Studio Ghibli: A Foreigners Perspective (Part 1)

I was a bit late to the Studio Ghibli appreciation party. Despite my deep-rooted love for cinema, it wasn’t until my early twenties that I first laid eyes on the esteemed studio’s eclectic body of work. Then, much like dominoes, viewing after viewing followed suit. I fell hard for the studio’s unique form of storytelling, beautifully hand-drawn animation, and the creative genius of co-founder Hayao Miyazaki.

In 1996, Walt Disney Pictures signed a deal to distribute Studio Ghibli’s films in the West, opening them up to a wider audience, the English language, and a prestigious cast of voice actors. Over two decades later, the studio is without question a cultural marvel.

Hayao Miyazaki, the auteur behind many of the studio’s most renowned works, will reportedly conclude his legacy with the upcoming release of The Boy and the Heron, citing his age and, in the past, the difficulty of meeting his own impossibly high standards. That degree of principle and dedication is rare and seldom seen in the landscape of modern cinema.

Studio Ghibli

My exploration of his enthralling body of work began with his much-beloved coming-of-age tale, Spirited Away. Looking past the film’s more patent qualities, such as its intricate world-building, deceptively dark storyline, and acutely choreographed score, it’s the indifference towards conventionality that is the film’s most intriguing feature.

The infamous character of No-Face is portrayed with little explanation of his oddly intriguing character; we accept that Haku can seemingly turn into a dragon at will; the Radish Spirit is, simply, the Radish Spirit. Miyazaki’s characters are compelling and creatively inspired enough that there’s simply no need for unnecessary exploration at a more fundamental level. The narrative takes place in the present - the here and now, the spirit world, exhibiting little intention to drift elsewhere. He understands the simple beauty in the fantastical and trusts the audience to go along for the ride.

It’s too often in Western cinema that filmmakers seek to apply reason and understanding to any given concept, relegating the narrative and characters to rigid conventions in the process. We’ve seen franchises born from spin-offs and a lack of originality, conceived as an attempt to humanise yet ultimately oversimplify a specific character or creature. The result is invariably baffling - a disingenuous means of force-feeding content to an audience that will pay the price of admission, yet often leave the cinema with a feeling of indifference.

From this writer’s perspective, Studio Ghibli films are unique in this regard, yet somewhat a throwback to the famous Disney films of yesteryear. These are beautifully hand-drawn, animated features that tackle complex and mature subject matters, appealing equally to children and adults alike. Insights such as these can be plucked readily from Princess Mononoke, an epic adventure tale of war with universally empathetic themes.

Studio Ghibli

Exiled prince Ashitaka finds himself in the middle of a war between the forest gods and Tatara, a mining colony. We follow the narrative from differing perspectives as an abundance of dynamic characters offer insight into both sides of the conflict. It’s an unusually perceptive style of storytelling, relying on a sense of balance to address conceptions of good and evil.

It struck me promptly with how coherently the film tackled universally empathetic themes. The visual aesthetic ties in beautifully with Japanese historic culture and mythology, concepts seemingly alien to an individual raised on a cinematic diet largely consisting of American auteurs and British social realism. Yet, there I sat, mesmerised. Hook, line and sinker. Emotionally connected to poignant and epic themes that transcended the boundaries of relative culture.

What I witnessed was a battle between human survival and nature, the battle of man and our sense of self as we lose our connection to the natural world, as much as a warning to the danger of capitalism and industry. These are cross-cultural, relevant themes that exist on a fairly profound scale in the modern world.

To disregard these films, therefore, as simple anime would be foolish. Their success in Europe and North America is a testament to that. These are stories that study the ambivalence of the human experience, pairing mature subject matter seamlessly with the fantastical and elements of child-like fables. Such qualities underpin the philosophy of Studio Ghibli and, in particular, Miyazaki’s work, brought to life through vivid imagination.

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Part 2 coming next week, curious reader.