‘Princess Mononoke’ showcases the vitality of animation

Everyone has their favorite Hayao Miyazaki movie. We’re blessed by the filmmaker’s tireless oeuvre, which manages to transcend time with stories that affect all of us no matter when or where we first stumble across them. His sense of empathy and the potent purpose that courses through each of his stunning, grandiose, and poignant films make for everlasting reminders of our humanity and shared existence.

All of that being said, Princess Mononoke is, in fact, the correct answer. As it arrives in theaters with its 4K restoration, it’s easy to look back with nostalgia for one of Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli’s most definitive films. That said, it really is a spectacular piece of work, and likely the most breathtaking piece of cinema Miyazaki has ever created. It’s a perfect blend of thematic elements, beautiful, hand-drawn animation, environmentalist viewpoints, and morally gray antagonists that have become associated with the director.

Released in 1997, Princess Mononoke was the director’s seventh feature film and would become the highest-grossing film in Japan that year. Set in the 14th century during the Muromachi period in Japan, the world our protagonist, Ashitaka (Yōji Matsuda/Billy Crudup), is living in has begun to show the strain of humanity not respecting and nurturing nature. Attacked and infected by a rabid animal, he seeks a cure from a deer-like god, Shishigami. While traveling, he encounters the wolf god, Moro (Akihiro Miwa/Gillian Anderson), and his human companion, the titular Princess Mononoke/San (Yuriko Ishida/Claire Danes).

Miyazaki understands the significance of the imperfect hero.

Ashitaka, from the start, is far from the perfect hero, despite his most noble attempts to broker peace between the world of the gods and spirits that keep refuge in deep forests and the humans who are so often pillaging the land. He’s naive, set against Mononoke’s (San’s) cynicism and lack of faith in humankind. Establishing the imperfections of his characters early makes it so that we expect that level of depth in each new one we meet – from towering gods to humble villagers. They contain multitudes and, often, elicit compassion from us, the viewers, and/or the other characters sharing the screen.

It would be so easy for Miyazaki to rely solely on animation and visuals as the main drawing point at any point in his career. Frankly, some of the finest artistry in the industry bolsters his lesser efforts. Yet it’s his ability to marry themes such as the whimsy of childhood and its shift into young adulthood, traditional sensibilities clashing against the modern, and nature’s reliance on humanity as well as its indifference towards it in a way that is represents itself visually as well as narratively that makes him such a master of the craft. The fine details, not just sheer spectacle, make a Miyazaki film feel like event cinema. We remember the sweeping plains of landscapes, the tumultuous tears, and whole-body shivers.

Lady Eboshi (Yūko Tanaka/Minnie Driver) exemplifies a character meant for a Studio Ghibli world. She hardens herself by circumstances and her what she perceives her place in society is. But she also is capable of compassion and cruelty in the same stroke. She wants to kill the Great Forest Spirit yet houses a community of lepers otherwise ostracized in her village. Her comeuppance, in the end, is to lose an arm from the beheaded mouth of a wolf, showcasing the writer’s belief in this character’s capacity for change. She’s driven by a want to protect rather than greed or bloodlust.

Princess Mononoke bridges the light and dark.

The film finds its enchanting nature in its light and dark elements and in its realism tied with fantastical elements. There’s tireless restraint shown in each frame, from the detailed but deliberate infection seen crawling on warping the skin and shape of the boars to San’s movements when she first infiltrates Iron Town or the way her face nuzzles into the fur of Moro.

This story is about larger-than-life gods, Kodoma roaming the forests, and a significant infection that can change the landscape into something unrecognizable. Princess Mononoke retains its humanity by showcasing the small efforts that make a change along with the universe-defying moments of divine, cataclysmic catharsis. We see it when the Great Forest Spirt’s body crumbles and, instead of laying waste to those who took his life, inspires growth and the promise of prosperous futures with his death. His fallen body quite literally brings new life to the land.

As is the case with most Miyazaki films, the whimsy infused into the film comes with a ready dose of melancholy, aided by the haunting and robust score from longtime collaborator Joe Hisaishi. This is another aspect that allows Studio Ghibli films to help redefine what an animated film is to a more mainstream audience.

Miyazaki bottles the magic of cinema.

Many will recognize the animators that have come before and after him, from the works of Hungarian filmmaker Jankovics Marcell to the works of adult minimalism in films by Bill Plympton, the recent Oscar-winning director Gints Zilbalodis (Flow) to other Japanese filmmakers like the disorienting films from Masaaki Yuasa. All this is to say that you should broaden your scope, and there’s much more beyond Disney and Pixar and, yes, even Ghibli. But films like Princess Mononoke work wonders as gateways for people who have sworn off animated films (and what an absolute loss that is.)

It’s hard not to believe in the magic of cinema when witnessing the scene where an infected Ashitaka leaves his home village and passes through the wonders and perilous unknowns of the countryside. The awe-inspiring moments when the Great Forest Spirit transforms into the Night Walker are as spellbinding for the audience as they are for the characters, so mesmerized by this form so greater than our understanding.

With a mix of CG and hand-drawn sequences, there are as many awe-inspiring landscapes illuminated with a golden hue and forests bespeckled by Kodoma and submerged in earthy greens as there are images of carnage and disfigurement. Like its story, Miyazaki crafted a story of give and take, of the need to compromise to grow. There’s the want for tradition in hand-drawn animation and the eagerness in progress with transitioning utilizing CG.

The work of Miyazaki leaves you speechless.

What can we say that hasn’t already been said about this film, its director, and the studio it was borne from? Something of this magnitude is hard to surmise. The legacy is evident, and it’s championed and cherished by an enormous amount of people worldwide, some of who are still, enviably, getting to experience it for the first time. I know what it means to my loved ones and how it’s only aided in bonding me with some of my closest friends and family.

I know how much it (along with all of Miyazaki’s work) means to me and how it, along with a few other films, is among the ones that made me look at film and storytelling and what they could accomplish with new eyes. I’m no artist, but movies like this wish I were, only so I could understand its pieces, frames, and lines a little more.

Perhaps that’s what the magic of this film ultimately boils down to. It’s entertaining, yes, with action sequences that will leave you breathless, and, as mentioned (a lot), it’s just beautiful to look at. But the empathetic want to learn more and do more that it inspires allows it to linger. The suggested prospect that there’s so much more to explore, so much less to easily define, and worlds upon worlds to discover is an explosively transformative achievement, even in Miyazaki’s subdued and patient hands. Empathy can be revolutionary.

The Princess Mononoke 4K restoration playing now in IMAX.

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Images courtesy of GKIDS.