For the past two decades, the works of Hayao Miyazaki have rested upon the upper echelons of the most successful anime films of all time. Until the release of Your Name in 2016, Ponyo, Howl’s Moving Castle and most notably, the Oscar-winning Spirited Away remained the highest-grossing films of their time. Though Miyazaki is speckled throughout the top fifty entries, the aforementioned trio noticeably distances themselves from the bulk of his legacy. It may also prove no coincidence these films share a common thematic thread.
Predominantly concerned with the trials of children and the inevitability of age, Miyazaki’s trilogy of youth examines this tug-of-war intrinsically. Whereas Howl’s Moving Castle hones in on the anxieties of age and the ultimate triumph of growth, Ponyo contends for the agency of children in the era of the helicopter parent. Spirted Away, however, serves as a joiner. A facet of much of Miyazaki’s work, his internationally most successful piece considers not only the quest for freedom through maturity but also the loss of whimsy and imagination in the seemingly nameless abyss that is adulthood. In classic Miyazaki fashion, the filmmaker also argues against the bilateralism of growth and pushing back against the notion of childhood as a necessary vestige.
In the midst of a move from her previous and urban home, Chihiro (Rumi Hiiragi, Daveigh Chase) dawdles in the backseat of her parents’ vehicle. Unenthused by this change, the young girl views the prospects of this change apathetically. When seeking to mend one of the few things she appears to care about, a small but bent bouquet of flowers, the child’s mother insists the solution is simple and quickly dismisses Chihiro. Much like the trajectory of her “fun adventure” as her mother cites it, Chihiro is given no choice but to accept this “remedy” and wait for time to transpire. Unfortunately, the suggestion Chihiro’s parents are actually wise outside of their own familiar spheres is cataclysmically disproven.
After an ill-placed statue compels Chihiro’s family to traverse ahead on foot, they discover a vacant village the girl’s father believes is a dilapidated theme park. Stumbling upon an unattended banquet, Chihiro’s parents “wisdom” gives way to emboldened arrogance as they gorge themselves with the spread. When Chihiro briefly distances herself to discover more of the town, spirits arrive to invigorate the area and simultaneously transform the girl’s parents into the embodiment of her gluttony: Pigs. Though Chihiro is spared from the metamorphosis, she is nonetheless trapped in the magical realm.
Terrifying in a sense akin to something like puberty, this event also yields an allusion to Chihiro’s growing agency. After pleading for the nightmare to end and “disappear,” Chihiro’s own body complies as her hands grow transparent. She immediately attempts to rescind her request to no avail until a boy of seemingly Chihiro’s age, Haku (Miyu Irino, Jason Marsden), reverses the effect. Haku also enables Chihiro to move with an incantation when she’s momentarily paralyzed. Virtually all of the initial hurdles the girl encounters are overcome with just as convoluted solutions. To a child, the routine actions in the new world are inexplicably bizarre, yet to the familiar they are dealt with utter mundanity. Here, Miyazaki illustrates what is daunting at first glance inevitably grows habitual.
Contrary to the mythical quests detailed in works like Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind and Princess Mononoke, it is suggested Chihiro simply apply for a job in order to save her parents and return home. Though the process may prove a bit more perilous than reality, the goal is essentially the same. Chihiro needs only to endure and survive to the subsequent day. After testing her grit alongside a colony of animate soot the bath boiler of a famed spa for spirits, Kamaji (Bunta Sugawara, David Ogden Stiers), considers her capability. A conglomeration of man and machine, Kamaji is tireless in his efforts to maintain the ethereal establishment. Resigned to his status as “slave to the baths,” Kamaji laments upon the stagnation his career yields. However, the presence of Chihiro intrigues his curiosity and jars his disciplinarian guise as he too recommends the girl consult Yubaba (Mari Natsuki, Suzanne Pleshette), the bathhouse’s owner, to obtain employment. Kamaji’s willingness to look beyond his fate to the benefit of Chihiro reflects the curmudgeon’s belief in youth and his resistance to the presumptions of age.
Upon meeting Yubaba, Chihiro is broken down, psychologically dissected and reminded of her childish limitations. Fortunately, Yubaba proves to be subservient to her own commitments, like that of her massive toddler, Yubaba allows Chihiro an opportunity provided she executes a magical contract with a terrifying stipulation. Yubaba acquires Chihiro’s name, removing the girl’s more unique phonemes and dubbing her “Sen.” With this step to maturity, Chihiro also loses part of her defining traits as she is assimilated into the greater workforce. Per Haku’s warning and her own turmoil, Chihiro grows to fear the nameless face she may become if she loses her name.
Chihiro’s inclination to grow and achieve self-reliance is accompanied by modern life’s more unfortunate realizations; with maturity comes responsibility, and with responsibility comes a commitment. Commitment, of course, deprives her of the time she may have had as a child and the loss of her identity closes in. However, Chihiro clings to her old clothes and a goodbye card she takes for granted at the film’s onset, reminding her she is composed and in part defined by her previous experiences.
As Chihiro establishes her bearings at the spa, the prosperity she brings Yubaba does little to facilitate her own escape. Instead, her dreams seem to slowly fade as she, similar to Kamaji, grows victim to the chains of age. This challenge materializes in the form of No-Face, an ambiguous spirit who desperately tries to emulate and earn Chihiro’s affection. His efforts, however, are far less contemplative and do more to satisfy the girl’s adult colleagues as he spews extravagance and grows into an amorphous and all-consuming mass. Chihiro continually declines the monster’s efforts as she is tending to a wounded Haku. In this exchange, Chihiro converts her newfound maturity into maternal care. No-Face’s “generosity,” on the other hand, boils over to a toxic extent until the spirit literally vomits all he has consumed, leaving him with the equivalent of a post-Vegas hangover. It is not until Chihiro understands and implements the benevolent pieces of her maturity is she given an opportunity to escape.
For Chihiro to finally leave, she must confront the antithesis of the adult nature she has experienced thus far, Yubaba’s twin sister Zeniba. Living quietly in the unassuming countryside, Zeniba’s hospitality and demeanor are in stark contrast to her sibling. In this instance Chihiro dissects the supposed adult wisdom, deconstructing the same compulsion to presumption she’s endured at the hands of virtually every character. During her journey from the witch’s cabin, Chihiro is given a moment to reflect on her own childhood and retrieve the nugget of information needed to relinquish Haku’s (and by extension her own) curse. Ultimately, Miyazaki champions the value of childhood memories, arguing the reflection of such spurs the transformation our of adolescence, rather than hinders it.
The reconciliation of youth and age, as well as the journey between them, has become a constant within Miyazaki’s most recent films. However, there may be no better consolidation of this theme than in Miyazaki’s earlier discussions of the subject, Spirited Away.
To relive the magic of this piece the way Miyazaki intended, consider attending the Tower Theatre’s screenings of Spirited Away at 4:30 p.m. and 7:00 p.m. on May 12, 2018.
