Kiki's Delivery Service (Hayao Miyazaki, 1989)

A broom, a black cat and black gown; all that’s missing for Kiki is a pointy hat. Miyazaki’s fifth film (and third for Studio Ghibli) adapts a novel of the same name by Eiko Kadono, but still fits neatly into the Ghibli canon. A young-female protagonist, an anthropomorphic animal and lots of flying means that Kiki’s Delivery Service is Miyazaki in very comfortable territory.

Kiki has made a decision – today is the day she progresses into witch-hood. An important day to witch families, Kiki has to leave home and, on board a broom, fly to another village to start her own, independent life. Settling down in a Paris-sounding and San-Francisco-looking Japanese, beach-front town, Kiki makes her home. With the help of pregnant-baker Osono, artist Ursula and Where’s-Wally-lookalike Tombo, Kiki sets up her business despite the personal challenges she has growing up as a witch. Throughout, Kiki has her faithful sidekick and droll cat Jiji to keep her company.

Miyazaki’s pervious film, My Neighbour Totoro, hints at the idea that children should be shielded from the brutal reality of adulthood. In contrast, Kiki’s Delivery Service is about growth, as Kiki becomes self-aware and independent. Kiki is thirteen and, considering her cat speaks to her, this could’ve become an episodic narrative, jumping from one story to another. Miyazaki ensures this doesn’t happen. Despite her delivery service, flying across the town, the amount of characters is limited, and purposeful. The bakery couple who provide Kiki with a home; two old ladies that show Kiki the importance of tradition; a free-spirit who lives in the woods and paints in the style of Chagall; the small group of teenagers who are nameless but provide a counter-point to Kiki and Tombo’s honest and respectful attitude. Considering how busy the town is, this is concise and measured, proving how considered Miyazaki is when adapting this story.

The artistry, like all of Miyazaki’s films, is incredibly impressive. As Kiki flies in the air, her dress billows and her hair flutters through the wind. A sense of speed and a cool breeze are amplified by the striking colours of the sky and ocean. In fact, the finale consisting of a dirigible (a large blimp) breaking free from its constraints and crashing into the clock tower that welcomed Kiki to the town, is a neat use of the recurring theme of flight.

But, the unforgettable, stand-out character is the cat, Jiji. He could be considered a mere supporting role, akin to the type of quirky characters we see too often in Disney films (Olaf in Frozen, Pascal in Tangled), but he’s so much more. He is the cynic to Kiki’s innocent optimism. Her relationship to him, and their funny dialogue, shows a connection to her witchcraft and childhood. When she loses the power to speak to him, we feel how mighty the loss is. Has she forgotten how to be childish and playful? Has she forgotten her past? Indeed, Mushu in Mulan or Abu in Aladdin, seem to be exaggerated comedic characters for the sake of holding the attention of a young child. Jiji has a thematic and integral link, showing his own growth as he falls for the cat next door. The graceful and smooth animation of Jiji is what draws you in while snarky remarks are intelligent and perfectly pitched.

Kiki’s Delivery Service is uniquely Studio Ghibli, and an important example of animation rooted in a different set of standards. Miyazaki’s films often pit modern technology against age-old traditions, and in Kiki’s Delivery Service, it is no different. These grand tales of change are cinematic and challenging for kids, as much as they are for grown-ups. The western style of entertaining the entire family often falls into a context everyone can relate to (toys in Toy Story and fairy tales in Shrek) with characters that speak to all members of the family alike. In 1989, Studio Ghibli already had a cultural story and characters, like Jiji, to balance what could be considered twee. The higher-quality, and crucial difference, is how Kiki’s Delivery Service hints at bolder, bigger statements – something that would be bolder still in Howl’s Moving Castle and Spirited Away, only a few years in the future…

This post was originally written for Flickering Myth on 21st April 2014

My Neighbour Totoro (Hayao Miyazaki, 1988)

Totoro is the symbol of Studio Ghibli. The smiley, grey beast began life as part of a double-bill with Grave of the Fireflies because financiers didn’t believe My Neighbour Totoro alone would make money. By screening the cute and cuddly My Neighbour Totoro with the harrowing, deeply moving Grave of the Fireflies, the assumption was it was bound to succeed (despite the jarring tone of each tale). Following the release, the films were initially only mildly successful – critically acclaimed maybe, but not enough to financially secure the studio. What ensured the longevity and creative freedom of the studio was exceptionally successful merchandising from the characters created in My Neighbour Totoro (and, over time, the steadily-growing audience of each film).

The story itself is relatively simple. A father and his two daughters move to rural Japan, to be closer to their mother, who remains in hospital (possibly based on Miyazaki’s own experiences as his own mother was in hospital during his childhood). In the new house, the two children Satsuki and Mei find dust-creatures named susuwatari. This begins a fascination with forest creatures and the spirituality of nature. One afternoon, as Satsuki is at school, Mei explores the forest and chases after a small, vanishing creature. Akin to Alice chasing the White Rabbit, Mei chases the creature through the forest and, falling down the rabbit hole, finds the magical and majestic forest spirit Totoro. He sleeps and snores. He doesn’t speak her language, but there is a connection. Satsuki convinces her sister and, with father in tow, tries to find Totoro. Their father explains how Totoro revealing himself to them shows a mutual respect and is a great honour. In an unforgettable sequence, we see a nekobasu – a cat-bus – collect Totoro after Mei’s first encounter with him at a rainy bus-stop. We witness the girls as they see Totoro play his Ocarina on a branch and prove his ties to the environment, forging a tender relationship.

Nature, spirituality and the wonder of childhood are prominent features in the Studio Ghibli canon. Whether it is the way humans interact with nature in Princess Mononoke or the destruction of nature by man in Grave of the Fireflies; a ghost spirit of No-face in Spirited Away or the child at the centre of Ponyo; My Neighbour Totoro includes these thematic elements throughout. The final act of My Neighbour Totoro even includes a wonderful flying-sequence as the nekobasu flies the two girls to see their mother, as the wind rushes through the fur of the cat, we join them in the sky. As we fly in so many of his films, this is a joyful reminder of the incredible imagination of Miyazaki and how he captures the lush, green fields and blue skies in animation.

This was 1988, four years after the world wide success of E.T. and six years after The Snowman. In both cases, a mythical creature enriches the life of children, carrying them over the wonders of nature. This may be a surrealist fantasy, but it’s about friendship and the connection we have with these spiritual forces (and what spirituality teaches us too). Considering the backstory of the Mother’s sickness in My Neighbour Totoro (And, in the double-bill, the history in Grave of the Fireflies), there is a sense that nature and the innocence of childhood, in the face of adversity, should be treasured above all. The fun and friendship of Totoro and his companions keeps these particular children happy. Their mother and father are going through a horrific period (is it life-threatening? Will these poor girls lose their mother?). Is this when children should be taught of the fragility of life? When Satsuki finds out about her mother, she puts her own life in danger as she walks the long and lonesome road to the hospital. Perhaps, the innocent child has to slowly and gently learn about the world.

A distinctive charm is what maintains My Neighbour Totoro’s ever-lasting power. Such sincerity and a terrific sense of wonder means that we can, for a moment, be a child again ourselves. Through the looking glass of cinema, we can see Totoro and the creatures too – and what a memorable sight it is.

This was originally written for Flickering Myth on 18th April 2014

Favourite Film Faces #10: Gillian Anderson in 'Princess Mononoke'

The pupils at my school are mid-watch of Princess Mononoke and it seems to be going down well - who would think that talking wolves, blood-spitting Princesses, human-eating apes and tree spirits would go down so well.

Its my first viewing too and it really is a stunning film - right up there with Spirited Away and Howls Moving Castle. Though those clickety-click tree things always get a laugh, it is Moro, voiced by Gillian Anderson in the English dub, that stands out. A striking prescence and animalistic quality that is captured beautifully in her introduction as she tends to a hurt wolf.

A highly recommended film!