Empowerment in Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind

Environmentalism informs Hayao Miyazaki's "Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind" in a way that empowers viewers rather than inhibits their agency. Although melodramatic elements exist, there is ambiguity when collaboration must occur between humans of differing values. The film may also inspire young viewers because the hero is not only a child, but also female.

Nausicaa lives in a world where the environment is attacking humans. They see the fight with nature as a dichotomy. The Pejite and Tolmekians want to destroy the “Toxic Jungle.” Nausicaa is involved in learning more about the jungle and the spores that make it toxic. She finds that with water, the spores actually purify the earth and make it flourish, but because of fighting and power struggles she is unable to focus on this. Because of her compassion she earns the trust of the Pejite people and she is even able to calm the Ohmus, the aggressive creatures that fight for the forest. Even the Tolmekians end up relying on Nausicaa’s charity because their violence has brought them nothing.

Unlike “Fern Gully,” which consists of an objectified bad guy (an oil monster), “Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind” points the blame at humans. Because the audience knows where the problem originates from they are better able to address it. Also unlike “Fern Gully,” where we discussed in class that it is the fairies that save the day, in “Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind” it is also people that provide solutions. Viewers learn that they can be the source of the issue or the reason for resolution depending on their actions.

The film operates under the ideology that humans are currently in opposition to nature, but that they can co-exist in harmony. This is a common theme within Miyazaki’s films as he incorporates beliefs of Shintoism defined on Wikipedia “as an action-centered religion, focused on ritual practices to be carried out diligently, to establish a connection between present-day Japan and its ancient past.” This involves being one with nature. This is seen in Goro Miyazaki’s film, which was written by Hayao Miyazaki, “From Up On Poppy Hill.” A compromise between the past and present is required just as a compromise between nature and humans is required in “Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind.”

The film expects the viewer to act in its implied hope that the audience will relate to Nausicaa’s character. She is likeable within the story by other characters and off-screen by the viewers. She strives to help people and the natural world. That is something that those watching can do. They can be kind and empathetic. The call to action is not unrealistic and thus allows the audience to exercise agency and follow Nausicaa’s example.

Finding Friends Away from Home: The Wind in the Willows

The Wind in the Willows is filled with an aching for home. Nostalgia as defined in class is the appropriation of a past, specifically childhood by adults. The author longs for the past, but children can enjoy the portrayal in this story particularly because the manifestation is through human-like animals yearning for their piece of the outdoors whether it’s by the river or in the ground. Their aching is inherently tied to their senses—smell and sound most commonly. But it the giving up of this longing that fosters friendship and provides opportunity for progress.

            The story begins with Mole who leaves his home behind and finds a new one amongst friends by the riverbank.  Rat is his closest confidant and very attached to the water. They enjoy boating together and walking about. Rat and Mole also adventure with their irresponsible friend Toad. It is not until Mole ventures away from comfort into the Wild Wood that he appreciates what he left behind because in the midst of danger, he finds solace in Badger’s home.  “But underground to come back to at last—that’s my idea of home!” (p. 44) Badger and Mole bond over this commonality, but Mole’s loyalty remains to Rat, as Rat feels anxious to return to the riverbank.  Because Mole is willing to sacrifice “home” for his friend, he is able to make a new home. He leaves behind a life underground for a life by the riverbank, and also gains friends as he leaves a life of loneliness.

            However, Rat also sacrifices in order to maintain his friendship with Mole. Mole so dutifully and devotedly follows Rat in their trek back even when the “wafts from his old home pleaded, whispered, conjured, and finally claimed him imperiously.” (p. 51) But when Mole breaks down and explains this to Rat through sobs, Rat is willing to put his own desire for home on hold. I think Rat is able to make this realization because of how attached he is to the riverbank and he is able to empathize with Mole. This sacrifice of home for friends continues.

Mole reminisces as he settles into his own bed that evening “how much it all meant to him.” (p. 59) The use of past tense here signifies that he is moving on because he has made a new home with the Rat. He cherishes the memories of his first home, but he has made new ones and grown attached to a different place.

Rat struggles with an aching, too, and ultimately gives it up to stay with Mole. The swallows describe this call from the South that they feel, and in due time the call back to the North. He meets a sea rat that makes him desire a bigger body of water to travel on. The sea rat is also longing; he describes the sounds of his travels: “the song and tramp of the sailors, the clink of the capstan, and the rattle of the anchor-chain coming merrily in.” (p. 102) These animals have multiple homes and Rat thinks to go beyond and find more for himself, but Mole holds him back.

Both Rat and Mole have this nostalgia for lives away from each other, but their friendship makes the past and different futures unattainable. In the end, they grow a great deal from their association with one another. Mole becomes braver and smarter. Rat becomes softer and more selfless, and, more importantly, has the context in which to express these things.

The experiences of these animals may represent a yearning on the part of the author. These stories were originally letters to his children. Perhaps they play a part in teaching morality, although as bad as Toad is, his friends still love him. Instead then maybe it is a message to cherish friendships while they last and do all you can to help them last. There is also a message of spirituality and the sound that Rat catches in the wind first, and then Mole. They are led by a creature to Portly and there's this spiritual moment that's tied to this aching for nature caused by the sounds and feelings that draw them to it. But the message carried in the song is to forget. The author is ultimately saying we have to let go of things to grab hold of others just as Mole leaves his abode to be with Rat.

Why must fireflies die so young?: Seita and Setsuko in Wartime Japan

Three levels of diversity in childhood experience operate within “Grave of the Fireflies” (1988. dir. Isao Takahata). Culture, war, and poverty expose a different kind of childhood while critiquing adult responsibility and reaction to the experiences of the children, Seita and Setsuko. Ultimately, the film represents the power of familial bonds and their effect on these experiences.

            The film begins with Seita’s death, but his past and how he ended up starving in a train station is framed by a train ride through Japan with his sister, Setsuko. From the train we travel to the time of the air raid that killed their mother and destroyed their home, then to the town where they stayed with distant relatives, and finally to the shelter where they tried to survive on their own.

            “Grave of the Fireflies” takes place in Japan during World War II. The film is unique for its Japanese point of view, and that the story is told through the medium of anime. The music sounds like a Japanese lullaby, which emphasizes the culture and age group of the film’s perspective. The juxtaposition of animation and soft music with the harsh reality of war accentuates the haunting nature of this childhood experience. This reminds me of our class conversation about Malick’s “Days of Heaven” and the Great Depression being made accessible through the lens of a child. However, for me, the film becomes harder to process because of the cruelty these children have to endure. Like the documentary “Promises,” which tells the tale of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict from the viewpoint of kids, “Grave of the Fireflies” also shares a side of the story that often goes unheard.

No child should ever have to witness piles of bodies, which include their own mother, being burned in a ditch, but they do because their childhood coincides with wartime.  As a high schooler, I learned about the atrocities of war, but always from an American textbook. The atom bombs dropped toward the end were not the only part of the war to devastate the country. There is devastation long before with families torn apart because of military service and death by bombing. Seita and Setsuko are orphaned, and Seita is thrust into adulthood to provide for himself and his sister.

I have never experienced war or poverty. I have grown up in a world where adults help me. The severity of Seita and Setsuko’s experience is realized as the audience witnesses that their starvation and malnutrition was preventable. The aunt they live with for a time does not experience the same sympathy for the children that we do. She adds insult to injury and berates Seita for being lazy when in reality he is living to keep his sister happy. Another adult catches him stealing after they have started living on their own in an abandoned bomb shelter and beats Seita. There is no consideration of what he has been through until the local authority takes pity on him and dismisses the villager that already punished Seita for his “crime.” A doctor tells them the obvious, all they need is food to be well again, but in desperation and discouragement, Setsuko cries, “WHERE AM I SUPPOSED TO GET FOOD?”

In spite of all Seita does to tend to his sister’s needs, Setsuko passes away. She has also grown within the harsh realities of war. Her tantrums were comforted by fruit drops, but in the end she realizes her and her brother being together is the most important thing. She pretends to have made rice cakes with rocks she offers Seita wanting to give back to him for all that he has done. But Seita dies shortly after and the audience can infer that it was their relationship and his love and responsibility for her that kept him alive. This co-dependency has evidence in the science of human development, but is displayed so heartbreakingly through the perspective of the children themselves.

The narrative puts a new perspective at the center of the film. Childhood sheds a different light on war and poverty, one where the light of fireflies and family love are the only things that provide real comfort when basic needs fail. Setsuko asks, “Why must fireflies die so young?” and the audience is left to ask the same of these children.

A Powerless Perspective: "George Washington" and Diversity in Childhood Experiences

Just as the books we read in class, “George Washington” (2000) represents childhood differently than my perspective and experience with childhood. Not only is there a lack of trust for adults that leads to disruption, but also (albeit, arguably) a lack of optimism.

The film works for our class’s theme of diversity because it takes us to a place we’re not familiar with, and also through unfamiliar morals.  The de-centered narrative places a different perspective at the center of the story. Growing up in Maryland, I am familiar with the vernacular used in the film, but the hardships dealt with are another story.

I was also a latchkey kid. Both of my parents worked, and I was able to wander aimlessly after school and during my summers, except that my parents fostered my development differently than these parents so I didn’t end up being aimless. I know there is love in these relationships with guardians and children, but there is a lack of trust. The adults that interact with the children most on the railroad speak nonsensically and are just as immature as the children themselves. “George Washington” emphasizes this by paralleling their stories for the first fifteen minutes of the film. Behavior and cinematography mimic one another with both groups.

The storyline itself also displays this lack of trust for adults as George hides the dog he found for fear of his uncle killing it. It is further revealed as the kids hide their best friend after he falls and dies. The death is clearly an accident, but, because of a lack of trust for who should be authority figures, they feel a need to hide the body and lie about it.

The film is without hope not only because the children have no source to trust in, but also because there are no solutions to this lifestyle. (But there is honesty from the filmmaker as he mirrors reality.) It is cyclically oppressive and detrimental as we see the uncle struggle in getting along with his boss and railroad friends, and the older sister experiencing a lustful relationship with one of the other “adults.” The dark grainy look of the film only furthers this feeling of futility. I suppose that the director was hoping there would be some kind of charm in George trying to redeem himself by developing a hero-complex, but it feels empty. The other adult friend turns to that, too, as we see them side by side directing traffic. There seems to be no other way to help their community than to make believe.

“En Mi Familia” by Carmen Garza there is a similar theme, but with lightness. She felt limited by her community. She was told not to speak Spanish. But she used it for inspiration and made a sacred and cathartic picture book to express what she could not in her childhood. Her book is full of color, culture, and vitality. She shares her story to uplift and encourage unhindered expression.

I am unaware of what director David Green’s intent was, but I do know that I felt powerless after watching the film. However, it was enlightening to experience another perspective of childhood through “George Washington” and learn that not everyone grows up with adults they can trust and a community that fosters potential.

Adults, Hats, and Boa Constrictors

Adults would say this is a strawberry. But this is a doodle of my heart after reading "The Little Prince." It is full. The emotions I felt while reading are boiling, brimming, and bulging out. 

I read "The Little Prince" at a time when I am struggling with motivation for school. Adult things suck the life out of you (and more specifically your imagination and sincerity), and "The Little Prince" addresses that with its poignant critique of adulthood contrasted with the little prince himself. 

The little prince, first of all, believes in the narrators ability to draw. He encourages him. At the age of six, the narrator drew an elephant inside of a boa constrictor and everyone else labeled it a hat. This works under the assumption that children are inherently imaginative, but parents and other adults often stifle this creativity with their labels and real world experience. Children, on the other hand, can operate within a world independent of ours. The setting of the story, however, is interesting then because it is grounded in reality in its relation to Earth. Perhaps, instead, we are exploring the inner workings of an imaginative adult. It is, after all, written by an adult.

The book is also dedicated to an adult, which the author apologizes for, and the revises that it is dedicated to the childhood version of that adult. Then, maybe, the little prince is the childhood version of the author. The focus is not so much the size, but his title emphasizes his age. He is the only young person who owns his own planet. Everyone else that has a planet is an adult, and they waste it on ridiculous things as the little prince points out. The king for example just wants to be able to claim that he reigns over something else. The businessman counts the stars as his property, and the little prince compares him to the drunkard he met previously. The book often addresses the audience, making commentary about adults as the narrator tells us of his worry about becoming like other grown-ups “who are no longer interested in anything but numbers.” They would rather hear the number of the asteroid than about the wonderful things that existed on it. The one redeeming adult is the lamp lighter. “He’s the only one who doesn’t strike me as ridiculous. Perhaps it’s because he’s thinking of something besides himself” (p. 43). More problematic than adulthood eliminating imagination is the selfishness that adulthood is purported to breeds, according to the narrator.

But just as the flower allows the boy to experience love, and the fox teaches him what that means, the boy teaches the pilot about love, and essentially empowers him. Not only does the boy remind the man of drawing and imagination, he also provides the man an experience to focus on someone other than himself. When the boy starts to cry, in spite of the imminent danger of being stranded in the desert, the pilot sets his task aside to listen. It empowers him, and saves him. He was probably not in a literal desert, but a metaphorical desert of selfish, lifeless adulthood. I am reminded of the scene in “A Little Princess” where it is imagination and hope that allows the servant girls to survive, and Sarah to help her father remember.

Unlike the adults of the story, the little prince’s story from the fox teaches us that, “Anything essential is invisible to the eyes” (p. 63). It is empathy, creativity, love, and imagination that are fundamental to our existence, not money and power as adults in the story believe. “Children understand,” (p. 72) and thus we re-learn how to be imaginative and thoughtful through children.