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matrixschmatrix wrote:

Gregory wrote: And not to be a downer but I watched The Secret of Kells with high hopes but was fairly disappointed there as well. The story didn't seem strong—or just was not well told, as in Ponyo—and some the distinct mark of current animation styles in it matched oddly (for me) with the mishmash of Middle Ages styles. I supposed I can almost never get into the two-dimensional look currently in vogue in animation. It usually seems like a hindrance to the attempt to create interesting, lifelike characters. I guess that's what we have CGI effects for nowadays.
One thing I did like about the film was its contrast between the human world and the world of living things and spirits, probably influenced by Miyazaki's elaborations on that premise.

Well, obviously I disagree with you strongly about Kells- to me, it's totally thematically coherent, expressing in form and in style both the development of the artist and the immense value of art itself, stressing it as something worth fighting to achieve and something worth preserving at all costs. The style seemed not at all a mishmash- there are obviously a number of different derivations, but they're carefully matched together, with impressionistic nightmare visions for the viking raiders, a somewhat more orderly (though still expressive) style within the castle walls, and a wildness that spills into totally different animation forms when in nature- which are synthesized to create the ordered wildness of the Book of Kells. I really can't imagine seeing a character like Aisling in particular as flat or lifeless, and everyone in the work seemed to have a distinct sense of movement and placement in the world of the film- though I think it got stronger once it got past the more modern-Disney slapstick parts of the opening reel or so.

Certain characteristics and "looks" in animation (I wouldn't want to try to list them) rub me the wrong way, even though I recognize they hold great appeal for others. It's not the same as something that's just ugly or badly done the way so much modern animation is. Regarding Ponyo, I have to say I found the design of Ponyo's mother, Granmamare, almost unbelievably hideous for a Ghibli film, but what really sunk it was the incoherence of the story, at least for me.
I may revisit Kells and Ponyo eventually and see if I can work out any of the problems with the stories that I encountered the first time out.

While most of the Tomorrowland set is interesting, something like a precursor to Cosmos, these "history of" segments are arguably its main appeal. The Pixar short, Your Friend, the Rat, mimics the style of these shorts (and shares an inexplicable fondness for French cinema).

From the "Man and the Moon" episode: part one (starts at 1:55) and part two (ends at 1:45).

From the "Mars & Beyond" episode: part one (starts at 1:50) and part two.

My Neighbor Totoro

Well, I'm two for two on enjoying Miyazaki, and while it's clear that it's the same filmmaker behind both this and Castle in the Sky (the interest in relationships with the natural world, the sort of feminized space characterized by strong grandmotherly figures, the focus on children with no interest in relationships of power or ownership, etc) it's in a wildly different mode, and this reminded me of nothing so much as Ozu's I Was Born, But.... Here, there's no question that we're in Japan, and everything is very specifically represented- the house and the beds and the vegetables, and even the way a little girl takes a delight in crawling around on her knees with her feet pulled up, all seem wonderfully well observed and translated without being slavish to photorealism.

In many ways, it's a children's story I've seen in other classic stories, where only the young can see the supernatural around them, and faith in that childish innocence is rewarded, but here it feels less like a paean to innocence in the sense of unknowledge and more one to innocence in the sense of openness to new things and new experiences, and the physicality of running around in the grass and clutching to a warm, furry animal and splashing around in a pool and such defines the movie as much as the narrative does. That, too, seems something in common with Castle in the Sky- Miyazaki seems to have a special genius for conveying the sheer pleasure of movement, of seeing and touching and understanding, in a way that I don't know I've seen in a lot of other animation. Perhaps paradoxically, there's a tactile pleasure to these animated worlds, certainly one that is hard to find in any CGI based animation I can recall, and very few live action features.

matrixschmatrix --

Glad to have you join the Totoro lovers club. ;~}

I think on first viewing I actually preferred Laputa/Castle in the Sky, but I also get the impression that there's a greater wealth of texture and detail to return to in Totoro, such that it would reward repeated viewings more.

I could never objectively talk about Totoro as that was the first film anything I ever saw. I had seen it a million times even before Sesame Street.

matrixschmatrix wrote:I think on first viewing I actually preferred Laputa/Castle in the Sky, but I also get the impression that there's a greater wealth of texture and detail to return to in Totoro, such that it would reward repeated viewings more.

That's how I feel about it. It's utterly enchanting and very moving on a first viewing, and it never seems to lose those qualities, which is pretty miraculous. What I get more and more on each viewing is just how perfectly everything clicks, how every level of the film is beautifully integrated. I think this is one of the reasons why it plays so well for so many different ages. Pre-schoolers get that sense of warmth and safety from Totoro and a big kick of imaginative delight from the cat bus; older kids and adults get different pleasures from other aspects of the film (such as the adventure of moving house, the pathos of the absent mother), but Miyazaki evokes everything so well that we also get to enjoy the nostalgic shadow of that childish delight. And of course, one of the great pleasures of the film is introducing it to kids who didn't even know it existed (and often get instantly obsessed).

Princess Mononoke

Hmm. This was good, obviously, but I think I got a bit distracted from the texture of the movie itself by trying to read the politics of it- we've got a sort of liberal protagonist who believes that everyone can just get along, a colonialist ironworks that's built on stolen land and bent on stealing more, forest spirits who seem to be simultaneously nature and natives of every place that's ever been conquered by those that consider them too uncivilized to count as people, and outsider samurai who seem only to be bent on destruction. It seems like a loaded metaphorical construct, but the development of the movie- where we seem to be expected to forgive the colonialists immediately for all the horrid shit they do, and our hero eventually joins with them- seems vaguely unpleasant, though of course the colony is also broken down and reformed in the climax.

I suppose my issue is that I found it difficult to sympathize with Ashitaka as he continued to aid Lady Eboshi when she refused to back down from her genocidal viewpoint- however much he insisted resistance only created more hatred, the forest spirits were being relentlessly destroyed, and passively dying doesn't seem all that much preferable to fighting back. Though the movie is certainly a complicated text, and one worth examining more than once.

It's been awhile since I saw Mononoke, but I never read Eboshi and the ironworks as colonialist. If anything they're a "lost colony," one totally ignored by the rest of humanity and which has therefore been able to forge its own path, which is pretty damn progressive save their approach to the environment. Calling them colonial suggests to me a foreign government and people subjugating another group (which I suppose here is nature), but there never seems to be much government oversight here, unless you consider humanity foreign to nature.

And it's not like the "colonialists" immediately earn forgiveness--the film stacks the deck toward Eboshi pretty hard--for all the iron she mines, she's been able to create a place where she essentially buys women out of prostitution and gives them real jobs, totally rewriting gender roles, plus creating a leper colony and clinic. But all that's revealed over time. Even then, Ashitaka's defense of the place is less in favor of Eboshi than it is of all the common people working within, and he never really fully aligns himself. What he acts against is the idiocy of the boars who push for full on war, and later the pure greed that motivates the hunters. And as bad as Eboshi's strip mining may be, nature isn't exactly a paradise--even before the introduction of the iron curse it's clear that the boars and wolves are pretty vicious in a Herzogian sense; the demons are born as much of rage and pride as they are of the iron itself.

Anyway, it's definitely worth a rewatch, but I'd suggest checking out Nausicaa first, as Mononoke is almost a remake of that film, but on a more sophisticated level. The ecological themes are all there, as is the complicated relationship between greedy humans, rational ones, simple working people, idealists, and nature. Mononoke just goes further in blurring the lines of right/wrong, giving each side legitimate grievances and ideals (to the point where it's frustrating for someone to pick a side).

Colonialist in that Eboshi appears to believe she has an inherent right to take whatever land and resources she can get without any question of the rights of the current inhabitants- colonialism is as often a private and capitalistic affair as a government one, as the history of the East India Tea Company can attest to. And absolutely, her character is made more complex and interesting by her progressive and humanistic behavior towards lepers and prostitutes. However, her implacable determination to destroy the Deer God, whatever the cost (to her own men and her own city) and whatever the consequences push her into the realm of the unforgivable to me, and while I can understand Ashitaka's desire to preserve as much life as possible, he seems totally unwilling to attack Eboshi in defense of the Deer God. It's a decision I feel as though I'm meant to sympathize with, and one that I don't think I can. Ashitaka does align himself fully with the ironworks at the end, as it's where he decides to go.

The harshness of nature makes the natural characters more fully human to me- I wouldn't be interested in them if they were dull New Age Pocahontas spirits- but certainly doesn't lessen my belief in their right to exist. And suicidal though the boars' charge may be, I'm fairly on board with them, as it's evident that they're faced with a choice between a quick death in attacking their enemies or a slow one through habitat loss and outright attacks from the humans.

I guess I've never considered it colonialism because I considered the wolves/boars/apes/forest to be less sentient beings than personifications of nature. Thus for me, the conflict was never one of colonial encroachment but rather technology/industry versus nature. Again, further complicating this is that Eboshi's system is far ahead of its time and at odds with the rest of Japan (including the court, and if I recall it's suggested that cooperation with the monk is to help ensure the city's continued independence), but can only support itself by virute of this new industry.

Also, if you want to throw more muck into the colonial aspect, Ashitaka is literally a colonial subject; he's a a member of either the Emishi or Ainu, people indigenous to Japan who got pushed way back, and the issues of which the Japanese government still doesn't want to deal with.

As for Eboshi's attack on the Forest Spirit, I thought it pretty clear that her desire to protect her people (and her ego) was being twisted by the monk to his own end. Either way, the film goes to great lengths to present all sides with both positives and negatives. Ashitaka's decision to go back to Ironworks at the end is simply because he's a human and been raised that way, not because the town was right all along. That messy and ideologically unsatisfying conclusion is inherent in the film's love story--namely, the couple doesn't end up together. The sins on both sides are too great, and Ashitaka isn't willing to give up his humanity to live in the forest just as San can't give up her animal upbringing. It's basically the opposite of Avatar.

The forest tribes and gods are have their own governments and cultures, and to me the fact that they're not seen to be human is itself what makes them such a potent metaphor for first peoples; seeing them as part of the natural landscape, and assuming that the landscape is there to be plundered, is essential component of the colonial mindset.

As far as Eboshi being manipulated by the monk goes- that's true enough, but there's a clear moment of decision for her character when Ashitaka tells her about the attack on the ironworks, and she chooses instead to pursue the Deer God. That, to me, is where she became unforgivable; however progressive her hiring practices may be, she chose to pursue murder and destruction over the preservation of her people (and the earlier shot of her standing unhesitatingly while her men are blown apart as bait in the boar charge implied to me that she was complicit there, too.)

That's a really interesting point about Ashitaka's tribe, though; while it adds another layer of complexity to any political metaphor one reads into the movie, I don't think it fundamentally changes my feelings. It's true that the movie presents good and bad aspects to all sides (besides the samurai, who seem inhuman invaders throughout) but I think that's more or less my issue: it seems to think that it's balanced everything fairly equally, and I think that fundamentally the ironworks and Eboshi in particular committed an unforgivable evil, and we're expected more or less to accept that and move on as Ashitaka does. It's hard to swallow in a way that reminds me of the end of Fort Apache, I suppose.

I think the notion of "an unforgivable evil" is totally foreign to Miyazaki's thinking (as expressed in this film, at least).

The story here is akin to Southwestern American Indian (Apache and Navaho) origin tales. There the culture heros HAD to kill various mythical monster-god animals so that human life could co-exist with ordinary animal life in the natural world.

Yeah, the one thing I love about Miyazaki even at his worst (which this is not) is his total discomfort with the idea of villains. The magic of this or Totoro is that he undercuts direct conflicts so as to allow the philosophical conflict to breath. The ultimate feeling is that sometimes people can have misguided motivations which they feel honored after a certain point to never stray from, but that ultimately no one is beyond being forgiven.

To me, an essential part of forgiveness is an understanding that one has done wrong, and that one will not continue to perform that wrong and to profit from it. Certainly, nobody is beyond redemption, but there's a difference between forgiving a past wrong and enabling wrong doing, and 'forgiving' someone who remains in power and continues to do precisely the same thing is more the latter than the former.

Eboshi and her townspeople, and San (and her now non-mythic forest dwellers) all have a new outlook -- towards their own role and their place in the larger local environment. This is Miyazaki's resolution. It won't do any good to try to force his perspective into a totally alien approach.

I understand that there's a millennial implication to the destruction and regrowth of the ironworks village, but I suppose what bothers me is that Eboshi herself does not appear to believe that she made any incorrect decisions throughout, nor is there any sense that she will behave differently in the future. I honestly don't think that she does have a new outlook.

I was very pleased that San does get fully Mowgli'd and move into the village with Ashitaka, though- the narrative appeared to move that way several times, with sort of essentialist declarations that she was human and that she belonged with humans, and I was happy that it undercut that somewhat in the resolution. I also think the ending is meant to be fairly upsetting, and that my discomfort isn't wholly at odds with the intentions of the movie. I suppose I just dislike the narrative of inevitable and therefore acceptable destruction of 'primitive' cultures by 'civilized' ones, and it's a place where the other Miyazaki movies I've seen had a different viewpoint.

You keep speaking of primitive cultures. The only "primitive culture" here is (as mentioned before) Ashitaka's original group. This is all about man and nature finding a _better_ (if not perfect) balance.

The kami are referred to as tribes and have leaders and cultures of their own, I don't really see why I should accept them as effectively human in the sense of distinct and sentient entities.

What you seem to be doing is taking a metaphor as a literal object. They are an anthropomorphic display of nature and are intended to give a face to an abstract concept. They are not 'human' in any sense because they don't exist. They are the space we live in.

Haha, well I'm not- I'm reading the metaphor differently than you guys seem to be, and the actions taken by the natural world make a lot more sense to me as Othered peoples than as literally animals and trees and so forth.

That wouldn't be nature though. That would be an ethereal being. Your interpretation presents some flaws in the film and also doesn't really work within Miyazaki's films nor the history he's drawing from (lots of Japanese mysticism).

The colonial reading is really one I never thought of--given Miyazaki's ecological preoccupations, that's where my mind goes first--but it does open the film up to new interpretations. Still, I'm hesitant to call the kami tribes "primitive people" because 1) Primitive cultures get othered enough without being magical animals. The equation there just seems really icky, and I'd rather think of them as mythic representations of nature. 2) The Kami are being drawn from Shinto tradition, in which they are indeed an extension of nature. 3) Extrapolating along this point would mean that essentially every instance of human expansion (down to the stone age, even before anything resembling "civilization") is colonialism. 4) It also implies that humans are essentially alien to nature--in that they have never been in the forest, whereas I think the film is attempting to bridge that gap.

I also tend to think of colonialism not just as an exploitation of material resources, but also human resources, which is not the case here. Even erasing the human/kami distinction, these creatures have in no way been brought into the system or exploited--it's not even as though they're being hunted for their magical properties to cure something.

There's a line at one point or another that without the Gods at their lead, the animals will exist as prey for the humans to hunt, which seems to confirm that they are being converted from independent beings into materials to be exploited.

And yes, I can see the objection to coding native people as animals as being a reinforcement of extant prejudice against native peoples, but I think it's comparable to using aliens in a similar situation- as a viewer, I think one's first inclination is to regard everyone who's visualized as a human as being fully human, and to tell a story about othering requires the viewer to see them as other. Then too, I think I should be clear that I'm not saying that there's a one to one relationship between the kami and say the Native Americans, just that the situation is set up such that the parallels between colonialist expansion and the people of the ironworks seem inescapable- particularly, that native peoples are often regarded as being merely part of nature, and nature is regarded as being there to be conquered. Moreover, I don't see the fact that Ashitaka is a literal example of a native conflicting with the metaphorical reading, any more than the presence of literal gay people means that the vampires aren't coded as queer in True Blood- it just means that the metaphor has to be somewhat more fluid.

As far as the idea that every human development is a colonialist one, and the connected idea that humans and nature are essentially alien: it seems as though Ashitaka and his village are meant to be read as good models for people that have a relationship with nature that isn't destructive, which is one of the places where the fluid metaphor is interesting, as that's certainly an almost stereotypically associated trait for native peoples- but I suppose that once he's in the forest of the Deer God, he is essentially trying to provide a liberal solution in a revolutionary situation, where live and let live as a philosophy has been made impossible by specific and unceasing aggression. I don't think that aggression is inherent to humanity or to civilization, and I don't think Miyazaki does either- it's one of the things that makes Totoro such a delight- but the ending of the movie seems to read that way, which I find troubling.

Matrix -- You are, of course, free to bring whatever intellectual baggage you like into Princess Mononoke. But with all due respect, you don't seem to be very interested in trying to find the film Miyazaki actually made. I would suggest your attempt to impose your own very rigid, external frameworkl onto Miyazaki's cinematic world is, in fact, EXTREMELY colonialist. ;~}