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2 years ago
If you love vivid films, foreign films and animated films, you’ve probably heard the name "Studio Ghibli" - their incredible output handily covers all three of those bases. Across nearly two dozen feature-length animated films, Ghibli have tackled a wild array of stories and characters, and yet there’s a rich and common theme that connects them all: environmentalism.
Studio Ghibli was established by Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata amid Japan's enormous mid-80s economic boom, during which time farming villages were slowly evolving into the massive cities we recognize today. It makes sense, then, that Ghibli films aim to evoke nostalgia for a time when people vibed with - even worshipped - nature. Watch their films, and the Studio’s belief is clear: that nature is a wonder, we (often) don’t deserve its spoils, and - to paraphrase Joni Mitchell - we won’t know what we’ve got ‘til it’s gone.
Before we dive in, some background: Takahata and Miyazaki’s interest in nature and keeping the earth greener was motivated in part by the Shinto religion. Shinto places a strong emphasis on the natural world, and how people can both affect it and be influenced by it. According to the religion, spirits can be found in every aspect of nature, including plants, animals, and entire islands. This idea has made respect for and kindness towards nature an integral part of Japanese civilization for centuries, and it serves as a key foundation for the nation's cultural framework - and Takahata & Miyazaki's works. As you’re about to see, many of their films include diverse casts of remarkable beings and natural spirits; images drawn from Shintoism that serve as powerful metaphors.
Take sustainability, explored in 1997’s Princess Mononoke. Miyazaki states that the film's goal was to "portray the very beginnings of the seemingly unresolvable conflict between the natural world and modern industrial civilization". While often brutal, the film showcases stunning landscapes with the grandeur of Japanese myth and legend. This thematic heart floods the universe of Princess Mononoke - with the real-world climate problem told in the conflict between a capitalist city competing for industrialisation, and the forest's inhabitants struggling for life.
The film opens with the protagonist, Prince Ashitaka embarking on a quest to save his town from a plague, and running into a forest-dwelling warrior, Princess Mononoke. She is disgusted at the reckless, selfish ‘city humans’ destroying the forest to sustain their expanding industries. After the mayor makes the crucial mistake of killing a protector of the forest, nature fights back. Wolves, wild boars, monkeys, and the untamed Princess Mononoke herself come after the whole town, vowing revenge. Prince Ashitaka must attempt to make an agreement between the two groups and prove that they are capable of living in harmony. Sound familiar? It’s a theme that feels like it’s being argued today amidst our current climate crisis.
Princess Mononoke deftly balances heroing of the most noble bits of humankind, while also making crystal clear its thoughts on how pig-headed and evil the worst of us can be. The film’s conclusion and peace offering scene is breathtaking, but we don't want to give anything away.
Compared to Princess Mononoke, 2008’s Ponyo portrays the environmental topic less overtly, but it’s still definitely present. Five year old Sōsuke, the son of an absent sailor, lives with his mother in a peaceful cliffside home by the sea. Along with preschool, Sōsuke often visits the senior citizens' centre where his mother works, sending messages to his sea-faring Dad.
While heading to school, Sōsuke saves a goldfish with an adorable, almost human face - naming her Ponyo. Proudly bringing Ponyo to show-and-tell, Sōsuke swears they will be best friends, but Ponyo’s furious father has other ideas. A wizard who controls the marine life of the sea, he hates humanity because of their nearsightedness and polluting ways. He forces Ponyo back home, but she escapes using some of her own magic - and it’s then that Ponyo’s father really loses his ‘nana, raising sea levels in revenge and waging all-out war against humanity.
Ponyo is portrayed in a simpler, more magical style to appeal to the film's young target audience: children are left with the very clear message that the ocean is its own world, not just a place for human garbage to be dumped. Ponyo shows us that the water - though pretty on the surface - is unclean. The trawling net of a fishing boat gathers more rubbish than fish. The small coastal town routinely floods. Under Sōsuke's home, blobs of inky, unhappy waves lap at the coast. We only begin to see improvement once the humans of the story appreciate the importance of the ocean: that its ecosystem is precious, not a resource to be exploited.
In a similar vein comes one of Studio Ghibli’s cutest films (in our humble opinion), My Neighbor Totoro. Our main protagonists Satsuki and her younger sister Mei move to the countryside after their mother falls ill. They both seem to be missing her a whole lot in the new house, until they begin to see magic around them (hint: it’s a metaphor for nature's ability to heal). Due to the slower pace of life, the cleaner air and water, the fresher local produce, and the serene and relaxing ambience, My Neighbor Totoro makes it clear that nature can treat not just your body, but also your mind.
The film portrays the positive relationships between people and the natural world. Everyone in the town appreciates the abundance of food, thanks to the spirits that ensure the fertility of the crops. People offer gifts and appreciation to the woodland spirits at Shinto shrines. Satsuki and Mei are led to an enormous camphor tree to respectfully thank their new friends. Thus, the characters in My Neighbor Totoro are aware of nature and the energies that lie within the forest, both mystical and ecological. Through their active gestures of gratitude, they demonstrate their appreciation of, and reliance on nature. (Oh, and it totally helps that we also get some of the sweetest creatures you’ll ever see on screen; like plush toys come to life).
Where My Neighbor Totoro truly shines is in capturing the charm and beauty of the rural countryside: meadows covered in rain; a close-up of the forest as the children imagine silent spirits. Sure, you might not run into a giant cuddly rabbit spirit with a leaf umbrella while exploring the forest - but these tranquil, gorgeous scenes all but make you want to pull out the hiking boots and immediately become one with your local mossy trail.
Finally, one of Studio Ghibli’s most prominent and metaphorical films: Spirited Away. We follow Chihiro, a hard-headed 10-year-old girl, as her family relocate to a new home away from the city. They pass a deserted amusement park en route and, looking for a quick break, decide to explore. While wandering the theme park, Chihiro and her parents stumble onto a mysteriously laden market stall. Despite Chihiro’s objections, her parents begin to devour the banquet - her father reasoning “I’ve got a credit card and cash” (introducing one of Spirited Away’s major themes: the greed and consumerism of humans). As they gorge themselves, the parents both transform into pigs, destined to become the very food they’re consuming.
Running for help, Chihiro is thrust into the spirit realm: a bathhouse that caters to various peculiar guests, run by a witch named Yubaba. It’s clear that Chihiro needs to work in order to survive and figure out how to return to save her parents. In the course of her work, Chihiro encounters a number of different spirits; some friendly, some intimidating, and some that mirror environmentalism and greed itself.
Exhibit A: the "Stink Spirit", Spirited Away’s most explicit nod to its environmental theme. Chihiro notices something sticking out of the body of the foul "Stink Spirit" as it wades in the bathtub. With the other workers on hand to help, Chihiro begins to pull. The debris that emerges from the "Stink Spirit" includes bicycles, trash cans, fishing nets, playground equipment, and single-use plastics – all common contributors to river contamination. Once the sludge and debris is washed away, we find that this odorous creature is in fact a majestic river spirit. (This story is based in truth: Miyazaki himself jotted down the concept after once pulling a bicycle from a polluted river).
The "Stink Spirit" is especially significant because water is revered as a sacred element in Japan; numerous "water related rites" are held throughout the country, which is also home to over two thousand onsens (bathhouses). Hot spring bathing is thought to be a technique to cleanse the body and spirit and to bring one closer to nature. With this cultural context in mind, Miyazaki’s feelings in this scene become clear: how long will we as a species continue taking nature for granted, and destroying resources that are so fragile and precious?
Okay, so while we might not individually have the power to prevent industrialisation, pollution, water contamination or the destruction of our forests, Studio Ghibli’s works still strive to inspire us: we can make every effort to coexist peacefully with nature. We as the audience are encouraged to consider how we interact with the natural environment - after all, humans and nature can (and should) be mutually beneficial.
Expressing all of this through the medium of animation just adds to the wonder of Studio Ghibli. And while most parents would probably sooner sit their kids down in front of a Disney Princess than Princess Mononoke, we’d suggest that’s a shame - there’s a deep respect for Mother Nature through the entire Ghibli catalogue that’s much more magical than Fantasia, and enriching to watch at any age. As Miyazaki himself has stated, Studio Ghibli was created “to tell stories that touch the soul”. On that front, we’d have to say ‘mission accomplished.’
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