“Le vent se lève…. Il faut tenter de vivre!” “The wind rises… We must try to live!” The Wind Rises by Writer-Director Hayao Miyazaki opens with the above quote by French poet Paul Valéry, and it serves as a regular refrain for what was intended to be the Japanese master’s swan song. While it isn’t quite the magnum opus that Miyazaki fans would want this ostensibly final film to be (we now know that it isn’t his final film!) due to a slow start in which not too much of interest happens (but necessarily sets up later events), the film magnificently elevates itself in the second half to leave viewers stunned, amazed, and emotionally drained.
Jirō Horikoshi (Kaichi Kaburagi/Zach Callison) is a teenaged boy in the late 1910s with terrible eyesight but with big dreams of flight. He literally dreams of Italian aeronautical engineer Giovanni Caproni (Nomura Mansai/Stanley Tucci) frequently, and the Italian legend tells him in those dreams that building planes is better than flying them. Fast forward a few years and adult version of Jirō (now voiced by Hideaki Anno/Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is on the train to university to study aeronautical engineering when the Great Kantō Earthquake strikes, throwing Jirō and everyone else off of the train, including teenaged Nahoko (Mayo Lino/Madeleine Rose Yen) and her maid Kinu (Hiruka Shibuya/Mae Whitman). Jirō helps them get back on their feet in the immediate aftermath of the devastating earthquake, and then goes on his way. The two women have no idea who he is. Years pass when Jirō takes an extended vacation from his job at Mitsubishi designing aircraft when he is reunited with a now-adult Nahoko (now voiced by Miori Takamoto/Emily Blunt). A deeply moving and consequential romance between the two quickly blossoms.
The early dream sequences featuring Caproni are an early, but perhaps unnecessary, highlight of the film. They are fantastical and whimsical. In Jirō’s dreams, Caproni’s aircraft often takes on an anthropomorphic quality that are as bizarre as they are wonderful. Imagine aircraft wings with bird wings flapping at the ends. Or metal panels bulging and squirming to and fro. There is a vibrancy to the coloring used in the dream sequences which are an easy give away by Miyazaki and his team to clue the viewer that this is indeed one of Jirō’s dreams, because some of these dream sequences happen quite abruptly. However, I wonder if it was necessary to have so many of them in the first half of the film. While I think that the dream sequences serve an important motivational function for Jirō, the number of dream sequences does make the first half of the film feel a little long.
Another early highlight is how the Great Kantō Earthquake is portrayed. A series of eerie, unearthly, and caustic groans—like the awakening of an Lovecraftian eldritch horror—heralds great undulating ripples in the earth. It’s a terrifyingly awesome sight to behold. But Miyazaki and his team don’t stop there. Studio Ghibli does not shy from showing the aftermath. Cue an extra wide shot of a fire-swept landscape as the city is completely leveled, leaving only a handful of bent shadowy figures picking hopelessly through the rubble of their lives. It is jaw dropping to behold.
The real beating heart of the film isn’t, in my opinion, the relationship between Jirō and his aircraft, or with his best friend and fellow engineer Kirō Honjō (Hidetoshi Nishijima/John Krasinski), or with his stern but ultimately kind boss, Kurokawa (Masahiko Nishimura/Martin Short). No. It’s the relationship between Jirō and Nahoko that’s the real highlight here. The lovebirds move quickly as much out of necessity as out of the inflamed passion of their love. The lengths both go to be with each other, even when circumstances might normally dictate otherwise, are astounding. And the pangs of separation when they must separate hit heavier as a result. The decisions that Nahoko makes, in particular, are absolutely gut wrenching, and will make even the stoniest of hearts come alive. It’s a bit of a shame, then, that it takes so long to get there. But the impact of their relationship might be better served by it, too.
Overall, the production values are quite high, as we would come to expect from a Studio Ghibli production. Everything is drawn by hand, and everything looks delightful. While things in the dream sequences are fantastical and fanciful, with a kaleidoscopic palette of colors, everything else looks real (at least within the world of animation). There is a stark contrast between the aged wooden planes that Japan is currently producing, and the strong, bold, metallic lines of the German aircraft that Jirō and Honjō get to see while on their work trip to Germany. The only occasional hiccup is the smoothness of the infrequent use of CGI to expedite certain animations—such as the ground passing by as a plane approaches the ground. The inconsistency of the internal frame rate between the real hand drawn stuff and the CGI stuff is jarring, but infrequent.
Composer Joe Hisaishi once again crafts a score that nigh perfectly captures the emotional center of every moment in every scene. The opening theme—on mandolin and accordion—is memorable, singable, and seems to take some strong cues from the second movement of Beethoven’s “Pathétique” piano sonata. Hisaishi has this unique ability to take us back to places we’ve never been yet, or to remember things that haven't yet happened. He regularly creates a sense of nostalgia for the future. Uncharacteristically, Hisaishi uses a fair amount of minimalistic techniques in his score, instead of constant broad, sweeping melodies like we are used to (don’t worry—there are plenty of those, too!). It’s interesting to hear him implement some of the techniques he frequently explores in his non-film music be incorporated here, and to great success. If there is a complaint, it’s that he might rely a little too much on that opening theme. It is a recurring theme (and a wonderful one at that), and it is subject to exploration through reorchestration and other compositional techniques throughout the film to keep it interesting, but it is also played multiple times in its original presentation with little embellishment.
The Wind Rises is a near masterpiece. Strong writing, direction, music, and animation pave the way for a moving experience for the viewer. A first half that is, perhaps, a little sluggish keeps it back from true perfection, but the second half moves at breakneck pace to make up for it. It is a film that easily survives multiple viewings. Prior to watching it for the specific purpose of writing this review, I had seen the film two or three times prior. It is no less moving now than it was on my first viewing. If anything, repeated viewings enhance the experience. The Wind Rises definitely does not suck.
Written and Directed by Hayao Miyazaki.
Starring Kaichi Kaburagi/Zach Callison, Hideaki Anno/Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Mayo Lino/Madeleine Rose Yen, Miori Takamoto/Emily Blunt, Hidetoshi Nishijima/John Krasinski, Masahiko Nishimura/Martin Short, etc.
9/10 = DROP EVERYTHING AND WATCH IT NOW (IT DEFINITELY DOES NOT SUCK)
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