Hayao Miyazaki

Porco Rosso

The Boy and the Heron

Konnichiwa, dear reader, I hope things are as cool, calm, and copacetic as possible during these awkward final weeks of Summer. Life can feel daunting as we exist on the precipice of a new season, a new president, and a new Lady Gaga album, and after last week’s parade of perilous bummers, I was desperately craving some positive cinema. So, thanks to an update in HBO(max)’s film catalogue and the kind suggestion of my brilliant friend and former capstone colleague’s, Marissa, this week we’re diving into the expansive and exciting animated world of Hayao Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli. I’ve covered just a few Japanese animated films on this blog, but my love for this filmmaker existed way before my pretentious obsession with film—so this double feature is long overdue. Hayao Miyazaki is to anime, what Orson Welles or John Ford or Stanley Kubrick are to American cinema. Although financially, artistically, and longevity-wise, Miyazaki blows all of these dudes out of the water. This captivating and complex Capricorn was born on January 5th, 1941, and has consistently written, directed, produced, and animated some of the most commercially-successful and culturally-significant films of all time. When it comes to the debate over animation, and whether or not it is only for children, Miyazaki’s name is always brought up. And when it comes to the appeal for anime specifically, no one has reached the global level of influence and appreciation that Miyazaki has. Hayao Miyazaki began as an “in between” artist and key animator on several animated productions throughout the 60s and 70s, but in 1979 he finally got to direct his first film, Lupin the Third: The Castle of Cagliostro—a shockingly anti-heroic and adult cartoon to any viewer of the wholesome films he eventually became known for. Miyazaki and his filmmaking partner Isao Takahata created their own production studio, Studio Ghibli, in 1985, following the success of their feminist, anti-war manga and subsequent film Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind. Studio Ghibli is responsible for creating some of the sweetest, sincerest animated films to ever exist, like My Neighbor Totoro, Kiki’s Delivery Service, Castle in the Sky, Howl’s Moving Castle, Princess Mononoke, and Ponyo, but the film that made Miyazaki do the impossible and breakthrough to the American market was his 2001 masterpiece Spirited Away. Spirited Away is the first Miyazaki movie that I, and many other nerds my age first saw. It did more than just win the Academy Award for Best Animated Film, it pushed Studio Ghibli’s work further into the consciousness of Western audiences—offering up nostalgia for his previous projects and impetus for his next films to be made and received. And while American interest in anime has exponentially grown over the years due to a myriad of reasons, several of which are likely Megan thee Stallion, Miyazaki’s films really kicked off a wider-spanning cultural obsession. His main characters are often young, stubborn, headstrong girls, of varying likability but universal root-for-ability. His stunning animation and heartwarming stories are often set against the backdrop of war, loss, injustice, or ecological disasters, but rarely are they too tragic or unbearably poignant. He can implement biting social and political commentary in each story without it being too heavy-handed or painful. (His partner Takahata’s films on the other hand… just google Grave of the Fireflies…) He can transform nearly every subject into a gorgeous, enchanting fairytale, even the most mundane settings and people become magical when viewed through his lens. The details and care he injects into each of his films makes them more memorable than the average cartoon—from the lovely and lush scenery he designs, to the mouth-watering, sizzling, crackling food he always features, to the sweeping shots of an open field or a body of water, cast against elegant music that makes you feel every emotion. Every moment, every frame, every wide-eyed protagonist or goofy-voiced villain has the potential to be remarkably riveting and beloved, inter-generationally. Anime is an art form that I find to be very hit-or-miss, but like many casual and expert viewers of anime, I prefer to watch them subtitled, not dubbed over in English. Miyazaki’s films are perhaps the only pieces of Japanese animation where I, and many others, actually prefer the dubbed versions because they always bag the most iconic actors. Some of these iconic actors include, but are not limited to: Kirsten Dunst, Christian Bale, Tina Fey, Patrick Stewart, James Vanderbeek, Mark Hamill, Cloris Leachman, Dakota and Elle Fanning, Tim Daly, Pat Carroll, Janeane Garafolo, Edie McClurg, Phil Hartman, Pamela Adlon, Brittany Snow, Ashley Tisdale, Billy Crudup, Billy Bob Thornton, Mini Driver, Claire Danes, Jada Pinkett Smith, Gillian Anderson, Molly Shannon, Suzanne Pleshette, Anne Hathaway, Andy Richter, Tim Curry, Judy Greer, Kristen Bell, Elliott Gould, Jean Simmons, Lauren Bacall, Blythe Danner, Billy Crystal, Josh Hutcherson, Emily Mortimer, Jena Malone, Cate Blanchett, Matt Damon, Liam Neeson, Betty White, Lily Tomlin, Cary Elwes, and the lead voice actor of tonight’s first film—Michael Keaton. I’ve needed to see Miyazaki’s powerful but pacifistic 1992 film Porco Rosso for quite sometime, and since Michael Keaton is back in the news with the unnecessary but still semi-cute Beetlejuice sequel, now felt like the perfect time watch. Porco Rosso (aka “Crimson Pig”) transports us to Italy in the year 1929, where a former Italian WWI fighter pilot and current man-pig hybrid saves a group of chaotic, kawaii schoolgirls from a goofy, sloppy band of pirates (voiced by Brad Garrett, Bill Faggerbake, Frank Welker, and Kevin Michael Richardson.) Our protagonist, Porco, is a man cursed to have a pig’s head, which is never fully explained—even after a girl asks him why he was turned into a pig, he simply replies, “Because all middle-aged men are pigs.” After abandoning his station in the Italian Air Force, the authorities want to confiscate Porco’s red seaplane, but he instead just hides on his own deserted island and protects the Adriatic sea as a vigilante and bounty hunter. When the new fascist government begins to enlist the help of pirates for their own use, Porco is out of a job. And when his precious seaplane putters out, he has to sneak into Milan to get it repaired. Porco Rosso details the trials and tribulations of one honest man/pig’s plight to protect his home, while still avoiding his oppressive government’s regime, all while dressing like a cooler version of Truman Capote. I knew Michael Keaton and his voice are/were sexy, but did I think he’d still be sexy when voicing a rotund, mustached, sunglass-at-night-wearing, Phillip-Marlowe-talkin’, anti-fascist cartoon pig? The answer is yes. Sometimes sexiness defies physical attraction and live-action acting, and sometimes the most badass action hero is a pig man who says, “I’d rather be a pig than a fascist.” Porco talks like Batman, laughs like Beetlejuice, and charms every woman in his vicinity (including a cabaret singer named Gina, voiced by Susan Egan aka Megara from Hercules) despite his status as a swine because he’s just a cool customer who flies for no one but himself. Porco Rosso is undoubtedly a PG-rated movie made for kids, but it is reliably romantic, moody, existential, and critical of the government, as most Miyazaki films are. Porco Rosso was unsurprisingly beautiful to look at, with particularly impressive animation for the early 90s, and an impeccable combination of history and fantasy—another trademark of Miyazaki’s. With decades of work under his belt and an army of loyal fans, Miyazaki’s image is pretty pure across the board (I always especially thought he was sweet because he resembled my maternal grandfather.) Miyazaki was described as the "godfather of animation in Japan" by BBC’s Tessa Wong in 2016, citing his “craftsmanship and humanity, the themes of his films, and his inspiration to younger artists.” But this doesn’t mean that Miyazaki is without faults—as we’ve learned from the other male directors showcased on this blog—this perfectionistic filmmaker is, in fact, very complicated and highly critical of himself and his own family. This brings us to tonight’s next film, a project that Miyazaki worked on for several years, after stating that he’d be retiring from filmmaking, then later changing his mind. This is the 2023 Academy Award winner for Best Animated Feature, The Boy and the Heron, starring Robert Pattinson, Willem Dafoe, Christian Bale, Florence Pugh, Mark Hamill, Gemma Chan, Karen Fukuhara, and Dave Bautista. Being the illustrious and important director that he is, Miyazaki has faced a lot of creative pressure in his career, to constantly top the standards for animation and storytelling that he, himself, set. Because of his dedication to his craft, this made him a shitty, often absent father to his sons Keisuke and Goro. To make matters worse, when Goro decided that he wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps, Hayao was less than supportive. (If this is sounding like Succession to you, dear reader, you’re spot on.) Goro stated that he would watch his father’s movies in an attempt to perfect his own ideas, and to simply understand his father better. When Goro came out with his first solo project in 2006, Tales from Earthsea, Hayao walked out of a preview screening after an hour to have a cigarette, stating, “I felt like I'd been in there three hours.” It’s been said that Ponyo was Hayao’s cinematic apology to his neglected son, but Goro has since come out with other films, that, unfortunately only validate his father’s concern with handing over the studio to him. Their relationship continues to be a twisted dynamic of impossible expectations and shoes to fill, and it’s unclear to this critic whether The Boy and the Heron was a continuation of Hayao saying sorry, or Hayao saying “sorry, but.” Regardless of the intention behind this film, or the heavy symbolism that was only somewhat coherent to this critic, The Boy and the Heron is deserving of all of the praise it received and reliably brought a tear to my eye. Though titled after a 1937 novel, this film doesn’t follow its story, but instead introduces us to a young boy named Mahito as he becomes acclimated to a new home, a new mother, and a new foe as the Pacific War rages on in Tokyo. Mahito is a taciturn and stoic little boy who doesn’t care much for his new stepmom, his new house, or its abundance of old lady housekeepers. But when he discovers a mysterious, impossible-to-traverse tower that is seemingly guarded by an odd, gargantuan, grey heron, Mahito is suddenly very eager to explore this baffling and sprawling estate. It’s not a Miyazaki film if there isn’t a little kid frantically running around, and Mahito is forced to do this when the large grey heron (Robert Pattinson) begins to speak in ominous riddles. “Your presence is requested” the heron coos in a menacing tone, and Mahito fearlessly accepts the bird’s invitation into his hidden world. I hesitate to mention any more details about The Boy and the Heron, because, as with all animated films, it must be witnessed for oneself to be fully appreciated. This is one of Hayao Miyazaki’s most fantastical coming-of-age films, in a long line of other fantastical coming-of-age films. It is his most autobiographical work to date, with characters mirroring his mother, his father, his late filmmaking partner Takahata, and his son Goro. Although the film is open to many diverse interpretations, The Boy and the Heron encompasses Miyazaki’s usual message of optimism, resiliency, and living for those you love, even in times of deep, insurmountable grief. Apart from the impossibly cute species called the “warawara”, there’s not a ton of his trademark cuddliness to this film. It marks Miyazaki’s clear shift away from specifically “children’s media”, and it is the first PG-13 animated film to win an Oscar. Though the meaning may be a bit muddied, The Boy and the Heron is a thoroughly meaningful and deep film, one that never squanders its sense of wonder or whimsy, even in its discussions of death and disappointment. Creating beloved cinema that reaches beyond the confines of age, taste, and cultural sensibilities is an impossible task—which also felt like one of the many lessons in The Boy and the Heron—but Hayao Miyazaki is one artist who is always up for the challenge. Miyazaki films are more than just cute, colorful adventures for kids, they are portals to other worlds where our imaginations know no limits and our hearts are allowed to feel every kind of emotion. If you’ve never seen a Miyazaki movie, there really is no wrong place to start. And if you’ve never given any anime a try, a Miyazaki film is the perfect place to start. Just be prepared for style, substance, adorable creatures, political discourse, and food that looks so delicious it might drive you insane. Arigato and thank you for reading along this week, my live-action lovers, friends, and neighbors named Totoro. Toodles!