The name Hayao Miyazaki is to many synonymous with that of the Japanese animation house he co-founded in the 1980s, Studio Ghibli.
At 73 years old, his latest work -- The Wind Rises (Kaze Tachinu in Japan) -- is also to be his last.
Ahead of its May release via Studio Canal in the UK, I was a little nervous entering the screening room to see the picture. I'm a long-time Ghibli admirer and fan, but I'm in the camp that favours its marriage of fantasy and mysticism (My Neighbor Totoro, Howl's Moving Castle) over its explorations of real life (Grave of the Fireflies). I had heard The Wind Rises sat somewhere in the middle. I'd heard it has subtle political messages. I didn't know what to expect.
My nervousness was largely unfounded. Miyazaki's final work is a beautiful masterpiece; in creative direction, in storytelling, in emotion, The Wind Rises succeeds.
It tells the story of Jiro Horikoshi, a Japanese engineering student from the 1920s. Jiro is a country boy who dreams of building beautiful aircraft. He's a gifted designer and follows his heart. Through the film, set against the backdrop of war, natural disaster and the economic crisis in early-20th century Japan, Jiro works his way up to become an enviable driver of Japanese aviation; he deals with love, friendship and death in no small measure in the process.
It's a real-life story, with heartbreaking moments. A short but moving depiction of the devastation caused by the Great Kanto Earthquake in 1923 wrenches the viewer from observing beauty to destruction; but from the disaster is drawn a vivid depiction of human kindness. It's touching despite the powerful undertone of sadness.
That's true of much of The Wind Rises -- friendship sprouts from disaster and love can be seen to end in tears. Yet, throughout, the film never tries to irreparably upset its audience.
It's balanced, and it flows perfectly.
It's necessary that a film inspired by history and tragedy is not layered with fantastic elements. There are no spiritual creatures or magical animals, no susuwatari and at no point does a vehicle become a cat. The closest you will see are magnificent dream sequences, where the protagonist channels the advice of legendary Italian aeronautical engineer Gianni Caproni. These sometimes feel just the slightest bit like comic relief, both to the audience and the protagonist, and they're as close as you'll get to a surreal moment in this film.
As stand-alone movies, The Wind Rises is a close relative of two other Studio Ghibli releases: Porco Rosso (the 1992 Ghibli release about an anthropomorphised pig who flew planes in World War I) and 1988's Grave of the Fireflies (a powerful and relentlessly sad drama set during World War II). It borrows thematically from both, but lacks the comedy and fantasy of the former, and the outright depression of the latter. Yet it should appeal to fans of both, and that's no simple achievement.
Despite people's acceptance of Ghibli's role in depicting war alongside fiction, the film has courted controversy by offering a protagonist the opportunity to be inspiring despite designing warplanes during a World War, and for glossing over wartime events. I'm no political commentator and I'm not going to try to be while such critique is being more loudly spoken by those who believe it's important to understand.
But politically controversial or otherwise, it's essential viewing that's at its core powerfully beautiful, and beautifully powerful.
This article was originally published by WIRED UK
