Buena parte del incesante y creciente flujo de turistas que llega a Japón lo hace empujado por su pasión por el manga o el anime. Y si de anime se trata, no hay duda de que Hayao Miyazaki, el gran creador de joyas cinematográficas como Nausicaa y el valle del viento, Mi vecino Totoro o la oscarizada El viaje de Chihiro es el responsable primero de la propagación de la filia por el anime en todo occidente.

Escondido en una pequeña localidad a las afueras de la todopoderosa capital, el museo de los estudios dirigidos por el gran Miyazaki se acurruca entre la maleza y algunos jardines con su arquitectura fantástica coronada, a modo de King Kong, por el robot de una de sus mejores películas, El castillo de Laputa.

El museo, como tal, no tiene un recorrido prefijado, sino que sus limitadas dimensiones, divididas en diferentes estancias temáticas, se deja visitar libremente, sin más brújula que la que guía nuestra curiosidad. Desde habitaciones que recrean el estudio de trabajo del maestro, hasta otras dedicadas a sus últimas producciones, todas ellas ofrecen pistas claras sobre el proceso creativo de una obra de anime de la envergadura de los largometrajes de la Ghibli. Y sin duda es esta la mejor baza de un museo más coqueto que enorme, más humilde que pretencioso, más rendido al homenaje a la animación que al universo mágico de Ghibli. Muestras de escenas y de su elaborada composición, ejemplos palpables de técnicas de filmación de la animación, fotogramas por doquier y abundantes retazos de personajes, escenarios y momentos inolvidables, adornan cada rincón de los entresijos de una casa-museo deliberadamente desordenada, caótica y que fantasea con la imaginación desde sus escaleras espirales hasta los vitrales, desde los pomos de las puertas hasta las lámparas.

Unos pocos pasos en el interior del museo y un@ ya se encuentra totalmente imbuido de la magia y la ternura de la animación de Ghibli, muy en particular en su estancia más impactante, la más cercana a la entrada del mismo, que es todo un homenaje a la animación artesanal, mostrando didácticamente las bases de la misma y la mecánica esencial de un proceso complejo y ciertamente mágico. Aunque la magia, en realidad, está condensada en la instalación giratoria que, con centenares de reproducciones en miniatura de los personajes de Mi vecino Totoro en múltiples posturas ligeramente diferentes las unas de las otras, muestra de manera palpable y evidente la magia de la animación como un servidor jamás había visto. Cíclicamente, la instalación empieza a girar y con ella todos los muñequitos y cuando una luz estroboscópica empieza a tomar cartas en el asunto, los personajes súbitamente cobran vida correteando por el escenario mientras l@s asistentes no salen de su asombro, especialmente al detenerse de nuevo el mecanismo y comprobar, sin atisbo de duda, que aquello que se movía no eran más que pequeños muñecos inanimados de plástico repartidos por un decorado inicialmente estático e inmóvil. Sencillo pero efectivo, emocionante y ilusionante.

En otra estancia, una versión enorme del gato-bús de la misma película, de peluche, hace las delicias de l@s más pequeñ@s, que se encaraman a sus lomos afelpados mientras sus padres les observan con ganas reprimidas de subirse.

En la planta superior, una tienda convenientemente embutida de todo tipo de memorabilia remata las ilusiones de l@s visitantes, que se acaban llevando camisetas, fotogramas, tazas, juegos, imanes y postales de sus imaginarios preferidos.

Y como cúlmen de la visita, una sesión cinematográfica de una pieza corta inédita del maestro Miyazaki, de un catálogo amplio de cortos nunca xhibida o editada en DVD, que redondea la visita del más exigente de los fans.

Es, en definitiva, un museo que sabe jugar como nadie su gran baza, la fantasía acumulada de l@s asistentes, esa ternura reprimida con el paso de los años a la que las películas de Miyazaki tan hábilmente consigue despertar, cinta tras cinta, fantasía tras fantasía.

NOTA: El Museo Ghibli limita el número de visitas por día, con lo que un@ no puede presentarse en el museo y esperar que le dejen acceder. Cada primero de mes, el museo pone a la venta las entradas disponibles para el resto del mes y estas tan sólo pueden comprarse en algunas máquinas de vending que se encuentran en las tiendas “combini” de 24 horas. Si queréis comprarlas, pedid ayuda a algún dependiente, puesto que las instrucciones están completamente en japonés.

I’ve never been able to pinpoint the exact causes for why drawing “manga” style typically doesn’t look quite right, but there’s some things I’ve noticed that I think point towards why this tends to be the case.

The artists did not grow up in the culture. I had a Japanese teacher who one day as part of a vocabulary exercise brought into class a drawing she made of a “handsome guy.” Now, my teacher was not an artist, but the picture she drew was clearly that of a manga-style character and nothing seemed out of place. It was just, when drawing a cartoon character who’s supposed to look stereotypically handsome, this is how it turns out. While I don’t think not growing up in Japan or Japanese precludes an artist from developing that style, I think you can see how growing up in different environments with different artistic influences can change how even a normal person draws or sees drawings, let alone a professional.

But what then are those stylistic differences? Why is it that a manga artist who draws super realistically can still feel naturally like manga? Why is it that even a lot of the non-Japanese artists who get the basic visuals right (i.e. understanding that it’s not just big eyes and small mouths) still tend to produce works that jar you out of the illusion?

The first big one is the different philosophies in paneling. Traditionally in manga, the flow of panels is very important to the story, with emphasis on the concept of “flow.” That’s not really an official term or anything, but it’s one I like to use. Manga are typically designed to have the readers’ eyes be guided smoothly through the page, from one panel to the next, with everything in the panel, art and word bubbles and all, facilitating this flow. While American comics for example also take care to utilize word bubbles in strategic areas to help move the reader along, traditionally the American comic has been about having self-contained panels, each of which encapsulates everything going on at the time, a perfectly stilled moment. I’m reminded of when Grant Morrison in an interview after Final Crisis said, “We talk about events all the time. Well, why can’t every panel be an event?” In a way, he’s not far off from the tradition of Western-style comics, whether it’s indie, superheroes, or newspaper gag strips. It’s also what I think is the real difference between “compressed” and “decompressed” storytelling.

Basically, think of manga as a river, and American comics as a series of ponds. While of course there’s more to comics than just America and Japan, I’m simplifying for the sake of what little claims to brevity I have left. And while there are exceptions on both sides, take note how a manga with not as much “flow” such as Space Adventure Cobra or Nausicaa do well in the west, particularly Europe where highly illustrative backgrounds tend to be emphasized, or how an American comic with a strong sense of visual “flow” in Little Nemo could be seen fondly in Japan (at least I believe it is, if someone can correct me, please do so).

And then there’s other smaller things. Scott McCloud in Understanding Comics for example talks about how back when romance stories in American comics were more common, they still tended to compose scenes as if all of the characters were figures placed in a room. Contrast this with shoujo manga, which tends to emphasize the emotional over the physical; it’s not as important that you know where characters are standing.

But that only applies to manga, right? What about all those cartoons that try, but don’t quite get it. Your Teen Titans and Totally Spies and what-not. There, I’m not as certain about it, but I think it just has to do with what’s considered common in Japanese Animation to the point of it being ingrained into the system. I think the most prominent example of this might be animating on the 3’s, which means changing the image on every third frame instead of every second one as is common with American cartoons. This was originally one of many necessary money-saving techniques for anime on limited budgets as far back as Astro Boy, and what ended up happening was that stuff like animating on 3’s and using lots of stills and closeups, stuff which had its origins in having scarily low budgets, began to be embraced and improved upon and mastered until it in essence became the style anime is known for. What’s important here is the way in which factors such as these influenced the sense of timing that anime tends to have, and if you don’t understand that sense of timing then it becomes difficult to replicate it. Anime has a unique sense of timing.

To summarize, what makes manga seem like manga and what makes anime seem like anime goes deeper than how the characters or backgrounds look, all the way to how the story is told through the visuals. Another important thing to remember is that this is less about quality, or why one is “better” or “worse” than the other, and more about why things are the way they are from the worst comics to the best ones. If you were to compare X-Men: Misfits, an American comic trying to be manga, and that Japanese X-Men manga I posted about a while back, a Japanese comic trying to be American, you’d see that neither one is able to fully escape their origins. Whether these are the most significant factors, I don’t know, but that’s what I’ve seen.

villa NAUSICAA

Venerdi latino @ Nausicaa, sempre con ospiti d’eccezione del mondo Latino.

Questa settimana Special Guest non uno… ma 2 grandi del mondo latino:

DAWES FIGUEROA e RAYDA SALAS

APERTURA ORE 22e30, INGRESSO in lista FLACO Omaggio donna e Riduzione UOMO 10€ con cons. entro l’ 1:00.

Venerdì 13 Novembre

SALA LATINA:

Dawes Figueroa (Cuba)
Rayda Salas (Cuba)
Enmanuel Figuera (Venezuela)
Marialura Galdini (Italia)
Yaima Martinez (Cuba)
Tony C (Italia)
In consolle: DJ Danis La Clave

SALA 2 CONCERTO HOUSE e COMMERCIALE

Come Arrivare: Il locale si trova sulla SS Milano-Meda ed è visibile trà le uscite di Palazzolo e Varedo.
Da Milano: uscita Varedo, riprendere la SS in direzione Milano, la prima a destra.
Da Meda: La prima uscita dopo Varedo.

Il secondo albo di Greystorm “Il gigante dei cieli” ha confermato la mia delusione, pessimo sotto tutti i punti di vista (a parte i disegni). Quindi penso proprio che non ne comprerò altri.

La situazione di Caravan non è brillante, ancora un altro albo incentrato sul passato (seppur più interessante degli altri, qui c’è anche una velata critica all’italia degli anni ‘70). Quello che mi preoccupa sono i personaggi, davvero troppo stereotipati e non si perde mai occasione per aggiungere altri clichè.

Ieri sono andato al Fnac, reparto fumetti, ho sfogliato Eisner, Miyazaki (belli i volumi di Nausicaa), altri autori meno conosciuti, beh, siamo lontani anni luce dal meccanismo Bonelliano, ormai davvero “ingabbiato” nella riproposizione di personaggi scontati ma soprattutto senz’anima.

Ok, so one of the articles I wanted to write about is really short, so I did two short ones which will hopefully equal a normal sized one:)

Smith, Craig, “Twilight in Dublin: A Look at Joyce’s ‘Nausicaa’,” col.28, no.3 (Spring 1991), pp. 631-635.

Smith’s main goal with this article appears to be to argue that the first half of episode 13 is not merely a comic parody of a writing style, but actually deeply packed with complicated twins, a “series of dualitites” (631). He frames this argument by discussing the setting of the episode at twilight, “the moment of transition” in which it is both night and day (631). He identifies a series of twins, both obvious ones like the sea and shore, man and woman, etc, but also more abstract concepts like reality and illusion and sacred and profane, as well as doubles of people, such as Tommy and Jacky doubling the priests. He also notes a rather startling link between Ulysses and Portrait, in which Stephen and Gerty are described in almost identical terms.

            From this point he moves on to the second part of the article, in which he argues that these two characters are unable to differentiate between a key twin, “sexual and spiritual ecstasy” (632). He doesn’t do much with this point, but goes on to find a variety of interesting similarities between Gerty and Stephen, identifying Gerty as a young Stephen as a he appears in Portrait without the intervening year of significant change (633).

            Finally, Smith uses another double to illustrate the importance of the first half of the episode, despite the common desire to brush it off as merely parody. Smith claims that “Joyce sought to continue the twinning process in the episode so that both pairs and opposites might be seen with a second vision, [thus] the strange style of the opening half of the episode is not so enigmatic” (634). He then lists the common topics of Gerty and Bloom’s respective ruminations, which are extensive, arguing finally that both sections are necessary to understand each other, just as the presence of doubles and twins contribute meaning to each part.

Benstock, Bernard, “Decoding in the Dark in ‘Oxen of the Sun’,” vol.28, no.3 (Spring 1991), pp. 637-642.

Benstock begins his article by highlighting “the absence of a controlling, much less a reliable narrator” in episode 14; which is to say that the rapid shifts from one literary style to another creates a narrator that is so transitory that it ceases to be an authority over the progression of the story (637).  Thus, as readers we are forced to experience this episode “in the dark,” without the benefit of a unified coherent narrator, “an exercise in reading blind by listening to the ten voices” (638). Much of the article consists of examples of this confusing progression, which I do not feel the need to trace as we all experienced it ourselves thank you very much. He identifies a further disorienting characteristic of this episode, which is the near invisibility of either of our expected central characters, Bloom and Stephen, especially towards the end of the episode. ‘Oxen of the Sun’ is dominated by the chattering of characters who are not only unknown to the reader, but even difficult to distinguish from each other, with Bloom and Stephen speaking remarkably little: “the disintegration of the elegance of language into dialect distortion acts to deprive the proper Bloom of a voice and reduces the literary Stephen to a few foreign phrases” (641). All told, the purpose of he argument appears to be to point out why this episode is do difficult and uncomfortable for the reader, and while he makes valid points, I don’t think any of us needed a scholar to tell us that.

Gifts and giving form the basis and arching themes of Episode 13, Nausicaa, and Episode 14, Oxen of the Sun, though their effects become increasingly subtle. Relief and respite, protection and guidance to the “stormtossed heart of man,” flow from the Virgin Mary/Nausicaa-figure Gerty MacDowell to Bloom and the reader. This lull, this moment of clarity, comes on the heels of the gift-giving-gone-violent in Episode 12, where suspected wealth turns into expected gifts for the narrator and accompanying drinkers, illustrating the uglier side of social bonds governing wealth, gifts, and when and when not to give. In the case of Bloom’s supposed winnings, the all-male cast of Episode 12, and each of the citizen’s companions, are upset to one degree or another over Bloom not giving out, but they never put these considerations in words to Bloom – displeasure and violence instill both parties at the end. Episode 13 flips this: the female, unlooked for and unasked, not even talked to, reveals herself to Bloom, while hiding the defects, and both come away gracefully released. After this Adoration, this first gift presented directly to him, free of social constraints, Bloom, calmed and at peace, is able to articulate, if briefly, his thoughts on Molly and Boylan. He resolves to not dwell on the past and to move forward: “Returning not the same…the new I want.” Characteristically, he wrestles with the contradiction: “Nothing new under the sun.” Personally, however, the “outside-society” gift has allowed Bloom proactive development. In episode 14, Bloom can, for the first time, put aside concerns for the Boylan-Molly tangle.

Episode 14’s occurrences of gifts and giving are the basis of the episode, the gift of life, its examination, development, and miracle. This gift is inextricably linked, once and for all, with social duty in the opening Latin discourse of the episode, whereby it is described that thinking people must go forth and multiply. Inherent in the gift of life are the many gifts in between death and life, and symbolic of both, manifesting materially in things such as sweaters and drinks. At the same time, there is a theme of hospitality and proper etiquette present in the episode that receives a bear nod from the reveling students when they take in ‘the stranger’ and hush up when confronted by a nurse and stark or noble truths – eventually, however, everything becomes grist for their mockery.

After discussion, everyone was behind this “gift” from Nausicaa as a relief for Bloom, though its effects were more ambiguous than I first imagined, mainly becuase the ending of the episode re-invokes the cuckoldry and “old” scandal Bloom has been dealing with all day. Odd. As well, there is a substantial portion of people who don’t like to view this as a “gift” at all, turning instead on the point of voyuerism present in the episode and the general creepiness of it all. Voyueristic or not, I’d still say that for Bloom the relief is clear.

Amy asked about this in class maybe half a month ago, now (or it could be longer), but I’m finally going to sort of answer the question of femininity in the Church, how Joyce is using it, and then quickly dodge away behind a rock before anyone figures out that I haven’t answered that question at all. So, Nausicaa finally gives us long awaited direct contact with the Cult of Mary. I’m actually surprised that it took so long when we got the much more masculine church of the fathers in Aeolus, Lotus Eaters, and Wandering Rocks.

So, let’s examine Gerty’s character through the structures of the Cult of Mary. Basically, to boil down the Cult of Mary, there 5 (or 4 – one of the beliefs in Mary wasn’t made into actual Dogma until the 1950s, but it was held as common knowledge from the 6th century) basic pieces of dogma: Mary is the Mother of God, she has always been a virgin, she was immaculately conceived, she was taken into heaven (the Assumption is the belief that had not been made official in Joyce’s time), and she is the Mother of the Church. I do think that as Joyce was constructing Gerty he was modeling the deeper Mary parallels on these five beliefs.

Sadly, the first belief, Mary as the Mother of God, is the hardest dogma to work with, for some reason. I feel that Molly fits in here better, or Milly, considering some of the comments made in Oxen of the Sun. I guess in class I’d like to look a bit harder at Gerty’s role as a mother, and how these three women interest at various points with the Virgin Mary. Gerty’s motherhood is questionable. She is supposedly a second of her house (290) but this actually fits more to Mary in her role as Mother of the Church, because Gerty’s home is more closely paralleled to the institution, rather than a more anthropomorphic representation.

Obviously, it’s much more easy to work with the concept of the perpetual virgin. Beyond the fact that it is clear Gerty is a physical virgin, she’s also extremely inexperienced mentally. Her “style” of thought is the awkward prettiness of a dime-store novel, and her very outlook is simple, and innocent. She “crimsons” at the mention of bottom when Cissy uses it in baby talk, transforming herself into the virginal rose (290). Despite the fact that she spends the whole chapter ruminating on romance, and flirting, sex is firmly in it’s proper place, that is to say, the “other thing” and out of sight for Gerty (300).  Also, her antipathy to children, compared to both Cissy and Edy (Mother and Crone pair of a different trinity) , places her firmly in the “maiden” category. She doesn’t even have children in her vision of the the ideal home, which suggests that she would prefer that children, like food, came in more “poetical” (perhaps sacred/mysterious) packages (289). The final proof of her perpetual virginity might lie in a physical virginity, however, considering her lameness. This kind of defect might mar her standing in the marriage market. It even marred her attractiveness to Bloom, after all, and he can entertain almost anything. Gerty might end up the childless spinster of the three girls, despite all her dreams to the contrary.

Moving on to the Immaculate Conception, I have to say, it’s hard to relate this to any Joyce character. In Gerty’s case, it could be argued, her freeness from sin rests in her innocence, and incapability of understanding what sin actually is, as classified by the Roman Catholic Church. “Besides, there was absolution as long as you don’t do the other thing,” is a pretty inaccurate reckoning of the doctrine of lust (300). It could be that Gerty’s immaculate-ness has to do with her pre-Fall Eve-like innocence. Otherwise, I’m going to need a little help with this one.

I’ll make an argument for a representation of the Assumption of Mary, as well, despite the fact that it still wasn’t official in Joyce’s time. I still feel that he nodded at it, in the fireworks scene (Yes, that Roman candle can be more than phallic and masturbatory. Roman candles can be a lot of things). Gerty, after all, “saw a long Roman candle going up over the trees,” which could be the ascension of the Roman Catholic church, or even Gerty going “up, up” to the heavens (300). The fireworks explode in glory becoming one with the sky at the apex of their assent. In artwork of the assumption, the Virgin also ascends in colorful almost liquid-like clouds (sometimes it’s billowing cloth) — Here’s a pretty Rueben from Wikipedia, lots of jetting clouds and artistically nude cherubs — so the fireworks and the Virgin and Gerty all ascend to heaven together.

So, finally we come to looking at Gerty through the lens of the Mother of the Church. I have to say that the moments that I identified when she fit this role were generally Gerty’s least attractive moments. Her condemnation of pretty much all women as prostitutes is one fun example, since Gerty “loathed that sort of person, the fallen woman off the accommodation walk beside the Dodder that went with the soldiers and coarse men with no respect” (299). Of course, like the Church, Gerty associates respect with her kind of virginal-Victorian ultra modesty. She seems only to be able to reach out her more charitable impulses in the language of doctrinal conversion, as well. “If he was protestant or methodist she could convert him easily if he truly loved her,” according to Gery-Mary, mother of the church (293). Each time she reaches out in love or dislike, Gerty seems to embody the Catholic church at some level. Unfortunately, it isn’t the most flattering level. I feel that Joyce is digging more at the institution, rather than woman’s reactions to it.

Femininity in the form of Mary is to be respected and adored, according to Catholic doctrine. Gerty, although she is respected and adored by Bloom, is not as attractive to the reader, having obvious flaws. But these are reflected flaws of the church. Her dislike is absolute, pronounced, and clear. She can’t get along with Edy, and her thoughts turn from majestic to poisonous, which is not brilliant, when seen in someone as powerful as Gerty believes herself to be. When Gerty reaches out with love, as the Church is supposedly open, she thinks of conversion, conquest, and changing those who are not of her color, so to speak. Again, this represents a very ugly side of an institution that has what seem to be decent goals in the form of Gerty’s rather pleasant daydreams. The Catholic Church, as represented through this Mary is a negative force, despite the positive goals it alleges to.

Curioso: Gerty MacDowell olhava para Bloom e via nele o esposo perfeito – que Bloom não é -  para o casamento perfeito – que Bloom não tem; por outro lado, Bloom, qual Ulisses, olhava para Gerty, qual Nausicaa, e não via pureza, virtude, virgindade, mas sim desejo e luxúria – masturbava-se.

(E o relógio que parou na hora em que Molly traiu Bloom?)

This is less about the nature of the shows but rather my own inability to comment on them in such a way that adds value to those who have seen the show, and/or those who would want to.

I noticed that I found myself writing about new shows more often, and finding much to say. This isn’t simply a case of recency bias, because I rewatch shows regularly. Some shows I find very easy to write about, others extremely difficult. Why is this so?

Set aside the fact that I don’t review shows. What I really do is endorse them, champion them, and not act as a filter to serve the interests of those who are on the fence about watching them. To serve this interest requires me, I believe, to be the least subjective of commentators and I am simply much too indulgent for that. So I don’t review shows.

I would find myself fixating on an element of a show or manga and explore it with the intent of generating discussion. Given this, I find myself at a loss in writing about certain works. It confounds me because it would seem that these works are very rich subjects and it’d be easy to find angles to write about them. Here are some examples:

Manga

• Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind
• 20th Century Boys
• Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou

Anime

• Legend of the Galactic Heroes
• Giant Robo: The Day the Earth Stood Still
• Spirited Away/Kiki’s Delivery Service/My Neighbor Totoro/Ponyo on the Cliff by the Sea

I find myself having nothing to say except that I’m blown away by the experience.

Recently I’ve re-read Nausicaa after finally getting my own copies and rediscover the awesomeness that is Princess Kushana of Torumekia, who I think I’m GAR for as any male character. I’m moved to tears by her rallying her men in a desperate stand against the Dorok Empire’s armies in a battle they were ill-suited to fight. Outside of this statement, however, I’ve nothing much to say. Go read the manga if you haven’t yet.

How about you? What shows do you have trouble talking about? In the case of the works I mentioned, what do you think would be interesting to explore? (I just might take them on)

Further Reading

I did manage to write about Legend of the Galactic Heroes once [->]

I do think that this is far more interesting however (jpmeyer 2009/07/21)

So here it is, the final part. I stress again, the last few posts have just been excerpts of a research project much larger in scope; because of this, the conclusion may not make as much sense to you in contrast to someone who had read all the chapters in full. Thanks for reading, I hope you found it both enjoyable and informative.

 CONCLUSION

 The reader of this dissertation should come away with the impression that this study is a unique one. Existing literature tends to be more concerned with the Japanese male as ‘workaholic, corporate-minded drones’[i] than the female who, it is often assumed, is simply a wife and mother. When asked if Japanese society ‘like’ women with families and careers interviewee A replied, ‘Not particularly ‘like’ but try to accept. The number of women in power is increasing…’ and in answer to whether young women are the focal point in contemporary Japan, she answered that ‘yes, they have more choices in their lives. They don’t always have to live as they were expected.’

 It would have been gratifying to have proved conclusively that Miyazaki’s anime at Studio Ghibli has had an impact on Japanese society, especially girls with aspirations to achieve more than previous generations, but in reality the subject was too huge for the word count in this dissertation.

Miyazaki’s fans have called him ‘The Walt Disney of Japan’ but McCarthy reasons that ‘this says more about our need to label creative talents… than about Miyazaki or his work.’[ii] Miyazaki, this report concludes, is no chauvinist, in fact he is quite the opposite: ‘…the constraints of living in a suppressed society aside, I’m hoping to single out motivations for dreams, desires, and hopes.’[iii]

Miyazaki, admitting that as a teenager he fell in love with the heroine of a cartoon movie (‘my soul was moved’[iv]) was asked why he always chose a girl for his theme, his reply was illuminating and rather charming:

I don’t logically plan it that way. When we compare a man in action and a girl in action, I feel girls are more gallant. If a boy is walking with a long stride, I don’t think anything particular, but if a girl is walking gallantly, I feel “that’s cool.” Maybe that’s because I’m a man, and women may think it’s cool when they see a young man striding. At first I thought “this is no longer the era of men. This is no longer the era of taigimeibun.” But after ten years, I grew tired of saying that. I just say “cause I like women.” That has more reality. [v]

This paper set out to outline the intensity and complexity of social pressure imposed upon the Japanese female and whether it had any relevance to Miyazaki’s female creations in his films. So what of his films? Napier suggests that they incorporate ‘an ethical (some critics would say moralistic) agenda that is expressed not only in terms of narrative and characters but also through his extraordinary animation.[vi]’ This study agrees with John Belton who states:

Movies assist audiences in negotiating major changes in identity; they carry them across difficult periods of cultural transition in such a way that a more or less coherent national identity remains in place, spanning the gaps and fissures that threaten to disrupt its movement and to expose its essential disjointedness[vii]

Questionnaire participants agreed that Spirited Away and My Neighbour Totoro were good representations of Japanese society but Princess Mononoke, as a historical fantasy, did not reflect contemporary Japan although its strong female characters were akin to modern day Japan. Porco Rosso had important themes running through it and reflected European morals and ideas illustrating how years of worldwide travel have influenced Miyazaki.

There is evidence that the status of Japanese women is changing. The increase in the number of females going on to higher education, marrying later, increased divorces, declining birth rates and improved jobs, pay and legislation over many years, indicates that even more changes are to come however, ‘for better or worse the contrived commitment of many women in Japan is to a primary job as household manager remains impressive.’[viii] Karan argues that Japanese women are not treading the path marked out by feminists thirty years ago as Japanese feminism is different, having a less combative tone and a greater emphasis on protecting motherhood. Japanese women are less determined to break down traditional sex roles.  

Miyazaki’s deployment of female characters provides a crucial potential for change, growth, and compassionate empowerment. He is clearly not only attempting to break down the conventional image of femininity but also to break down the viewer’s conventional notion of the world in general. As Napier suggests, ‘It is not surprising that virtually all his female characters are strongly associated with flight because it is in images of flying that the possibilities of escape (from the past, from tradition) are most clearly realised’[ix]. Napier writes that Miyazaki takes anime’s basic propensity to defamiliarise consensus reality in a direction that allows him to develop his own agenda’ and thus his very distinctive young heroines, who are assertive and independent, may need another generation before having a significant effect on Japanese society. Certainly by breathing life into his female characters and making them brave, inquisitive and prepared to take risks, he is ensuring that they are quite different to the other shojo characters in shojo manga and animation. This, the researcher feels, has not been achieved by accident. Miyazaki is known for his zealous attention to detail: ‘The background in anime isn’t an afterthought. It is an essential element’[x] therefore it seems impossible to believe that he leaves anything to chance and therefore, means for his characters to have an impact, but what is confusing for a study like this is the sort of comment Miyazaki made to journalist Mark Schilling (of The Japan Times) last year: ‘audiences today can no longer enjoy films that are more than 30 years old, save in an historical sense.’ Does this mean that he is simply targeting today’s audiences or is he being modest because interviewed for The New Yorker he points out that ‘there are children in existence all the time.’[xi]

Children are apparently finding life more challenging and it appears that Miyazaki recognizes this.  He writes that his museum must be run in such a way ‘so that small children are treated as if they were grown-ups.’ Japanese children are either forced to study in order to achieve grades which will allow them to obtain a good job or they rebel, leading to a rise in delinquency which has raised concerns with the Japanese public. Typical heroines tend to be part of a larger group while Miyazaki’s heroines are usually on their own, habitually orphaned (San, Sheeta), or with absent mothers, as he was as a child, (Nausicaa, Mei, Satsuki), or without parental support (Kiki, Chihiro). Furthermore, unlike the classic female character in anime, who is usually characterised by an ultra femininity, Miyazaki’s josei and shojo are notably multi-dimensional, courageously confronting the variety of obstacles before them in a manner that might well be described as stereotypically masculine. For instance, the journal Eureka characterises Miyazaki’s young female characters as simply “youths wearing shojo masks.[xii]”

Napier stated that anime ‘will remain one of the most cultural expressions of contemporary Japanese society’[xiii] and one of the good things about studying this art form is the fact that it allows for individual interpretations beyond what the artist intended and without a doubt Miyazaki’s anime makes you think about things you may not have noticed before and enables you to see the world differently. Napier sums it up by saying that anime provides ‘a different way at looking at gender issues, one that cannot easily be defined as …politically correct or politically incorrect. And that is badly needed.’

[ii] McCarthy, H. (2002) Hayao Miyazaki: Master of Japanese Animation, Berkley; Stone Bridge Press. Pg 10

[iii] A God Among Animators, guardian, http://www.gaurdian.co.uk/film/2005/sep/14/japan.awardsandprizes/print, last accessed 30/04/09

[iv] McCarthy, H. (2002) Hayao Miyazaki: Master of Japanese Animation, Berkley; Stone Bridge Press. Pg 230

[v] Nausica.net, http://www.nausica.net/miyazaki/interviews/heroines.html, accessed at 03/03/09

[vi] Napier, S. (2005) Anime from Akira to Howl’s Moving Castle, New York; Palgrave Macmillan. Pg 153

[vii] Belton in Napier, S. (2005) Anime from Akira to Howl’s Moving Castle, New York; Palgrave Macmillan. Pg 231

[viii] Gordon, A. Managing the Japanese Household: The New Life Movement in Postwar Japan in Molony, B and Uno, K. (2005) Gendering Modern Japanese History, London and Cambridge; Harvard University Press.

[ix] Napier, S. (2005) Anime from Akira to Howl’s Moving Castle, New York; Palgrave Macmillan. Pg 153

[x] Amazing Anime, Time.com, http://www.time.com/printout/0,8816,992626,00.html, last accessed 27/04/09

[xi] The Auteur of Anime, newyorker, http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2005/01/17/050117fa_fact_talbot?printable=true, last accessed 19/03/09

[xii] Eureka in Napier, S. (2005) Anime from Akira to Howl’s Moving Castle, New York; Palgrave Macmillan. Pgs 154/155

[xiii] Napier, S. (2005) Anime from Akira to Howl’s Moving Castle, New York; Palgrave Macmillan. Pg xvii

My research on Hayao Miyazaki and his films is based on a certain approach to the definition of “myth”.

Miyazaki follows in his films a mythological homogeneity, meaning that the stories he tells contain truthful elements in a “determined system of belief.” Those elements are going to have a strong influence on the “miyazakien couple,” the environment in which he will act, and will somehow reflect a certain image of today’s society.

This homogeneity functions under a mechanism of mythical construction and deconstruction. Thus, Miyazaki’s films are crossed by “pseudo mythical references” and will be deconstructed through the appropriation system of Miyazaki. They will then be reconstructed in a new organized system, that will become his in each of his movies. This deconstruction dismantles the structure of a mythical origin, reintegrating some of its fragments into the new system.

This mythical deconstruction invites certain universality, in a pre-cognition that the spectator can indirectly have of the myths used in Miyazaki’s films.

Let’s open the dictionary and look up the definition of myth:

1- imaginary story

2- legend

3-plot

4- ideal representation of the humanity, utopia.

All those are somehow part of the lexicon of fiction, unreal, sometimes close to the literary genre of the fantastic.

However, a myth is actually a story that really happened in a certain time. Mircea Eliade defines “myth” as a cultural reality that tells holy stories, which temporality anchors itself in a time said “primordial,” incarnating the “fabulous times of the beginnings.” This time is cosmogenic, at the origin of all beginnings.

Every society has founding myths. We can understand that their significance can change, but the foundations remain relatively close to each other. For example, we can compare Adam and Eve and the No-Mikoto couple. The first couple in the occidental society, represents the founding couple of Humanity, the second incarnates the demiurge couple of the Japanese cosmogony. This conception of the world, throughout two beings, is culturally part of the different society of the world, and exists within its own mythology. We are going to encounter in Miyazaki’s films, couples that are going to be in some way the “cosmogonic engine” of his stories.

But a myth does not limit itself to this recurrence. According to Eliade, “A myth only talks about what really happened.” It is always question of a creation, of a first state of being. This first state is initiated by beings said to be “supernaturals”, and will be seen as a model for the following humanity. If, in this sense, the myth can array an essential aspect in Miyazaki’s work, it is through the absence of culturally foreign elements, that the worlds he depicts maintain a narrow relation with the myths of the world. It is quite clear that certain elements in his movies are influenced by the natural evolution the Japanese culture, and through the prolongation of its customs and traditions, mixed with Miyazaki’s ideas.

Besides, some of his stories draw their sources from other mythical stories. Nausicaa is, for example inspired from a character appearing in Omer’s Odyssey. The world in which Princess Mononoke takes place around the 14th century, in a medieval Japan, really existed, and echoes to the occidental story of “The Beauty and the Beast”. The temporality of Nausicaa takes place in a “neo-future” that we can easily qualify of post-apocalyptic… The cinema of Miyazaki is, however, not to be taken as an apology of time really lived, but as an inheritance, where he transfigures his own cosmogony.

The Apocalypse is another aspect of the myth, since our world is sprinkled with eschatological mythologies. The “end of the world”, “judgment day”, …etc.  Different names are given to signify the end of an era by its total annihilation followed by a rebirth, a new cosmogony. As Eliade says: “ … the end of the world is only the pre-figuration of a cosmogony to come”. If to an eschatology follows a new cosmogony, the end of Humanity is followed by a new Humanity. This theme seems to be recurrent throughout japanimations, up to extremes like X (directed by Rintaro), developing a complete TV series on the passage from the end of the world to its rebirth. If Miyazaki does not push his “eschatologism” that far, we will see that certain forms of it are imprinted in his work (especially in Nausicaa, Princess Mononoke, Conan, and Hols).

In this way, we can find a mythic origin (in the meaning of Eliade) in Miyazaki’s work, that seems to echo different cultures under a disguised form. This form roots itself in a “mythical dismantlement,” and will be reconstructed inside Miyazaki’s work, creating a new source, that will appear mythic.

Japanese Title: 虫愛ずる姫君
Author: Unknown
Taken From: 堤中納言物語 (Late Thirteenth Century?)
Published By: 角川文庫ソフィア (1963)

Next door to the princess who loved butterflies, there lived the daughter of the Grand Counselor of Regional Inspection. She was not of ordinary elegance, and, since her parents took great care in raising her, she had no equal.

This princess said, “People who love things like flowers and butterflies are foolish and strange. People are able to comprehend the inner nature of things, so it is tracing something to its origins and understanding its essence that is truly amusing.” She thus collected various types of insects with great passion. Saying, “I want to see the way they change,” she put them into several small boxes. Among them, she declared that “It is the profundity of the caterpillars that is elegant.” So, day and night, tucking her bangs behind her ears, she placed them in her palms and watched them carefully.

Because her ladies in waiting were afraid of insects, she summoned young boys of low social standing to catch them for her. She would ask the names of the insects and delight in naming her newest acquisitions.

Proclaiming that “It’s not good to fuss over one’s appearance,” she completely neglected to shave her eyebrows. Also, saying that “It’s annoying and dirty,” she did not blacken her teeth. Smiling with her blindingly white teeth, she would play with her insects lovingly.

Her ladies in waiting, thinking that her behavior was quite strange, would flee in fear and raise a great fuss. To these frightened young women, she would say, “You’re being rude and indecent,” all the while glaring at them from under her coarse black eyebrows, and they would become all the more perplexed.

Her parents would think “How extremely strange that she is so different.” And yet such thoughts were followed by embarrassed musings, such as, “Perhaps there may be some sense to her way of thinking. It’s strange. Whenever we think to say something to her, she becomes irritated. She’s a very intense child.”

They would say to her, “Well, that may be, but you’re getting a bad reputation. What people like is a pleasing appearance. If you keep amusing yourself with those creepy caterpillars, and people were to get wind of it, that would be terrible.”

In response, she would say, “That doesn’t bother me. It is in inquiring about everything in this world and seeing how it ends up that is important. What you’re saying is immature. After all, caterpillars become butterflies.”

She would take out some caterpillars that were entering metamorphosis and show them to her parents.

“What people call silk and wear on their bodies comes from silkworms that haven’t grown wings yet; and, when these silkworms become butterflies, it’s as if they had put on mourning clothes, since they become worthless.”

When she would say things like that, her parents had nothing to say in response and would give up. Of course, the princess was careful not to show herself to them, thinking that it is better for demons and women not to be seen. She would roll up the bamboo blinds in the dim interior of the main house just a little; and, screening herself off behind multiple blind frames, address her parents in this clever way.

Hello everyone. You may have already noticed, but I’ve started a new kind of system that will allow me to classify specific posts as movie reviews, which was an idea I had last week and finally realized a really, really easy way of accomplishing. I’ll finish updating the old posts after I finish this one, but there will be a seperate link on the sidebar to direct you straight to all my posts that contain reviews, if’n that’s what your deal is. And it may very well be, so I’ll take the time now to preempt you with you’re very welcome.

Sorry for the later than usual post today, too, but I guess “a few pages of reading” and “45 pages of reading” are two very different things (contrary to my teacher’s belief), and I can blame this solely on math and numbers, which are a kind of witchcraft and are therefore forbidden.

I did promise a movie review, though, and seeing as how I’ve only watched one movie since this weekend, I’m supposing that I’ll have to write about that one.

“Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind” is the second film by (now famed director) Hayao Miyazaki. The film itself actually predates Miyazaki’s legendary Studio Ghibli, and therefore predates “My Neighbor Totoro”, and served as the launching ground for Miyazaki’s long career. Being that it was made in 1983 (released in ‘84), the animation standards are clearly not up to par with some of his more famous works (“Princess Mononoke” and “Spirited Away” come to mind), but are still quite stunning in their own right, easily besting any other animated anything that I remember from the 80s, and depicting some visualizations that one can consider challenging to animate by any standard.

The story takes place over a thousand years in the future after the collapse of industrial civilization, and focuses on a girl from a small farming community who gets dragged into an epic war between two nations over the resurrection of ancient technology and the destruction of a poisonous forest that threatens to destroy all of humanity again. The theme and moral are pretty clear right from the get go, in which humanity, ages ago, destroys the planet and are now on the brink of destroying it again, and we are forced to realize that, I dunno, maybe we should stop endlessly destroying the planet. Yes, it is a pretty basic message (especially by today’s standards), but it’s delivered beautifully through Miyazaki’s crazy-imaginative sense of world creation, art direction and narrative.

Plants of the future

Much like in any of his other films, the world itself can be considered a character, and the depiction of this world is as interesting as anything the story is trying to say. In particular, the poisonous forest (or the “Sea of Decay”) is as gorgeous as it is terrifying, with poisonous falling spores that act as snow, and hideously giant insects that threaten anything that disturbs them. It’s a pretty intimidating backdrop that, while visually fascinating, also serves a very distinct purpose in driving the story along.

Some of the side characters can get downright annoying at times which is ultimately distracting, and the fact that several scenes in the movie are devoted to their unimportant sidestories keeps the movie from being on par with some of Miyazaki’s later work. But the story really only revolves around Nausicaa as a main character, and it’s always nice to see a strong, independent female lead in an animated movie that doesn’t eventually boil down into a tragic feminine archetype, as was the case in so many Disney films of the time. I think what I really value about this movie is how starkly different it really is from the American animated films I watched growing up in terms of theme and voice. It’s particularly hard for me to reconcile, for example, the weak female stereotypes propagated in films like “Aladdin” and “Beauty & the Beast” with what Miyazaki accomplishes with “Nausicaa”. Miyazaki’s film tends to treat the audience as adults, even though like “My Neighbor Totoro” it can be seen as more or less a family film. And any of you out there who have actually seen “My Neighbor Totoro” will agree with me that there are some pretty mature aspects of that film, and neither movie shies away from dealing with otherwise heavy subjects such as war and death, that were almost always strangely absent from Disney’s cannon. I guess what I’m saying is that films like “Nausicaa” are refreshing additions to the genre, and it’s kind of a shame that my generation missed out on them growing up.

There are also giant birds

So, aside from some cheesy dialogue and some cheesy characters, the only other problem I had with it was the ending of the film. I think personally that it should have gone in a slightly different direction (I’m talking about the very end, here), but it’s pretty easy to see why they chose what they did, and while I might not have ended it as such, it fits Miyazaki’s storytelling model quite well and it’s pretty impossible to question why he chose the route he did. I know, pretty vague paragraph here, but obviously I’m not going to ruin the end of a movie for you.

So, all in all, it is actually a pretty good introduction to Miyazaki, and while it’s not quite on par with “Mononoke”, it is still very good, and I’d say if your a fan of his and you haven’t seen it that you should probably go do so as soon as possible. Final grade: B+

Okay, I’ll talk to you guys on Friday hopefully much earlier than I did this evening. Box office predictions always motivate me, so I wouldn’t worry too much.

whew! we just made it, show closes 06.14.09

http://www.armoryonpark.org/index.php/programs_events/detail/ernesto_neto_in_the_wade_thompson_drill_hall/

Ernesto Neto

May 14 – June 14, 2009

An Epic Installation in Wade Thompson Drill Hall
Curated by Tom Eccles.

Park Avenue Armory launches its first commissioned art installation with anthropodino, a large-scale, interactive work by world-renowned artist, Ernesto Neto. Using hundreds of yards of translucent material, Neto suspends a gigantic canopy from the drill hall’s latticework truss, spanning 120 feet wide and 180 feet long. Magnificent, aromatic “fabric stalactites” descend 60 feet to embrace a vast labyrinth of passageways and rooms.

Open Hours
Tuesday through Friday: 12pm – 8pm
Saturday through Monday: 12pm – 6pm
Memorial Day: 12pm – 6pm

Admission
General: $10
Seniors/Students: $8
18 and under: FREE
Park Avenue Armory Members: FREE
Arts Education Workshop participants – FREE

more on neto:

http://www.tanyabonakdargallery.com/artist.php?art_name=Ernesto%20Neto

**********

anthropodino reminded me of a few things:

1) an ohmu from nausicaa and the valley of the wind

2) being inside a jellyfish

3) just go see it before it closes!