Isao Takahata’s Grave of the Fireflies

In Miyazaki World, Susan Napier argues Japan’s traumatic national experiences during WWII, especially the incendiary bombings, was a formative influence of Hayao Miyazaki’s work. Clearly, this was also true for his Studio Ghibli colleague Isao Takahata. In fact, the war hit much closer to home for Takahata, who fled a bombing raid over Okayama in his bare feet. It was an experience that directly informs his great 1988 masterwork, Grave of the Fireflies (trailer here), which opens this Friday at the Quad.

14-year-old-ish Seita was supposed to take his five-year-old sister Setsuko to meet their mother in the bomb shelter. Ironically, they survived because he delayed too long and did not make it to the ill-fated bunker in time. However, it is questionable whether this can be described as good fortune. Instead, Seita will be forced to fend for himself and his sister in an increasingly callous and chaotic world.

For a while, the siblings find refuge with an aunt they hardly know, but her cold, mercenary reserve soon turns into overt hostility. It quickly becomes clear that brother and sister will have to survive the war and its aftermath on their own. Sadly, the in media res prologue does not give viewers cause for optimism on that score.

Takahata’s adaptation of Akiyuki Nosaka’s autobiographical novella has a well-deserved reputation as the most emotionally devastating animated film maybe ever. Basically, it is like spreading the intensity and sorrow of Bambi’s mother’s death over an entire feature. Even if you have a heart of stone, you will feel for the two youngsters and be moved by their love for each other. In all honesty, it is hard to find any aspect of Grave that could be considered a defense or white-washing of the Imperial military regime, but the only horrors of war depicted are those suffered by Japan. As a result, the film has sometimes stirred controversy in countries formerly occupied by Japan, where references to the war invariably provoke vehement responses. Yet, it is hard to conceive of a film less likely to inspire jingoistic militarism.

Even though she is animated, Setsuko is such a believable five-year-old, it is deeply distressing to watch her when the film reaches the third act. At times, Seita approaches martyr-like levels of devotion to Setsuko, but Takahata gives him just enough flaws and annoying teenager moments to keep him human. Regardless, Takahata is definitely going for emotional extremes rather than psychological subtleties.

The animation is consistently an unusually expressive means to that end. We always understand what the two main characters feel, quite acutely. Yet, some of the backdrops are quite beautiful and strikingly cinematic. This is truly a classic example of Studio Ghibli’s uncompromising production standards.

Grave is the sort of film that transcends labels. It is not just an important animated film. It is a significant work of cinema, of any genre or format. It is Takahata’s career-defining masterpiece—or at least it was until he finally finished The Tale of Princess Kaguya. Very highly recommended, Grave of the Fireflies opens this Friday (1/4) in New York, at the Quad Cinema.

The Red Turtle: A Studio Ghibli Co-Production

Island life is an unremittingly harsh struggle against nature in Kaneto Shindo’s black-and-white docu-tone poem The Naked Island. However, it has its charms as well as its dangers for an animated castaway, whose story is maybe not so stylistically dissimilar. It is the sort of meditative, archetypal tale we rarely see in feature animation, but Studio Ghibli is/was like no other animation production house. Just when we have resigned ourselves to their long-term, possibly permanent development hiatus, they release their first legitimate international co-production. Directed by London-based Dutch animator Michaël Dudok de Wit and crediting the great Isao Takahata as “artistic producer,” The Red Turtle (trailer here) is another masterwork from all involved, which is now playing a special one-week Oscar-qualifying run in New York and Los Angeles.

There is nothing beautiful about the storm-churned waves battering the unnamed man through the sea. It is practically a miracle when he comes to on a proverbial desert island, but whenever he tries to sail away on a makeshift raft, a mysterious giant sea turtle blocks his way. Just as he starts to get rough with the beast, he notices a shy but obviously pretty woman, who is presumably a castaway herself. This changes everything.

What follows is a deceptively simple story that is deep as the ocean surrounding their idyllic isle and ultimately serves as a metaphor for absolutely everything. It is told without a word of dialogue, but there is plenty of emotional engagement. Indeed, the pay-off is achingly beautiful.

It would be unwise to reveal too much about the graceful narrative, but it should be safe to say Red Turtle probably boasts the most intense tsunami scene rendered to date in any film, of any genre. It also captures the beauty of nature and inexplicable bond human-animal bond. Dudok de Wit’s style is simpler and more evocative than the rich lushness that often distinguishes Studio Ghibli productions, but his visuals are still striking, in a way that is spare and even Spartan, yet undeniably gorgeous.

It also sounds incredible, thanks to the soaring themes of composer Laurent Perez Del Mar and the extraordinarily lifelike ambient sound (supervised by Bruno Seznec). This film should not only be a strong contender for the animated Academy Award. It truly deserves to be nominated in all the audio categories as well.

The Red Turtle is the capper on a remarkable year for animation, which included characteristically terrific GKIDS releases like Miss Hokusai, Phantom Boy, and April and the Extraordinary World, as well as Funimation really raising their game with Mamoru Hosoda’s The Boy and the Beast and the first two Project Itoh anime adaptations. Yet, arguably, it is way more commercial than even Disney or Pixar products. Frankly, the potential audience for Red Turtle is anyone who bought Life of Pi or Jonathan Livingston Seagull back in the day, but Dudok de Wit’s animation will hold up much stronger over time. Very highly recommended, The Red Turtle is now playing at the Lincoln Plaza in New York, with a return engagement already scheduled for January 20^th.

Only Yesterday: It was Worth the Wait

At twenty-seven, Taeko Okajima ought to be too young for a midlife crisis, but she carries a lot of baggage from her difficult childhood. However, she might finally start to work through her issues when she lugs her “fifth grade self” along on her vacation to the countryside. Although it was a Japanese box office hit in 1991, Isao Takahata’s animated memory play remained the one Studio Ghibli film that was never theatrically distributed in North American. Fortunately, GKIDS has rectified this frustrating situation with a proper release of Takahata’s straight-up masterpiece Only Yesterday (trailer here) which continues it special two-week, twenty-fifth anniversary release in New York, at the IFC Center.

Okajima’s desire to vacation in the country can be immediately attributed to the frustrations of her childhood. As she boards the train taking her out of Tokyo, she remembers with bitterness being the only member of her fifth grade class who did not have a country getaway lined-up for summer break. Her parents seemed to have two specialties, berating her for her low marks in mathematics and dashing her dreams. However, young Okajima is not the perfect picture of innocence either. In fact, the memories that will be most difficult to work through involve her guilt for mistreating less popular classmates.

In contrast, her time spent with her bother-in-law’s rugged country relations is quite pleasant for Okajima. She genuinely enjoys harvesting the safflowers, a blooming thistle whose pigments are used for cosmetics and dyes. She and Toshio (the second cousin of her sister’s husband) hit it off particularly well. There could even be something more than friendship between them, but it is not clear Okajima’s head is ready for it.

You do not see very many films, live action or animated, that are as emotionally complex as Only Yesterday. While the 1966 flashbacks were based on a successful manga, Takahata developed the original 1980s wrap-arounds, which really take on a life of their own. In fact, seeing the psychological ripple effects years later make the childhood sequences far richer. Consequently, when Takahata delivers the massive payoff, it happens in the eighties.

Of course, Only Yesterday looks absolutely gorgeous. Studio Ghibli’s affinity for safflower fields hardly needs explaining for their fans. The figures are also rendered with unusual sensitivity, particularly 1980s Taeko and Toshio. If you do not quickly take a shine to them, you must be one grumpy old goat. Yet, what really stands out in the film is Takahata’s confident patience to let dialogue fully play out. Early in the film, Toshio and Okajima have a long conversation while he drives her to the farm from the station. It deceptively sounds like small talk, but it really establishes both their characters, as well as the film’s major themes. Frankly, they are just worth listening to.

For the English dub, GKIDS scored a bit of a coup with the casting of Daisy Ridley, currently seen in something called The Force Awakes, as the voice of twenty-seven year old Okajima. However, Japanese pop singer Miki Imai is so perfect in the role, it is still worth opting for the subtitled original version (which the IFC Center is also running for the film’s screenings after 8:00 pm).

Some animation fans consider Only Yesterday a watershed for its mature and realistic portrayal of a woman in adulthood. That may well be so, but it is such a human and humane film, just about everyone ought to be able to relate to it. A wonderful example of studio Ghibli’s artistry, Only Yesterday continues its special, worth-the-wait engagement at the IFC Center, with a national release later scheduled for February 26^th.

NYICFF ’15: When Marnie Was There

For young Anna Sasaki, coming of age is a particularly dramatic process, in a dark psychological kind of way. She is like a character out of Daphne du Maurier or Mary Roberts Rinehart novels, who has been sent to spend the summer in a bucolic marshland that could have been painted by the Impressionists. Nobody would be better suited to realize her new environment than the Studio Ghibli team, but alas, this will be their final release for the foreseeable future. While it lacks the tragic sweep of its immediate predecessors (Princess Kaguya and The Wind Rises), Hiromasa Yonebayashi’s When Marnie Was There (trailer here) is an appropriately intimate goodbye that packed the house for the opening night of the 2015 New York International Children’s Film Festival.

Sasaki is far too sensitive to make friends easily with her classmates. Her stress-aggravated asthma does not help either. After a particularly severe attack, Sasaki’s mother Yoriko sends her to stay with her extended relatives, kindly old Kiyomasa and Setsu Oiwa. However, as a foster child, Sasaki has difficulty accepting any of them as family, including Yoriko, despite their genuine concern.

To humor Setsu, she makes a few half-hearted to befriend with some of the village girls her age, but Sasaki prefers to make sketches on her own. One of her favorite subjects, is Marsh House, an abandoned mansion, only intermittently accessible during low tides. Strangely though, a young girl named Marnie seems to live there with her ominously gothic servants. Sasaki and Marnie are drawn to each other like lonely kindred spirits. At last, each feels they have finally found a true friend. Yet, Marnie’s penchant for vanishing without a trace confuses and sometimes hurts Sasaki.

It does not take much deduction or intuition to figure WMWT is some sort of supernatural story, but it still holds some profoundly resonant secrets. It certainly looks like a Studio Ghibli film, which means it is lushly gorgeous. As with The Secret World of Arrietty, his previous film as a director (also based on a British YA novel), Yonebayashi fully captures the beauty and malevolent power of the natural world. Frankly, it is rather impressive how quickly and yet how smoothly he can change the vibe from sunny pastoral to psychological suspense. There is even a scene in a supposedly haunted grain silo that evokes the mission tower staircase in Vertigo, fittingly enough in a film featuring a titular character named Marnie.

WMWT is a deeply humanist film, brimming with forgiveness and empathy. Through her POV, we will acutely understand how coming to terms with the past will allow Sasaki to carry on and embrace life. As a potential sign-off from Studio Ghibli, that’s not bad. Amongst their storied output, it probably ranks somewhere in the middle, but had it come from just about any other animation house, it would represent their crowning achievement. Granted, the opening act is a little slow getting it in gear, but overall, it is remarkably astute emotionally and refreshingly life-affirming. Highly recommended, When Marnie Was There screens again next Saturday (3/7) at the SVA Theatre, as part of this year’s NYICFF.

DOC NYC ’14: The Kingdom of Dreams and Madness

For millions of animation fans, Studio Ghibli is like Disney without the weird cryogenic baggage. Year after year, Hayao Miyazaki and his team of animators have produced absolute classics that transcend genre. He has now apparently, by-and-large, for the most part, more-or-less retired, but Mami Sunada documented the master at work on his final masterwork, The Wind Rises. Sunada quietly observes the Studio Ghibli comings and goings, but still captures plenty of drama in The Kingdom of Dreams and Madness (trailer here), which screens during this year’s DOC NYC.

Studio Ghibli might only continue as a licensing company, but it ended its original productions on artistic high notes. Both Miyazaki’s The Wind Rises and Isao Takahata’s The Tale of the Princess Kaguya are extraordinarily accomplished capstones to their legendary careers. While Miyazaki’s farewell film was a monster hit at the Japanese box-office, Takahata’s was not. They were also supposed to be released simultaneously, but even at the start of Kingdom, everyone realizes that is highly unlikely to happen.

While there is plenty of pencil-sharpening and studious sketching going on in Kingdom, real conflict emerges between the venerable Miyazaki and the largely unseen Takahata, who gave Miya-san his start in the business decades ago at the Tohei studio. They share an awful lot of history together, but their working methods could not be further apart.

Somehow, as Sunada illustrates in detail, Miyazaki is able to put inspiration on a timetable, which you have to respect, because he made Spirited Away. In contrast, it happens when it happens for Takahata, which you have to respect, because he made Grave of the Fireflies—unless you happen to be Miyazaki. Even though Sunada observes events almost entirely from Miyazaki’s perspective, it is clear their relationship is very complicated. While the film consistently shows how comfortable Miyazaki is in his role as part studio task-master and part twinkly-eyed ambassador of goodwill, whenever Takahata’s delays are mentioned, he sounds like Seinfeld cursing “Newman.” Yet, with his next breath, he is likely to praise his former mentor’s past achievements.

That strange dynamic truly elevates Kingdom above yet another dry process doc, like Farocki’s Sauerbruch Hutton Architects. It also helps that director-editor-cinematographer Sunada is a legit filmmaker with an eye for the telling moment rather than an overawed fan cranking out a DVD extra. As when she chronicled her father’s final days in Death of a Japanese Salesman, she is quite sensitively attuned to the human drama that accompanies any sort of finality.

There are very few animated clips seen throughout Kingdom, which speaks highly of Sunada’s confidence in her subjects. It is justified. Miyazaki is a thoroughly engaging presence, as are longtime producer Ghibli producer-peacemaker Toshio Suzuki and Evangelion animator Hideaki Anno, who gave voice to The Wind Rises’ idealistic protagonist. Sunada documents some true cinema history, ultimately marking the end of an era. A fitting coda to a great career, The Kingdom of Dreams and Madness is recommended for all serious students of animation when it screens this Sunday morning (11/16) at the SVA Theatre, as part of DOC NYC 2014.

The Tale of the Princess Kaguya: the Penultimate Studio Ghibli Film

It is a quite a story of social mobility, especially for Tenth Century Japan. Of course, it is a folktale, but it is considered the Japan’s oldest surviving narrative (even predating The Tale of Genji). It inspired adaptations from the likes of Kon Ichikawa, but the lush, budgets-be-damned Studio Ghibli treatment may very well come to be recognized as the definitive big screen production of “The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter.” Representing most likely the penultimate release from the storied studio, Isao Takahata’s The Tale of the Princess Kaguya (trailer here) opens this Friday in New York at the IFC Center.

One day, Okina, the stout-hearted bamboo cutter, discovered a miniature princess dressed up in regal finery within one of the shoots he had chopped. Taking her home to his wife Ona, the precious princess transforms into the infant they never had. Miraculously, Ona discovers she is still able to nurse the baby they presume to be heaven-sent. “Princess,” as Okina simply calls her, grows up quickly, soon maturing to the level of the nearest children, who affectionately call her “Bamboo.” She loves the simple pleasures of nature and the company of her rambunctious friends. However, Okina believes his faith in her royal destiny is vindicated when he discovers miraculous caches of gold and silk in yet more fateful bamboo shoots.

Okina uses the gold to build a palatial estate in the capitol, buying his way into elite society. Unfortunately, his worldly ideas of happiness are at odds with her more spiritual conceptions. Despite her love for her adopted parents, Princes Kaguya, as she has been officially dubbed, consistently foils his plans to codify her royal status. Eventually, her ensuing unhappiness will have cosmic repercussions.

It is hard to imagine another animated film prominently featuring a princess that is as likely to frustrate young Frozen fans as Princess K surely will. It is an extraordinarily elegant, visually arresting film, but it is also exquisitely tragic, unabashedly literate, and rich with symbolic texture. It additionally represents some of accomplished Japanese film composer Joe Hisaishi’s most distinctive work, but the entire film is probably too sophisticated, in an almost rarified way, to garner much Oscar love in any category.

Regardless, Princess K is a stunning example that animation can truly be a work of art. Takahata’s hand-drawn animation evokes the austere beauty of traditional Japanese watercolor, but the resolution and color palate shift to reflect Kaguya’s emotional state. Dramatically, it is a disciplined slow-builder, earning every tear it jerks down the stretch, fair and square.

Frankly, it is easy to get stuck on the ethereal beauty of Princess K, but there is an awful lot going on beneath the surface. Kaguya represents a refreshingly independent-minded and psychologically complex princess, particularly during the Heian era. Arguably, it is also the first science fiction story ever, taking into account Kaguya’s full origin, which is only revealed late in the third act. It is easily the best new animated film of the year, unless you also count Hayao Miyazaki’s Studio Ghibli release, The Wind Rises (which had a brief Oscar qualifying run late last year). Very highly recommended for mainstream audiences as well as animation enthusiasts, The Tale of the Princess Kaguya opens this Friday (10/17) at the IFC Center, with special preview screenings scheduled for tonight and tomorrow night.

NYFF ’13: The Wind Rises

Jiro Horikoshi is a Studio Ghibli character Tony Stark would approve of.  He was the engineer responsible for designing Imperial Japan’s Model Zero fighters, but he dreamer rather than an ideologue.  At least, that is how Hayao Miyazaki re-imagined Horikoshi’s private persona in his fictionalized manga, which he has now adapted as his final film as a director.  Spanning decades of Japan’s tumultuous pre-war history, Miyazaki’s The Wind Rises (trailer here) is also a deeply personal film that screens as a main slate selection of the 51st New York Film Festival.

As a young student, Horikoshi yearns to fly, but he realizes his spectacles make it nearly impossible for him to become a pilot.  Borrowing an aviation magazine from an encouraging teacher opens up a new path for the earnest lad.  Through its pages he learns of Italian aircraft designer Gianni Caproni, who becomes his inspiration.  Setting his sights on an engineering career, Horikoshi regularly meets Caproni in his dreams and reveries, where they share their mutual passion for flight.

Circumstances of history will conspire to make Horikoshi’s life eventful.  His first day as a university student is marked by the catastrophic earthquake of 1923, which will resonate profoundly with contemporary viewers.  Yet, out of that tragedy, Hirokoshi meets and temporarily loses the great love of his life.

Despite his intelligence, Japan’s stagnant economy offers few opportunities for Horikoshi when he graduates.  He joins Mitsubishi at a time when the company appears to be on its last legs. Gambling its future on military contracts, the company sends Horikoshi to Germany, hoping he can help them reverse-engineer whatever the Junkers will let them see.  Of course, he will be able to raise their game substantially.

In no way, shape, or manner does Miyazaki justify Japan’s militarist era, but he has still taken flak from both sides of the divide over Wind.  Frankly, it presents a gentle but firm critique of the Imperial war machine.  At one point, Horikoshi is even forced into hiding, designing the military’s fighter planes while he evades the government’s thought police.  Indeed, such is a common experience for the best and the brightest living under oppressive regimes.  Yet, Miyazaki is just as interested in Horikoshi’s grandly tragic romance with Naoko, a beautiful artist sadly suffering from tuberculosis.  Horikoshi makes a number of choices throughout the film, every one of which the audience can well understand.

Given its elegiac vibe, Wind makes a fitting summation film for Miyazaki.  Covering the immediate pre-war decades, it compliments and engages in a wistful dialogue with Gorō Miyazaki’s post-war coming of age tale From Up on Poppy Hill (co-written by the elder Miyazaki).  One can also see and hear echoes of master filmmakers past, such as Ozu ad Fellini, throughout the film.  Any cinema scholar surveying Miyazaki’s work will have to deal with it at length, but it still happens to be a genuinely touching film.

After watching Wind, viewers will hope the real Horikoshi was a lot like Miyazaki’s (and the same goes for Caproni). Miyazaki seriously examines the dilemmas faced by his protagonist while telling a lyrical love story.  Visually, the quality of Studio Ghibli’s animation remains undiminished, but the clean lines of Horikoshi’s planes and the blue open skies lend themselves to simpler images than some of his richly detailed classics.  Regardless, The Wind Rises is an unusually accomplished film that transcends the animation genre.  Highly recommended for all ages and interests, it screens this Saturday (9/28) and next Friday (10/4) at Alice Tully Hall (stand-by only), as part of the 2013 NYFF.

Studio Ghibli: The Secret World of Arrietty

The love for fantastical little people is pretty universal. Perhaps that is why Mary Norton award winning British YA novel The Borrowers transferred rather easily to Koganei, a Tokyo suburb that happens to be home to legendary animator Hayao Miyazaki’s Studio Ghibli. Following several well received live action adaptations from the likes of Hallmark Hall of Fame and the BBC, Studio Ghibli produced an anime treatment helmed by their youngest feature director to-date and co-written by Miyazki himself. Set to become Disney’s most widely distributed Ghibli release on a reported 1,200 screens, Hiromasa Yonebayashi’s The Secret World of Arrietty (trailer here) opens today nationwide.

The so-called Borrowers are tiny but proportional people who live in the cracks and crevices of country homes. They survive by “borrowing” supplies that will not be missed from the human household, like a sugar cube. Up until now, the borrowing has been the sole responsibility of Arrietty’s quietly protective father Pod, but having reached a certain age, it is time for her to learn how to survive as a borrower. As her high strung mother Homily anxiously awaits, she and her father venture into the big house. However, their foray leads to disaster when a recent arrival spies them.

Shō is a sickly human boy, trundled off to the secluded cottage to rest up for an upcoming operation. He instantly recognizes the borrowers from the family legends of the little people living under the floor boards. Even though the scale is problematic, he is also pretty psyched to talk to a girl. Unfortunately, Arrietty’s father is adamant: once borrowers have been seen, they must move on post-haste. Frankly, his concern is not misplaced. Though Shō means them no harm, Haru, the maid of the house, also suspects their presence and intends to treat them like any conventional infestation.

Aside from some CGI here and there, the mostly hand drawn Secret looks richly detailed and lushly evocative. Indeed, the verdant garden is particular suited to the Ghibli magic. The film has plenty of style, but beyond Ghibli’s considerable circle of admirers, it will largely skew towards younger viewers. Still, it is rather watchable for adults so inclined. Indeed, Arrietty is much more agreeably plucky than cloying. Likewise, Shō might be a bit of a sad sack, but at least he is not an energy drain on the film. Even the original songs by French pop-star Cécile Corbel are surprisingly graceful and distinctive.

The only real drawback is the American dubbing, including an over-the-top Carol Burnett as Haru, the bland Will Arnett as Pod, and several tweeners adults will not recognize. Somehow, they just do not sound right. (In contrast, the British release features the voice talent of Mark Strong, Olivia Colman, and Saoirse Ronan, which certainly looks more interesting on paper.)

Secret looks great and parents can feel safe and confident taking their children. Although Haru’s maniacal streak seems a bit excessive (from a credibility standpoint), the overall film is quite gentle and charming. A solid B+ outing from Studio Ghibili, Secret opens today (2/17) in New York at Regal Union Square and AMC 34th Street and in San Francisco at the AMC Van Ness.