(Chosen by Jackie!)
A few months back, while reviewing Dune, I noted how adapting the complex world of Arrakis from Frank Herbert's novels to the big screen seemed a nigh-impossible task for any direction, thanks in part to how much of the setting's appeal lies within the unique, functioning ecology Herbert created and how it impacts the characters' journey. The limits of a two-hour narrative feature do not seem the friendliest place for exploring an ecosystem in any kind of detail if we're to also tell a tale of great political intrigue. Certainly, on first impression, the same issue seems liable to plague Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind - though adapted from Hayao Miyazaki's manga of the same name by the man himself, it is only adapted from the first sixteen chapters of a fifty-nine chapter series, before Miyazaki introduced the true depth of the Sea of Decay's place in the world's larger story. What's more, those initial sixteen chapters still played host to a dense plot about infighting, survival, and the nature of war, and Miyazaki himself had only helmed a single animated feature prior to this point, one set in someone else's preestablished universe. One considers all this in a vacuum, and has to wonder exactly how you can make a film that turns on as tricky a subject as ecology work so well?
The answer firstly lies in the same place one finds the key to all Miyazaki films: love and appreciation. Any time we follow Princess Nausicaä into the Sea of Decay, whether it's on an expedition for materials to assist her people in the Valley of the Wind, scrambling for survival in the aftermath of a surprise aerial attack, or racing through the canopy to prevent some great disaster, the film takes its time to impress on us the beauty of this deadly place. The gorgeously detailed renders from multiple background artists and Fantastic Planet-esque animation on the enormous Ohmu bugs help it play to the eye viscerally, all ethereally light blues and greens gently mingling with each other before the breach of vivid reds and pinks, or soft white glows, or an enormous mass of nearly-black green overwhelming the screen. Experientially, though, we also have Nausicaä herself to guide us, as her evident experience with this harsh landscape cuts through its threats at every turn and makes us appreciate the underlying pulse of life. Her windwhistle for taming angered bugs, her careful manner of step that can still become overwhelmed by excitement, her refusal to succumb to fear where quick-witted planning would serve better; her every move when enveloped in this place that could otherwise kill her within minutes shows someone who respects and lives with their environment, no matter how hostile. It is the same tender loving care Miyazaki puts towards the familiar pastoral landscapes of My Neighbor Totoro or the bulky biplanes of Porco Rosso, applied to a deadly landscape of his own invention, and it makes the whole scene of ink and paper breathe with undeniable life.
With the audience accepting of and appreciative towards this strange new world just from the way the film is paced and animated, Miyazaki has ample room to impress his next trick for communicating the setting's ecology: a plot directly revolving around our place within the ecosystem. "Place" is a fitting word for how the film views humanity's role here, for the whole conflict around a technologically-superior nation seeking to revive a Great God Warrior and reclaim the world entire for mankind predicates its wrongness on the damage of might and fire wielded with too liberal a love for their usage. As the situation degenerates, with Nausicaa losing her father and becoming lost below the Sea's floor, and her people contend with an encroachment of spores in addition to their militaristic occupiers, it becomes clear that each worsening development comes down to a reflection of the old world's sins: a love of power, a lust for conquest, an impassioned flurry of violence, an inability to stop and think before acting. The film's harshest development, of Nausicaä dooming her secret garden of healthy plants from the Sea of Decay in a fit of rage and despair, passes with little bombast compared to the burning of an infected forest or the revival of the rotting Warrior, but it most clearly shows the dangers of giving into our worst tendencies and refusing to live with the world as it is.
Under the film's philosophy, we both matter more than anything, and do not matter at all. The world guarantees us no place within its boundaries if we do not work to maintain it, and the same system that naturally birthed us can easily naturally render us extinct. We can only thrive on our own terms and with the land if we take the time to appreciate what we have, live within our means, understand how the world works and what we must do to keep it healthy alongside ourselves. Attempts to overwhelm with superior strength will only lead to a backlash, and the loss of everything we have. There is the great danger of the Ohmu overrunning the land and costing the Valley people their very lives, yet there is still the minor tragedy of Nausicaä destroying her secret garden, in her almost denying everything she has learned about how these lifeforms work in favor of deepening her misery. The greatest calamity of all, on a macro and micro scale, comes with embracing fire for any reason because you hate the weathering of wind and water upon your hands. To refuse a nurturing role and to adopt the role of destroyer are equal evils, for they suggest we can live above or beyond the world, not within it.
Fortunately, the course of Nausicaä's journey allows her time to reflect on the empathetic failings of those she admired through dreams, a chance to meet and understand someone who initially considered her an enemy, and the unique opportunity to view the near-crystalline truth of the Sea of Decay's purifying processes. It takes time to deepen her convictions towards pacifism, and forces her into situations where only a total commitment to nonviolence and a full understanding of what's truly necessary can win the day. She must use all her strength to stop an instinctive infant Ohmu from drowning itself in poison, assert her will without raising her fist, sacrifice herself to halt catastrophe, all to impart a singular message: the world must turn on its own terms. The Sea of Decay is a system that has evolved to cleanse the earth and defend itself against those who would poison it again. Though toxic to humans, survival in the face of this toxicity is a testament to our endurance and ability to live with the land, to take without excess and guard what's our own. To take the final image of the film, a new seedling sprouting from Nausicaä's abandoned gas mask in the petrified forest beneath the Sea, we can understand that with time, a life lived as Nausicaä believes it is best lived will lead to a healed world, a far healthier world than if those who want dominance now clench their fists round its expanse and die to bleeding poisons. It will take time, and it will not always be friendly to us, but when has it ever been so for any other species in the world's history?
I don't think Nausicaä is quite as impactful as it could potentially be - coming so early in Miyazaki's cycle and running on a far tighter budget than future Ghibli productions, you can see the places where their smaller touches haven't quite taken hold. Side characters feel a little flatter and play closer to anime stock characters of the day, animation techniques like the Ohmu's segmented sliding fall away when not absolutely necessary, the story gets lost in a bog of political intrigue with villains who don't slide close enough to either outright evil or understandable motives. It's a foundational text for everything that came after, and it shows in the margins. Even still, considering all future Miyazaki films have expanded on this foundation to magical effect, the raw, elemental version of all he does still resonates profoundly all the same - a few less effective pieces here and there can't take away from a fantastically written protagonist, lovely landscapes, the joy of animated flight, or that all important ecology. This last is not incredibly detailed compared to that of Arrakis, or even the same Sea of Decay from the manga, but it is functional and vital to the story and themes in a way few other imagined cinematic settings are. How did Miyazaki make a world so dependent on an ecological understanding work on the big screen? By focusing less on the particulars, and more on making it someplace the audience can touch, understand, and reflect through onto their own lives. An ecology of emotion, in effect.
Denis Villeneuve, I hope you're taking notes.
4.5/5
No comments:
Post a Comment