Ryan McNeil
Throughout his career, visionary filmmaker Hayao Miyazaki has taken us through some of the most beautiful and inspiring world imaginable. With retirement on his mind, Miyazaki decided to take us to one more world of love, imagination, and dreams. The twist was, for this final journey, the world he’d take us to is in fact our own.
Set in the early part of the 20th Century, THE WIND RISES is the story of Jiro Horikoshi. As a young boy, he dreams of designing airplanes. His idol is an Italian – Giovanni Battista Caproni. Caproni achieved great things in designing planes for Italians, even if it saddened him that many would be used for acts of war. Caproni appears in Jiro’s dreams, reminding him that designing planes is even better than flying them. This gives Jiro the spark he needs to go after his life’s pursuit, something he will work on in the aftermath of Japan’s most devastating earthquake.
As the years pass, Jiro rises through the ranks of one of Japan’s leading aviation manufacturers, at one point even being sent to Germany to study what the German air force is working on. His professional output struggles through hits and misses, but its his personal life that takes the biggest leap forward in this span of time. After all, it is here that he will meet Naoko – a girl he once encountered on a train – and fall in love. Their love is tested by Naoko’s fight with tuberculosis, but it’s a test they are ready for…and a test that might inspire Jiro to become an even better engineer than he otherwise would have become.
It’s been said that THE WIND RISES will be Hayao Miyazaki’s swan song as a feature-length director (the man is 73, so it’s entirely plausible). If this is the final chapter in Miyazaki’s glorious career, it’s truly a fitting one. The film is deeply reflective in nature. Its reflection is sometimes proud, and sometimes regretful. In this way, the film evokes the way we all look back upon our own lives when we’re closer to the end of it than the beginning. Like Miyazaki, or his avatar Jiro, we stand in the warm sun of a green meadow with a mix of pride and longing…thinking about what we were able to accomplish, and longing for a few days more to accomplish what we couldn’t.
Along with feeling like a curtain call, the film also feels in some ways like a departure for Miyazaki. This mostly comes from the way the film is deeply rooted in our world. There are no fits of magical fancy, no plucky creatures come to life. There is no myth, and no magic. The only nod to these standard elements of Miyazaki’s films is the interactions Jiro has with Caproni in his dreams. It’s in these moments that the cosmos of THE WIND RISES opens itself up to the impossible, and these moments that take us to wondrous visions. The rest of the time, we are quite clearly on our planet, looking at our history through the eyes of one of our own. This departure for Miyazaki, while unexpected, is fitting. It’s a homecoming in more ways than one, a chance to play one last set in front of the hometown crowd.
THE WIND RISES is deeply interested in the source and lifespan of creative energy. It presents the notion that one cannot truly reach their potential in a bubble, and that it is only by becoming husbands and wives or even fathers and mothers that we are able to realize our talents. There is something to be said for that. Perhaps these people that we lean on are what truly bring out the best in us. Perhaps the smiles they give us, and the support they freely give is what allows us to dig deeper than we thought we could. Every fighter needs a coach in their corner; perhaps every artist needs one too. Along with this theory, the film seems convinced that creators can only be creatively productive for ten years. There are exceptions to this rule for sure, but maybe there are fewer than we think. Perhaps that slim window is why we always cling to artists’ earliest efforts? Perhaps there’s something about the vigour of youth or the hunger to make a mark that dissipates when its first decade ends.
If there’s a hitch to THE WIND RISES, it’s the question of how romantic we should get towards the designer of a weapon of war. This is a film, after all, that wants us to gather around a man trying to design something that brought certain death to so many – including the hero’s own countrymen. It’s a difficult obstacle to work around, but this is the best I can offer:
The people who dream are what makes this world a better place. The people who are able to see possibilities where the rest of us see blowing leaves, and fallen branches. Through imagination and discipline, these people have brought true wonders to our lives…be they faster cars or longer-lasting lightbulbs. These men and women are not the ones who kill, nor are they the ones who order the killings to take place. Their ideas make so many other ideas possible, and to that end they deserve to be celebrated.
THE WIND RISES does not sidestep the consequences of Jiro’s life’s work. Quite the opposite, it forces him on multiple occasions to consider the cost. It’s a burden he will clearly shoulder for a long time, but one he will not run from.
This subtle-yet-stunning film is a prayer to rise with the tide and make the most of life. It wants us not only to do great things before the clock runs out, but to do them in ways that will make those around us proud. Those of us who spend our days creating are able to do so because of the support of those who love us; those of us who love a great creator share in the passion but get none of the glory. This film celebrates both sides of the bargain.
It creates something wonderful for the world, and holds our hand underneath the desk as it does so.
it’s a thin line to draw, but i think it’s important to approach other points of view in regards to key historical eras. what miyazaki does here is so poetic and far more objective than people seem to perceive. also, it’s historical fiction, which in some ways implies romanticism. i think this is a beautiful film.
It’s too easy to paint everybody involved on the wrong side of history as inherently “evil”, isn’t it? Sometimes there’s a great deal of heart and imagination that goes into bad things.
I’m right with you in the beauty of this film. It has a melancholy maturity to it that befits a final bow. Hell, I wish more directors would take a cue from it and try to go out with such grace.
BTW – Sorta curious (and also kinda nervous) what you think of my post from Tuesday: The one where I chose to watch SHAFT for my Blind Spot series.