When you think of the word “animation”, what is the first thing that comes to mind? Perhaps its snapshots from different film and television properties, as it has become an increasingly popular artform within the last 15-20 years. Perhaps you think about the process behind the art, as talented artists and filmmakers work to create well realized and visually captivating worlds to tell stories that otherwise could not be told within a live action medium. Animation is a complex artform within film specifically, with a vast reach of opportunity that has fostered some truly powerful works of art. However, one of the most deeply unfortunate and truly saddening facets of animation is how often people look down on the medium as something geared specifically towards children’s entertainment. As more and more properties geared towards family markets use the artform to portray their vibrant and often surface level stories, the reputation of the medium has started to diminish slowly as years progress. This is a deeply unfortunate fact, as often, the people championing this misleading label of the artform don’t understand the true complexities and nuances that something like animation can foster and harbor. Yes, while it’s true that animation can be used to create simplified worlds and kinetic stories, it can also be used to showcase fantastical worlds and complex stories that resonate with audiences on a deeper thematic level than you would expect. Yes, it’s fair to say that the popular label slapped onto animation in this day and age is neither accurate nor needed. It’s not a genre, and it’s not meant solely for kids. Rather, it’s a flourishing medium that gives filmmakers the tool to experiment and create to their heart's content, with the only limit or restriction pertaining to their imaginations. Perhaps there’s no filmmaker within the animation industry who understands this quite like Hayao Miyazaki. As one of the founding partners of the Japanese animation juggernaut Studio Ghibli, as well as a four time Academy Award nominee (and two time winner), Miyazaki has a singular vision when it comes to using animation as a tool to tell complex stories, and employs this masterfully throughout his filmography. One of the greatest things about Miyazaki’s films is how imaginative and creative they are, but without sacrificing thematic depth or nuance in the process. Oftentimes within the modern day animation landscape, these animated films can feel imaginative but ultimately dumbed down to the standards of a younger audience. The imaginative plotlines and characters might be present in these properties, but they lack any semblance of depth that make these films feel truly substantial at the end of the day. However, Miyazaki flips this entire notion on its head throughout each of his films in such a masterful way. One element that remains abundantly clear throughout his filmography is how he tells stories through a fantastical or borderline childlike viewpoint of wonder and awe. His worlds are vibrant and colorful, and feature a wide array of characters that lean from more grounded to abstract in quick succession. However, Miyazaki takes a step further in this regard, and blends these fantastical elements with surprising emotional and thematic depth. This in turn helps ground these settings and characters, making these fantastical elements feel borderline realistic in the process. Miyazaki understands that the world is a harsh and cruel place, and he doesn’t shy away from portraying it as such. However, he portrays this harshness through the kinetic and vibrant viewpoints of his stories and characters, making these themes easily accessible for younger audiences to mull over and discuss. This is prevalent throughout all of his filmography. Each one of Miyazaki’s films features this surprisingly poignant and moving nuance, making his films definitive and memorable landmarks of not just animation, but cinema and film itself. However, perhaps there’s no film of his that encapsulates so much of what he tries to achieve in terms of maturity and depth within his films as he does with the 1997 film “Princess Mononoke”. Now, “Princess Mononoke” is decidedly similar to the rest of Miyazaki’s film in this regard, as he definitely blends a fantastical world and setting with the more grounded thematic depth that audiences come to expect from his output. However, there’s something different about Mononoke’s execution in this regard that makes it stand apart from the rest of Miyazaki’s filmography. With “Princess Mononoke”, Miyazaki is holding up a harsh and jagged mirror to society and placing a realistic power struggle and social hierarchy into a world that often doesn’t feel much different from our own, regardless of how many mystical and fantastical elements surround it. Indeed, it seems that for all the deer gods, nightwalker spirits, and two tailed talking wolves it contains within its runtime, the most surprising and prevalent thing inside of “Princess Mononoke” is how intact and functioning its emotional depth and nuance is, as well as its thematic complexity. In this regard, “Princess Mononoke” can quite possibly be considered one of Studio Ghibli’s most mature works of art. Throughout the runtime of the film, Miyazaki explores so many of his earlier themes and ideas in a way that brings out the anger and pain he feels towards these subjects and portrays them in a dark, sinister, and often violent way that cuts deep and affects the audience in such a jarring yet moving way. In “Princess Mononoke”, audiences are transported back to the Muromachi period of Japan as we are introduced to Prince Ashitaka, a headstrong young man that belongs to the Emishi prince, a small and secluded people who find their heritage dwindling. One day, as Ashitaka goes about his daily rounds, an intruder who invaded their land causes great harm, as a boar god corrupted into a demon seeks to destroy everything in its path. As Ashitaka heroically rises up against the demon and defeats it, he is hurt, as he gains an injury on his arm in the process that manifests into an uncontrollable and painful curse. Seeking the help of the Emishi elders, he is told that there is no cure and that the poison from the curse will slowly affect him, leading to his death. Seeking a way to find an answer to his affliction, Ashitaka agrees to travel to the lands far out West, hoping to find the answer to the curse that afflicted the boar god, and in the process hoping to find the answer to the cure himself. This, however, means that Ashitaka must leave behind his home and people, which is a painful sacrifice. Rising to the occasion, Ashitaka becomes a stranger in a strange land, crossing vast lands in his search for an answer to his affliction. Ashitaka ultimately stumbles upon Irontown, a fortified and isolated settlement that mines iron from the surrounding forest, which is rumored to be the home of ancient spirits. Ashitaka soon meets the residents of the town, who are inquisitive about the arrival of such a stranger, including the town’s leader Lady Eboshi, who leads the settlement with an iron fist. Lady Eboshi leads the settlement’s deforestation efforts, and is insistent on driving out every single last piece of a forest in which she sees no intrinsic value outside of the supplement of iron it provides for the town’s services. This, however, is protested day and night by some of the residents of the said forest. Every so often, attacks come from mysterious figures, including the wolf goddess Moro and her adopted human daughter, San, who live to kill Eboshi and restore the natural order of the forest. Ashitaka witnesses one such attack on the settlement and Eboshi at the hands of Moro and San, and becomes intrigued to see someone so impassioned towards what they believe is right. Leaving the settlement with San and Moro, Ashitaka begins to befriend San, and kindles an unlikely relationship with the human, all while becoming more immersed inside the turmoil happening between the spirits and forces of the forest and the inherent antagonism from the humans within the settlement. It is in this regard that “Princess Mononoke” portrays one such complex thematic element. One of the strongest themes running throughout the film itself is the inherent idea of the harm of nature itself. Miyazaki does not shy away from showcasing a world where humanity’s inherent efforts to wipe out every last ounce of forest leads to a world in which there’s nothing profound or substantial left behind. As we watch Ashitaka walk through the forest, we see a place of mystical beauty and vibrant charm, filled with a sheer magic that is never present inside the scenes that take place within the settlement town or any other setting in the film. Miyazaki is blatantly conveying that inherent nature can be a moving, meditative, and magical place where you can experience feelings and emotions that can almost never be found within the hustle and bustle of our day to day lives, where urbanization and development has been placed at the forefront of natural beauty. Yet, even this is masterfully juxtaposed by the lasting effect from the mining town itself. As we see the pieces of forest touched by the settlement and stripped for materials, we see the same landscape, yet it’s entirely different and lacking in either life or depth. We see a land stripped of that whimsy and beauty, and left as an empty shell of itself. In this way, as both Ashitaka and the audience themselves begin to immerse themselves inside the world of the forest and its inhabitants, an important shifting of viewpoints occurs in which we see the effect such changes have not just on the land itself but the inhabitants that reside inside of it. One of the most important scenes in this regard occurs within the last act of the film, as both Eboshi and the monk Jigo behead the Forest Spirit and seal its severed head inside of a container. This causes the Forest Spirit to transform into a wave of chaotic destruction that covers the land, sparing nothing and transforming everything it touches into that same colorless setting with nothing left. It can feel like an oddly placed scene at first, but as you begin to delve deeper into the thematic complexity of the film, its purpose becomes more apparent. In short, this specific scene is highlighting the key facet of nature which remains unchangeable, which is: as we take stuff from the Earth and nature and never give back, we in turn destroy the Earth and everything around us. Much like Jigo and Eboshi taking the head of the Forest Spirit, which in turn transforms the forest into a soulless and desolate plain, we in turn perpetuate such a transformation as we seek to take resources from nature without giving anything back. However, much like what happens when Ashitaka and Sen give the Forest Spirit its head back, which causes the setting to transform back into a lush and vibrant landscape full of warmth and color, when we give back to nature, and we perpetuate growth and opportunity for beauty within our world, we see a positive change in which the world around us is changed for the better, both in terms of physical and societal change. This theme is such a powerful reminder to become the change we want to see in the world, and it’s portrayed so vibrantly and stylistically as only a filmmaker like Hayao Miyazaki could.
One of the strongest thematic nuances within the film itself is the core idea concerning inward hatred and anger that runs throughout the film. When watching the film for the first time, many audience members are initially caught off guard at how ruthless and unforgiving certain aspects are, but to the film’s credit, these moments are made to showcase and exemplify this powerful theme that sticks a definitive landing and invites the audience to look inward as well. As Ashitaka talks to Lady Eboshi about the settlement’s purpose at the beginning of the film, Eboshi tells him that she was the one who caused the boar to turn into a demon within the beginning of the film. By shooting the boar with a steel musket ball, which festered inside of him and stirred hatred, Eboshi indirectly caused his transformation by her own passive action. This centralized idea remains a powerful example of the sheer danger of pure hatred and anger, and how it can change us for the worse. The film explores how hurt and anger poisons us internally, especially if we hold onto it, changing us into something different entirely, and how that hurt can kill us in both a physical and emotional sense. Part of the reason that the boar god turns into a demon is because he holds onto that sense of hatred towards humanity. The steel ball embedded into his hide remains a painful reminder of what humanity has done towards him, and he is reluctant to let it go, which in turn transforms him into a demon because of how that hatred simmers inside of his heart. However, the film goes a step further in portraying this centralized idea and message because it explores how this hatred can not only affect just us but also the people around us as well. Towards the end of the film, while trying to help Okkoto, who is slowly transforming himself, Sen begins to experience that same anger and hatred transform her as well, just from being around Okkoto. This is such a poignant and impactful reminder about the importance of kindness within a society that has placed the very idea of such an aspect at the back of the conversation. When we hold onto that personal anger and resentment, we begin to affect not just ourselves, but the people around us. And both the film and Miyazaki understand this core concept, which in turn helps them portray it in such a visceral and lively way within the film. This is perhaps one of the strongest examples of this within the film, and invites audiences to contemplate the role of hatred within their own lives and how it affects them as well.
When examining the whole of “Princess Mononoke” as a film, however, one key difference becomes apparent when comparing the film to most of the output within the modern day animation industry. This difference in particular lies within the characterization of the film itself, and how the characters within the film hold such a nuanced and complex angle with which audiences can closely identify and relate to them as people. This is due in part to the fact that every single character held within “Princess Mononoke” is flawed, regardless of motive or belief. When examining the characters of the film and what they seek, it often feels that the film wants to paint a simple portrait of nature vs humanity, in which nature feels like the quote unquote “good guys” for most of the runtime. However, the interesting facet about the film is how, although it does portray nature as the protagonists of the film, it doesn’t shy away from portraying these characters, and all characters within the film specifically, as flawed and imperfect. This in turn allows audiences to identify and relate to these characters in more of a substantial way, as when audiences see these imperfections and flaws, they start to see these characters as grounded and complex in both motive and belief. Let’s start by examining Ashitaka’s characterization in this regard. As the last Emishi prince, Ashitaka feels an immense burden to fulfill his role as protector and leader of his people. However, this all changes with the arrival of the boar demon at the beginning of the film, which instills the said curse onto Ashitaka, which fuels an unchecked rage and aggression that he struggles to control, as mentioned in the previous episode. Unlike many other instances within film, as we follow the protagonist of this film here, we see a character who shows a semblance of promise and hope, but ultimately is dragged down by his own pitfalls and shortcomings, which are on full display as the film progresses. After Lady Eboshi explains her part in the stirring of the forest versus the settlement, Ashitaka stays his hand, which rises to strike and defeat Eboshi out of a rash anger spurred on by the curse. Ashitaka struggles with controlling his deepest emotions, and acts rashly and suddenly, which is behavior that in and of itself seems outside the characterization of a “prince”. Ashitaka is young, and longs to be a leader and protector that not only he thinks he can be, but that the rest of his people think he can be as well. However, with this immense pressure also comes a tendency to act in a drastic way. It’s through this emotional growth and maturity of Ashitaka throughout the runtime of the film that we see his behavior shift, and we see the once sudden and unsure prince fully fulfill his destiny and role, but in a way that he doesn’t quite expect or understand at the moment. In this way, the characterization of Sen also showcases this interesting element throughout the course of the film. As we are introduced to Sen in the beginning of the film, we see someone who struggles to forgive, as she feels scorned by the very people who raised her. As we learn throughout the film as Moro reveals to Ashitaka that Sen was abandoned by her people and left to the wolves who raised her, Sen feels a deep set betrayal toward humanity that hurts all the more as she contemplates deep down that this is where her home lies. The hurt to see the place where you belong scorn and look down upon you fills Sen in every waking moment, and when the settlement leads the deforestation efforts, Sen builds up this inner hurt and resentment to the point where she believes if she can only kill Lady Eboshi, that the void in her heart will be fulfilled and she will feel some semblance of peace. However, it’s through meeting Ashitaka and, as mentioned before, shifting her viewpoint, that she’s able to understand the inherent need for humanity and nature to work together to promote prosperity and growth for both aspects of this world. We see Sen grapple with the idea of betrayal, and we see the personal hurt this has left on her, but we also see growth occur as she begins to understand Ashitaka’s worldview. In this way, perhaps one of the most interesting characters in this regard is Lady Eboshi herself. Lady Eboshi is an interesting character in that she is blinded by her own optimism and end goal, which is to provide valuable jobs for people in need while also retaining a valuable resource they can rely on. In this way, perhaps the audience can closely identify with what Lady Eboshi envisions for her settlement. However, the problem that becomes prevalent in regards to Eboshi’s end goal is how she goes about attaining that. Cutting down valuable forest land and seeking to destroy the Forest Spirit so there is nothing standing in her way is blatantly problematic, and she seems oftentimes blinded to any other viewpoints outside of herself. When Ashitaka arrives in the village and then begins to befriend Sen, she sees somehow whom she trusted turn into someone going against the very grain of her beliefs. However, as she witnesses the Forest Spirit search for his head, and recognizes that Ashitaka truly exemplifies what it means to be a leader as he evacuates Irontown, she becomes repentant and recognizes the error of her past ways, promising to move forward within her goals in a way that promotes growth and opportunity for both worlds. When examining complex characterization within the film, you can also see this exemplified within the character of Moro the wolf goddess. As the paternal figure to the orphaned Sen, Moro is in a specific situation in which she sees humanity as an evil to be eradicated, all while she cares for a human that she believes to be a wolf. It’s this blind hatred toward humanity that drives so much of Moro’s complex characterization, and leads to her inward battle as well. However, with the arrival of Ashitaka, this viewpoint is jarringly interrupted. She sees that humanity itself isn’t intrinsically evil, and she begins to see Ashitaka’s kindness and compassion toward nature itself shine through. In this way, one of the greatest things about “Princess Mononoke” is how each character attains a semblance of depth that helps audiences relate to them on a deeper level.
When viewing “Princess Mononoke” from an objective lens, you’ll find a gorgeously animated film that feels well-realized and accomplished and, above all, entertaining, which is certainly true. However, when you truly dig deeper into the film, you unearth a treasure trove of narrative complexity and nuance that feels vastly different from not just Ghiblis’ other films, but the majority of the animated filmography throughout film history itself. Here, “Princess Mononoke” uses animation not just as a style but for a purpose itself, which is to convey these well realized and complex moments with artistic flourishes that could only be found inside of a Miyazaki film. Amid all the fantastic thematic depth that the film raises, however, there is perhaps one fundamental theme that runs throughout the entirety of the film and remains arguably the most impactful moment from the said film, which is the central idea about the power and strength that comes from finding meaningful connections within your life and how it can shape and change who you fundamentally are. Much like Ashitaka experiences within the film, we can look outwards in nature to find a distinct beauty that can not be found elsewhere, and can contemplate how we’re going to promote and showcase that distinct beauty ourselves.