Up next at our little look back on Hayo Miyazaki’s career is what many consider to the peak of his career. It has the pedigree of an Oscar award (made all the more amazing given how rarely the Academy acknowledges non-English language animation, or even animation as a whole), and is still extolled by many as the greatest animated film of all time, or even one the greatest films of all time period. Either way, it’s a doozy—here’s Spirited Away.
This is probably the first Ghibli film I happened to watch as a much younger person, alongside Porco Rosso (which, while somewhat overlooked compared to their rest, is still a solid one). And I must admit, there’s still a lot that stuck with me over the years, until I sat down for my first full rewatch recently. Miyazaki’s visual strength is enough that there’s always going to be at least one sequence from any one of his entries that imprints itself indelibly—for this one, that goes even further.
The premise is straightforward enough—we’re introduced to our protagonist Chihiro, a young girl moving home somewhere in small town Japan, and like I think most of us would’ve been in that sort of age bracket, being none too happy about it. This is a moment of the film where cultural dissonances do come into play a little bit—with Japanese parental fealty, Chihiro is meant to come off as a little bratty, but to western eyes, she’s more of a put-upon kid whose parents keep blowing her off. Regardless, a wrong turn sees them all stumble upon what looks like an abandoned amusement park—and before we know it, a magical curse sees her parents transformed into pigs, Chihiro stumbling into a bathhouse for whole parades of creatures and spirits, forced to give up her name to the witch that owns it, and it only gets crazier from there.
Right off the bat—from a technical standpoint, this one really is a masterpiece. The colors are absolutely gorgeous—everything hits that exact note of vibrancy or darkness whenever needed, with Ghibli excelling even by their own standard with some really magnificent backdrops, from fields to ornate interiors. The lighting is incredible—every lamp, every flame, every glowing window seems positively radiant, and even with digital coloring, that’s no mean feat to get just right. Speaking of digital, you can tell this is around the time when the animators would’ve been fully incorporating that into their toolbox, but it’s done tastefully, enhancing the otherwise traditionally made animation instead of overtaking it with flurries of poorly superimposed gibberish as others would.
There’s also a lot of liquids involved in this one, and the motion involved is incredibly satisfying, from flowing water to sludge creatures. Food, even seen for a second, looks genuinely appetizing, motion is spot-on, there is absolutely nothing half-baked here. It’s something that has to be seen on blu-ray quality or equivalent at minimum.
But pretty pictures are only get us halfway without some real story and theme here. At first, it’s about Chihiro—rechristened ‘Sen’ by her erstwhile employer—simply trying to adapt to her new environment, in a very Alice in Wonderland sort of deal. She’s surrounded by creatures prejudiced against her, she has to work just to remember her name, but that’s just the beginning. The real crux is her interactions with the beings that keep close to her, like the mysterious dragon-shifting boy Haku, and of course, the iconic wraith-like No-Face, seemingly unable to find past nor purpose.
These days, you’d probably see outline outlets blithely assume it to be some tirade on capitalism—but the real theme is a more universal one of identity. Sen ends up working out how to help others find out who they are, while keeping hold of her own self—and as the story goes on, it’s one that’s more than compelling, especially in our age of uncertainty and loss of confidence in miasmas of digital noise.
That does lead into the film’s most iconic sequence, in the latter act—where Sen, with the fate of others now in her hands, has to travel with No-Face in one last ditch effort atop a train populated by mistlike figures that aren’t really explained. There’s no dialogue, there’s not even anything really kinetic in it, but the imagery alone makes it incredibly evocative—as day shifts to night, as environments change outside, as they look into an uncertain horizon…it just goes to show how even but the simplest things can stir the imagination. It's pure mood, and I love it.
Beyond that, Spirited Away is an experience best watched than described—it’s certainly not one anyone forgets. There is one plot point you may need at least a vague familiarity with Japanese shinto animism to properly get, but otherwise, not fully knowing the basis of the world presented just adds to the slightly demented charm it’d otherwise have. Do I think it’s the greatest animated film of all time, with that in mind? Well, to be honest, I’ve always felt that trying to pick a singular best for any given medium is kind of silly—when each work has its own purpose, its own disparate vision? So, with that in mind, in the category of animated fantasy, I certainly don't object to this being put on top.
Spirited Away may not be always my first choice from Ghibli to casually watch, but it’s timeless as it was twenty years ago, and I certainly enjoyed putting it on one more time. There’s enough for all ages to appreciate, so if you can view it in the best quality possible, check it out if you’ve done so already. It may even be better than you remember.
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