle was. Not really sure why the change was necessary here. Another change irked me a little. When Howl is telling Sophie about his past with the Witch of the Waste, in Japanese, he says, “She seemed quite interesting, so I approached her. But she terrified me, and I ran away.” In English, he says, “She was once quite beautiful, so I decided to pursue her. But I realized she wasn’t, so, as usual, I ran away.” The Witch is extremely overweight, but until her powers are stripped by Suliman, she’s clearly still beautiful. This script change reinforces the bullshit that fat women are automatically no longer beautiful.
    • Spirited Away’s English cast is still better than this film’s. I honestly really do not like the casting of Christian Bale as Howl. I’ve never liked his Batman voice, and that’s honestly all I can hear here. And really, for a character who is a flamboyant, foppish pretty-boy, they chose Christian Bale? Still, at least he had prior experience as a voice actor for Disney. Jean Simmons and Emily Mortimer are fine as Old and Young Sophie. Though it’s a little distracting that Sophie is the only one with a British accent here. And as a fan of old movies, I loved being able to hear Lauren Bacall’s husky voice again. As for Billy Crystal, well, I think they just gave him a basic translation of the Japanese script and told him to go nuts. Calcifer’s dialogue diverges from the original script the most, and definitely has an improvisational air to it. But I don’t mind, since his performance makes the movie. (He also had prior Disney voice acting experience.)
    • If I had one big complaint to make about this film, it’s that the 3rd act is a MESS. It’s taken me several re-watchings of the film to make heads or tails of it, because there is just way too much going on and very little is explained. This is a problem that is in a lot of Miyazaki films, but it’s particularly bad here. I believe the film’s ending diverges almost completely from the book’s, too. The really mindbending thing is that the film contains a causal loop. Sophie travels to Howl’s past via the black portal on the door, and witnesses him making the bargain with Calcifer. No reason is given for him to make this decision. She’s able to manipulate the events of the past rather than just watching them, and says that she knows now how to save both of them, and asks for him to find her in the future. And the first thing he ever said to her was, “I was looking everywhere for you.” But it is not explained how the black portal can travel to the past. And it is the black portal that Howl exits through when he’s out sabotaging the bombers. So…what exactly does that black portal DO? Was Sophie only allowed to go to the past because she was desperately trying to find a way to help Howl? This stuff still confuses me 10 years later. I know that showing rather than telling is an important filmmaking principle, but there’s a limit here.
    Sophie can no longer put up with Howl’s vanity, saying she has never once been beautiful

    • Sophie is another wonderful Miyazaki female protagonist. Like the others, she has agency, and drives forward her own story. Howl’s name may be in the title, but he’s a secondary protagonist to her. Her character arc is centred around her low self-esteem, and is a commentary on how women are pitted against each other in the interest of attracting men. She’s shy and relatively plain compared to her glamorous mother and sister, so she dresses dowdy and keeps telling herself that she’s not beautiful (even though anyone who sees her would disagree). The Witch of the Waste, who desires to possess Howl’s heart, is jealous of Sophie (and presumably any woman that gets mixed up with Howl), so she casts a curse to make Sophie become a 90 year old woman. We could probably divine some Freudian implications here – The Witch removed her rival by taking her fertility away. The properties of the curse are another thing that aren’t really explained in this film. As the story progresses, Sophie gradually becomes younger (usually appearing 60ish rather than 90ish), but in times when she shows confidence, reverts back to her true age. Her hair even reverts to its original colour when she’s asleep, suggesting that she has to be conscious of the spell for it to work. The explanation given on TV Tropes which makes the most sense to me is that she is unknowingly recasting the spell on herself every time she puts herself down, and that it actually broke long before. Thematically, it seems that this film is arguing that age is in many ways a social construct, and that you only sabotage yourself when you put yourself down. But I can certainly sympathize with Sophie. Lord knows I’ve been there.
    • Although I find the ending convoluted, I enjoyed watching Sophie save the day. Howl only has his double-edged sword magic to rely on, whereas she has a quick wit that she didn’t recognize in herself until she became old. It wasn’t until there was no reason to doubt herself anymore that she started gaining confidence. Much of her actions are because of her love for Howl, but she does not have a slavish single-minded devotion to him. Instead, her love makes her want to stand up for him, and to want to care for the others in their “family.” She even forgives The Witch and uses affection to persuade her to give Howl’s heart back to him. Only weeks before, she was enjoying The Witch’s struggles to climb the palace steps. It shows how far both of them have come. And I liked that two people who originally considered each other romantic rivals could find an understanding and an affection for each other as family. How often does that happen?
    The Witch of the Waste’s powers are stripped away by Suliman
    • Speaking of The Witch of the Waste, I’m still not sure how I feel about her character. I wonder how necessary it was to make her grotesquely fat (admittedly, I don’t remember if she was overweight or not in the novel). She’s clearly the kind of fat person who never moves around at all (she doesn’t even walk if she doesn’t have to), but I am getting very tired of depictions of fat people that make us out to be as lazy as possible. It’s inferred that her outward appearance is a reflection of the ugliness inside of her, but again, is that kind of inference really necessary? It was also kind of sadistic that Madame Suliman forced her to climb up an enormous amount of stairs in order to debase the Witch and make her physically weak. Still, I do like that once again in a Miyazaki film, here’s a supposed villain with some moral ambiguities. She’s clearly not completely to blame for her predicament, or for her greed for Howl’s heart, as she, too, gave up her heart to a demon. And once she’s depowered, she’s a sweet, senile old lady – this is who she really is inside.
    • Madame Suliman appears to be the real villain of this story. She allows the King to be a blustering, warmongering fool. She entices The Witch of the Waste into coming to the Palace with a promise that her powers will be respected at last, and instead springs a trap that removes The Witch’s powers (brushing it off as a punishment for The Witch’s selfishness). And she sends a royal invite to Howl under both of his pseudonyms, knowing that he cannot refuse and that both of them are him. She even plans to blackmail Howl into fighting for the Empire, or she will depower him just like she did to The Witch. Suliman is a total tyrant, and yet she gets away with it at the end because she’s planning to stop the war. Bit of an anticlimax there, but then again, there was already too much going on in the 3rd act. I wish I knew more about her, especially her time as Howl’s teacher. Surely some of the “War is bad!” stuff could have been dropped for a little more character development for her. (I’m already sympathetic to that message, after all.)
    Howl presents to Sophie a beautiful field filled with ponds and wildflowers
    I sound like I dislike this film more than I do. I really do love the fairy tale story, Sophie and Calcifer’s characters, and the trademark sumptuous visuals. I love the steampunkiness of the setting (which appears to be Victorian Germany). I love that this is a fairy tale where the heroine is the one who drives the story forward, and makes everything all right in the end. I remember reading some bullcrap from the screenwriter of Oz: The Great and Powerful complaining that there aren’t enough fairy tales with men as the heroes. (Yes, really.) If he’d seen this film, maybe he’d finally understand just how rare heroines like Sophie are. What I love, most of all, is this film’s approach to the issue of self-esteem of women. Miyazaki understands very well just how hard it is for us to be confident in a world that is constantly telling us that we’re inferior. And that we have to find the confidence within ourselves – being told we’re beautiful isn’t enough, we have to believe it.



    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.

    Miyazaki Month: Spirited Away

    Written by Myrna Waldron.
    Haku and Chihiro walk through a floral maze
    Spirited Away has a deserved reputation as Hayao Miyazaki’s Magnum Opus, and even managed to outgross Princess Mononoke at the Japanese box office. It’s also, to this date, the only traditionally animated non-Western animated feature to win the Best Animated Feature Oscar. Which really should be called the Pixar Award For Distinguished Achievement At Being Pixar. I have trouble believing that the film is 12 years old, because it feels like it was released only yesterday. I slightly prefer Princess Mononoke, but Spirited Away is just as much a masterpiece as Miyazaki’s other works.
    And, of course, it’s feminist too.
    • The English dub is not as accurate as Princess Mononoke’s was. It’s still very well done, but there was a lot more ad-libbing, extra dialogue, and some slight fiddling around with plot points. The Captain Obvious problem happens again with some of Chihiro’s dialogue, (“Haku! You’re bleeding!”) and they have her talk about Haku a lot more often than she does in the original script. The other characters often make allusions to The Power of Love that weren’t there in the original. Zeniba even says that her curse on Haku was broken by Chihiro’s love for him, though I think this change was added not so much to push the romance angle but to make the whole situation with Zeniba a little clearer. …Not that it helped much. I prefer the casting of voice actors in this film, as there aren’t any gratuitous celebrity voice actors this time. Of the main cast, the most well-known name is the late Suzanne Pleschette, and she would only be familiar to Baby Boomers for the most part. Even then, she and almost all of the others had previous experience as voice actors for Disney. And yes, Disney, you get a cookie for casting Daveigh Chase (who was fantastic as Lilo) instead of one of the Fannings. One other thing I have to commend the English dub for is that hilarious song about No-Face that John Ratzenberger ad-libbed for his character. Definite improvement over the original, which was already a very funny scene. I don’t know why the English dub team decided to go back to doing celebrity voice actors for future Ghibli releases, especially ones that are destined to immediately date the film like a Cyrus sister and a Jonas brother would.
    • Chihiro is the type of little girl heroine I wish I had when I was younger. Hayao Miyazaki has said that he specifically designed her to be average, relatable, likeable, and non-sexualized. He has also said how much he resents that a hero can be unattractive, but a heroine must always be cute. Chihiro really does look, act and feel like a real Japanese child, not a fantasy of what one “should” be. Her story has been compared to Alice in Wonderland, which I can sorta see (little girl is trapped in a dreamlike world where people are needlessly hostile to her and not much makes sense). One thing I really love about how Chihiro is depicted in this movie is all the little touches that make her feel real. When she puts on her shoes, she taps her toes on the floor to make sure the shoe is on properly as she walks off. Something that we normally don’t even think about, our tiniest little unconscious habits, Hayao Miyazaki has thought of, and added to the depiction of his heroine.
    • As mentioned before, one of Miyazaki’s favourite themes is environmentalism, and it plays a role in the plot in two instances. First, Chihiro proves herself to Yubaba and the other workers by successfully “curing” the Stink God that was actually the spirit of a severely polluted river. The “Stink God”’s appearance is a pretty heavy condemnation of how disgusting pollution is. The characters make it clear with their expressions that the bathhouse guest is the worst thing they have ever smelled in their lives. Its very presence rots the furniture. It’s actually pretty hard not to feel grossed out during that scene, and again at the end when Chihiro and the others pull the enormous pile of garbage out of the river spirit. This scene gives a strong visual consequence of pollution, and by adding a spiritual element to it, gives another reason for sympathy. Environmentalism is referenced again when Haku turns out to be the spirit of the Kohaku River. Chihiro had fallen in the river when she was very small, and he had saved her. She tells him that the river was drained and built over, which is why Haku forgot his name and identity and entered his life of servitude to Yubaba. A major character’s life was ruined by a lack of reverence for nature.
    Chihiro and Haku remember how they know each other
    • I am appreciative that once again, romance is not the most important “goal” of the story, but what is most important is to just to show Chihiro’s maturing (though I do think the English dub pushed the “power of love” angle a bit too much). And really, I honestly feel uncomfortable thinking of Chihiro and Haku’s relationship as romantic. The characters mention that Chihiro loves him, but it’s a very shortsighted person who immediately concludes that the only definition of love between non-related people has to be romantic. She’s a little girl, he’s an immortal dragon spirit. There’s no way their relationship (if there even is one) can work – they’re better off as friends, just like Ashitaka and San. And really, who’s to say that Chihiro isn’t the type of person who just loves everyone? She’s shown to be a kind and generous person, and she even shows some degree of affection towards Yubaba.
    • It is fitting that the beginning of the film is about Chihiro and her family moving to a new home, as the major theme of the film is transition and change. Chihiro is just at the cusp of puberty – that awkward, rather unpleasant time where you are rapidly leaving childhood and you’re not sure what’s going to happen next. She starts out petulant and sullen as she hates having to leave her friends behind. And right from the beginning, we see how negligent and foolish her parents are, as they let Chihiro roll around in the backseat without a seatbelt (and her father drives around like a maniac!). It’s too late for her parents to learn anything, so Chihiro has to step up and be the responsible one. She has her moments of weakness, especially near the beginning when she repeatedly breaks down and cries, but this is a reasonable reaction for her. I’m (supposedly) an adult, and I’m not so sure I wouldn’t panic if I were in her situation. It’s very striking when Chihiro shows maturity – she remembers her manners again, she works hard without complaint, and she shows that she has a great intuitive ability. This is very deliberate, I suspect. Just like Chihiro’s parents, we often make the mistake of dismissing a child entirely because they’re a child. And little girls in particular seem to be dismissed and underestimated the most. Look at the crappy toys they get. “Here, honey, this is a plastic iron and ironing board so you can play at doing work! And here’s a doll that talks about nothing but shopping!” Miyazaki has given us a heroine that shows us just how strong and capable children can be – intellectually, emotionally, and physically.
    • The other characters go through a character arc of maturity and change as well, and likely as a result of meeting Chihiro. Haku starts off ambiguously – he confusingly shows great kindness and yet great coldness to Chihiro at the same time. But when he regains his name, and regains his freedom, his cold eyes become warm and affectionate. He starts off as a kind of saviour or guardian to Chihiro, which she repays by being a kind of saviour to him. Rin, the spirit that Chihiro assists in the bathhouse, very quickly goes from contempt to kindness as she gets to know Chihiro. Her third helper, Kamaji, starts off gruffly, but quickly goes well out of his way to help her, such as pretending that she’s his granddaughter, and even giving her train tickets that he had been saving for 40 years. These three characters who serve as her helpers all have one thing in common – they make a complete arc from rejecting Chihiro to totally embracing her.
    Chihiro passes by a mysterious stone statue
    • The twin sorceresses, Yubaba and Zeniba, also go through a character transition. Yubaba is apparently the villain of the story, as she steals Chihiro’s name and forces her to work for her parents’ freedom. And yet she is not entirely evil, (there’s that trademark Miyazaki moral ambiguity again) as she clearly loves her baby Boh, and even keeps her word to release Chihiro’s contract if she passes her test. She’s not a nice lady by any means, but when the story ends she doesn’t seem nearly as horrible as she did at the beginning. Boh himself goes through a fairly quick maturation, as he starts off as a coddled shut-in paranoid about germs, and ends up happily assisting Chihiro, and both figuratively and literally stands up to his mother. Zeniba… I have a little more trouble understanding. When we first see her, she’s clearly trying to kill Haku for stealing her golden seal. She also physically transforms all the creatures in Yubaba’s room, which seems to be a punishment against her sister. At that point, she is not only physically identical to Yubaba, but identical in personality as well. So it is pretty jarring for her to be suddenly sweet and grandmotherly to Chihiro when they meet. She’s still kind of brusque, but definitely a complete transformation from her introduction. I’ve never entirely been able to figure it out. There’s a theory that Yubaba and Zeniba are two halves of the same person (which is hinted at when Chihiro calls both of them “Granny”), which sort of gives an explanation…but it’s hard to wrap my mind around.
    • The whole movie is kind of a mind screw, really, and I don’t think that’s entirely because I’m mostly unfamiliar with Japanese mythology. When I finished rewatching it yesterday, I had more questions than answers. I cannot take credit for this observation, but my mind was blown when it was pointed out how different the entrance to the tunnel was at the beginning and the end of the film. At the end, the red paint has worn off. The tunnel has been covered in ivy. The cobblestones are covered with grass. The foliage is thicker. And the little stone statue has been eroded by weather. Chihiro’s father points out that there are leaves all over the car, and dust inside it. But just how long were they trapped inside the spirit world? It seemed like less than a week to Chihiro’s perspective, but it has obviously been much longer than that. All of those changes from beginning to end suggest that they were in there for decades. Time and space clearly have no meaning there (for one thing, the day/night schedule is flipped), because why would it matter to something immortal and immaterial? But then the horror hit me. What happened when they arrived at their new home? At the very least, this family has been missing for a week. Pretty heavy implications there.
    • I have other questions too, not just about the period of time and ambiguity of Zeniba’s character. Is Boh actually Yubaba’s baby? How long has he been a baby? What do the bathhouse workers actually look like (their humanoid appearance is obviously not natural)? What will happen to Haku, since the river that he represents is gone? Did cleaning the polluted river spirit actually clean the river itself? Were Chihiro’s parents genuinely being gluttonous, or were they enchanted to act that way? How did it become nighttime so quickly after Chihiro’s family crossed into the spirit world in broad daylight? Were Chihiro’s family the only humans who stumbled into the spirit world, or have there been others? (The tunnel’s not all that well hidden, after all!) But the fact that I want all these answers tells me that this is the mark of a film with rich world-building, and a film that shows rather than tells. When I woke up this morning, I thought I didn’t have as much to say about Spirited Away. And yet, here I am babbling for 2100 words. That’s the sign of a film that is special.  


      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.

      Miyazaki Month: Princess Mononoke

      Written by Myrna Waldron.

      You will find few well-known directors as overtly feminist as Hayao Miyazaki. Of the 10 films he has directed, only two, The Castle of Cagliostro & Porco Rosso, have male protagonists. The others have dual male and female protagonists (Castle In The Sky, Princess Mononoke, Howl’s Moving Castle and Ponyo) or female protagonists (Nausicaa, My Neighbour Totoro, Kiki’s Delivery Service, Spirited Away). And not only are many of the main characters in his films female, they are also well rounded, realistically flawed, and given a great deal of agency in their stories. When I think of the Strong Female Character feminist media critics are always hoping for, I think of Miyazaki’s characters first.

      For the month of May, I will be writing about 4 films directed by Hayao Miyazaki: Princess Mononoke, Spirited Away, Howl’s Moving Castle and Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind. The first three are my personal favourites of his work, and it will be my first time watching Nausicaa. It is my plan not only to discuss feminist aspects of the films, but also to discuss other themes/messages present in Miyazaki’s work (environmentalism and pacifism most commonly) and to compare the Disney/Miramax English dubs of the films to the original Japanese dialogue.

      The Deer God gives life and takes life away

      Princess Mononoke was the first Hayao Miyazaki film I watched. It came out a couple of years after Sailor Moon had introduced me to anime, and all of my nerdy peers were excited about the film because it was by this great, talented animator, and in Japan the film was even more popular than Titanic. It was refreshing for me to watch an animated film with complex themes, moral ambiguities and some decidedly un-kid friendly violence. I was already fascinated by animation, and Princess Mononoke showed me just how broad a medium it could be.

      This is why I found the comparisons of Hayao Miyazaki to American films & filmmakers particularly frustrating. He’s been called “The Walt Disney of Japan,” which, frankly, reeks of a statement by someone who doesn’t really understand or respect animation that much. About all the two have in common is that they directed critically acclaimed animated films. Miyazaki’s films are steeped in Japanese culture and mythology, Disney’s films are distinctly American (even when they’re adapting other cultures’ stories). One particularly annoying thing is on the original Princess Mononoke DVD release, they’ve got the usual banal blurbs from film reviewers that marketers insist on ruining their DVD art with. But the quote they chose baffles me. “The Star Wars of animated features!” says The New York Post. I know the Post is a goddamn travesty of a newspaper, but what does that even mean? What does a film about Japanese mythology, environmentalism and industrial progress have to do with giant spaceships and lightsabers? (Best that I can come up with is that they’re both films popular with nerds.)

      Sigh. Anyway, here are my observations about Princess Mononoke:

      The first glimpse of San
      • I was able to simultaneously compare the English dub script (written by Neil Gaiman, a name that should be familiar to any fantasy literature fan) with the Japanese script by having the audio be in English and the subtitles be a literal translation of the Japanese script. For the most part, Gaiman’s adaptation was very accurate (which is what Disney promised Studio Ghibli upon offering to distribute their work in North America), and he was able to convey the general meaning of most of the dialogue. There were some parts I was disappointed with, however. There was a lot more exposition in the English dialogue, especially in the opening narration, which makes me feel like the people in charge of the English adaptation didn’t trust their audience. Ashitaka’s dialogue kind of had a Captain Obvious element to it, as well. In one scene, he wakes up, sees his demon scar is still on his hand, and says “The scar’s still there,” as if we can’t tell. In the Japanese script, he said nothing, just sighed. The biggest loss in this adaptation was that a great deal of Japanese culture – geography, history and mythology – was removed from the English script (especially from Jiko’s dialogue). I imagine this was done to help localize the setting for a Western audience, but it seemed a bit disrespectful, considering how distinctly Japanese Miyazaki’s films are. Gaiman also made the inexplicable choice of changing the Deer God’s name to “Forest Spirit.” I suppose Forest Spirit sounds a bit more poetic and more-or-less describes the Deer God’s role, but considering the other large animals are referred to as Gods, and the Deer God is a DEER, why the change?
      • The marketing for the initial DVD release sucks. I have mentioned the bizarre “Star Wars of animated features!” reviewer blurb. Another problem is that they gave the film the world’s most cliched and inaccurate tagline. “The fate of the world rests on the courage of one warrior.” First off, it’s not the world, it’s just that particular area of Japan. Second, the fate of the “world” doesn’t just rest on Ashitaka’s shoulders, it is equally San’s burden too, AND the people of both the forest and Irontown. Don’t give Ashitaka all the credit. The DVD artwork is pretty boring too – a picture of Ashitaka in a sword fight, which paints the film as more action-oriented than it actually is. And note that the title character, Princess Mononoke/San, doesn’t even appear on the cover. She’s just given a small section of the back cover that she shares with Eboshi, and her mouth is wide open in it! She does appear on the cover artwork for DVD releases for other markets, which, unfortunately, yet again shows how little female characters matter to North American marketers.
      • Ashitaka as a protagonist isn’t nearly as interesting as the other characters. I get that he’s meant to be both the audience surrogate and a neutral party between the endless war between the beings of the forest and the residents of Irontown. But he doesn’t seem to have any of the fascinating flaws that the other characters have. His mission is to see the truth with eyes unclouded by hatred, which he tries to stick to, but his cursed scar has other ideas. The scar’s super strength forcing him to dismember his attackers seems to be the only flaw Ashitaka has, and it’s not even a natural flaw. He seems to exist mostly as a mouthpiece for pacifism – he continually asks the forest dwellers and the people why they can’t live in peace, and refuses to accept their cynical answers. His complete goodness in a story full of moral ambiguities makes him seem like he doesn’t even belong in his own tale.
      • San, on the other hand, fascinates me. As the adopted human child of a Wolf God mother, she is both human and animal, and neither human nor animal at the same time. She has grown up hating humans, as her mother Moro has witnessed them acting as selfish and disrespectful beings that continuously defile her forest. The first time Ashitaka sees her, she is sucking the blood out of a wound Moro has suffered in an attempt to get at the iron bullet within her. She is wild, defiant, and free. She continually tries to reject her own humanity – her war mask is grotesque, and when she is at war, she considers herself an animal. A female protagonist with complete agency, she makes several difficult moral choices throughout the film and drives her own story forward. Like many of the other characters, her morals are in shades of grey. We can sympathize with her fervent desire to save the forest which has been the only home she has ever known. Less sympathetic is her tendency to blame all humans for the actions of a few, and her obsession with executing Lady Eboshi.
      • Unlike how other films present love stories, San and Ashitaka’s relationship subverts all the cliches. Notably, he does not get the girl, because she is a being in control of her own life, and not a prize to be won. They agree to part as friends, because she cannot forgive humans for what they have done to her forest. He accepts this, and tells her that he will help the people rebuild Irontown, and also promises to visit her whenever he can. This is the best possible outcome for their relationship, for if San were to be with him, she would be rejecting the animal side of her, and it is so ingrained in her, body and soul, that she would be giving up a part of herself. Another important aspect of their bittersweet love story is that, rather than San’s actions being influenced by her relationship with Ashitaka, it is HIS actions that are influenced by his knowing her. That reversal of gender roles is itself remarkable.
      San vs. Lady Eboshi
      • Lady Eboshi is another well-rounded female character who is just as fascinating as San. On the positive side, she is a genius tactician, a revered leader to the people of Irontown, and a compassionate and generous benefactor to those most vulnerable. And yet she is also realistically flawed, as she is greedy, overconfident, and sometimes smug. To have won the respect and deference of everyone in Irontown, men included, already makes her unusual, and she is an interesting example of a capable woman in a position of leadership. It is initially implied that Eboshi is an antagonist, for it was she who killed the God Nago, and it was because Nago became a demon that Ashitaka was cursed in the first place. Yet as we meet her, she very quickly becomes just as sympathetic and just as morally ambiguous as San. As the men in the village tell Ashitaka, she has bought up the contract of every brothel girl she can find, which has incredible feminist implications. Whatever your personal opinions are of sex workers, Eboshi has saved these women from a very hard life, and granted them more agency than they ever would have had normally. She was also the only person to treat lepers with kindness and compassion, as she washed them, cleaned their wounds, and gave them employment and a purpose for living. And yet, on the other hand, she ambitiously wants to clear the entire forest so that she can transform it into one of the richest lands in Japan. She also knows full well of the destructive capabilities of the guns and flares that the lepers design for her, and uses them ruthlessly against both the forest animals and invading samurai warriors.
      • Irontown seems to have developed an almost matriarchal society as a result of Lady Eboshi’s influence. Not only is she the undisputed leader of the people, it is the women of the town that drive the economy. The men do the trading, mining and warring, and the women pump the bellows of the ironworks and defend the village from attackers. Together, they have made Irontown incredibly prosperous. Eboshi fears humans (particularly men) far more than she fears Gods, so she specifically requests that the lepers design guns light enough for the women to wield. Eboshi has more than enough reason to fear men in this case, as Lord Asano’s samurai continuously attack the village, and she specifically rescues brothel girls to prevent them from having to submit to the worst kind of men. She has given these former brothel girls a tremendous amount of freedom and agency. They have a great purpose and pride in their work, choose their own husbands, do not have to conceal their sexualities, and have as much input on how Irontown is run as anyone else does. Here, under Lady Eboshi, the women are equal.
      • The most important theme in the film, by far, is its message of environmentalism. Because the film takes place hundreds of years in the past, we feel the modern tragedy that what the Gods feared most did come to pass – the forests and their spirits have all but disappeared because of the onslaught of consumerism, industrialism, and capitalism. It emphasizes that there must be a balance – each side has to be willing to give something to survive, and that living together in peace is the best solution for everyone.
      • There are a lot of fascinating dichotomies at play in this story – animal vs. human, nature vs. industry, spiritual vs. secular, life vs. death, war vs. peace, men vs. women, etc. Most interestingly, we are not meant to pick a “side” in any of these dichotomies, but are meant to understand that there are reasons for everything in the world. Morality is not black and white. Even the most pressing dichotomy, nature vs. industry, doesn’t have a clear “side” expressed in the film. Letting the forest thrive and not destroying it is preferable, but the people of Irontown have to eat, and have to sustain their economy somehow. It’s a difficult choice, and the film respects its audience enough not to make it for them.
      Princess Mononoke is a fascinating film with many layers of dichotomies, moral ambiguities, and complex themes. In the eternal battle of men vs. women, this film posits a strong message of equality, and of both men and women working together. Notably, in the climax of the film, it is both San and Ashitaka who return the Deer God’s head – they are equals working together, and without each other, they could not have saved everyone. And out of the death that the headless Night Stalker caused, it granted life instead. Life and death are as natural as everything else. The film also explicitly argues that there should be a balance between economic industry and preservation of nature. Human beings have to survive, but animal beings must survive as well. Princess Mononoke is a masterpiece of animation, and an overtly feminist themed media. Its strong female characters are given agency, dignity, independence from men, and realistic flaws. Everything that a feminist media critic hopes for.

      ———-

      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.

      Foreign Film Week: Magical Girlhoods in the Films of Studio Ghibli

      Guest post written by Rosalind Kemp, previously appeared at Bitch Flicks on November 30, 2011.

      “For the people who used to be ten years old, and the people who are going to be ten years old.”

      — Director Hayao Miyazaki on Spirited Away

      The films of Studio Ghibli provide their viewers with a rich variety of female characters from warrior princesses to love-struck adolescents, curious toddlers to powerful witches. These characters owe a great deal to the prototypes of European fairy tales and Japanese folklore and in many ways are traditional versions and depictions of femininities, but there’s an underlying sense of joy for feminist viewers in that these girls and women are active, subjective and thoroughly engaging. I’m focusing here on young girls in the lighter end of Ghibli’s production including sisters Mei and Satsuke in My Neighbour Totoro, Kiki in Kiki’s Delivery Service and Chihiro in Spirited Away.

      Spirited Away

      Ghibli films tend to blend fantasy and reality so that magic and flight are acceptable parts of the worlds the characters inhabit. Girls especially tend to possess magic powers or particular appreciation of them and this is shown in an unexceptional manner. While Kiki raises some eyebrows in her new town, it’s because the townsfolk don’t see many witches, not because they don’t believe in their existence. Similarly, although Kiki is an outsider, there is a distinct lack of threat to her for being so. In Ghibli worlds girls are fully entitled to fly on broomsticks, as long as they don’t congest traffic, and 13 year olds are allowed to pursue their cultural practices of living alone. In My Neighbour Totoro when Mei tells Satsuke and their father about her encounter with Totoro, after initial disbelief they embrace the truth that there are friendly nature spirits in the area, even leading to father taking the girls to pay their respects to the forest’s deities.

      This acceptance of magic is refreshing and marks a clear difference to American cartoons where ironic references are embedded in children’s fantasy to appeal to parents. In this way parents are encouraged to indulge, but secretly laugh at their children’s engagement with fantasy. There’s no knowing irony in Ghibli films, instead they are focussed on telling children’s stories for children and the lack of distinct boundaries between the magic and the mundane are part of this child-centred view. That the protagonists are predominantly female makes for a collection of films focussed on girls’ adventures and triumphs where girls’ experiences are trusted and valued.

      Children, like women, are often depicted as having a close connection to the supernatural; that they can see things the rest of us cannot. Indeed Mei and Satsuke seem privileged more than anything to be invited to join the Totoros’ night-time nature ritual. Dancing and flying with creatures the rest of the world (the Ghibli world at least) would revere but aren’t lucky enough to encounter. Chihiro doesn’t have a natural affinity for magic but she’s gifted in the solving of magical problems like how to clean a dirty river spirit.

      Mei, Satsuke, Kiki and Chihiro all work within the magical world as part of their quest narratives. Mei and Satsuke are dealing with the illness and potential death of their mother and a move to a new home. Kiki has moved away from her parents according to witch culture and Chihiro seeks the return of her parents from the spiritual realm where she’s been trapped and they’ve been turned into pigs.

      My Neighbor Totoro
      In all three stories there’s also the seeking of identity for the girls, especially and most literally for Chihiro for she has her very name stolen by a witch. In their quests for self-hood and identity all four characters go through similar trials and experiences: the absence of parental influence, the access to magical powers, the physical manifestations of anxieties such as the dust bunnies that feature in both My Neighbour Totoro and Spirited Away.

      The absence of parents is a common way to allow independence to young females from fairy tales to Jane Austen and unlike for orphaned boys in fiction it can also represent a removal of patriarchal influence in general. It’s not just that these girls don’t have parents guiding them or checking up on them; they are also free to create their own rules of engagement with the world.

      One way that all four girls find meaning and self is through work. Satsuke in school and house work, Mei despite being very young does gardening, Kiki sets up her delivery service and Chihiro works in the bath house. All of them do a lot of cleaning. There’s an interesting mix of public and private here and certainly the suggestion that domestic labour can be especially rewarding (for example Kiki’s paid work can provide anxieties and problems). But is the culturally feminine nature of this work an issue? In Chihiro’s case cleaning is linked to subservience and being a captive to the domestic but for the others (and eventually for her) it’s a tool of empowerment and liberation. Does such labour inevitably have negative associations of female drudgery?

      Another way that selfhood and identity is achieved by these girls is by flight. Most obviously for Kiki where her broomstick is literally the means of earning a living and saving a friend’s life but also in how Totoro and Cat Bus fly Mei and Satsuke away from their worries and later to their mother. Chihiro’s flight is more anxious, as her encounters with magic are generally, but still serves to move her closer to self discovery by being the time she gives Haku his name so leading her to the rediscovery of her own.

      Kiki’s Delivery Service
      Work as empowerment isn’t the only moral message in these films, with ecological messages also being played out. In My Neighbour Totoro there’s the idyllic agricultural setting as well as the Totoros and other spirits of the forest. In Spirited Away rivers like Haku’s have been filled in because of the greed of humans. The messages of conservation, respect of nature (and blaming of humans as nature’s destroyers) are not as forcefully applied as in, for example, Princess Mononoke but neither are they subtle. While this preaching could be tiresome in other films, because of their earnestness and how the protagonists are fully on message it’s actually pleasant. Although nurturing the planet back to health is presented as an ungendered activity the films together can be viewed as showing the next generation of empowered young women actively making progress and solutions to the problems inflicted on the world by older generations. This also applies economically where Kiki and Chihiro’s enterprising labours lead to success for both. Chihiro especially is placed at the beginning of the film in the context of a Japan after economic downturn and reckless financial behaviour by her elders (as reported by her father) damaging Japan as a whole and its youth implicitly.

      Not everybody believes that Ghibli heroines represent empowered femininities. I’ve been rather selective in the choice of films to cover but even if I’d widened the selection I stand by my view. Ponyo for example wasn’t included as its heroine isn’t really a girl but although it’s a variation on the disempowering The Little Mermaid the core message is rather different. Ponyo accepts a loss of powers because they were never entirely hers and the sea’s power remains with the feminine; Ponyo’s sea-goddess mother.

      There’s been significant note of the glimpses of knickers we get in Ghibli films like when Kiki is flying and generally when there’s any rough and tumble. There’s merit in the argument that this could be voyeuristic representations of young girls but it can also be seen as further expressing their freedom and activity. These girls don’t worry about skirts riding up because they totally lack vanity and are preoccupied with altogether more important missions. We’re not given alluring peeps at nubile bodies but girls in action which female bodies so rarely are; that gaze is usually reserved for male bodies. If female passivity is alluring then the kinetic energy of these girls places them beyond that.

      What’s pleasurable about these films from a feminist perspective is their alliance with joyful, engaged and active girlhoods. These girls don’t wait for princes and don’t focus on their appearances but determinedly pursue their missions, however difficult.

      ———-
      Rosalind Kemp is a film studies graduate living in Brighton, UK. She’s particularly interested in female coming of age stories, film noir and European films where people talk a lot but not much happens.

      Animated Children’s Films: Spirited Away

       
      This is a guest review by Jason Feldstein.
      Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland has been one of my favorite stories for years now. Artists have used the storyline of a young girl finding herself in a magical world numerous times. If there is one version that resonates with me, it is a film called Spirited Away (Hayao Miyazaki, 2001). This film’s version of Alice is named Chihiro. She is frightened, self-centered, and overprotected. The only thing she can think about is how upset she is with her parents moving everyone to a new home in the countryside. After her parents take a detour to an abandoned theme park, they gorge themselves on food that has been laid out and are transformed into pigs. The theme park turns out to be a spirit world, and Chihiro is trapped. Her first reaction is to run, and when that doesn’t work, she kneels down and begins to cry. She meets her first friend in a mysterious boy named Haku. She begs him not to leave her alone. Chihiro may not be very mature in the beginning of the film, but she does have certain weapons at her disposal. She knows certain rules and ethics out of pure instinct that prove helpful. When her parents wonder off into the theme park, Chihiro knows it is not a good idea. She also knows not to take the food from the stand. It is not because she knows what will happen, but because the food is not hers. These same instincts help her in the spirit world. She knows when to take the advice of elders, but also when to challenge her superiors. Chihiro is not the type of female protagonist who is only interested in finding a boy. She does love someone but it is only one factor of her life rather than a defining trait. She is a fully developed character with her own set of strengths and weaknesses who proves to be both intelligent and heroic, helping both herself and others around her.

      Chihiro can only survive in the spirit world if she gets a job at a bathhouse from the ruler and sorceress, Yubaba. She gets one, but she has to exchange her name for the name Sen. Throughout the film it becomes more and more difficult for her to remember her real name. One of the concepts explored in Spirited Away is the threat of losing one’s identity through maturation. How does one become an active participant in the world without losing their sense of individuality? The film’s message is that the pressures of fitting into society can cause someone to lose their sense of self. There are some characters in this film who have already fallen under this sort of spell. Haku is a servant to Yubaba. Like Chihiro, he was forced to give up his real name, and now he cannot remember it at all. As a result he has no hope of leaving the spirit world. Loss of identity can be seen throughout the spirit world. Workers are driven by nothing other than a boss’s orders, and the spirits are often depicted as faceless shadows. One spirit is specifically named No-Face.

      If Chihiro is Alice, does that make Yubaba the Queen of Hearts? Not quite. One look at Yubaba suggests that she is a villain, pure and simple, since she is keeping Chihiro and her parents trapped against their will. However, she has redeeming qualities. She is organized and orderly, running the bathhouse with smooth precision. She welcomes guests who need her service. She protects all of her workers from guests who she knows are dangerous. She also clearly loves her son and would do anything to keep him safe. This difference in her character is reflected visually by the fact that she has an identical twin sister, Zeniba, who is her opposite in terms of personality. Like Yubaba, Zeniba is a witch of formidable power. Unlike Yubaba, Zeniba prefers a quiet life built on compassion and understanding as opposed to militaristic order. At first glance the dichotomy presented through the twin sisters would seem very sexist, as it would be portraying a powerful businesswoman as a villain and a loving grandmother figure as decent. Fortunately, this film is more complicated than that. Yubaba might be the opposition, but she is not a simplistic villain. Her actions are not motivated by banal evil but by unexamined greed and a commitment to the rules of the spirit world. Chihiro does not defeat her in battle. Instead, she teaches her to reexamine her own behavior.

      Loss of identity is a theme that couldn’t be explored in a film that pits good against evil. One of the themes that Miyazaki constantly explores in this film is the concept of dual identities. Almost none of the Characters in the spirit world are what they seem to be. Characters who appear to be perfectly good soon prove that they have much darker qualities. Haku seems like a trustworthy guide and a friend to Chihiro. He helps her whenever he can. Later on we find out that he does a lot of Yubaba’s dirty work. He is also very motivated by personal gain. He steals a gold seal from Zeniba out of pure avarice. This difference in his character is reflected visually by the fact that he can take the form of both a human and a dragon. Another character who seems to have a split personality is No-Face. When Chihiro first sees him he appears to be a kind traveler who just needs a place to stay. She gladly lets him in the bathhouse. However, despite his kindness, he is very gluttonous. He devours as much food as he possibly can at the expense of other people’s safety, and he soon transforms into a monster.

      There are also minor characters who seem like villains at first but turn out to be decent. A boiler room manager named Kamaji is a frightening old man with as many limbs as a spider, but he has a good heart, and he helps Chihiro in her task to escape from the spirit world. Lin is Chihiro’s personal boss who is upset that she has to take care of Chihiro but she still gives her advice on how to do her work properly. American audiences are used to animated films presenting good and evil as being very clear-cut. They also suggest that violence is the only solution. This film presents us with a situation that is much healthier and more realistic. It shows us that there is a very blurry line between good and evil and that those two terms in general are often very childish. The villains in this film are not vanquished, but cured. It is because of Chihiro’s actions that good people overcome their bad natures and that bad people see the light. This film suggests that there is such a thing as learning from experience and that people are capable of changing before it is too late.

      Greed is everywhere in this film. Chihiro’s parents are greedy for food. When they arrive at what they think is an amusement park they greedily eat the food and forget about Chihiro. As a result, they are transformed into grotesque pigs. The workers in the bathhouse are greedy for gold. They have such a craving for it that they serve No-Face as much food as he wants without realizing that he is dangerous. When they try to collect the gold, No-Face eats them whole. Haku may be good but he too is greedy. He has a desire for wealth and power and resorts to theft to obtain them. Yubaba is the greediest character of all. She is so thoroughly concerned with her profits that at one point she does not realize that her own baby is gone. While these characters may be greedy, they are also able to overcome it. The film portrays greed not as an insurmountable evil but as a weakness in human nature that keeps us from remembering what is most important to us.

      Hayao Miyazaki was always an avid environmentalist and he knows how to show it in his work. He can make his points about the destruction of nature through a plot’s entirety such as in Princess Mononoke, or in one simple shot of garbage in a river such as in My Neighbor Totoro. Chihiro’s first big victory in the spirit world comes when she cleans and saves the river spirit. When it arrives at the bathhouse, everyone assumes that it is a stink spirit. It is covered with sludge. Once Chihiro gives it a bath it turns out to be a beautiful creature that takes the form of a dragon and is made entirely of clean water. Pollution is everywhere. The bathhouse pipes spew smoke into the air. Chihiro’s father notes in the beginning of the film that there are several amusement parks that were built during the boom era in Japan but were abandoned after the economy went bad. As a result there are now several landscapes that are covered by rotting buildings. Haku is the spirit of a river that was paved over for an apartment complex. Several of the characters are, themselves, polluted. Both No-Face and Chihiro’s parents pollute themselves by eating so much food. Haku is polluted because of a slug that Yubaba infected him with as a means of controlling him.

      Spirited Away is a reflection of a nation and its culture: specifically, the transformation from a traditional Japan to a modern Japan. Miyazaki stated that Chihiro represented a modern Japanese child to him. She is cranky, morose, and spoiled. She is suddenly challenged when she enters the spirit world and she is faced with work that is associated with an older and more traditional Japanese society. Spirited Away is often quite nostalgic for an earlier Japan. The spirit world that Chihiro enters is full of buildings, landscapes, and social traditions that reflect an earlier Japanese dynasty. In the film’s most meditative sequence, Chihiro takes a train to Zeniba’s swamp home to return a gold seal. The train is very old fashioned. Its interior is made of wood, the passengers seem fashioned after nineteenth century immigrants, and the ticket inspector has an outdated roller to collect Chihiro’s ticket. This imagery along with the tranquil piano and string musical score creates a mood to suggest a sad but necessary transition from the past to the present. It is important to note that this film is aware of its nostalgia. It knows about the dangers of holding on to tradition simply for its own sake. Many of the inhabitants of the bathhouse are portrayed as prejudiced towards newcomers. They instantly recognize the smell of a human and despise it. Yet it is this same newcomer who helps them overcome these instincts. She is the one that breaks the curses put on them that make them crave gold and obey Yubaba without question. At the end of the film Chihiro is able to return to the human world with her parents and is specifically told by Haku to not look back. The past is something to learn from, not take solace in.

      The values that Chihiro learns, once all is said and done, do not seem particularly revolutionary: a sense of identity, a belief in herself, the courage to face what lies ahead. These are hardly new concepts to be put into a children’s film. What makes Spirited Away so different is the journey that Chihiro takes in order to obtain these values. She does not gain self-respect by defeating an enemy, but by surviving a situation and teaching others to question themselves. Liberated storytelling, feminist narratives, and progressive politics make Hayao Miyazaki one of our most important filmmakers, and Spirited Away is one of his best films.

      —–


      Jason Feldstein graduated from NYU with a Master’s Degree in Cinema Studies. He specializes in fairy tale films.