THE TALE OF THE PRINCESS KAGUYA (Kaguyahime no monogatari) B
aka: The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter
aka: The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter
Japan (137 mi) 2013
d: Isao Takahata Disney
[Japan]
Isao Takahata and Hayao Miyazaki are the co-founders of the
Japanese animation production company, Studio Ghibli, in June 1985, where eight
of Studio Ghibli’s films are among the 15 highest-grossing anime films
made in Japan. Unlike Miyazaki who is an
extraordinary manga artist and anime illustrator, Takahata does not draw and
never worked as an animator before becoming a full-fledged director, though
both worked together and had long careers in Japanese film and television
animation. The studio is known for a
strict “no-edits” policy, where rumor has it a Studio Ghibli producer sent an
authentic Japanese sword to Miramax co-chairman Harvey Weinstein after
contemplating edits to PRINCESS MONONOKE (1997), reportedly with the simple
message “No cuts.” Anime art styles
range from wild, exaggerated stylization to subtle, more realistic approaches
where the use of lines are prevalent, though more influenced by a brush than by
a pen, where Miyazaki’s lush colorization filling every inch of the frame
contrasts with Takahata’s more minimalist, pastel watercolor technique that
leaves plenty of empty space unfilled, especially around the edges of the
frame, creating more abstract imagery. Miyazaki’s
extraordinary musical composer, Joe Hisaishi, provides the gorgeous soundtrack
for the film, which is based upon a 10th century Japanese folktale called The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter, which is
Japan’s oldest recorded story, predating the world’s first novel, Lady
Murasaki’s The
Tale of Genji by at least a century.
At age 79, Takahata has been trying to make this film for more than 50
years, best known as the maker of GRAVE OF THE FIREFLIES (1988), where film
critic Roger Ebert, Grave
of the Fireflies Movie Review (1988) | Roger Ebert, claims it “belongs on
any list of the greatest war films ever made,” but also his more subtly
distinctive films, known for being quiet and humane, ONLY YESTERDAY (1991), POM
POKO (1994), and MY NEIGHBORS THE YAMADAS (1999), where the director has
returned from semi-retirement after a 14-year absence.
After the announced retirement of Hayao Miyazaki on
September 6, 2013 after nearly three decades at the helm, his departure leaves
the future of Studio Ghibli very much in doubt, as the secret to the studio’s
popular longevity has been their insistence on producing hand-drawn animated
films for decades, sticking to the painstakingly slow process of drawing images
frame by frame long after other studios have embraced computer-aided animation
and special CGI effects. Every one of
Studio Ghibli’s successes has adhered to the hand-drawn tradition, from MY
NEIGHBOR TOTORO (1988) to Miyazaki’s final film The
Wind Rises (Kaze Tachinu) (2014) released earlier this year, though POM
POKO (1994) was the first to use computer graphics, while PRINCESS MONONOKE
(1997) was Miyazaki’s first mix of digital drawing and coloring onto the 2D hand-drawn
imagery, the latter being a more delicate artform that has been able to sustain
itself because it has employed the same animators throughout their careers, as
opposed to other studios that rely upon short-term piecework. According to Tokyo-based Polygon Pictures
president and CEO Shuzo John Shiota, the leaders of the hand-drawn style are becoming
fewer, “In Japan not many young people are coming in (to the 2D animation
scene) anymore. The master animators are
not easy to replace.” Shiota concludes
that today’s animators simply don’t have the patience and can’t draw as well as
their predecessors did, where it’s inevitable that computer generated imagery
is the wave of the future. The Japanese
market, however, loves their hand-drawn anime, where according to the
top-earning domestic Japanese films in 2013, 2013
Japan Yearly Box Office Results - Box Office Mojo, six of the top ten are
hand-drawn animation, despite a digital wave steadily encroaching on the
industry. If you watch a movie from
Studio Ghibli, part of the brilliance is being able to see the spectacular,
where it is not out of the ordinary to see a deer morph into a monstrous god in
PRINCESS MONONOKE (1997), a boy turn into a flying dragon in SPIRITED AWAY (2001),
or a fish transform into a young girl in PONYO (2008).
Like MY NEIGHBORS THE YAMADAS (1999), Takahata in this
picture prefers to use the simplistic art style of watercolor pictures,
creating a ravishingly beautiful opening in the middle of a bamboo forest where
Okina (old man) is drawn to the light emanating from a particular stalk. Investigating further, he is shocked to
discover a palm-sized baby nestled inside, which he believes is a heavenly
offering, bringing the baby home to his equally astounded wife Ouna (old
woman), calling the child “Princess.”
While he hesitates to share his prize, believing it was his own destiny
to discover this princess, they are both further amazed to discover their child
grow, roll over, and walk in a matter of days, where they are both literally
able to see growth spurts before their startled eyes, quickly realizing this
was no ordinary baby. As the child grows
old enough to play with local kids in the fields, nicknamed “Little Bamboo,” which
is an utter delight to watch as everything is discovered for the first time,
the film interestingly takes on a dual perspective, one from the curiously
developing point of view of the child, and another throughout from the more
protective view of the adoptive parents.
This device allows the audience to comprehend the split personality that
develops, as her unique childhood is expressed through joyous liberation and
exploration with forest creatures and friends, while the responsibilities of
parenthood is something else altogether.
Okina discovers more glowing bamboo stalks in the forest which are
filled with gold, leading him to the conclusion that he was expected to provide
an appropriate environment for a true princess, eventually moving from the edge
of the forest into a palace in the city, along with many hired assistants to
provide for her every need, including a teacher of etiquette named Lady Sagami that
would transform her from a liberated young tomboy into an obedient princess
whose beauty and reputation is worthy of her title, attracting the interest of
rich suitors who would come from great distances to ask for her hand in
marriage. Anyone familiar with Homer’s Odysseus, Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, or Puccini’s
exotic final opera Turandot will
recognize the line of suitors vying for the hand of a beautiful maiden, not to
mention Siegfried having to overcome a curse of the gods and battle through a
ring of fire to reach the imprisoned Brünnhilde in Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen.
There’s even a naming ceremony where a venerated royal
priest gives her the formal name of Princess Kaguya, for the scattering light
that radiates from within her, where they hold a celebratory party that goes on
for days but turns into a disaster, where she hears rumors that she’s not a
real princess at all, that her family purchased her title. In a fit of disgust, she bolts from the
castle racing as fast as she can, where she’s seen as a blur in black and white
charcoal drawings where her whizzing form is the only touch of color in an
otherwise empty landscape. The abstract
spaciousness of the unfinished drawings project her restless state of mind as
she anxiously returns to her former home in the forest, hoping to find the
simpler and happier times of her childhood, but all her friends have moved
away, leaving her stuck in a visually empty netherworld that resembles a desert
of snow, only to awaken in her bed with the party still raging and no one has
missed her at all. Unfortunately the
suitor story grows unnecessarily repetitive, as it duplicates itself, each
initially given an impossible task, where the Princess believes she’s gotten
rid of them all, but they eventually return years later reporting miraculous
successes, which prove to be hoaxes.
Nonetheless, the attention even draws the interest of the Emperor, but
when he attempts to possess her, she uncannily discovers the power to
disappear. While it all remains cloaked
in beauty and innocence, nonetheless the parents controlling interests vie with
her own unyielding spirit, which is essentially the centerpiece of the film,
but then more mysteries unravel, where we discover she is a child of destiny, a
daughter of the moon, and that it’s only a matter of time before she must
return. This narrative wrinkle thrown in
at the end feels like it comes from another story, as it’s a supernatural
element at odds with the discovery of her own innate humanness. Takahata never finds a way to successfully blend
this unfathomable revelation into the film without resorting to naked
manipulation, where the extended tearful anguish from being ripped from her
earthly family at the end feels forced and excessively traumatizing (one should
question the tagline suitable for all ages).
Had the Princess liberated herself from what was expected of her by her
parents (and society) as well as her ultimate fate, perhaps this would have
been perceived as overly modern, where perhaps it might have lost some essential
Japanese component, where it is her duty to follow her destiny. After all, this was originally conceived in
the 10th century, when women had no conceivable place in society except to
follow behind and obey the dictates of men.
But seen today, there’s something cruelly uncomfortable about the
magical celebratory nature of the finale, where the Princess is so close to
achieving the unthinkable, imagining a different life for herself, but instead
ends up doing what’s traditionally expected of her, seemingly with no free will
whatsoever. Despite the joyful feel of
the transporting music, the horror is she is a fading light, a distant memory,
a shell of the person she might have become.
