Photography inside the museum itself is prohibited though, so my shots were limited to the roof area and those surrounding the site. In a way it takes a bit of pressure off you as a tourist because you instead focus on simply walking around the place without the concern of “…I ought to take a shot of this…” so I can see why such a rule is in place. Anyhow, it’s a perfect place to rediscover your inner child.

At the time we visited, the Museum theatre was playing a short film featuring a young girl who befriends a small Catbus – Kittenbus? – and after some delightful getting-to-know-you comedy moments the two of them take a magical journey. Squeezed up together in an auditorium whose bench seats are clearly designed with children rather than adults in mind, we were treated to a Totoro sequel of sorts, including the sight of not only a Catbus but a Cat-train and a Cat-airship…I wish I’d been able to catch the name of the director (it may be Miyazaki, but a more junior member of the studio is probably responsible).

The Museum as a whole is intended for children first and foremost: there’s no set route around the exhibits and some areas, such as a life-size Catbus sculpture (complete with furry seating!) and a spiral staircase to the upper floor are physically off-limits to adults, unless you’re a hobbit or something. Considering how my introduction to Japanese cinema in general began with the Laputa movie, it was a real moment of nostalgia to come face-to-face with a statue of one of the robots and a mock-up of the control panel from the film…and since they are on the roof (complete with delightful vegetation, which not only sets the scene but also keeps you sheltered from the blistering sunshine) I was able to get a couple of shots for posterity’s sake.

Other highlights included some wonderfully convoluted contraptions that demonstrate the basics of animation techniques with arrays of gears and levers, a mock-up of an animator’s studio with pages of artwork and the obligatory gift shop…which was utterly full of (mercifully well-behaved) schoolchildren. I had to constantly remind myself that this is a kids’ place even though grown-ups are welcome. Incidentally, the gift shop proved that this country is one place that has orderly queueing done up to a fine art…and that’s coming from someone who was born and raised in England, which up until I visited Japan was the Queueing Capital of the world as far as I was concerned.

The only downside to the Museum is that it’s not particularly large – unlike the big names such as Universal Studios and Disney, who have entire theme parks dedicated to their films that you could spend several days in just to see everything, Ghibli instead opted for a modest low-key attraction that’s charming in its own way; fans of their movies will understand why Miyazaki and co built it the way they did.

One more thing: if you’re travelling from the centre of Tokyo it’s twenty minutes by train from Shinjuku then you should expect a walk on foot or a bus ride since cars are strongly discouraged from the site. Again, it’s very much in keeping with the ethos of the place…and of course Mitaka is a pleasant area to wander around. The route to the Museum takes you through Inokashira park and its area of woodland, complete with cicadas – it’s a relaxing way to spend a morning or afternoon.

I can watch some stuff, such as The Place Promised…, Laputa and Paprika over and over; I’ve watched others once but they’ve sat gathering dust ever since. There are one or two purchases that I actually regretted, despite the titles themselves being very good. Actually, they were…too good for their own good.

I saw The Sixth Sense on TV years ago and Shutter Island recently at the cinema so, since the appeal of mystery-style stories relies so much on the twist endings, I can’t see the point of watching them again. For most other things it’s about the journey not the destination, so there’s usually enough enjoyment to be had even when I know what happens.

There are some titles that I consider to be brilliant but ironically I’ve only watched once. It requires a bit of hurried explanation when recommending them to other people with “you have to see this! What? Hell no, I’d never sit through that again.” The wartime ones are the worst for this: I borrowed a copy of Apocalypse Now off a friend but would never get my own copy.

It really is a fantastic film though: it’s well acted, has stunning cinematography and right from the throb of helicopters blending in with that haunting song by The Doors it’s one of those memorable must-watch classics (yes, go see it if you haven’t already). Similarly, no self-respecting movie fan should go without watching Grave of the Fireflies. Again, it gets pretty much everything right: the artwork is fantastic, the direction fluid and the story deeply moving.

The fact that the story is deeply moving is its greatest strength, but it’s also a problem. Simply put, Grave of the Fireflies is too devastating to watch again and again. It’s an emotional tactical strike that unflinchingly hits you with the true horrors of twentieth-century warfare and its messages, quite rightly, will stay with you forever. I watched to the end in awe at a story well told, then asked myself “why would I want to put myself through this again?”

Saikano is another masterpiece of character drama and commentary on the nature of modern warfare (the artwork is a bit off at times, but that’s Gonzo for you). The characters are flawed yet engaging, the drama convincing and assuming you take the mecha musume-style element allegorically rather than literally, it’s one of the most affecting pieces of animated television of recent years. Again I was floored by it but only once, because I felt that one viewing told me all it wanted to say.

The strange thing is, I usually appreciate dark stories. Cyberpunk is often dystopian, Satoshi Kon’s humour is black as pitch and Kinoko Nasu puts his characters through bouts of pitiless suffering that make me wince. How are Apocalypse Now, Grave of the Fireflies and Saikano different from, say, Nausicaä and its post-apocalyptic setting or Nasu’s gothic-tinged supernatural thriller Kara no Kyoukai?

To quote the ever-eloquent Ursula le Guin, light is the left hand of darkness: the most rewarding stories for me are often dark ones that, at some point, offer hope. It’s probably not a spoiler to say the protagonists of Grave of the Fireflies do not survive since it’s pointed out in the first few minutes and Saikano has the whole of humanity self-destruct. As parables for the loss and utter waste of war I can’t fault them, but do I need to be told twice when it’s stated so clearly and effectively?

I can rewatch Kara no Kyoukai despite the death and suffering of people who quite often don’t deserve what comes their way mainly because the central character goes through self-discovery and redemption during the course of the series. Even though some characters meet their ends in undeserving fashion this journey feels satisfying because of the resolution; it’s about the sacrifices made and lessons learned. The villains are either punished or released from their inner turmoil, which gives their downfalls significance.

Similarly Nausicaä is possibly Miyazaki’s most downbeat movie thematically apart from Mononoke Hime but again, there’s a promise of new life growing out of the ashes of the old in both cases. This is where the divergence happens for me: all I take away from the Saikanos is a clear message of waste and innocence lost. I’m not denying that their messages deserve to be heard but I don’t need to be made to feel miserable to get the point.

It’s obvious that War Sucks: innocent people suffer and die for nothing when the same objectives could be achieved through peaceful means. Being told just this on its own doesn’t offer much else to the table, no matter how pretty the artwork or how convincing the characters are.

Futatsu no Kurumi, a.k.a. Two Walnuts, is another historical wartime drama; this time a twelve-year old goes back in time and experiences the horrors of the 1945 firebombing of Tokyo first-hand.

It’s not a great movie. The artwork’s simplistic, the animation looks cheap and the direction is clumsy in that the CRY HERE moments feel manipulative on the part of the writers. In fairness it’s probably intended to be an educational film for today’s kids who won’t know a thing about what wartime Japan was like for youngsters of their age but that’s the point: it’s intended to be educational (I learned a thing or two about the Japanese WW2 home front from this too). Crucially the protagonist takes something away from her harrowing experiences: she learns from the events and is changed by them.

I like dark and angsty stories; not because of the darkness alone but because bigger lows have more relevance when next to some highs – it’s about contrast. A piece of music that uses dynamic changes, i.e. alternating very loud and very quiet passages, moves me more than pieces that are either loud or quiet all the way through. Narratives, either in a film or in written word for that matter, work the same way.

The issue is complicated by many other factors of course, such as whether the visuals and music are easy on the eyes and ears or how how well you relate to the characters. When I see them lost, uncertain or in pain I can sit through it if I feel confident that, even if things don’t turn out well in the end, their experiences will at least mean something. There’s more to storytelling than merely making you laugh, cry or perch yourself on the edge of your seat: I prefer the characters and the viewers to walk away with something they didn’t have at the beginning, even if much was lost along the way.

For some reason I prefer to watch episodic anime and the more headscratch-inducing stuff on my own at home but the feature-length efforts are more enjoyable when the experience is shared with friends and on the big screen. I’m certainly expecting these three to wind up licenced; assuming legal red tape doesn’t get in the way I see no reason why they won’t. I hope.

First Squad: Moment of Truth

There’s a lot to be said for walking in with little or no knowledge of what to expect: I know 4°C manage to nurture some impressive and original talent so I was at least unsurprised at how it looks and feels different from the norm, and is very stylish indeed. There seems to be a lot of fan backlash though, which I put down to the old problem of the rift between what a production is and what the audience expects.

My own expectations on the other hand were limited to three things: 1. a Russian girl with a sword, 2. Nazis and the undead and 3. cool visuals that look different from most other films and series. Needless to say I was prepared for a load of hocus-pocus nonsense unfolding in front of a backdrop that’s conversely very gritty and historically accurate, and didn’t worry about the short running-time hampering the build-up of a complex storyline.

I wonder whether it was the live-action segments that fail in delivering the documentary feel in the eyes of some viewers, or whether it was the fact that nobody is used to historical events set in Russia colliding with fantasy adventure, or Russian dialogue used with an anime art style. I found it to be an oddity but at least an enjoyable one – the end result was a cross between Blood: the Last Vampire (the old OAV) and Valkyria Chronicles, with the supernatural trappings that underpinned Hellboy and Outpost. For all the authenticity in regards to real-life locations and military hardware it is ultimately nonsense but hardly offended me.

Ponyo on the Cliff by the Sea

I’m not sure what I can add when talking about this one – the fact that it’s Miyazaki-directed and could be the last one he does before retiring (although he’s been considering throwing in the towel since Mononoke Hime but always comes back) makes it a must-watch anyway but it’s certainly his most childlike so far. How many kids of the target age can sit still through a one hour and forty minute feature I don’t know, but the screening I attended seemed to be filled with grown-ups appeasing their inner child. And succeeding.

Make no mistake: this is Miyazaki’s simplest, purest and most harmless feature since My Neighbour Totoro. Adults will appreciate the exquisite detail in the hand-drawn artwork but also grin like an idiot at how GODDAMN CUTE it is. Seriously. The story’s more straightforward than most of his work; the watercolour backgrounds are, deliberately I think, lacking in detail too. It really looks like Ghibli have gone back to basics with this one, which makes it quite a departure in some ways: sometimes less is more, which I think is what makes Ponyo so successful at what it sets out to do.

Even so, it also feels like Miyazaki as the cynical old guy is showing through more here. I’m not sure if it is meant to be a reflection of his personal thoughts about his own domestic life and relationships, but it certainly portrays the contemporary problems associated with working families, and how individuals are affected by those issues. I’m sure the target audience, who are as much as two decades younger than me, won’t read between the lines as I did but the way that social commentary shows through in between the moments of fairytale wonderment was quite noticeable to me.

Fundamentally though, I think the family strife isn’t trying to say anything on its own: it merely serves to portray a situation that’s familiar to Japanese children of today in a more general sense and is therefore one that’s easy for its intended viewers to relate to. Miyazaki is always keen to stress that his films are intended principally to entertain rather than dwelling on his trademark social and economic messages, and Ponyo is no exception. Focused pacing, a plot devoid of holes and complex character development are hardly an issue when it’s a film as effortlessly charming AND SO GODDAMN CUTE as this one. Needless to say it’s a must-watch.

Summer Wars

Speaking of feelgood family entertainment, I was also really looking forward to Summer Wars, the latest movie from Mamoru Hosoda. I know I promised Gaguri that I’d write about it at length but quite honestly there’s so much I want to say about it that my full thoughts will have to wait for another post.

What I will say is that it’s an absolute blast. The visuals are even more spectacular than The Girl Who Leapt Though Time – particularly the Superflat Monogram-style online world of Oz – and Yoshiyuki Sadamoto’s character designs are so brimming over with life and vitality they’re almost jumping out the screen. Unlike its predecessor though, Summer Wars is less personal in its focus and underlying messages, and the overwhelming inventiveness of Oz draws attention away from the human element a bit in places.

Despite these minor issues I still absolutely loved it. What Hosoda and his team excel at is making little details enhance the bigger picture, and also shifting gear effortlessly between drama and comedy. There are scenes that will have you fighting back the tears one moment and creased up with laughter the next but, like the little nuances that endeared themselves so much to me, felt completely organic and natural, even when the mechanics of the events don’t make a lot of sense.

Although the subject matter and storytelling approach are very different between Tokikake and Summer Wars, the same stylistic flourishes and atmosphere are present in both. Basically, what we have here is an extremely talented director and an equally talented staff who can take on different subjects and themes while keeping their signature styles intact thoughout. Summer Wars proves it CAN be done in the right hands…something Makoto Shinkai can take comfort in when the time comes to release his next feature, I think.

Honestly, there’s so much more I can say about this one but for now I’ll cite it as contender for my anime film of the year and wait for the Blu-Ray release. It’s fan-bloody-tastic so go watch it when you get the chance.

I wonder if the quoted value of 5cm per second for sakura petals is altitude-dependent

While I normally blog from the point of view of the cynical 27-year-old I am today the reason why my opinion of it is the way it is stems from experiencing it through a child’s eyes; it is after all a kids’ adventure story so that tack makes more sense to me. I’ve done a very simplified run-down of my favourite bits from my original viewing, with numbered annotations to include the benefits of hindsight. It’s an unusual approach for me, so I hope it works here.

One of the things I loved as a kid was its imaginative interpretation of retro flying machines. It features a load of outlandish yet awe-inspiring balloons and airships[1], hitting the ground running with an attack of a passenger craft by sky pirates: all kids love pirates, right? These pirates are sky pirates, which I guess makes them twice as awesome…there’s something mind-boggling about someone who’s old enough to be your gran brandishing a gun too, I might add. 0_o

A pretty girl who, for whatever reason, carries a trinket the pirates are after is aboard the airship but when trying to escape she falls, seemingly to her death, until that strange stone of hers emanates a flash of light and somehow lets her drift harmlessly and gently away to safety. What follows through the opening credit sequence is a fascinating alternate history of a civilisation that harnessed the power of the wind, built enormous airborne islands and eventually returned to Earth[2].

The entire film is everything a young boy could want from an adventure story: a pretty girl floats down from the sky, the boy rescues her, villains chase after the hero and heroine who manage to outsmart the clueless adults and escape, before embarking on a big adventure to find a mysterious land that is hidden away in the sky. A Place Promised Beyond the Clouds, you might say[3].

The pacing is brilliant here: a chase involving a vintage car and a train on a railway suspended precariously above a valley; an armoured train with an evil mastermind aboard; another daring rescue of the girl by her fearless new friend, right off the top of a castle tower. It moves briskly from one set piece to another, keeping the viewer’s attention throughout and introducing a world that’s familiar yet somehow exotic[4].

Neat little touches, such as a military fortress that’s painted in camouflage and the way that the exact time or place in which the story is set are never specified, give it a fantastic sense of escapism. Finally those scary sky pirates are actually pretty cool and not bad guys after all, and offer the young pair a chance to realise their dream of travelling to their island in the sky[5].

The only thing I was disappointed about by this film is that, within even two hours, there’s hardly enough time to explore the full extent of Miyazaki’s skyborne creations. The two kids walk through gardens and corridors, climb the roots and branches of trees that have grown throughout the island’s abandoned city and fly home to a happy ending but back then I desperately wanted to learn more about it. It was the first adventure story that made me think “I want to go there too!”[6]

The point is that a high-technology civilisation that can build something like this disappeared for a reason. Fuelled by this idea, the full destructive power of Laputa itself was eye-popping and a tiny bit frightening. Even a youngster can appreciate the contrast of the lush gardens and grand terraces above and the austere mechanics of the sphere below, which is as far from lush and grand as is possible to get. The merciless nature of the villain and his agenda whips up an atmosphere of urgency; of a fight by two children against the odds[7].

Pazu was one hell of a role model for me at the time: he can fix engines, look after himself even though he has no parents, and he will stop at nothing to fulfil his dream of going where ordinary kids cannot. Needless to say I was captivated by Sheeta too – in an innocent kind of way obviously (I was around nine at the time, don’t forget): her gentle nature and inner courage were really quite memorable[8].

It was clearly written by people who knew instinctively what children wanted beyond mere heroism, capers and pretty-shiny explosions. This film was literally a world away from the Western stuff on TV at the time[9].

In closing, I’d like to add that this post that I’ve put off for so long was prompted by a conversation with a guy in my local pub who remembered it being on TV at the end of the 80s/beginning of the 90s. That conversation created something that reached critical mass: so many anime fans I’ve spoken to over the years have similar memories, which makes me wonder how many of us were converted by those obscure airings.

Footnotes

1. Last Exile, anyone?
2. Things go full circle when a young girl, who looks just like the lass who escaped from the sky-pirates minutes before, is shown standing next to a windmill-like machine that hints at how civilisation has returned to its more primitive technology. The op sequence to Laputa owes a lot to the exposition technique in the intro to Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind and the character designs for two leads seem to be inspired by Future Boy Conan too.
3. Makoto Shinkai cites this as his favourite anime film too, and in an interview following the UK preview screening of 5cm Per Second stated that one of his main driving forces as a film maker is to capture the feeling Laputa gave him as a youngster. It still doesn’t mean the ‘New Miyazaki’ label pinned on Shinkai is fair on either director, though.
4. The rendering of Laputa itself, and the eco-fable cautionary tale that makes up its thematic core beyond being an old-fashioned kids’ adventure story, means more to me now in that I now know where Miyazaki’s inspiration came from. The name and came from a Jonathan Swift novel; the terraced gardens that evoke classical images of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon and the Tower of Babel; the world below based on the Victorian mining communities, both in the UK and Japan, that were disappearing around the time the film was given its initial release. There are echoes of Nausicäa in the dark heart of Laputa itself too, not to mention some familiar-looking squirrel creatures.
5. I was getting a lot of déjà vu moments when Akiyuki joins the postal ship in Xam’d: Lost Memories. The themes of going on a journey to discover more about yourself are pretty universal of course, but eh. If you’re going to draw inspiration from someone else’s production, it never hurts to choose well.
6. It would make a fantastic TV show actually – the journey-like nature of the story would suit an episodic format.
7. The use of a foreign language in the spell incantations, not to mention the misuse of the power that results, does I think highlight what a strong impression the Earthsea stories made on Miyazaki as a storyteller; Sheeta’s heritage reminds me a lot of the Language of the Making too. Oh yeah, the part where everything disintegrates is one of Joe Hisaishi’s finest moments.
8. If you’d asked what the nine-year-old me thought of her, I would’ve blushed furiously and said something like “S-s-silly time traveller! It’s not like I like girls or anything!” When I were a lad, we hadn’t even heard of moe but tsunderisms transcend the ages.
9. And it still is. That’s pretty much my argument for why this is still relevant. A film that’s carefully put together and has a solid premise is always going to age well.