In both Princess Mononoke and Nausicaa we see worlds where -in an inverse of our own- nature is or has the ability to be dominant over man. In our realm of reality, man is certainly the dominant force over nature: we breed and domesticate animals for food and companionship, we alter the natural course of rivers with dams and levees, we pollute, oh God how we pollute, and we are simply in no way in tune with the natural world. If, somehow, we all woke up one day to find that overnight our world had turned into one like Nausicaa's, the outcome would be far from idyllic: many, many people would die and those who didn't would seek to rebuild the world they had left behind. I know these things. Given our general lack of the knowledge needed to thrive without modern amenities, our lack of respect for nature, and our ceaseless quest for the bigger and the better, it's illogical to think that any majority of mankind would be able form a community like the Valley of the Wind, more likely we would end up like the industrial, squabbling Pejites and Tolmekians.
Ted Nugent would thrive in this world for all the wrong reasons, kind of like he does here.
Nausicaa and Ashitaka each manage to maintain a perfect balance between their ties to humanity and to nature, an incredible feat considering they live in worlds inhabited by animal gods the size of semis and easily irritated, world-leveling insects. And the humans they each deal with are as ignorant and destructive as they come. Also, in Nausicaa's world everything is poison. These kids are awesome. They manage to do for their worlds what we fail to do for ours, and they do it in the face of extreme odds that often call for a great amount of self-sacrifice, such as when Nausicaa placed herself in the path of the unstoppable Ohm stampede, or any time Ashitaka did anything.
Especially things like this.
While I do love to bemoan the idea of the McDonald's eating, gun toting, Humvee driving soccer mom, I do understand that there are good people in this world. For all the Eboshis and Kushanas we certainly have Ashitakas and Mononokes and even Sans. These mediators and advocates of natural order are certainly the few, though, and that's why it's so easy to be prospectively grim for the potential of our people.
As much as I love analyzing motifs and symbols and carrying out elaborate critiques through class discussion, I will be the first to cry out about the dangers of over-analyzing and point out when I feel we have gone a bit too far in our ceaseless quest for truth and knowledge. I think our class discussion on Princess Mononoke fell victim to the collective application of our over-zealous intellects and suffered in some ways that it wouldn't have if we had just been a little more willing to accept that certain aspects of the film might not need anything more than the most basic interpretation. In particular, I felt we overwrought the character of Ashitaka as a champion of traditional Japanese ideals, and undermined the significance of rebirth, especially in Lady Eboshi.
We also failed to spend an entire class period appreciating Yakul, easily the most unforgivable oversight of all.
Around the time we watched the Harp of Burma there was a lot of discussion on the nature of the traditional Japanese hero. It was noted that this was a person who was self-sacrificing and dedicated to a cause above all things, more giri than ninjo. While Ashitaka is certainly all these things, there is a significantly Western flavor in how his side is undeniably the 'good' one. He's not just a hero because he remains loyal to his ideals, he's also a hero because he wins, he comes out on top as the champion of a cause which benefits everyone. Even the 'unbiased' universe favors him: the Forest Spirit not only revives him, but also cures him and rewards his benevolent sacrifice. Though Ashitaka wasn't acting with any of this in mind (which is certainly heroic) it still all works out in his favor. We don't have to look at it through Japanese eyes because it appeals so naturally to our Western way of thinking: look at this good guy and look at all the good things he's done, nature loves him.
Look at that elk.
What a hero.
Ambiguity. Ambiguity is a great thing and a terrible thing and it is in no way an end in itself. Ambiguity is a tool which frees us from the boundaries of a storyteller's imagination and gives us free reign to apply our own creative interpretation. Taking an ending and saying, "It's ambiguous! Who knows!" is failing to complete the process of enjoying a film. An ambiguous ending is not a reason to become overwhelmed with all the possible coulds and could nots but a reason to think, speculate, and ultimately conclude and be able to say, "I think this because of this!" It's beautiful! Mononoke's ending was not in itself incredibly ambiguous, but our tendency towards over-analysis still prevented us from reaching a conclusion as a class. What we essentially ended up saying was that there was no way to tell if Lady Eboshi had learned from her death and rebirth, and whether her claim to "build a better Irontown" meant a greener, more sustainable Irontown, or simply an even more industrial one. Poppycock. Of course she learned and of course she means a greener and more sustainable Irontown. The thing about death and rebirth is that you die and are reborn. I don't think I can overstate how big of a deal this is. To say that Lady Eboshi didn't learn from the mistakes of her previous life and will continue in her wicked ways, is to completely disregard the significance of her rebirth. Furthermore, the presence of Ashitaka will prevent her from flubbing up again even if everything else I just said somehow didn't make sense. I honestly don't believe this film requires any further insight. It has a happy ending, and that's okay. It's no less meaningful or legitimate because of it.
I somehow managed not to realize that Grave of the Fireflies was a Studio Ghibli film until about an hour and half into the movie when the screen suddenly went black, save for the text "A Studio Ghibli Film." This moderately surprised me for two reasons: One, this is simply something I expect myself to know, and two, for a studio whose works often feature magic, animals, healthy people, and healthy, magic animal-people, this particular film has a noticeable lack of all of these things.
No horrible death from malnutrition here...
While pondering just why the men behind the studio would make such a deviant move, I came to a few realizations. Whatever symbolic relevance or sheer fantastical value healthy, magic animal-people (henceforth referred to as HMAPs) may have, their appearance in a film which is attempting to portray some extremely grim actualities that have occurred in our world may be somewhat unnecessary and would certainly not make any sense at all. Having established this I began to think about these grim actualities, and, upon realizing just how grim and actual they were, got sad again.
...or here...
Grave of the Fireflies does not depict a fantasy world as Ghibli films are wont to do, rather it depicts our world as it has been, it depicts our people as they have acted towards one another, it depicts how they have suffered and died, and it depicts how they have lived and will live on forever. This realism is why Grave of the Fireflies tends to be so much more emotionally significant than most other films ever: it shows us some incredible highs and lows of human behavior on both large and small scales that we, as humans, feel like we can really relate to. We relate more to humans being human than to a talking cat, a talking fish, or a talking pig.
...or here...
The concept of sibling love is easily the most commonly conveyed theme in the movie. From the two playing together at the beach, to Setsuko's mud treats for her brother, to Saita's constant concern for his sister's well being, there's hardly a moment in the film that doesn't touch on their love for one another.
Other concepts explored semi-prolifically are the indifference of others towards the pairs plight, and their conceptual immortality. Important scenes highlighting societal indifference include Saita's brush with the law, and their visit to the doctor. I find the immortality thing pretty fascinating, considering how closely paired it is with the siblings' ephemerality. Their lives (and lives and general) are seen as tragically brief; they didn't get to get in as much quality living as possible before dying, somewhat akin to fireflies. However, the final scene of the movie shows Setsuko spiritual self sleeping in Saita's spiritual lap, and it's the afterlife, and they're together, and I'm supertired and this blog is going superdownhill, but you get what I mean, I'm sure.
This kind of purely human emotion tends to reach deep down our throats and grab a hold of our hearts in a way that fantasy just can't. Here's another picture of HMAPs eating food.
As I sit here watching my friend Jagger play Batman: Arkham City, I'm thinking of the way the Batman universe handles death, and realizing just how incredibly American it is. Batman treats death very, very seriously. He refuses to kill even the guiltiest, most heinous criminals, and goes to great lengths to save every life he can and greatly regrets and mourns those that he can not. While these concepts aren't in any way unique to American heroes, the last one I mentioned, regretting and mourning the dead, is rather indicative of the way in which we tend to handle death as a taboo, particularly when contrasted with Japanese ideals on the same subject.
As we have learned in class, Japanese people tend to have a great respect for life born out of an understanding of the inevitability death; consider the whole ideology of 'mono no aware', the idea that everything is sacred simply because it does not last. This stems largely from Shinto ideals, particularly the religion's grim depiction of the afterlife and therein its implication of the amorality of the universe. Japanese people aren't as afraid of death as much as they are having not lived. They understand and accept that one day they will die and that will be that and they use this as motivation to do good in the world. They are not prompted by any sort of interest in the afterlife, but rather an interest in the lives of themselves and others.
Consider the films we watched this week, both Harp of Burma and the scenes from Letters From Iwo Jima. These films both deal heavily in Japanese involvement in World War II, resulting deaths, and the Japanese way of responding to them. In Harp of Burma we see a celebration of the lives and sacrifices of the dead through the actions of Mizushima. He dedicates his life to honoring theirs by giving them a proper burial. Letters From Iwo Jima addresses the incredibly Japanese concept of dignified, honorable suicide. We see not one, but two men take their own lives in an effort to improve the lives of others. Recognizing that dying would be of more benefit than staying alive just for the sake of living, they choose suicide.
Really, I don't see how anyone could think these philosophies on death could make anything less than perfect sense. They really just try to take what is an unfortunate certainty for all of us and turn it into something not so grim but rather something commonplace and motivating. Perhaps a Japanese Batman could exist, but his motivations would be entirely different. He would remember his parents fondly, thinking often of their life rather than their untimely death, he would find comfort in remembering the details of the great life they lead, and he would know and share love with the criminal scum of Gotham, rather than so much pain.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
For my term paper for this class I chose the prompt on Perfect Blue. For those of you who chose one of the other films: Perfect Blue's prompt asked for an analysis of Mima's descent into madness and loss of identity. In order to highlight characteristics and qualities of Mima that contributed to her breakdown I offered a highly contrasting example of someone who I believe she would benefit to take some pointers from. This glorious man:
Charlie is entirely and without a doubt, mad, but there is an underlying quality behind his madness that no one seems to appreciate: he is confident. Charlie's identity is remarkable, not only for its amusing outlandishness, but for its authenticity. He makes decisions the public consider dangerous or wild, and he makes them without any concern for his reputation. He exists, arguably, in defiance of the media, disregardful of what others have to say about him as long as he does what he wants to do.
What I'm getting at with all this is essentially: more people should be like Charlie Sheen. I'm not saying you should do lots of cocaine and live with two pornstars, -unless, of course, you want to- but that people should be more confident in their own identity and decision making ability.
Pictured: confidence.
So, how does all of this relate to Akira, Perfect Blue, and Ghost in the Shell? Well, these films all deal heavily in the incredibly postmodern concepts of identity loss, development, and uncertainty, and while I agree that these messages are indeed relevant I argue that in some ways, well, they shouldn't be.
I start with Akira as I feel like it contains the most relevantly dangerous message of the three films: the altering and loss of identity through drug use. Although Akira presents us with a very extreme sci-fi interpretation, this is a very unfortunately real occurrence in our society. The use of prescription medications to control things like ADD, ADHD, or depression often do more harm than good. These drugs use strong mind-altering substances to literally change the way your body naturally feels and interprets stimuli, and while they certainly have benefits and are in many ways a miracle of modern science, we either abuse or develop dependencies for these sorts of drugs. We're quick to chalk inadequacies up to being the product of some unseen mental condition, and even quicker to prescribe drugs to 'fix' them. People have little faith in their own willpower, and while I don't think things could ever reach the level of the superpower giving meds in Akira, this trend can only get worse if not acknowledged and remedied holistically.
If you read my introductory blog you would know that you can find me on Facebook under the name Matt Ford. I am not Matt Ford. If you decided to look into this, found the version of Matt Ford that is me, and proceeded to read some of my statuses you would find that about 80% of them are either about my affinity for butts or that I smell quite bad. If you are by any means a logical person you would also realize that I didn't post these statuses, and if you are a friend of mine you will know that I'm really not all that crazy about butts and typically smell like a delightfully aromatic blend of Spanish leather, ice, wind, and freedom. NOW, what do these facts about me have to do with Perfect Blue? Well, I think the concept of a hyper-identity is a bunch of bullhockey, and I'm sure my good friend Charlie Sheen would be more than willing to back me up on this. In Perfect Blue we see Mima's public and personal identities distorted and broken down to a point of total collapse. The message we're supposed to get from all of this is about dangerous misrepresentation in the media, a valid point, but one not so fundamentally important as that of confidence in a self-developed identity. Mima is an awful, spineless, puppet of a character. She never once uses her voice to express any kind of personal desires, she is constantly being manipulated by her managers and directors and never presents any sort of concrete self to any of them. No one knows who Mima really is, not even her. Several people know who I am, I might even be so bold as to say many, and these people really know who I am. I'm not concerned with being lambasted by reporters, having my identity stolen by a stalker, or what people see when they look at my Facebook page. Not only because human identity transcends these things, but because people, for the most part, have sense.
Ghost in the Shell is similar to Akira in its extremization of a relevant concept, this concept being the loss of humanity through reliance on technology. Now, I love me some technology. I'm quite the fan of videogaming, web surfing, digital music listening, and television and movie watching just to name a few. However, I do all of these things in moderation and balance them out with climbing trees, playing with my Mackdog, and exploring abandoned structures. I certainly don't feel that my humanity is threatened by my appreciation for technology. I could live without it. Though, that's not to say there are people who couldn't. Just as is the case with over-medication, some people develop an unnatural dependency on technology, and it's these kind of people who will really be kicking themselves when their cyber-brains get hacked.
I couldn't fit every point I really wanted to in this brief analyses, but I think you get the gist of my interpretations.
"I am on a drug, it's called Charlie Sheen. It's not available because if you try it you will die.
Your face will melt off and your children will weep over your exploded body."
I spent my high school career at Haynes, a public magnet school in Metairie. It's not "Haynes Middle School", or "Haynes High School", but rather "Haynes Academy", as it spans sixth (and starting in 2010) to twelfth grade. Haynes boasts a newly added upper class, a mingling of dwarfish hordes of children with what one could argue are young adults, a large, diverse faculty which seems to actually try to avoid cooperating with one another, and an administration that's just as incohesive as the rest of the school. Because of these factors, I always felt that my school was really at odds with itself, both in its internal relations and in its appearance to the rest of the world. Bringing this all to Botchan: I have seen seedy academic politics firsthand and feel like my experience helps me to understand and appreciate the film.
Red Shirt
The vice-principal at my high school was really nothing like red Red Shirt, contemptible in his own ways, but far from vain and manipulative. He most enjoyed spending his time issuing forth Catholic school levels of strictness on the most negligible offenses like untucked shirts, missing IDs, or students who arrived a few minutes late. Our principal, however, was certainly comparable to Botchan's in some ways. Though he was an extremely likable and jolly man, he suffered from being too much of an appeaser, we never really saw exercise his power to the fullest extent, and he would rarely, if ever, involve himself in affairs or disputes between the faculty. We had our fair share of Weaklings, who never had much to say about anything; of Clowns, who would ally themselves on friendship rather than any kind of reason; a few Porcupines, who would speak out against misbehavior to no avail; but, we really only had one Botchan, and she left after one long year of head-butting.
I don't think we had any of these.
We did have one teacher who, despite not being vice principal, seems to be more Red Shirt than Red Shirt is. Out of respect for my classmates, and because I don't feel like devoting any sort of brain power to such an unpleasant person, I'm not going to go into great detail on this woman. However, in a parallel to Botchan, there was a particular...incident...a year or two ago involving our Red Shirt and a few strategically placed eggs, but unlike Botchan's lighthearted 'all has been resolved' ending, I believe the great heroes behind this incident received some unfortunate repercussions. Shame.
If I had watched Ninja Scroll a few years ago, or really just outside of the context of this class, I probably wouldn't have been nearly as intrigued by it as our discussions have led me to be, though that's not to say I would have enjoyed watching it any less. The movie is visceral, graphic, and incredibly sexy; anyone seeking to take even a most superficial enjoyment from the film will be greatly pleased. On the other hand, the movie is also chock full of symbolism, folklore, and interesting notes on both modern and historic Japanese culture. I was particularly interested in the point Professor McCay made about Ninja Scroll's kind of celebration of female sexuality, as it's an interesting blend of both the more superficial and truly meaningful qualities of the movie. While I would like to analyze this point, I'd also like to take a look at the film's overall use of sexuality and aesthetics between genders.
It's no secret that Ninja Scroll features some very powerful female characters. Benisato, Zakuro, and Kagero, while having hugely disparate means and allegiances, are equally beautiful and lethal. It's also worth noting that they operate within predominantly male groups as equals. These women are presented as being just as strong as (and sometimes stronger) than the men they fight alongside. This gender equality and female empowerment is a very Japanese hallmark; it's representative of a society which tends not to draw such clear and unnecessary distinctions between sexes. And while I'm on the subject....
Yurimaru
(...and in respect to his long hair, soft-spokenness, fashionability, and generally non-traditional masculinity, Utsutsu, too.) I don't remember who said it, but I recall someone in class yesterday summing up Yurimaru by saying, "He's beautiful." This is an absolutely textbook example of the whole concept of bishōnen (which explains my song choice for this blog.) Just as the women have a masculine quality in their strength, some of the men have feminine qualities in their beauty. I feel like this whole ideology would be completely lost on the average American viewer. Our society leans much more in favor of damsels in distress, and strong, stereotypically male protagonists. To the average viewer, Jubei may seem to fit this role perfectly...
...but, this would be disregarding his critical dependence upon Kagero. Between poisoning Tessai, wedging her tanto into a bamboo tree, and being the very cure to the poison that guarantees to kill Jubei, Kagero saves Jubei just as often as he saves her, another emphasis of their equality. It's not as if she's some tag-along broad who's always in need of rescuing à la Bond girls or Lois Lane.
Though some people may find the overt sexuality in Ninja Scroll to be a bit unnecessary, I feel they're not looking into it deeply enough. Personally, I find it to be a very relevant commentary on Japanese culture and the sometimes absurdity of gender distinction.
Nausicaa and Ashitaka each manage to maintain a perfect balance between their ties to humanity and to nature, an incredible feat considering they live in worlds inhabited by animal gods the size of semis and easily irritated, world-leveling insects. And the humans they each deal with are as ignorant and destructive as they come. Also, in Nausicaa's world everything is poison. These kids are awesome. They manage to do for their worlds what we fail to do for ours, and they do it in the face of extreme odds that often call for a great amount of self-sacrifice, such as when Nausicaa placed herself in the path of the unstoppable Ohm stampede, or any time Ashitaka did anything.
