“Wolf Children” & Visual Storytelling: An Extended Review

A quick note: this is the first entry in an extended review of  the film,“Wolf Children,” that will be split over a number of essays.

WARNING: Spoilers ahead for “Wolf Children.”

So seriously, just go and watch “Wolf Children” with English subtitles (don’t watch the dubbed version for your first viewing)! You’ll thank me later! And you’ll probably want to call your Mom as well…

            I absolutely love Mamoru Hosoda’s masterpiece, the 2012 anime film “Wolf Children,” for a lot of reasons. Some of those reasons are deeply personal, while others are more distant and technically or aesthetically based. Today, I would like to discuss one of my more technically and aesthetically-inclined reasons for my love of this film: its masterful usage of various elements of visual storytelling to enhance the overall cinematic experience.

            At the core of this section of the extended review are the concepts of composition and editing, what is or isn’t in the shot and how shots are connected respectively, and just how those concepts are used to great effect in creating the visually stunning world and story that is “Wolf Children.” I'll be asking what the question of the scene is, or what the director wants to convey with his composition and editing, and analyzing a few specific scenes for what and how they use these concepts to answer that very same question. 

Question: How does one show character choice?

            Here’s a simple, elegant, and extremely effective way: have the character look left or right for each option, respectively. One can see this in a lot of films, “Pulp Fiction” for example, and it’s a pretty cool tool for filmmakers and foundation for good visual storytelling (“Snowpiercer – Left or Right”). But there is something else one can do to create a powerful piece of character choice visually: make the choices, framing, or actions funny. Essentially, make the shots and editing funny and one can get their point across far more effectively.

            Hosoda uses these two ideas to create a very fun and empathetic scene in the film. In this particular scene, Hana is confronted with choosing where and who to take a sick Yuki to; a vet’s office for a veterinarian that specializes in Yuki’s wolf side, or clinic for a pediatrician that specializes in Yuki’s human side?

            Notice what we see Hana do immediately and how the lens is orientated, she runs straight towards the camera and she looks left and right relative to the lens. We immediately know that she has two choices from both the framing and “left or right” screen direction used.

            We then see what her options are: a doctor’s clinic and a vet’s office. Hosoda will reinforce that these are her choices by having the camera move from one “choice” to another without any cuts, from a first-person perspective, and with some natural human eye motion-blur effects. He pulls us into Hana’s choice and decision-making process by making us feel like we’re with, or perhaps, are her.  

Next, we pull out of Hana’s perspective and are positioned straight behind with a clear left right divide being created, with Hana in the middle of course. She tentatively moves towards each “choice,” but she hesitates each time and looks towards the other “choice” in each instance. She has only two options, the framing and camera placement exacerbates that for us, and we can see that she really doesn’t know which one to choose due to multiple instances of her hesitation. Shots like these get their humor, comedic, and empathetic values simply from their framing as we want to both laugh and cry at Hana and her apparent predicament (“Buster Keaton – The Art of the Gag”). You seriously can’t help but feel both amused and sad for Hana and her situation because of this shot’s stellar composition.

We then see Hana talking on the phone, though it is never stated who she is talking to. The audience is able to infer what “choice” she is debating and when through these shots’ framing. She is seen sitting below a pay phone, looking left, and with her body obscuring, but not blocking out, the view of the doctor’s clinic sign. She is then seen looking ever so slightly to the right with the vet’s office sign clearly behind her. The first shot’s framing demonstrates a fundamental disconnect between the doctor’s office and Hana. In short, we intuitively know the doctors were of no help.

Ultimately, it is the vet’s advice and Yuki’s statement that she’s hungry that resolves the dilemma, and we see this through the slow switching of subjects in the shots to just Hana and Yuki and the fact that she is no longer looking towards her options, instead she looks back to where she came from and away from where the “choices” were located. We then see that there were three options, and only in the end do we and Hana realize that.

In framing these shots to create a visual of “left right” for Hana’s choice, Hosoda is able to fashion brilliantly comedic and empathetic scene where we, as the audience, can really get a feel for the process of decision-making that she has to go through on pretty much a daily basis. In one quick scene, we instantly feel for the Hana and the situation she is in. Nothing is easy for Hana or her kids, even going to the doctor, so we see and get a burdened feeling from Hana’s options and situations, all the while it being wrapped perfectly in a visually funny scene (“For Your Reconsideration: ‘Wolf Children’”). Now that is some good and compelling visual storytelling if you ask me!

Question: How does one show a character’s dread that arises from their entrapment in a situation?

Here’s one fairly common, but almost invisible, way: trap the character in a tight or constricting frame. The Coen Brothers and their main cinematographer, Roger Deakins, use this concept to great effect in their films because their stories are commonly about people, and the audience, getting the feeling that they’re trapped by various situations (“Joel & Ethan Coen – Shot | Reverse Shot”). This is an excellent way to show a character’s feeling of entrapment, but there is also a way to frame the object of that entrapment as well to create an even more powerful sense of dread and fear. Therefore, a scene’s editing is just as crucial as the framing itself in order to get the desire feeling of being “trapped” across to the audience. Once again, the Coens trap their characters with slow push-ins, compressing the frame’s array of subjects until the world outside becomes all but nonexistent and we only see the character’s facial expressions and, by extension, their inner thoughts (“Joel & Ethan Coen – Shot | Reverse Shot”).

Hosoda practices the same visual ideas that the Coens and Roger Deakins use, but instead of pushing-in in just one shot and just on the character, he makes the push-in happen over a series of cuts between the two “subjects,” with one being the “trapper” and the other one being the “trappie.” This is best seen in the scene where Hana encounters another mother in the form of a seemingly lone bear.

First things first, we see Hana happily walking towards what she thinks is Ame, and we see what she sees: a silhouette that looks a lot like Ame. After the shots get closer and closer on her happy expression, we abruptly see her boot splash in a puddle and stop, and we see the other boot never hits its mark and instead fall behind the first in hesitation. It is here that we first see Hana’s distress, and we ask ourselves “what made her stop so suddenly?” Then we see what made her stop, the silhouette is actually that of a bear.

Hana begins to slowly back up, away from the bear, but she is stopped by a tree at her back. She is cornered and trapped between the tree and the bear. She has no regard for what is behind her since she just wants to leave the situation, and we see this in her refusal to mind a small sapling’s obstruction. After meeting the tree, she cowers in fear.

The bear looks up and at her with a very dead-pan and neutral, but still somewhat of a menacing, expression. Notice how the bear is looking straight at the lens from the center of the frame. The bear, and Hosoda, is making Hana, and us, the sole subject of its gaze. Hana’s, and the audience’s, focus is directed solely at the bear as well, thereby making this shot full of the dreaded feeling of being trapped that Hosoda wished to convey.

After a quick, but almost painfully long and tension-filled, burst of cuts between the bear and Hana, the bear turns away from Hana and towards its cubs. Take note of how long each cut is and what the frame is doing in this sequence. The frames get smaller, more intimate, and much closer with each cut. Eventually, we get what amounts to two close-ups on both Hana and the mother bear: the climax and the most tension-filled stretch of time in the scene. We are trapped with Hana’s gaze on the sole subject of the bear, and we are trapped with Hana by the bear’s ever more oppressive and closer gaze. The shots feel almost uncomfortably long and drawn-out, thereby making us question what is going to happen next and refocusing our eyes on the bear’s almost blank expression. Essentially, the framing and editing of this scene forces the audience to go through what Hana is going through, to feel what she feels: that is fear and dread from a feeling of entrapment.

As the bear shifts its focus to its cubs, the frames get wider and includes more subjects, there is no longer only an oppressive one. Hana’s shots also get steadily wider and greater in the number of subjects within them. This is the de-escalation of the scene, wherein all the tension that was built up is steadily waned and lost.

Hana is not suited to the mountain like Ame is, and this scene elegantly reinforces and partly illustrates that fact. Hana, and the audience, was paralyzed with fear, so we feel that we really don’t belong in this situation or in this “world” of the mountain that Ame inhabits and maintains. By simply showing how unsuited Hana is to the situation or environment, by making her, and the audience, feel trapped by it, and how little she knows about the world Ame resides in, Hosoda expertly makes the emotion realization of this film even more powerful than it already is (“For Your Reconsideration: ‘Wolf Children’”).

Question: How does one show the experience of pure, unfiltered emotion?

Here’s one way:

I’m going to be honest; this is probably one of my favorite scenes from any film, anime or otherwise. It’s definitely my favorite scene out of “Wolf Children” as well! If you need to learn how to show raw emotion, then this scene may be a master class for you (“The 20 Best Scenes of 2013”). Hosoda creates this emotionally and visually stunning scene by using composition and editing to his advantage, along with some music but we’ll get to some other time.

Okay, let’s dig in! The first shot of the scene sets the stage, wherein we see the family’s amazement at the sight of snow for the first time. They are framed by door and the icicles up top so we know what they’re reacting to without seeing it. By framing the family this way, in the visual frame created by the doorway and icicles, our eyes are instantly gravitate to the family’s faces and, as a result, their joyful and excited expressions of wonder and amazement. Remember, the focus of this whole scene is the family’s pure, unfiltered joy at the experience of snow for the first time, and this deliberate framing already keys us into that fact.

We then see what they are amazed at: a winter wonderland.

Yuki immediately jumps into the snow, and we see her contrasted with a background consisting of the snow around her. She joyfully face-plants and rolls around in the snow.

We then cut to Ame, who is again contrasted by an entirely white background and wallowing in the snow. He falls down face-first into the snow, and when he shakes the snow off his face we see a smile on his face.

Hana then joins Ame and Yuki in their experience by leaping into the snow and hugging them tightly, again surrounded by the white background. They turn around and we are subjected to three bright, smiling, and joy-filled faces, perfectly conveying the sense of joy and raw emotion that was intended for the scene.

Next, we transition to a long sequence of the family running through the snowy woods with various close-ups and profile shots showing the joyful emotions and expressions on their faces. In this sequence, we travel along with the characters and their emotions. We begin to feel like them because we are intimately following them through their joy-filled experience, and of course the absolutely rapturous score.

After a very fun and engaging transition, we then get to see Ame and Yuki “skiing” down a hill, in an open field, with the white snow, diagonal leading line, and bluebird background serving to direct our focus purely at the characters, their actions, and their reactions. This is an instance where minimal, but meaningful, compositions are used to great and lasting effect. We need only see Ame and Yuki’s raw emotions, nothing else.

Hana soon joins her children in tumbling down the hill, all with a smile on her face. Finally, we get all three family members with the same expression of joy in the same how doing the same thing.

The family stops their sledding and all individually, but ultimately in unison, let out their most happy and joyful sounds and collapse back into the snow together. We get to see and hear each one of their sounds and expressions individually, but we still get the treat of seeing them all in unison before they stop.

As the scene comes to its bittersweet end, we get individual shots of Yuki, Ame, and Hana laughing an ear-to-ear smile on their faces. There’s no need for a group shot or a particularly complex set of shots, all that is needed is to see them all laughing at the experience they just had and the resulting, almost contagious, smile.

At the very end, we see them, as a family, lying and laughing in the snow.

By both simply emphasizing the character’s emotions and their outlets in the form of their actions and expressions, and using very simple editing and transitions, Hosoda is able to perfectly articulate the feeling and emotion that both the scene is about and the characters are experiencing. To pull an idea from my film textbook, just get close and simply show the emotion of the scene because that emotion will speak for itself. Thus, this greatest take-away from this scene, at least for me, is that sometimes you just simply have to film something happening and only do things to subtly emphasize and direct your eyes to those emotions, and try to not oversell it or hype it up too much. The utter simplicity of these shots and the scene itself is one truly amazing way to show a pure, unfiltered emotion of joy (“The 20 Best Scenes of 2013”).

            After watching “Wolf Children” and his other films, I think more and more that Hosoda is masterful visual storyteller, in that his ideas and intents are conveyed almost perfectly through visual means, even without the amazing performances given by his voice actors or his insane scores (“Wolf Children (2012) – The Lateral Tracking Shot”). His films can be understood as visual stories without looking this deep into them, but that’s the whole point of what I have said here. How does one show things, almost invisibly, instead of merely and simply telling them? Take a look at this quote from Roger, “The Big D,” Deakins himself (“Composition In Storytelling”):

            That is what Mamoru Hosoda does brilliantly in all of his movies, but especially in “Wolf Children,” his compositions and edits are almost perfectly seamless and effectively convey a great deal of information to the audience without them even realizing it. His directorial choices were perfect for this film, and that fact really and truly shines in one of the reasons why I love this film. He shows us his theme of the highs and the lows of both motherhood and childhood, and he brings us intimately into that very sacred and shared experience, through those brilliant directorial choices. To me, “Wolf Children” is part of the essence of cinema and what defines filmmaking as an art form. “Wolf Children” truly is “a cinematic flower, a beautifully simple thing that grows into a breathtakingly gorgeous celebration of life as it flourishes” (50 Best Movies…).

~ Works Cited ~

“Wolf Children Official Clip - Playtime in the Winter's First Snow (Japanese with English subtitles),” By Mamoru Hosoda, FUNimation.

“Compostition In Storytelling,” By Lewis Bond, Channel Criswell.

“50 Best Movies of 2013”, Movie Mezzanine.

“For Your Reconsideration: ‘Wolf Children’”, Movie Mezzanine.

“The 20 Best Scenes of 2013”, Movie Mezzanine.

“Buster Keaton - The Art of the Gag,” By Tony Zhou, Every Frame a Painting.

“Wolf Children (2012) - The Lateral Tracking Shot,” By Tony Zhou, Every Frame a Painting.

“Joel & Ethan Coen - Shot | Reverse Shot,” By Tony Zhou, Every Frame a Painting.

“Snowpiercer - Left or Right,” By Tony Zhou, Every Frame a Painting.

If you enjoyed this analysis of various filmmaking concepts and techniques, then I highly recommend both this video on another specific shot of “Wolf Children” and the Youtube channel that posted it, “Every Frame A Painting.”

“Princess Mononoke” & Hayao Miyazaki's Vision

As per the usual, please try to watch “Princess Mononoke” as it is a great film, even without reading what is said here, and if you like Miyazaki’s other films, then you’ll love this too!

            It could be said that contemporary environmentalism is in somewhat of a state of disarray, with many differing ideas all vying to overpower each other on the path to making the environment priority number one in the age of modern, tech-driven human affairs. As with most issues in contemporary politics, this is yet another philosophy that has become, ever more increasingly, a part of a fundamental dichotomy between ideologies, with humankind on one end and the environment, and nature in general, on the other. However, there is one anime film that presents a very intriguing and interesting perspective on not only environmentalism, but humankind’s relationship with nature in general.   

In a particularly notable piece of his stunning filmography in anime, Hayao Miyazaki all but destroys the much perpetuated maxim of “man versus nature” and instead presents us with his vision of liberating coexistence between man and its spiritual connections in nature. There is perhaps no better film that so perfectly sums up Miyazaki’s spiritual beliefs than his own “Princess Mononoke,” wherein the entire premise that the human and natural worlds are different, and ultimately incompatible with one another, is challenged.

            In order for one to understand the themes of “Princess Mononoke” and Miyazaki’s vision, it is important to take a look at the legendary animator’s spiritual beliefs, specifically at his unique take on the ancient idea of animism.

            Animism, put simply, is the belief in a kind of spiritual connection that pervades all of nature (“Animism”). It is easy to think of this pervasive spiritual connection as the real-life version of “the Force.” This is the metaphysical view prescribed to by many Indigenous peoples around the world for thousands of years, and this view is seen in the main Japanese religion of Shintō, of which a recorded eighty percent of Japanese follow (“Animism”)(“Shintō”).  In Shintō, the objects of worship, kami, are various connected spirits, essences, and parts of nature (“Shintō”). So, it should be of no surprise that Miyazaki holds this same spiritual and metaphysical belief, but he has an interesting twist on the age old idea. Almost inherently, many versions of animism assume that a dichotomy exists between humanity and nature, where nature is meant to be feared or regarded with a reverence due to its power or purity. Essentially, it is taken as a given that humanity and nature cannot, nor ever will, coexist.

            Instead of this seemingly inherent dichotomy, Miyazaki believes that humans are intimately included in the spiritual connection that pervades all of nature or, in another way, that people are part of nature and not inherently separate from it. In his, let’s be honest, pretty amazing outlook, everything reflects and displays the same traits, personalities, and emotions that humans posses because those things were simply part of nature to begin with and not solely, or totally, a product of human creation (“Hayao Miyazaki - The Essence of Humanity”).  

            That is Miyazaki’s animism: a spiritual connection that pervades all of nature, all the while including humanity in that metaphysical connection, wherein everything and everyone shares the same basic things and no distinctions exist between the perceived “human” and “natural” worlds. 

            With Miyazaki’s spiritual beliefs sorted out, in the form of a unique view on animism, one can now gaze upon the themes of “Princess Mononoke” with “eyes unclouded” (“Princess Mononoke (1997 film)”).

            As noted by many of the film’s audience, “Princess Mononoke” presents a very morally “gray” set of characters, whether they are forest gods or simple ironworkers. There is Lady Eboshi with her goal of killing the Forest Spirit being firmly, but elegantly, contrasted with her subjects in Irontown, many of whom she personally saved from the societal shame and ridicule of being lepers or prostitutes. There are the boars that seek to wipe the “stain” of humanity from their forest in vengeance and hate. And then there is Ashitaka and San, personifications of the two perceived worlds of nature and humanity, each with their own selfish or idealistic goals. In each case, these characters are not actually part of a dichotomy of “good versus bad” because they exhibit portions of each. Each one of these characters can be seen as both “bad” and “good,” in places, at the same time without contradicting themselves or there ideas. It’s the classic “war” movie trope of making the “bad” guys good and the “good” guys bad, and it presents one with a situation where everything and everyone if fundamentally tied in their moral “grayness.” This “graying” of ideas, methods, and sides is what many people love about this film, but I think Miyazaki wished to set himself apart from their beloved trope by incorporating a fundamental piece of his version of animism into his film (“The Studio Ghibli Retrospective: ‘Princess Mononoke’”).

            In regarding each and every character as being “gray” and fundamentally similar, Miyazaki is able to make us both empathize with the characters and realize that this film is an unflinching view of reality. He does this by first, messing with the audience’s expectations and preconceived notions, and by second, slowly revealing that everything is the opposite of what they expect. The audience expects the people and monarch of Irontown to be bloodthirsty, militant, and full of hatred because they are human, but they are instead treated to both a group of happy, content, and hardworking people with dreams and goals and to numerous forest animals and gods that exhibit, if not embody, those same expected traits of hate and savagery. For Miyazaki, this is the essence of animism: a world where perceived “human” emotions and traits, such as hate and savagery, exist within everything and everyone. The “problems” of humanity are not seen as something to be repressed, ignored, or lamented precisely because those very same “problems” exist everywhere and within everything. Essentially, why would one lament a flaw that literally everything else possesses? This is Miyazaki’s unflinching view of reality, a world in which there are no perceived “cookie-cutter” dichotomies or binaries. The reality is that humanity is, indeed, an inherent part of nature itself, and that there exists no distinction between the “natural” and “human” worlds (“Hayao Miyazaki - The Essence of Humanity”). There is simply no way to fully separate reality into the two perceived worlds. In the most basic sense, it can be said that “we are all in this together.”

            In knowing that Miyazaki’s spiritual beliefs and view on reality pervade the film, “Princess Mononoke’s” story, characters, and themes can now begin to be viewed as a look into Miyazaki both as a human being and as a look into his vision for the future.

             With that being said, it is prudent to take a quick look at another one of his films, one with very similar themes but a wholly different message: “My Neighbor Totoro.” To quote Miyazaki, both “Princess Mononoke” and “My Neighbor Totoro” were created using “the exact same approach … which is that there is an invisible world that is surely as real as the world we can see with our eyes, and that we cannot live ignoring the invisible world." That seemingly “invisible” world is the deep spiritual connection that pervades all of humanity and nature seen in his animism. While they both share this theme of “showing” the animistic connection between all of nature and humanity, “Princess Mononoke” goes one step further by exploring what may happen when that connection remains invisible. In stark contrast to “My Neighbor Totoro’s” innocent and tear-jerking messages, “Princess Mononoke” seems to serve as a warning (“Princess Mononoke”).

            In “Princess Mononoke’s” climax, the decapitated, lingering essence of the Forest Spirit is seen to consume all life and land in its path, wherein everything and everyone it touches dies or is destroyed. The Forest Spirit’s consuming rampage can be seen as a result of both sides, both human and nature, simply feeding into the idea that they fundamentally cannot coexist. The two sides are seen to battle on numerous occasions and display unparalleled levels of hatred and savagery in their fighting. They want to destroy one another because they think they can’t coexist, which is in direct contrast to what Miyazaki’s animism believes.

In direct contrast, one can see the literal personification of Miyazaki’s animistic connection in San and Ashitaka’s relationship. From their first meeting, it can be said that they “fall in love” with each other, wherein they simply find companionship in one another. Ashitaka sees San as the personification of the forest, with all its beauty and mystery, while San sees humanity’s loving and compassionate side in Ashitaka. Throughout the film, the characters around them are constantly pressuring them, albeit individually, to give up their companionship and love for each other because of the simple fact that what their personifying in each other’s eyes cannot exist, together, in the same world, with their personification being nature and humanity respectively for San and Ashitaka. This is that animistic connection being relegated to an ignored, “invisible” world in dialogue form. While they do split up for what is the decisive battle between humanity and the forest, they end up coming back together in the end to “right” what had been “wronged;” that is to return the head of the Forest Spirit.

In returning the Forest Spirit’s head together, it can be said that the once “invisible” world of spiritual connection between humanity and nature becomes fully, almost heartbreakingly, visible and real. With that, the Forest Spirit’s rampage can be seen as the destructive tendencies of both “worlds,” nature and human, when their intrinsic spiritual connection is ignored and forgotten. Only by working together, reforming that shattered, ignored, and lamented spiritual connection, can the reality of “Princess Mononoke” stop itself from being destroyed, quite literally, by itself. By working together, the forest, the characters, and reality itself can rebuild both themselves and their innate connection to one another, as seen in the forest’s renewal and Lady Eboshi’s proclamation to rebuild Irontown in a different way.

Ultimately, this somber warning on the consequences of ignoring the spiritual connection that unites nature and humanity turns into a message on the benefits and innate need for coexistence. In the end, humanity needs to be able to develop and progress as a species, but not at the cost of its spiritual connection to nature, and reality itself (“The Studio Ghibli Retrospective: ‘Princess Mononoke’”). One can see this in the amazingly poignant scene where San and Ashitaka interact for the last time on screen. This scene is best summed up by the late Roger Ebert himself:

If they had simply stayed together and become “one,” then Miyazaki’s entire message of coexistence would have fallen flat (“The Studio Ghibli Retrospective: ‘Princess Mononoke’”). Instead of one becoming the other, with either San being human or Ashitaka being a forest dweller, they resolve to simply go their separate ways but still maintain their deep connection to each other. That is Miyazaki’s vision for the future of reality, a world where humanity and nature acknowledge and accept each others’ spiritual connection with one another, and, in doing this, a world of coexistence where both of their individual identities remain but without contradicting one another. Essentially, he wishes for a world where humanity and nature can “do their own” things without the need, want, or desire to forget, ignore, or lament aspects or the whole part of the other. In spite of both some of the film’s characters and modern society in general, the humanist that is Miyazaki intimately and truly believes that humanity and nature can coexist in a spiritually connected reality once they acknowledge and accept one another. If not, as Miyazaki’s curmudgeonly, eternally pessimistic exterior believes, then reality is doomed to consume itself in a metaphorical sense, thereby creating a reality where only the destroyed hulks of once grand and loving spirits, forests, gods, and humans existed.   

            In the end, Miyazaki’s vision was to power past simple and petty contemporary environmentalism, and all the themes his films are labeled with in general, and create an anime film that gives people a deeply human look into his beliefs, values, and visions and their affect on reality. In doing this, he is able to look past carbon taxes and tariffs and to a humanity that is on the verge of destroying itself and its few remaining connections with nature, one that is doomed to live an empty, shallow, and painfully long existence.

            As a deeply spiritual and humanistic man, Miyazaki really wants this eventuality to never come. He wants humanity to be liberated of its tendencies towards the ignorance of nature, and he wants humanity to be happy, healthy, and well again both spiritually and physically (“Hayao Miyazaki”). Ultimately, Miyazaki simply wants humanity to realize that we can coexist with nature while still being humanity, and that the very act of that realization is both liberating and essential in order for reality to exist. That is Miyazaki’s vision, and all of it conveyed in the two hour fourteen minute anime and film masterpiece that is “Princess Mononoke.”

            Now for a real talk, after doing a couple of these Miyazaki thematic analyses, I can honestly say that I have never seen another filmmaker, in anime or otherwise, that has been able to put such themes on film and in such an entertaining and whimsical way. There truly is no one else like Miyazaki; he is an amazing anomaly in film history that I hope we, as film lovers, never, ever forget.  I also figured out that I didn’t actually understand humanism until I watched and analyzed his films. He may dismiss the “humanist” label, but I personally think he is even above Albert Einstein, Carl Sagan, and Bertrand Russell on the hierarchy of humanism. I seriously think he is the greatest humanist in the history of humanity also one of the last of his “kind.” And I’m not going to lie, I cried a little bit writing while this paragraph because one day humanists like Miyazaki may cease to exist, and that is a heartbreaking and soul-crushing thought.

            With that, I will leave you, my dear, intrepid reader, with a quote from a filmmaker and film analyst that I respect and admire:  

~ Works Cited ~

“Princess Mononoke (1997 film)”, Wikipedia Article.

“Shintō”, Wikipedia Article.

“Animism”, Wikipedia Article.

“Hayao Miyazaki,” Wikipedia Article.

“Hayao Miyazaki – The Essence of Humanity,” By Lewis Bond, Channel Criswell.

“The Studio Ghibli Retrospective: ‘Princess Mononoke’’”, Movie Mezzanine.

“Princess Mononoke”, The Critical Eye.