Miyazaki Madness, Part 2: "Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind" Changes Anime History
Miyazaki's epochal classic is also one of his darkest films
On Thursdays, I’m publishing reviews of classic movies, including pieces that have never appeared online before taken from my book 200 Reviews, available now in Paperback or on Kindle (which you should really consider buying, because it’s an awesome collection!). In this series, we are examining the filmography of my all-time favorite movie director - and newly minted two-time Oscar winner with his win for The Boy and the Heron - Hayao Miyazaki! We will be looking at all of his theatrical feature films along with the movies he wrote but did not direct, for a total of 15 weeks of Miyazaki Madness! The series continues today with Miyazaki’s second feature - though the first based on his own original creation - 1984’s Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind. Enjoy…
Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind
1984, Dir. Hayao Miyazaki
Originally written August 1st, 2013, first published in 200 Reviews
It is impossible to overstate the importance on Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, not only as a film, but as one of the single biggest influences on modern anime (and international perceptions of anime and contemporary Japanese cinema). It is a behemoth, a film whose legacy and reputation casts such a large, overwhelming shadow that it can actually be difficult to strip away the layers of fame and hype to remember that this is, simply put, one of the single greatest films ever made, animation or no.
While Nausicaä is not Hayao Miyazaki’s first film, as it is often erroneously said (that would be Lupin the Third: The Castle of Cagliostro), this was his first feature that stemmed entirely from his own imagination (it is based on his seminal manga series of the same name), and what an imagination it is! Nausicaä simply bursts with invention, ingenuity, and detail at every turn, and with its distinctive, singular art style, the film may be one of the all-time great cinematic examples of world building. What makes the film a masterpiece, though, is that all this incredible design work operates in service of a powerfully emotional environmental thematic undercurrent, one that seems increasingly prescient (and hauntingly prophetic) as time passes by.
Nausicaä feels like a ‘first film’ to me through and through, not because it is qualitatively lacking, but because the themes Miyazaki explores here – about how humanity’s violent sociopolitical interactions is mirrored in our equally toxic relationship with the environment, and how the innocence and perspective of a younger generation is key to finding ways to live in peace – would be presented with a calmer, leveler head later on (especially in Princess Mononoke, which revisits much of this thematic ground). Nausicaä feels to me a very angry film, one that is palpably bitter about humanity’s capacity for violence, destruction, and ignorance. Unlike later Miyazaki films, bad people are painted much more broadly as bad people, and apart from Asbel, there is little redemption for characters who use brutality as a means to an end. The moral and human shades of grey that Miyazaki would so clearly master in subsequent films has yet to fully form, and the overall bleakness of Nausicaä – this is, to me at least, easily the darkest of the Miyazaki-directed Ghibli films – can make the film difficult to fully engage with on one’s first, or even second, viewing.
Yet I think the intertwined emotional and ideological state of the film, if arguably less refined, is an absolutely valuable piece of Miyazaki’s overall identity as a filmmaker, and a starting point that is essential to experience when studying and enjoying his work. This is the place from which Miyazaki begins most of his major thematic explorations on film, and the palpable anger and sadness that lies underneath this story is a core part of the journey he would take (and still takes, to this day) as a cinematic artist. And if Nausicaä is, as I said before, somewhat difficult to engage with at first glance because of this, the film only gets deeper, richer, and better the more one watches, because it is impossibly, impeccably layered, tremendously poignant and profound even amidst its anger, and ultimately capable of a measured, earned sense of optimism about the resilience of the human spirit.
That notion is, of course, made manifest in the film’s title character, Nausicaä, who is for me the single biggest factor in the film’s success. Nausicaä is not only Miyazaki’s single greatest protagonist, but perhaps his most effective and infectious character creation to date. From the moment she first arrives on screen, her personality, willpower, and presence all seem boundless, a testament both to Sumi Shimamoto’s tremendous vocal performance and one of Miyazaki’s very best visual character designs. Hair, clothes, mask, glider, face – every part of Nausicaä’s image is iconic for good reason, and every time I see her, I find myself intoxicated by the effectiveness of the design and the strength of the character.
For Nausicaä is an incredibly strong character, and that, more than her iconic image, may be the number one reason audiences around the world love her so much. Animated or live-action, woman or man, Princess or commoner, Nausicaä is simply one of the most proactive and determined protagonists in all of modern fiction, a figure who earns her title as ‘hero’ by striving for it, constantly, throughout the film, with an energy that is almost inhuman, but completely understandable because of how vividly Miyazaki and Shimamoto bring her to life.
As an example of this character’s singular activeness, compare Nausicaä – a Princess in her valley, with her subjects always referring to her as such (hime-sama) – to a Disney Princess. In Disney animated films, the Princess is everything, and yet she is simultaneously nothing, a character who tends to be passive, their position symbolic. Nausicaä, the Ghibli Princess (and emblematic of most Ghibli protagonists), is the polar opposite – she is everything to the story and surrounding characters because she works tirelessly as a beacon of social, political, and personal hope. For her, ‘Princess’ is not a glamorous title – it is a position, a duty, a role of supreme responsibility, and she lives up to that role (and constantly surpasses it) by being hardworking to a fault and acting vigorously in the interest of her subjects and the world in which they live. The people of the valley of wind, in turn, love her because she works so hard to earn that love and respect. In this way, Nausicaä is one of the single best portraits of leadership ever committed to film. One immediately understands why any of these people would give their lives for their young hime-sama – she is a leader worth protecting, by any means necessary, not because of her bloodline or title, but because of who she is, as a fellow human being.
And that is where the optimism of Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind truly lies – that this character can exist in this utterly broken, endlessly abused world, and maintain her own identity despite tremendous hardship, indicates Miyazaki, even in the midst of a clearly expressed anger about humanity’s dark side, does see reason for hope. From these complex emotions, he made what I truly believe to be one of the greatest films of all time, a stunning, thrilling, thought-provoking, utterly compelling masterpiece that only grows more powerful, meaningful, and provocative with time.
NEXT WEEK: Studio Ghibli is officially launched with 1986’s adventure movie masterpiece, Laputa: Castle in the Sky…
All Miyazaki Madness Pieces:
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