The Tale of the Princess Kaguya (Isao Takahata, 2013)

[Michael Kerpan]

I wonder whether Tale of the Bamboo Cutter WAS a child's story in origin? Given its early date (in written form -- who knows how old it was at the time it was first recorded), could it initially have been a Buddhist "parable" of sorts. I should probably have done more preliminary research. Certainly Takahata's treatment is far more complex than the little story I linked near the start of this thread.

I'm going to try to avoid mentioning Miyazaki any further....

I find the "motion scenes" in this film breathtaking, possibly the best of any anime I have scene. And part of the impact is the precisely the restraint in the way the scenes are presented. There are few (if any) unnecessary details. It almost as if one is seeing traditional Japanese art works brought to life. I remember being utterly stunned by Kaguya's flight, as she shed her kimonos, the first time I watched this. And the impact has never lessened with multiple re-viewings. And I was beguiled by her flying scene, even more than ... (oops). These scenes (and all the others here) always seem perfectly timed. Not a second too long or short. And other more ordinary moments, like the chained sequence of Kaguya's growth spurts, similarly delighted me at every instant.

An interesting aspect of many of Takahata's films including this is the question of what one is supposed to feel at the end. Is it sad? Of course. But categorizing it as sad and stopping there seems to miss the point. Kaguya has had a precious experience -- and like the "clients" in Kore-eda's After Life, she has managed to snag at least a tiny memory to carry with her. In Buddhist fashion, joy and sorrow are inextricable. Similarly, I find the "epilogue" of Grave of the Fireflies to offer an element of joy. Brother and sister reunited -- and serving (in a way) as guardian spirits of a reborn home city. Pom Poko likewise presents a quite emotionally complex (and irreducible) conclusion. The little song at the center of this film (is it based on a real folk song) encapsulates the notion of the inseparability of life and death, joy and sorrow.

[RIP Film]

At least for me the takeaway was a cautionary tale on the pursuit of purity. Though I also know the film is operating on different levels, and can accommodate any number of readings. But I saw Kaguya’s journey, frequently, as one of rejection. She is holding onto this childhood ideal, encapsulated by nature itself, and it becomes her guiding star even though her material circumstances have forbade it. This is not unlike any of us being born into a certain rigid framework that is hard to extricate: a family, a country, wealth, poverty etc. This is the way of the world is, we don’t always get to choose. So Kaguya continues to live her whole life behind walls and veils. She rejects every suitor, every opportunity to change (hampered though it may be), and even Sutemaru— when given a chance encounter she does not go with him, but back behind the veil. She cannot choose and so defaults to isolation. If you’re floating down the river of life and rejecting every creek and stream, then it won’t be long before you’re shot back out to the ocean. There’s some irony in Kaguya being attracted to nature, while simultaneously rejecting life’s inherent demands to change, to compromise, to bend, break and start anew.

I glanced at The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter and am not sure how present a theme this was given its wide perspective, it may be Takahata’s contribution.

[Mr Sausage]

I wonder whether Tale of the Bamboo Cutter WAS a child's story in origin? Given its early date (in written form -- who knows how old it was at the time it was first recorded), could it initially have been a Buddhist "parable" of sorts. I should probably have done more preliminary research. Certainly Takahata's treatment is far more complex than the little story I linked near the start of this thread.

Probably not. It’s probably like the Brothers Grimm, where local folk and fairy tales over time become children’s tales. We tend to think of this mode of storytelling as appropriate for kids. So is Takahata’s film a kid’s movie (in the non-pejorative sense)? I think it would work as one. But I don’t know how it was conceived.

I find the "motion scenes" in this film breathtaking, possibly the best of any anime I have scene. And part of the impact is the precisely the restraint in the way the scenes are presented. There are few (if any) unnecessary details. It almost as if one is seeing traditional Japanese art works brought to life. I remember being utterly stunned by Kaguya's flight, as she shed her kimonos, the first time I watched this. And the impact has never lessened with multiple re-viewings. And I was beguiled by her flying scene, even more than ... (oops). These scenes (and all the others here) always seem perfectly timed. Not a second too long or short. And other more ordinary moments, like the chained sequence of Kaguya's growth spurts, similarly delighted me at every instant.

What’s so brilliant about Kaguya’s flight is how it comes out of nowhere. It bursts out as a moment of uncontrollable emotion when you’re settled in for a long scene of social humiliation. It’s startling but so joyous, because you as an audience wish to escape the entrapment that Takahata has composed so wonderfully (I believe most of the scene is framed through fabric or rice paper as Kaguya observes snatches of the tedious party). It’s a wonderful release. Yet tonally complex, too, because I remember the moment acquiring a melancholy shade as it went on.

What I love about these “movement scenes” is that they lie somewhere between reality and dream. They are not simple dream sequences; in a sense they have actually occurred (Kaguya could not have simply dreamed information she cannot have known; the young woodcutter could not have simply wandered off and fallen asleep in a field, let alone accurately dreamt an adult Kaguya he’s not seen before). It’s almost as tho’ the sheer force of longing and imagination is able to conjure these moments into existence for a brief moment, but cannot sustain their reality for too long. A lovely idea.

An interesting aspect of many of Takahata's films including this is the question of what one is supposed to feel at the end. Is it sad? Of course. But categorizing it as sad and stopping there seems to miss the point. Kaguya has had a precious experience -- and like the "clients" in Kore-eda's After Life, she has managed to snag at least a tiny memory to carry with her. In Buddhist fashion, joy and sorrow are inextricable. Similarly, I find the "epilogue" of Grave of the Fireflies to offer an element of joy. Brother and sister reunited -- and serving (in a way) as guardian spirits of a reborn home city. Pom Poko likewise presents a quite emotionally complex (and irreducible) conclusion. The little song at the center of this film (is it based on a real folk song) encapsulates the notion of the inseparability of life and death, joy and sorrow.

I keep coming back to the Japanese symbol of the cherry blossom. In Japanese culture, as I understand it, the blossom is beautiful because it is so short lived; and part of the emotion that comes from its contemplation is a joy mixed with sadness. I see Kaguya’s ending similarly, as one where the joys are made more keen from their being finite. The ending is melancholic, but one that takes stock of everything wonderful that occurred and concludes that death doesn’t rob life of meaning, it’s actually what gives it that meaning. It’s what allows us to not to take life for granted. Indeed it’s only after realizing her time is up that Kaguya fully appreciates what she’s had. The movie wonderfully avoids implying that one can go back, that the past ought to be recaptured. This is not a nostalgic movie.

[Michael Kerpan]

The flying scene here is (sort of) prefigured by the one in Only Yesterday (which also "comes out of the blue").

I think the challenge of Takahata's film is actually to see beyond "melancholy". But I suspect that is hard to do.

[Red Screamer]

I liked it as well, with some reservations. In terms of animation, the sparse watercolor style nicely suits the tender pastoral scenes at the beginning and I was really taken with the character design of the family, which manages to be both doll-like and gently naturalistic. The film started to lose me with the middle section as it became a story of reluctant commoner to princess / tomboy to debutante. It feels like something I’ve seen a few too many before without much of a new take on the idea. Criticizing long outdated traditions and ideals (typically of femininity and marriage) felt safe and inoffensive, to a degree that weakened the stakes of the story for me.

But the film won me back with the folkloric comedy of the marriage proposals that lead to treasure hunts, and the ending, as discussed by others in the thread, is beautifully executed, balancing starkly different emotions even while it goes for the grand sentiment of, say, twice repeating the folk song that recurs throughout the film. I particularly like the moment when Kaguya begins a philosophical statement about life and death on earth meant to comfort her parents but she’s cut off seemingly before she can finish it. A supernatural being comes down to earth and is forced into an unfulfilling, confined life, but she’s still sad to see it go. The ending also brings new shades of complexity to Kaguya’s character, as she questions the way she chose to live her life and finally spurns and damages the family garden, one of the only consistent sources of happiness for her and her mother.

[Michael Kerpan]

RedScreamer -- That middle section is rather important (and not at all cliched -- to me, at least). We watch Kaguya being pushed, bit by bit, into giving up all the things that made her want to be reborn on earth as a human -- due to love for her parents (and wanting to please them). She is being forced into a life that is WAY too much like the one that caused her to "flee" to earth in the first place (albeit with more stress and pain).

[therewillbeblus]

Agreed, I liked that section the best because it contained an apt depiction of youth's fragile emotional lability in unsolicited circumstances, and instead of repeating such a universal feeling in a clichéd manner, Takahata is way more emotionally intelligent than your average filmmaker and demonstrates his competence through detailed engagement with the nonlinearity of these highs and lows during hyper-powerless stages of life. I loved the contrasts in tone, how they were at once fluid and jarring, organic and intrusive- presented in a mode that's rare yet, yes, within a broader familiar framework. Because, well, that's a pretty broadly relatable period of adjustment