Welcome back to the Deep Dive. We're here to
take a monumental career, throw this massive
stack of source material onto the table, and
really figure out what makes a creative titan
tick. And today we are immersing ourselves completely
in the life and art of Hayao Miyazaki. It's an
immersion you really have to do. I mean, when
you talk about the history of animation, especially
in Japan, Miyazaki isn't just a foundational
figure. He's widely regarded as one of the most
accomplished and philosophically profound filmmakers
in the history of cinema, period, animated or
otherwise. So our mission for this deep dive
is. Well, it sounds simple. We want to trace
the entire sweeping trajectory of his 60 plus
year career. We're talking from his childhood
in post -war Tokyo right up to his latest globally
celebrated blockbuster. And through that, we
want to understand how his incredibly specific,
deeply personal philosophy shaped the recurring
world changing themes that defined his work.
We're tracing the emotional and technical journey,
you know, from the factory floor to the co -founding
of Studio Ghibli. Exactly. And you have to frame
him not just as a director, but as the architect
of an entire institution. He is the co -founder
and... honorary chairman of Studio Ghibli, which
is a place that's as much a reflection of his
artistic process as his films are. He is just
a masterful storyteller. And you can see that
mastery in the sheer scale of the accolades he's
received. Oh, absolutely. The scale is incredible.
It really is. I mean, you're talking about someone
who has completely transcended the animation
category. He is a two -time competitive Academy
Award winner for Best Animated Future. Once for
the global phenomenon Spirited Away, and then
most recently for The Boy and the Heron. And
that last win for The Boy and the Heron, that
made him the oldest director ever to claim that
prize. It's just wild. And it's not just the
competitive awards. No, beyond that, the industry
itself recognizes the sheer impact he's had.
He received the Academy Honorary Award back in
2014, specifically for his profound influence
on cinema and animation worldwide. and a golden
lion for lifetime achievement at the Venice Film
Festival in 2005. Right. It signals that this
is not just a story of box office hits. Not at
all. It's a profound, enduring cultural legacy
that has fundamentally changed the way the world
views animation as an art form, as something
capable of handling serious adult themes. Okay,
so let's unpack this legacy. To really do that,
we have to start right where his perspective
was forged, to understand the profound depth
of his movies. The unrelenting critique of war,
the beautiful, obsessive focus on flight, the
urgency of the environmental themes. You have
to start right at the beginning in wartime Tokyo.
Yes. Miyazaki was born January 5, 1941, during
a period of intense national upheaval. And yet
his family lived a surprisingly privileged life.
And that tension right there, that internal tension
affluence amid the destruction of war, is arguably
the first and most defining philosophical scar
on his psyche. It absolutely is. His father,
Katsuji Miyazaki, was the director of Miyazaki
Airplane. It was a company that specialized in
manufacturing rudders for fighter planes during
World War II. The family business. It's why they
remained affluent during those dark early days.
years and it created this emotional debt that
Hayao spent his entire career trying to repay.
He later confessed to feeling intense guilt about
his family profiting directly from the war machine.
He was protected, yes, but he was constantly
surrounded by the horrifying results of the conflict
his family was helping to fuel. And that guilt
became a creative engine. His earliest memories,
he's recounted, they weren't pleasant childhood
memories. They were of seeing bombed out cities.
Yeah. As a very young boy, I mean, he was three
and four years old, he experienced these incredibly
stressful evacuations. First to Utsunomiya in
1944 and then to Kanuma in 1945. Those sites
left a permanent, almost apocalyptic impression
on him. And you can draw a straight line from
those memories to the ruined landscapes, the
technological obsession, and the pervasive anti
-war sentiments we see across his entire filmography,
from Nausicaa all the way to Howl's moving castle.
Definitely. But moving past the war and the external
world, we absolutely have to talk about his crucial
internal influence, his mother, Yoshiko. She
suffered from spinal tuberculosis from 1947 to
1955, and this required long periods of hospitalization.
Her illness and her unique personality are just...
woven into the DNA of so many of his films. She
was the closest parent to him, and the sources
all describe her as this strict, highly intellectual
woman who constantly questioned the societal
norms of post -war Japan. Right. And that intellectual
rigor, that emotional resilience, it completely
informed his ideal of a heroine, a female character
who approaches the world with critical intelligence
and this deep internal strength. We can connect
this directly across the decades. She's the closest
thing we have to a consistent matriarchal ideal
in his work. She inspired Captain Dole. And she
also inspired Yasuko, the bedridden but loving
mother in My Neighbor Totoro. And Sophie, the
fiercely strong -minded woman who resists curses
and howls moving castle. Right. And Toki in Ponyo,
that matriarchal strength, that resilience and
intellectual independence, it became a moral
and thematic foundation for every single story
he told. In sharp contrast to that foundational
close relationship, the sources paint a picture
of, well, ambiguity and distance with his father,
Katsuji. Miyazaki later expressed deep regret
that he never had a serious, meaningful discussion
with his dad. It's kind of sad, really. Katsuji
was an avid moviegoer, but apparently lacked
any real artistic understanding. Miyazaki felt
he inherited his father's anarchistic feelings
and his lack of concern about embracing contradictions.
That's such a poetic contradiction itself, isn't
it? Grappling with the tension between his mother's
intellectual ideals and his father's anarchic,
profit -driven spirit. Exactly. And if his father...
Provided the initial problematic inspiration,
you know, the planes and machinery, he really
struggled at first to integrate the humanity.
Absolutely. His first artistic focus was very
far from people. He initially wanted to be a
manga artist, but he admitted candidly that he
could not draw people. For years, he only drew
technical objects, planes. tanks, battleships.
Which, considering his family's business, that
early exclusive focus on machinery makes perfect,
if kind of sad, sense. But he felt intensely
critical of this early work. The sources note
he rejected imitation. He actually destroyed
much of his work, believing that just copying
the popular styles of figures like Osamu Tezuka
was hindering his development. He was searching
for an authentic voice, a way to move beyond
drawing the technical objects he had inherited
from his father's world. And that search for
authenticity, it really crystallized in a truly
cinematic moment in 1958. It was a catalyst film
that changed his direction completely, watching
The White Snake Enchantress. Which was Japan's
first feature -length animated film in color.
Right. And it moved him profoundly. He recalled
falling in love with the heroine, saying that
the film moved him to tears. This wasn't just
entertainment for him, it was a kind of spiritual
awakening. It prompted him to create work that
was true to his own feelings and to stop dwelling
on the negation of the world. He described the
film's pure world as promoting a side of him
that yearned desperately to affirm the world
rather than negate it. And that shift right there
from negation, which you can see stemming from
wartime guilt and his paternal ambiguity, toward
affirmation, drawing on his mother's idealism.
That is the spiritual engine that fuels his entire
career. It's why he creates such complex, hopeful
narratives, even in these apocalyptic settings.
It's incredible. Yet despite this intense artistic
focus, his formal education followed a very pragmatic
track. He described himself as a poor student,
yet he did graduate from Gakushin University
in 1963 with degrees in political science and
economics. It's almost as if he was hedging his
bets. preparing for a future in business or politics,
the world his family inhabited while his heart
was somewhere else entirely. The only thing connecting
his study to his passion was his membership in
the Children's Literature Research Club, which
was apparently the closest thing available to
a comics club or arts group at the time. He was
already diverting all his true attention toward
visual storytelling and art, away from industrial
theory. But the irony is that the economic and
political frameworks he studied at university
likely sharkened his later critique of unchecked
capitalism and industrial warfare, which forms
the bedrock of his ecological themes. It was
a useful detour, even if he wasn't passionate
about it. That sets the stage for the true grind.
The path from this art -focused university graduate
to legendary director involved a really demanding
climb through the commercial animation world.
So in 1963, Miyazaki joins Toei Doga, which we
know today as Toei Animation. And he started
right at the bottom of the production hierarchy.
He was an in -between artist, for any listener
who might not be familiar. An in -between artist
draws the frames that bridge the major movements,
the key frames that are created by senior animators.
It's grueling work. His initial salary was low,
only $19 ,500, and he quickly found the repetitive,
mechanical in -between work to be thoroughly
unsatisfying. So how did that early dissatisfaction
start to pay off? It wasn't just in his drawing.
No, he wasn't just drawing. He was organizing.
The crucial step he took early on wasn't just
artistic. It was deeply political and organizational.
In 1964, he became chief secretary of the labor
union at Toei. And this is where he connected
with a man who would become his lifelong partner
and friend, Isao Takahata, who was the union's
vice chairman. This wasn't just a casual meeting.
This was a philosophical alignment forged in
the crucible of labor politics, fighting for
better conditions and greater creative input.
That union work showed his early capacity for
leadership, organization, and a commitment to
protecting the artist. These were skills he would
absolutely need later when he founded an entire
studio. but his time at Toei was also marked
by creative friction because his vision was already
too grand for the system. Right. In 1968, he
worked on The Great Adventure of Horus, Prince
of the Sun. He was chief animator, concept artist,
and scene designer, and he worked closely with
his mentor Yasuo Suka. And Horus is pivotal.
It received huge critical praise and is considered
a milestone in the evolution of expressive, complex
animation. But commercially? It was a disaster.
A total bomb. One of Toei Animation's worst box
office results ever. Yeah. And this commercial
failure fueled Miyazaki's intense dissatisfaction
and led to increasing clashes with Toei management
over the lack of creative prospects and autonomy.
It was a painful lesson. Artistic success didn't
automatically guarantee institutional backing
or freedom. So to keep his creative muscles working
outside of the constrained studio environment,
he also practices manga under the pseudonym Akitsu
Saburu. He wrote and illustrated People of the
Desert between 1969 and 1970. That practice proved
vital. It blended his early interest in warfare
narratives with these imaginative, human -centered
worlds, finally moving away from drawing only
machines. He was finding his voice. Seeking greater
creative autonomy, he followed Takahata in 1971,
leaving Toei for a studio called A -Pro. This
immediately led to his directorial debut, where
he co -directed 17 episodes of Lupin the Third
Part I alongside Takahata. And their job was
specifically to steer the tone toward humor and
adventure rather than the series' traditional
violence, which aligned the material with their
more pacifist leanings. Then came the famous
Swedish trip. He and the president of Tokyo movie
Shinshaw traveled to Sweden. this was Miyazaki's
first time outside Japan, to try and secure the
rights for a Pippi Longstocking series from the
author Astrid Lindgren. And they were refused.
The series was canceled despite extensive pre
-production work. That refusal was a major disappointment.
But the international trip itself was transformative,
leaving this profound visual impression on him.
They were efficient, though. Miyazaki recycled
many of those concepts, scripts, designs, and
animation ideas, especially the setting and characters,
into the popular panda. go panda shorts in 72
and 73 it just shows his efficiency and his reluctance
to discard viable artistically rich concepts
which would prove essential to sustaining ghibli
later on He continued his apprenticeship throughout
the 1970s at Nippon Animation, contributing to
the famous World Masterpiece Theater series.
And he took these meticulously detailed research
trips, traveling to Switzerland to research for
Heidi, Girl of the Alps, and later to Argentina
and Italy for 3 ,000 Leagues in Search of Mother.
These trips are so critical. They provided the
meticulous visual detail and grounded, non -Japanese
settings that would later define Ghibli films
like Kiki's Delivery Service and Howl's Moving
Castle. He wasn't just drawing cartoons. He was
grounding fantasy in tangible, researched reality,
giving his world incredible weight. All of this
culminated in his first solo television series,
Future Boy Conan, in 1978. He directed 24 of
the 26 episodes. I think for any aspiring filmmaker,
this series is a true foundational text, isn't
it? It absolutely is. It prominently featured
the core themes that define his career. The beauty
of airplanes, the dangers of militaristic warplanes,
and urgent environmentalism, all woven into this
post -apocalyptic narrative. And crucially, it
established the framework with key collaborators
like Tsuka, Takahata, and Yoshifumi Kandu, forming
the core team that would eventually define Studio
Ghibli. The leap to features came in 1979 with
The Castle of Cagliostro. another loop into the
third installment that took only four months
to produce. It was a massive critical success,
with animated readers voting it the best animation
of all time for over 15 years. That theatrical
debut cemented his place as a director with real
vision and an incredible capacity for tightly
paced action and adventure. But the truly pivotal
transition came after that, when he decided he
needed an original epic, something that could
carry the full weight of his accumulated philosophy.
After rejecting several film proposals, he poured
his energy into the manga Nausicaa of the Valley
of the Wind, which ran for 1 ,060 pages across
seven volumes from 1982 to 1994. This was a deeply
researched project that took his ecological concerns
to a monumental level. The ecologically ruined
world and the pervasive pollution were directly
inspired by the mercury poisoning disaster at
Minamata Bay, a major environmental catastrophe
in Japan. And the sources show his reading was
incredibly broad, too. He was synthesizing information
from scientific writings on plant cultivation
with heavy political histories, specifically
mentioning Paul Carell's Hitler Moves East. He
blended ecological collapse with geopolitical
warfare, creating a world where survival demanded
total commitment. Even the protagonist, Nausicaé,
was partly inspired by Homer's Odyssey and the
Japanese folktale, The Lady Who Loved Insects.
It's the synthesis of Eastern and Western mythologies.
The 1984 film adaptation, produced by Topcraft,
was the turning point that cemented his reputation
internationally, to spike future trouble with
distribution. This film also marked the beginning
of his critical symbiotic collaboration with
the minimalist musician Joe Hisaishi. Who would
go on to score all of Miyazaki's feature films,
giving Ghibli films that unmistakable, emotionally
resonant sound. Exactly. And what's fascinating
here is his reasoning for choosing a female lead,
which directly informed his future heroines and
his feminist perspective. Miyazaki stated clearly
that Nausicaa needed the capacity to truly understand
her opponent. not merely defeat them, a trait
he felt required her to be female. And that philosophical
choice, prioritizing empathy and survival over
militaristic victory, it defined his heroines
going forward and established his pacifist ethic.
The successful cooperation on the Nasikai film
and manga provided the financial and collaborative
impetus needed to form the copyright studio Nibiriki
in 1984, which was the final stepping stone.
The stage was set for the legend. That foundation
seed quickly sprouted into a global powerhouse.
Following the success of Nausicaa, Miyazaki and
Takahata officially founded Studio Ghibli on
June 15, 1985. The name itself is significant.
Right. Ghibli is Italian for a hot wind that
blows in the desert, referencing an Italian aircraft.
It links his love of flight and his wartime childhood
to a new artistic ambition. A perfect convergence
of his interests. What's fascinating is that
initial power structure. Takahata, despite being
a co -founder, refused to sign the official business
paperwork. He maintained this belief that an
artist shouldn't be involved in such documents.
Yeah, but they're still considered the founders,
with Toshio Suzuki joining as producer, cementing
the three -man artistic and commercial leadership
core that would guide the studio for decades.
The first film produced was Laputa, Castle in
the Sky in 1986, and here we see the research
trip methodology applied immediately. For visual
research, Miyazaki traveled to Wales, specifically
drawing the mining villages of Rwanda. And the
experience there was clearly profound. The sources
note he witnessed the miners' strike, which was
a bitter, difficult labor conflict. He felt the
anguish of the striking workers and saw a deeper
historical resonance. The feeling that the historical
conquest of the Celts by the Roman Empire was
still somehow perceptible in those communities.
A historical grievance played out through class
conflict. That experience directly infused Laputa.
The film is not just a fantasy adventure. It's
a commentary on class division, exploitation,
and the divide between the elite advanced floating
city and the hardworking terrestrial exploited
population below. The setting, the mines, the
struggle for labor rights, it all comes from
that real world exposure in Wales. It's a powerful
example of how he turns geopolitical conflict
and labor politics into universal fantasy. Interestingly,
the sources mentioned that Laputa was created
partly to fund Takahata's live -action documentary,
The Story of Yanagawa's Canals, for which Takahata
had depleted his funds. So the first Ghibli film
masterpiece was in part a commercial enterprise
designed to fund another serious artistic endeavor.
They were balancing commerce and art right from
day one. And that desire for artistic integrity
leads directly to their famous reluctance regarding
Western distribution. The American 1985 release
of Nausicaa, it was called Warriors of the Wind,
was severely compromised. Oh, it was a butcher
job. Nearly 30 minutes of dialogue, character
development and critical plot points were hacked
out by the distributor, obliterating the core
environmental and pacifist themes. That severe
editorial decision led Miyazaki and Takahata
to famously impose a moratorium. They refused
all Western releases of their films for the next
decade. They essentially declared, my film, my
rules. They prioritized total artistic control
and integrity over immediate global distribution.
That's something almost unheard of in the commercial
film world. They took control. The next defining
period for the studio came with the simultaneous
release of two masterpieces in 1988, Miyazaki's
My Neighbor, Totoro, and Takahata's devastating
war film, Grave of the Fireflies. While Totoro
received universal critical acclaim, it was only
moderately successful at the box office, at least
initially. But this is where their commercial
ingenuity came in. The sources note that it achieved
massive commercial success later through merchandising
profits, which the studio approved in 1990. Those
sales of Totoro merchandise literally sustained
Studio Ghibli financially for years, buying them
the creative independence that Miyazaki needed
to make films without compromise. And the film's
philosophy, again, is key, linking back to his
mother. Totoro introduces the theme that harmony
is not a given, but the result of actively respecting
and engaging with the environment. It also subtly
references his personal life. The child protagonist's
mother in the film is bedridden with an illness,
echoing Yoshiko's long illness. He turned his
pain into a source of gentle universal comfort.
Moving quickly after that, 1989 brought Kiki's
Delivery Service. This film was originally planned
as a 60 -minute special, but Miyazaki took over
directing because he was dissatisfied with the
script and expanded it into a full feature. He
built the visual world based on his research
trip to Sweden, setting the story in places like
Stockholm and Visby. He felt Kiki's struggle.
A young girl leaving home to find her independence
in a big city mirrored the feelings of young
Japanese girls yearning for independent urban
life. It resonated enormously with its audience.
It became the highest grossing film in Japan
that year. It was a perfect encapsulation of
a specific moment in Japanese social transition.
The next phase allowed Miyazaki to indulge in
a more personal passion project, Porco Rosso
in 1992, based on his manga Hikutei Jidai. This
is a fascinating anomaly. He admitted making
it mainly for his own pleasure due to his lifelong
complicated love of planes and flight, even calling
the resulting mature film foolish for children.
But the real world intervened powerfully to deepen
its themes. The outbreak of the Yugoslav wars
in 1991 prompted a somber shift in tone. This
led him to change the setting to the Adriatic
Sea and infuse the film with clear anti -war
and anti -fascist themes, which he would later
revisit extensively. It's a beautifully melancholic
film, and despite its mature focus, it became
the highest grossing film of the year in Japan.
And during the production of Porco Rosso, Miyazaki
turned his architectural focus inward again.
He designed the blueprints for Studio Ghibli's
new headquarters in Kogane, Tokyo, working directly
with the builders. This just shows his commitment
to control and craftsmanship, even in the physical
space where the art is created. The studio opened
in August 1992. His next feature, Princess Mononoke
in 1997, was initially intended to be his final
film. He was citing his age and physical pains.
This film represented the culmination of his
ecological philosophy set in the Muromachi period,
a time he specifically chose because he felt
it was when the Japanese people stopped worshipping
nature and began the attempt to control and dominate
it. Setting the stage for modern industrial conflict.
And Mononoke represented a massive technological
and financial leap for the studio. It was the
most expensive Japanese animated film at the
time. costing approximately 2 .35 billion, or
about 23 .5 million U .S. dollars. And this is
where Ghibli first integrated modern techniques,
but with a very specific, strict methodology.
The film employed about 15 minutes of computer
animation, specifically using 3D rendering for
writhing demon flesh and some fluid camera movements.
But he strictly limited digital techniques, adhering
to a rule that CGI would remain under 10 % of
the final film to preserve the hand -drawn 2D
aesthetic and ensure the animator's touch remained
supreme. He personally supervised every single
one of the 144 ,000 cells. It's that commitment
to craft that sets him apart. And its success
served as Studio Ghibli's true, unavoidable introduction
to global markets after Disney acquired worldwide
distribution rights in 1996. The film was the
first animated feature ever to win the prestigious
Japan Academy Film Prize for Picture of the Year.
And despite a slow start at the U .S. box office,
its critical success worldwide set the stage
for his globally recognized second act. The final
film didn't last long, as we now know. Miyazaki
even held a retirement party in January 1998,
a celebration of his massive career. But tragically,
he quickly returned to the studio's leadership
after his intended successor, Yoshifumi Kondo.
Who many critics and fans saw as the heir apparent.
And the future of Ghibli. Right. Condu died suddenly
from a heart attack just days after that party.
That heartbreaking loss forced Miyazaki back
to the drawing board, and it prompted him to
focus on building an institution alongside his
art. From 1998, he was actively involved in designing
and overseeing the construction of the Ghibli
Museum, which opened in 2001 and screened several
of his exclusive short films. He ensured the
Ghibli philosophy had a physical, permanent home.
His return feature was a global game changer,
spirited away in 2001. This is where his matriarchal
influences and his social commentary truly converged.
Miyazaki conceived the film specifically for
10 -year -old girls aiming to create a heroine
they could look up to. He avoided subjects focused
solely on crushes and romance, noting that contemporary
Japanese girls held something deeper and more
important dear in their hearts. Thematically,
the film is incredibly rich with social meaning.
It deals explicitly with symbols of human greed
and the dangers of unchecked consumption. The
parents turning into pigs, for instance, which
perfectly reflected the aftermath of the 1980s
Japanese asset price bubble. And the title itself
is a cultural deep dive. The Japanese title references
Kamikakushi. the traditional Japanese concept
of being spirited away or hidden by gods. In
the film, Chihiro's transportation to the spirit
world symbolizes a profound social death and
subsequent resurrection as she navigates the
spiritual bureaucracy and the dangers of the
realm. And she survives and grows entirely through
her own efforts, embodying that ideal of the
self -sufficient, non -rescued heroine. The commercial
success was unprecedented globally. Spirited
Away broke box office records, earning $30 .4
billion, which is about $289 million, maintaining
its position as Japan's highest -grossing film
for almost 20 years. Internationally, it won
the Golden Bear at Berlin and became the first
Japanese film to win the Academy Award for Best
Animated Feature. Yet, even at the peak of his
professional glory, his moral convictions overruled
commercial ambition. He refused to attend the
2003 Academy Awards ceremony. He later revealed
this was a direct protest against the United
States' involvement in the Iraq War. He stated
he didn't want to visit a country that was bombing
Iraq. That geopolitical fury and his consistent
pacifist ethic directly fueled his next major
feature, Howl's Moving Castle, in 2004. The sources
confirm Miyazaki was inspired to direct, in part,
by his sheer rage over the 2003 invasion of Iraq,
which heavily influenced the central senseless,
and pervasive war depicted in the film. For the
visual inspiration, he returned to Europe, traveling
to Colmar and Ricouer in Alsace, France, to meticulously
study the architecture, giving the fantasy settings
a grounding in history. The film went on to be
nominated for a second Oscar, reinforcing his
consistent status as a global artist, and Miyazaki
received the honorary Golden Lion for Lifetime
Achievement in Venice in 2005. We then moved
to Ponyo in 2008. Inspired by Hans Christian
Andersen's The Little Mermaid, this film was
a deliberate artistic shift. Miyazaki intended
the film to be a pure celebration of the innocence
and cheerfulness of a child's universe, focusing
on the simple, unconditional bond between a boy
and the sea creature he meets. What's astounding
here is his methodology. In an era when he could
easily automate the creation of water and waves
using CGI, he insisted on drawing the sea. and
waves himself frame by frame to experiment with
the animation techniques and ensure the feeling
was organic. That obsessive manual approach is
incredible. Ponyo was a monumental undertaking
for hand -drawn animation, featuring a record
170 ,000 frames. It was also hugely commercially
successful, earning $15 .5 billion. It showcased
his relentless commitment to maximizing traditional
animation's visual and emotional potential. Proving
that old methods could still capture wonder better
than new ones. Following that, he entered a period
of thematic retrospection. He contributed screenplays
and planning to other Ghibli projects like Ariety
and co -wrote the screenplay for From Up on Poppy
Hill, which was directed by his son, Goru. But
his next directed feature, The Wind Rises in
2013, was profoundly personal, serving almost
as a public act of reconciliation with his past.
Based on his manga, it told the semi -fictionalized
story of Jiro Horikoshi, the designer of the
Mitsubishi A6M Zero Fighter. The very planes
his father's company helped to build. A remarkable
convergence of his lifelong contradictions. His
love for flight and beautiful machinery is pitted
against the historical function of that machinery
in warfare. Miyazaki was motivated by Horikoshi's
poignant quote, all I wanted to do was to make
something beautiful. He's attempting to separate
the aesthetic ambition from the violent outcome.
And this film had deep echoes of his personal
life, particularly his mother. The female lead
character, who is a representation of the woman
Horikoshi marries, suffers from tuberculosis,
mirroring his mother Yoshiko's illness that defined
his early life. It was a deeply emotional process
for him. Miyazaki himself was so moved by the
completed film that he noted it was the first
of his own works to make him cry. He finally
brought his mother's suffering and his father's
industrial legacy together in this complex, heartbreaking
narrative. Despite the film's success, it was
the highest grossing film in Japan in 2013. He
announced his retirement from features later
that year. This set off the now famous predictable
retirement cycle. A cycle he immediately broke.
By 2016, he began animation work on a new feature
without even official approval from the studio
leadership, simply because the compulsion to
create was too strong. That film, The Boy and
the Heron, was released in Japan in 2023 with
a minimal marketing campaign. No trailers, no
ads, no fanfare. A deliberate, eccentric choice
by producer Suzuki to counter market oversaturation.
And that minimal approach didn't hurt its success
globally. It won his second competitive Best
Animated Feature Oscar in 2024. The sources confirm
that despite claims that The Boy and the Heron
was his final film, Studio Ghibli staff confirmed
in late 2023 that Miyazaki continues to attend
the office daily to plan his next work. His producer,
Toshio Suzuki, admitted he can no longer convince
him to retire. The act of creation itself seems
essential to his survival. When you look at Miyazaki's
60 -year career, what stands out is that his
films, no matter how fantastical, are fundamentally
driven by consistent, interconnected philosophical
pillars that never waver. The first is his highly
complex approach to conflict and morality. He
maintains a clear pacifist ethic across his films.
What's crucial is that his characters are rarely
depicted as traditional heroes fighting purely
evil villains. The moral ambiguity forces the
audience and the protagonist to engage with the
complexities of the world. Take Spirited Away,
for example. He noted that the protagonist, Chihiro,
succeeds not because she has destroyed the evil,
but because she has acquired the ability to survive.
This framework encourages considering different
viewpoints and prioritizing understanding over
destruction. We see this pacifism explicitly
in Porco Rosso's melancholic rejection of war
and in Ashitaka in Princess Mononoke, who strives
for peace and reconciliation rather than revenge.
The goal is always to find a way to live with
the tension, not to eliminate the tension through
violence. Linked closely to this is his consistent
theme of ecology versus industrialism, a critique
born directly from his wartime guilt. He critiques
exploitation under both capitalism and communism,
viewing them as equally destructive to the natural
world. He believes that modern culture, driven
by relentless economic growth and techno -industrialism,
is thin and shallow and fake. He spent his youth
feeling frustrated because nature was being destroyed
in the name of economic progress. The pursuit
of political and industrial domination always
means the domination of nature, and this, in
his view, is ultimately destructive to human
civilization. Which is a theme central to the
poisonous jungles of Nausicaa and the logging
operations in Princess Mononoke. His films implicitly
fear that children are dimmed by a culture of
overconsumption and secularism that is swallowing
Japan's native animism and respect for the natural
world. The third defining pillar and perhaps
the most celebrated globally is his unwavering
focus on feminist identity, inspired directly
by his mother, Yoshiko. His protagonists are
almost always strong, self -sufficient girls
or young women. Miyazaki himself stated unequivocally
that his heroines never need a savior. They are
just as capable of being a hero as any man, but
they achieve this not through muscular strength,
but through intelligence and empathy. Critics
highlight these female characters are never objectified
or sexualized, and they reflect a keen understanding
of the complexities of being a woman in a changing
society. Princess Mononoke's son, for example,
is caught between two worlds, representing the
intense conflict between selfhood and expression,
a complex identity struggle often ignored in
mainstream action cinema. They are defined by
their internal moral compass and agency, not
their relationships with men. Turning now to
his unique process, his craftsmanship is legendary
precisely because he rejects traditional screenwriting
methods. Miyazaki forgoes traditional lockdown
screenplays entirely. That's right. He develops
the narrative directly through storyboards. He
has famously admitted, we never know where this
story will go, but we just keep working on the
film as it develops. This approach embraces uncertainty
and organic evolution, lending his stories that
distinctive, flowing, dreamlike quality where
the world feels lived in and surprising, even
to the creators. But despite that fluid narrative
process, his actual animation craft is rigidly
traditional and controlled. He insists on hand
-drawing every frame. While he did start using
computer -generated imagery with Princess Mononoke,
it is strictly limited. He adheres to a rigid,
no more than 10 % rule regarding computer techniques,
using it only to enrich the visual look, like
animating the physically complex rotating castle
movements in Howl's Moving Castle or the visual
complexity of the demon flesh in Mononoke. The
absolute priority is ensuring the films retain
the right ratio between working by hand and computer
and still be able to call my films 2D. He maintains
personal oversight over every single frame and
key decision. It's incredible. Finally, we must
touch on his powerful and often controversial
views on modern culture and politics, which are
always imparted through his public platform and
consistently flow from his core philosophical
beliefs. And we report these views impartially.
as documented in the source material. He has
been famously critical of the Japanese animation
industry itself, feeling that much of it has
lost touch with reality and humanity. He stated
bluntly that most anime is produced by humans
who can't stand looking at other humans. That's
why the industry is full of otaku. For listeners
who may not be familiar with the term, otaku
is often used in Japan to refer to people with
obsessive, sometimes socially withdrawn, interests,
particularly in anime, manga, and gaming. Right.
And Miyazaki rejects the label for himself. criticizing
what he perceives as a fixation on a fetish for
guns and fighter aircraft that is detached from
reality. He also holds a strong stance against
modern technology outside of his carefully controlled
animation environment. The sources mentioned
a moment in 2016 when he was shown an AI -generated
animated zombie. He expressed utter disgust,
calling the animation an insult to life itself
and confirming Studio Ghibli would refuse to
use AI in its creative process. Which is consistent
with his belief that the human touch and the
struggle of creation are what give art its worth.
Politically, he identifies himself as traditionally
a leftist in terms of emotional affinity. His
willingness to use his platform comes directly
from his pacifist ethic. He used his platform
in 2013 to criticize Japanese Prime Minister
Shinzo Abe's attempt to revise the Constitution's
war outlawing clause, calling the move despicable.
And his statements regarding Japan's historical
responsibility are equally firm and rooted in
his sense of national guilt. In 2015, he criticized
Abe's denial of Japanese military aggression,
stating Japan should clearly say that they inflicted
enormous damage on China and expressed deep remorse
over it. He also publicly called for a proper
apology to Korean comfort women forced to service
the Japanese army during World War II. He leverages
his global fame to push a political agenda rooted
in historical acknowledgement and pacifism. Hayao
Miyazaki's impact transcends cinema. He's frequently
called the godfather of animation in Japan. And
due to his combination of narrative grandeur
and personal sensitivity, he's often referred
to as the Kurosawa of animation. This isn't just
hyperbole. The sheer volume of scholarly analysis
dedicated to him is enormous. More scholarly
papers have been written about him than any other
Japanese artist. His work, according to one source,
has profoundly shaped not only the future of
animation, but global filmmaking in general,
setting a new benchmark for narrative complexity
in the medium. And his influence stretches across
continents and genres, impacting the giants of
the film industry. He is frequently cited as
a profound inspiration by a massive roster of
global filmmakers and animators. I mean, you're
talking John Lasseter, Steven Spielberg, James
Cameron, Guillermo del Toro, Pete Docter at Pixar,
and Wes Anderson. The sources confirmed that
the Disney Renaissance era of the 1990s was partly
prompted by direct competition with the aesthetic
complexity and thematic depth of Miyazaki's films.
Ghibli raised the creative bar so high that major
global studios had to re -examine what animation
could achieve. The regard for him is palpable.
Artists from Pixar and Aardman Studios once signed
a tribute stating simply, You're our inspiration,
Miyazaki -san. This legacy is now wrapped up
in the complex, ongoing issue of Succession.
Studio Ghibli has openly struggled to find a
viable successor who can match the artistic output
and institutional vision of both Miyazaki and
producer Toshio Suzuki. They initially eyed Yoshifumi
Kondo, the director of Whisper of the Heart,
whom they were grooming to take over. But his
sudden tragic death in 1998 ended that possibility
entirely, forcing Miyazaki out of his first retirement.
Later, Miyazaki's own son, Goru, who directed
Tales from Earthsea and From Up on Poppy Hill,
declined the leadership role, citing the enormous
pressure. This inability to find an internal
heir led to the most recent significant structural
change. In October 2023, Studio Ghibli became
a subsidiary of Nippon Television Holdings, ensuring
its financial stability and future. Miyazaki
remains as the honorary chairman. The studio
is institutionally safe. But the succession of
creative leadership remains an open question.
Which is perhaps one major reason why Miyazaki,
now in his 80s, simply refuses to put down his
pencil. He feels the need to protect the creative
soul of the company he built. Looking at the
entire canvas of Hayao Miyazaki's life, you see
a master storyteller who synthesized his deepest,
most fraught personal history, the lifetime of
wartime guilt, the towering intellectual strict
mother, the distant anarchistic father into universal
powerful cinema. His work is a relentless six
decade long pursuit of environmental responsibility,
complex pacifist ideals and strong feminist identities.
And it is all delivered with an almost obsessive
commitment to hand drawn visual artistry and
creative control. He literally designs his own
studios and oversees every single frame, even
while continually attempting and failing to retire.
So what does this all mean for us, the audience?
We know that Miyazaki's dedication to his work
was so intense that it created profound damage
in his relationship with his family, particularly
with his son, Goro. His son confessed that he
watched his father's films just to understand
him because they rarely spoke. And Miyazaki himself
later said that he felt he owed that little boy
an apology for his emotional and physical absence,
a feeling that must weigh on a man who constantly
explores complex family dynamics in his art.
So if the core of Miyazaki's work is precisely
the exploration of difficult relationships, relationships,
man versus nature, man versus industry, and the
difficulty of maintaining a pacifist ethic in
a violent world, we are left to wonder if this
monumental body of work, his constant production
well into his 80s, is, in part, a lifelong public
attempt to repair or resolve his deepest, most
personal regrets. Turning apology into art. It's
a profound thought to leave you with as you watch
his films next. Is every pencil stroke, every
meticulously drawn wave, a form of reconciliation
with the past? We'll let you deep dive into that
yourself. Thanks for joining us.