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12 Days of Anime
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Top 102 Movies of the 2010’s, According to a Crackpot
I’ve decided to try the impossible.
The seed for this idea came from Polygon. The site ran an article by which various staff members ranked their top ten movies for the decade. Naturally, that got me thinking about MY top ten films for the decade. Then I realized I hadn’t seen most Oscar winners, let alone enough movies to qualify to make a list. Then I realized I would have much, MUCH more than ten movies in my list.
Thus, I embarked on a madman’s dream. It involved crunching movie after movie after movie, then trying to hopelessly rank it on my list if I thought it was good enough. I missed my own deadline of New Year’s. Now, I am releasing this on my next deadline: The Oscars. Literally now, when they are already underway.
I hope you will read this list with some forgiveness in your hearts. Biting off more than you can chew doesn’t describe it. There are a whole host of movies I wanted to see before I made this list I haven’t gotten to and probably never will. There are many movies on this list I saw close to a decade ago and am trying to place in a ranking against pieces I just saw a few days ago. Oh, and I’m comparing across genres and types. What I’m trying to say is, this list is probably going to suck in a lot of ways.
With that being said, I really did try to rank the following to the very best of my ability. I racked my brains, racked them, and racked them again. Ultimately, I made my decisions from a whole host of criteria, ranging from everything from pacing, to various aspects of entertainment value, to complexity/themes, to cinematography. I tried to be objective as much as possible, but I also think that how much you like a movie should be considered a piece of criteria as well. After all, that’s primarily why we go to the movies; we want to have a good time. As such, expect to see a lot of science-fiction and animation of this list. In my defense, it was a great decade for each.
And now…without further ado…let me introduce…The Top 102 Films of the 2010’s, According to a Crackpot!
102. Live Die Repeat: Edge of Tomorrow
Starship Troopers meets Groundhog Day, Live Die Repeat is a well-executed mecha-battle movie with a wrinkle of time-travel tossed in for good measure.
101. Wreck-It Ralph: Ralph Breaks the Internet
It may not be as good as the original, but Wreck-It Ralph 2 makes the grade with some cunning swipes at internet culture, the world’s best worst Disney Princess song, and bittersweet revelations about what it means to be a true friend.
100. Mirai
Few films truly approach their story from a child’s perspective; but in tone, structuring, and imagination, Mirai lets us see again through young eyes. Director Mamoru Hosoda uses time travel as a vehicle for exploration of deeply personal familial relationships, and how they shape us into the people we become.
99. The Last Gold
The Last Gold is an unheralded little gem about a quartet of female US Olympic swimmers who found themselves competing in an impossibly frustrating and unfair situation; the 1976 Olympics. As East German swimmers swept podium after podium (with the aid of a systematic doping program), the US Women’s team faced intense public criticism, especially phenom Shirley Babashoff, who could have been the female Mark Spitz if not for the rampant cheating going on. Largely forgotten and regarded as a disappointment by the American public, The Last Gold illustrates the team as one worth remembering and dignifying; in particular, for their final, desperate effort at gold in the 4 x 100 m freestyle relay.
98. Mad Max: Fury Road
Pretty much nonstop surreal nutty action, Mad Max surely has some of the most creative and tricky stunts done in the past decade.
97. The Amazing Spiderman
Utterly forgotten in the wake of its more successful follow-ups (and predecessors, for that matter), The Amazing Spiderman is nonetheless a solid reboot of some well-worn material. The concept behind Spidey’s origin is well-thought out and original, and ties directly to an interesting villain who is more the victim of his own genius than the archetype evil megalomaniac.
96. Doctor Strange
Doctor Strange marks itself as unique among the various Marvel offerings by pondering nothing less than the meaning of life… and overloading us with psychedelic, Inception-esque imagery.
95. Concussion
Featuring a terrific and vocally unrecognizable Will Smith, Concussion asks not only some difficult questions about the country’s (and my own) favorite sport, but also some difficult questions about what it means to be an American.
94. The Big Sick
I’m not a big rom-com guy, but The Big Sick won me over by creating romantic tensions from realistic scenarios; in particular, the difficulties that arise from differences in race and religion. The film’s awkward sense of humor is well-incorporated, making this a funny movie as well as an intelligent one.
93. Bridesmaids
A funny movie about friendships and change (anchored by an excellently tragicomic Kristen Wiig), Bridesmaids showed the Judd Apatow formula could work on equal terms for the female sex.
92. 50/50
50/50 tackled the cancer movie with an unusual slant of good humor, and chased it down with heartfelt drama and good performances.
91. Hanna
In which a supergirl Saoirse Ronan (pre-fame and accolades) is honed into an assassin by her father so that she can kill a wicked, hammy CIA operative Cate Blanchett before the agency gets to her first. If you ever wanted to see a small girl beating thugs to death with her bare fists in the style of Jason Bourne, this one’s for you. Loads of fun, totally bananas, and dripping with cool.
90. Hunger Games
More or less a faithful adaptation of a literary bestseller, Hunger Games nonetheless deserves credit for doing the job right. The cinematics and ideas here are very nice for a teen blockbuster, and Jennifer Lawrence rightfully turned into a star for BEING Katniss Everdeen.
89. What We Do in the Shadows
Quirky, subversive, hilarious, and utterly “New Zealand”, What We Do in the Shadows made vampires and werewolves funny again…in a good way.
88. Icarus
An accidental documentary seemingly spurred on by fate, Icarus is about the creep of misinformation and deception into every aspect of our lives, even sports, by the unscrupulous and powerful.
87. Prometheus
A film I absolutely adored the first time around, but toned down my enthusiasm for with a more critical eye to detail. Nevertheless, Prometheus should be appreciated for its immense scale of ambition and huge open-ended philosophical questions; it should also be appreciated for throwing a veritable kitchen sink of full of campy horrors at its viewers, including a crazy autosurgery scene.
86. 10 Cloverfield Lane
10 Cloverfield Lane flies high on its simplicity. Three main actors, one small doomsday shelter, and loads of palm-sweating, stomach-clenching, double-guessing suspense. John Goodman, you so craaaaazy.
85. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Give J.K. Rowling credit for not making this a cynical cash grab; the writing in Fantastic Beasts is actually delightful. There is a strong balance here between the sweet magical whimsy going on and some dark, brooding commentaries on American society. A strong cast of endearing characters rounds out a very robust entry in the Harry Potter series.
84. How to Train Your Dragon II
A very good sequel to a classic, HTTYD II still provides the acrobatic, dragon-flying goods, even as it steers us into a troubling, thought-provoking battle between might and right, fixed circumstances and free will.
83. The Big Short
While Inside Job will always remain the definitive work on the maddening 2008 financial collapse, The Big Short is a strong effort featuring intimate inside perspectives of the actual people who did the dynamiting. A slick sense of humor and a celebrity all-star team intent on ripping Wall Street a new one makes this film a winner.
82. Captain America: Civil War
Cap: Civil War is noteworthy in that it makes civilian collateral damage the primary fulcrum and conflict of a superhero movie. It is also a bit of a “mini-Avengers” that successfully incorporates some slam dunk additions to the team; then pits them against each other.
81. Get Out
One of the decade’s cleverest and most ambitious horror flicks, Get Out shows how the sum of a million little microaggressions equates to something very ugly indeed.
80. The Hateful Eight
A slow-burner as far as Tarantino films go, The Hateful Eight is an interesting social play interspersed with exaggerated violence and profanity; a commentary on how our nation was forged in the fires of overcoming racial and societal differences.
79. The Hunger Games: Catching Fire
Catching Fire does what all good sequels aim to do; take the appealing constructs of the original film and pump them up on steroids. Everything the Hunger Games did, Catching Fire does bigger, badder, and better.
78. Big Hero 6
A weeaboo’s dream, a great superhero flick, and a gentle meditation upon loss and healthy grieving, Big Hero 6 is a very entertaining film with a big heart and a wonderfully plush-looking buddy robot.
77. Mary and the Witch’s Flower
Mary and the Witch’s Flower is a Studio Ghibli flick, helmed by Studio Ghibli animators…under a non- Ghibli studio. Here are all the familiar beats we love as viewers; the weird, wonderful setting (a school of sorcery for talented children), abuses on the natural world wrought by technology and ambition, and a delightfully ordinary red-headed girl who must think on her feet and grow if she is to survive. Harry Potter crossed with Miyazaki…who could ever resist that?
76. Avengers: Infinity War
The key to Infinity War’s successes is Thanos. The Mad Titan had been waiting in the shadows for most of MCU’s run during the past decade; in Infinity War, we finally see him in the formidable flesh. At once terrifying and tragic, Thanos is the most iconic villain of the 2010’s; a villain finally worth pitting an entire squad of heroes against, and perhaps, more than a match for all of them. The film’s shocking ending and willingness to go to darker places makes this movie MCU’s The Empire Strikes Back.
75. Alien: Covenant
Man, did Covenant get a bad rap. Audience members branded its characters stupid, its monsters unscary, and its premise a letdown from Prometheus. They were wrong on every count. The characters of Covenant act as normal explorers should; not as we, in all of our omniscient wisdom, should advise them to. The monsters are absolutely bloodcurdling; truly nasty, unrelenting creatures which are content to flay their victims alive if they cannot kill them outright. And the story did not answer many of Prometheus’s big questions because it was simply better and more interesting than that. I posit the reason Covenant was such a flop is not any failure on its part, but rather a failure of audiences’ openmindedness and tolerance for the macabre. Alien: Covenant is the best Alien movie since at least Aliens; a pitch-black, bordering on nihilistic tale of bad things happening to good people. It is also a successful conglomeration of the various qualities of Alien, Aliens, and Prometheus, and a fascinating cross-examination of an android who is too human for his own (or anybody’s) good.
74. The Shape of Water
Amélie meets The Swamp Thing, The Shape of Water is an odd, intriguing romantic Cold War thriller that celebrates those members of society who are ostracized, marginalized, or cast aside.
73. ParaNorman
Funny, scary, and important, Paranorman is a spooky, kid-friendly take on tolerance and the price of ignorance.
72. Gasland
By all practical accounts, Gasland is horrifying. This is a film that shows the surreal consequences of free-for-all fracking; water that can be set on fire, air pollution that exceeds 100x the safe limit for some toxins around fracking wells, and literal poisoning of wildlife and residents via breathing, drinking, and skin absorption. While all of this content would make for a great documentary, it is banjo-pickin’, easy-going filmmaker Josh Fox who makes this film even better. His heartfelt personal accounts and willingness to stand aside and let the victims speak for themselves gives this documentary a warmth and decency usually missing from such explosive exposés.
71. Wreck-It Ralph
A hilarious mash-up of video games and memorable arcade characters, Wreck-It Ralph manages to stay clever, hip, and inventive the whole way, even as it plays expertly off audience nostalgia.
70. Green Book
Thanks in large part to its pair of terrific leads, Green Book manages to be an uproariously entertaining road trip buddy movie; even as it brings to light the racial problems which existed (and continue to exist) in America.
69. Scott Pilgrim vs The World
Possibly the most Millennial film ever made, Scott Pilgrim is a busy, delicious barrage of video games, garage bands, pop culture references, and comics. Intricately detailed and gut-bustingly funny, Scott Pilgrim’s supply of visual gags and uber-referential one-liners is practically (turns 8 sideways on fridge) infinite.
68. Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Winter Soldier is high-tier MCU. The electric superhero proceedings benefit from a deliciously twisty plot, and a surprising injection of sharp political commentary.
67. Dunkirk
One of the most viscerally intense PG-13 movies ever, Christopher Nolan’s war epic is a nightmarish tour-de-force that places viewers directly in enemy crosshairs. In typical Nolanian fashion, however, this is also high-brow, intellectually stimulating fare. There is not only the logistical puzzle at play of how to successfully evacuate 300,000 plus English soldiers from the French coast; Dunkirk understands warfare as a product of two extreme and opposite polarities of human nature. War cannot be waged without nasty, selfish streaks of human survival, as there will simply be no one left to fight it; neither can it be won without remarkable acts of courage and willing sacrifice.
66. Blackfish
Deeply troubling and disturbing, Blackfish shows what happens when you take the most intelligent and sensitive animals in the world besides us and confine them in a bathtub for their entire lives. A stirring call for respect for nature, and a long-running tally of SeaWorld’s sins, Blackfish is a must-see documentary.
65. Contagion
Contagion is one of the decade’s scariest films. After all, murdering mask-wearing lunatics and supernatural bumps in the night can be discounted as a trick behind the camera; but the boogeyman in Contagion almost assuredly exists, a nuke buried somewhere in the bosom of Mother Nature. If we blunder into it, God help us all. The film’s chilly, distant demeanor and scientific accuracy (Contagion gets bonus points for being the most scientifically accurate movie of all time) makes its depiction of a modern plague frighteningly plausible; its fixations on points of transfer are enough to convince anyone to wash their hands twice.
64. How to Train Your Dragon
One of the best movies to ever exit out the Dreamworks pipeline, HTTYD is an excellent parable about hate and jingoism, wrapped up in an exhilarating thrill ride that made us all want a Toothless of our own.
63. Restrepo
Restrepo is such a hard film to gauge. It doesn’t take aim at politics, or delve too deeply into the lives of its subjects; American soldiers in the Korangal Valley, Afghanistan. Restrepo is content to simply put us in their boots. Never has combat been so realistically brought to the American doorstep. In Restrepo, one can see the terror of death, the adrenaline hit of downing an enemy, the tomfoolery of kids messing around with one another in between bouts of fighting for their lives. This is the pure essence of modern war; in its DNA, one can see what so many directors of fiction have been trying to recapture in their work. Restrepo is a remarkable and dangerous accomplishment; an accomplishment that would eventually cost co-director Tim Hetherington his life while shooting a subsequent film in Libya.
62. Abominable
Dreamworks has been a rather lackluster studio in comparison to the rest of the industry. With that being said, it is more than capable of making great movies; and Abominable is right up there with the best the studio has ever made. This gorgeously made Asian-flavored film explores China as a meeting grounds of various philosophies; wealth and privilege versus working class, urban versus agrarian, East versus West, and how exploitation and cultural diffusion have reshaped life there. It is also simply a wonderful tale of an introverted girl who must travel to the Himalayas to deliver a magical yeti back to nature; and how that journey unlocks her ability to grieve and connect with others.
61. Winter’s Bone
Winter’s Bone is the movie that announced to the world that this Jennifer Lawrence person could act, I tell you h’what. This menacing coming-of-age journey through the Ozark drugscape shows the importance of family in such poor, isolated communities as something more than a cliché of hillbilly pride; it is actually a means to survival and redemption.
60. The Boy and the Beast
The Boy and the Beast can certainly be appreciated simply as a fantastical, colorful training/battle movie about an orphaned human boy and his cantankerous bear master. But it is as it dives deep into the complexity of the male mind that the film fascinates thematically and generates stirring emotional resonance. In particular, the film has something to say about the anger that can spur young men to violence, and the stabilizing force a mature male presence can have (but does not always have) on that anger. The benefits of fatherhood extend to father-figures as well, who become more emotionally aware and sensitive, and gain deeper meaning and fulfillment in their lives. Hosoda is truly one of the best directors working in animation today, and The Boy in the Beast is typically intelligent, thematically dense work from him.
59. The King’s Speech
A feel-good film done with classical style, The King’s Speech is an elegant, touching tale of friendship that will surely play well among lovers of The Royal Family.
58. The Artist
Thanks to rich visual storytelling and fantastic performances, this pre-talkie throwback hardly needs words to delight.
57. The Tale of Princess Kaguya
Isao Takahata’s final film The Tale of Princess Kaguya feels like a beautiful pastel picture book brought to life. At once a fable of ruinous greed, classism, and sexism, it is also a haunting soliloquy of love, nature, freedom, beauty, and death…all that makes life precious.
56. Kubo and the Two Strings
Kubo and the Two Strings makes me mad. Not because it is a bad film; far from it. I am angry because Kubo had everything going for it. It had big-name actors, it had effects which pushed stop-motion to its limits, it had a big marketing push in theaters to push viewership, it had great critical reviews. It was supposed to be Studio Laika’s crown jewel; the film that would win big at the box office and thrust the studio of perennial indie hits like Coraline and Paranorman into well-deserved limelight. And it was good. Like, really good!
Unfortunately, Kubo and the Two Strings flopped at the box office, for reasons I cannot imagine nor articulate in polite company. But it will get its due here; Kubo is a stop-motion masterpiece with rich, resonant themes and ground-breaking visual effects. It also has a rendition of “My Guitar Gently Weeps” on a Japanese samisen. So go see the damn thing.
55. The Wind Rises
We might be getting another Miyazaki film after all, but The Wind Rises was a fantastic send-off piece for anime’s most legendary director. This is a truly complex, mature film about the relation of beauty and art to woe and suffering, and a critical examination of the tunnel vision that often grips great artists.
54. Knives Out
A classic whodunit tweaked for the modern era, Knives Out balances its twisty mystery proceedings with some well-timed black humor and more than a few pokes at the wealthy elite.
53. Inside Job
A carefully researched and scathingly delivered incrimination of the greed that ruined a nation, Inside Job is one of the best documentaries of the era.
52. Hugo
A wondrous, Dickensian-tale of an orphan who lives in a Paris train station and discovers the secret of a mysterious automaton, Hugo is an intelligent, sensitive family picture and a touching love letter to early cinema.
51. Moonlight
Being different is hard, as I can say from firsthand experience. While I can hardly imagine what it is to be African-American or gay, let alone both at once, Moonlight offers some glimpse into that difficult reality. The film’s touching love story is a journey of self-acceptance and courage that is well worth seeing.
50. Tangled
Tangled was Disney’s announcement to the rest of the field that it was back, baby. After a period of shaky and poorly thought-out 3-D projects in the early 2000’s, Disney took a long, hard look at itself and identified what it did best, then brought out the best of those qualities in its witty, triumphant take on Rapunzel. Here are the songs, guffaws, villains, and magic we all love as fans, delivered perfectly into the next dimension.
49. Source Code
Groundhog Day via sci-fi thriller, Source Code is a clever, action-packed take on time travel, but also an emotionally investing take on what it means to live each day-and life-to the fullest.
48. Toy Story 4
Rarely has a sequel piece ever seemed as risky as Toy Story 4. The studio had its closing piece in Toy Story 3; a film I thought was respectable but not particularly interesting. But rather than let sleeping dogs lie, Pixar opted to throw that ending in the garbage…and pulled something far more bizarre and wonderful from the trash. Toy Story 4 is a wacky, existential riff that acknowledges the importance of family and responsibility in our lives, while simultaneously declaring that it is okay to value ourselves outside those traditional parameters.
47. Arrival
Arrival is hard science-fiction done exceedingly right. Depicting an extraterrestrial visitation across the globe, Arrival seems truly tangible in a way most alien films do not, down to the very form of its decidedly non-humanoid creatures. In vein of Contact or Interstellar, Arrival picks the brain and heartstrings with equal acumen, making it a lasting and valuable commodity to anyone’s sci-fi library.
46. Spiderman: Homecoming
Spiderman: Homecoming is the geekiest of Spiderpieces. This is the Spiderman where Spiderman is Go-Pro-ing himself before a big battle, or joining a quiz bowl team, or building a Lego Death Star with his nerdy confidante, complete with miniature Lego Palpatine. Light, refreshing, and utterly hilarious, Homecoming gets a lot of mileage out of Tom Holland’s awesome portrayal, and tells a simple, uncomplicated story that doesn’t impede the shenanigans.
45. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt. 2
Audiences were expecting a fireworks show for Deathly Hallows: Part II, and boy did they get one. A terrifically exciting heist sequence and a grand final battle made this the most epic and exciting entry in the Harry Potter canon. The culmination of carefully laid character arcs and sentimental links back to the series’ early days had fans smiling through their tears and punching their tickets to Platform 9 ¾ again and again. A splendidly satisfying sendoff.
44. Skyfall
Apparently, you can teach an old dog new tricks. Skyfall brought Bond into the new decade in style, modernizing and sharpening all its facets while remaining, yes, Bond. James Bond.
43. Argo
Argo is a rock-solid retelling of a tense CIA extraction op, hitched to the allure and wonder of good old-fashioned movie making.
42. Free Solo
Free Solo is a marvelous documentary, and I mean that quite literally. Marvel at the jaw-dropping heights depicted, marvel at the logistical challenges of filming a free climber without killing or distracting them (which would mean the same thing). But most of all, marvel at the huge cojones of subject Alex Honnold, as he attempts to climb the world’s largest rock wall; without the life-saving grace of a rope. As a thrill act, Free Solo is visceral and terrifying. But as a character study, it is equally fascinating. The same things which make Honnold such a one in a billion talent are the same things which cripple him emotionally and socially. Watching Honnold slowly start to conquer these own personal obstacles-even as he prepares for the physical obstacle of his life-is a truly satisfying experience.
41. The Lego Movie
Endlessly imaginative and hilariously subversive, The Lego Movie is not only a worthy standard-bearer of its iconic toy brand, but also a glorious celebration of creativity and free expression.
40. Snowpiercer
I’m gonna describe Snowpiercer using single word describers. Okay? Hilarious. Bloody. Ambitious. Tragic. Exhilarating. Revolutionary. F***ing insane. Okay, that last one was two words. How about amazing? Yeah. Amazing works. This dystopian satirical piece is a mad thrill ride on a runaway train through an environmentally wrecked world, and it is one of the craziest things I’ve ever loved in my life.
39. Moneyball
This movie is a sports genre gamechanger about a sports genre gamechanger; that is, the “Moneyball” strategy that forever changed the world of baseball evaluation. Watched purely on the terms of its baseball X’s and O’s, Moneyball succeeds. However, it is the tale of lovable loser Billy Beane, and the film’s assertion that winning comes second to loving yourself, that really turns this hit into a home run.
38. The Social Network
As eccentric and brilliant as its central genius, The Social Network depicts the synthesis of Facebook as an unflattering mirror for the site itself; that it is often driven by negative emotions of inadequacy, jealousy, and loneliness, and serves as a proxy for the real social interactions we require for fulfillment and happiness. Slickly edited, funny, and smart, this is one of the most iconic and generational films of the decade.
37. Gravity
The opening few minutes of Gravity is one of the most intense movie scenes not only of this decade, but of all time. From there, the tension just barely relents. Suspenseful and tightly-spun as a space survival story, Gravity is also a technical marvel which redefined zero-G cinema forever; and made us eternally thankful we are safely on the ground.
36. Beasts of the Southern Wild
Beasts of the Southern Wild is a ground-level view of poverty and climate change in the Mississippi River Delta region, seen through the eyes of a child. Quvenzhané Wallis brings her role to life with an incredible child performance, and lends this work a sense of deep intimacy and emotional resonance, even as it grasps at themes which are national to global in scale.
35. Incredibles 2
Incredibles 2 is one of Pixar’s best ever sequels. Here are the same witty, relatable family dynamics we fell in love with in Incredibles 1; but the superhero shenanigans have been one-upped and then some. In fact, Incredibles 2 has the best action sequences I have ever seen in a 3-D animated film. Add in a smart ideological battle between the current age’s (perhaps correct) cold cynicism and yesterday’s quixotic beliefs, and you have one of the best superhero movies ever, as well as a film that arguably beats out its OG.
34. Guardians of the Galaxy
I admit that from the film’s opening credits, where Chris Pratt canters across an alien planet to “Come and Get Your Love” and utilizes a scurrying lizard creature as his own personal microphone, that I was sold on Guardians of the Galaxy. This is one of those rare works like Shrek or Princess Bride that simultaneously skewers and elevates its genre; in this case, the old-timey B-movie science-fiction flick. A riotously funny movie that just doesn’t give a (expletive), Guardians of the Galaxy is also surprisingly poignant when it chooses to draw its eclectic bunch of outlaws into an impromptu family. This is absolutely one of the best films in the MCU.
33. Coco
A gorgeous, vibrant love letter to Mexico full of zesty music, Coco has some big things to say about art and its link to memory, and how exploitation can tarnish its beauty. Pixar has once again illustrated a remarkable ability to craft a world utterly original and believable in its own rich details and machinations; a world which sets a grand stage for its intimate story. It has also once again illustrated an ability to make us all cry our eyes out. Curse you, Pixar!
32. Her
The film that made a romance between an artificial intelligence and Joaquin Phoenix work somehow, Her is a thoughtful and sensitive film that expands our definition of love to encompass all levels of intimacy and circumstance. It is also, to my knowledge, the most gentle and hopeful AI movie ever made, and it deserves commendation for that.
31. Spotlight
Spotlight is a black hole. This film about the Boston Globe’s reporting on the Catholic Church’s coverup of child molestations by priests starts off slowly, then sucks you in more and more, gathering its mass until you are crushed under all the weight of deception, apathy, pain, and despair. I suppose this is also a strong allegory for the value of reporting or something like that, but frankly, I was too upset for most of the film’s duration to notice. As a lifelong Catholic, Spotlight made me feel utterly betrayed and angry; not only at the Church, but also at myself for sleeping at the wheel. This simply cannot happen again.
30. Citizenfour
Citizenfour qualifies as arguably the most important film of the decade. Laura Poitras’s documentary on government informant Edward Snowden is an intellectual horror flick; full of deserved paranoia, stunning overreaches of executive power, and spooky mirrors to the Orwellian nightmare of 1984. Citizenfour reveals how the alluring promise of the internet has betrayed us, and provided a means to the exponential surveillance of everyone in our supposedly free Western society.
29. Marvel’s The Avengers
Avengers seemed like a fantasy project when it was announced. How could anybody hope to make a movie about not one superhero, not two superheroes, but a whole team of them, without sacrificing narrative coherence, without losing sight of the big personalities at play? Joss Whedon proved such an all-star game could be possible, and somehow, work synergistically. This is one of the biggest popcorn movies ever, and it changed the expectations for superhero flicks towards bigger, grander, better. The success of Avengers also established MCU as the defining franchise of the 2010’s; and perhaps, beyond.
28. Inception
Inception’s script took Christopher Nolan 10 years to tweak, and watching the film you can believe it. This is a 3-D maze of a caper/heist movie, in which dreams form the substance of worlds stacked atop one another. It is a devilishly tricky exercise, but one that is done with the greatest precision and execution. Featuring impressive and trippy set-pieces, one of the generation’s best femme fatales, massively cerebral ideas, eerie atmosphere, and an insidious sense of ambiguity, Inception kept me awake for quite some time after I watched it at two in the morning.
27. Room
Focusing on a kidnapped mother and her young son Jack, who has only known captivity, Room could have been a very dark movie. Instead, it chooses to tack a different route; how do we survive trauma, both its initial effects and its aftermath, and triumph over it?
The film is sold by Brie Larson and Jacob Tremblay. Larson deservingly won an Oscar for her role; Tremblay’s performance is the best child performance I have ever seen. Together, they create a mother-son relationship that is utterly real and compelling. The film is also noteworthy for its camerawork, which is used very effectively to suggest changes in Jack’s worldview as he grows older.
26. Django Unchained
Brash, bold, and unapologetic, Django Unchained is a gloriously socially-conscious revenge fantasy. Featuring buckets of blood and Wild West shoot ‘em up gunfights against Klansmen and slave-holders, the film charts the course of a former slave on his way to rescue his sweetheart from the clutches of a diabolical slave owner.
25. Lincoln
Thanks to yet another star turn from acting legend Daniel Day-Lewis, Lincoln is a witty and warm biopic of one of our greatest presidents. It is also a glimmer of encouragement during the political gridlock and dysfunction of the early 2010’s. Rather than proving democracy does not work, Lincoln seems to argue, such issues are actually a sign of a functioning and healthy democracy. Our ability to disagree strongly with one another and come to imperfect compromises in order to solve our problems is our country’s greatest legacy. It was also the means to the passing of our noblest and most overdue piece of legislation: The 13th Amendment.
24. Won’t You Be My Neighbor?
Won’t You Be My Neighbor is, for me, the best documentary of the decade. Focusing on the extraordinary Mr. Fred Rogers, the film does a great job of humanizing Mr. Rogers; revealing his insecurities, relentless drive, and sly sense of humor (often through dream-like Daniel Tiger animated sequences) while demonstrating that yes, he really was that good of a person. As it progresses, the film grows increasingly melancholic and encompassing. The qualities Mr. Rogers stood for-namely, understanding, love, honesty, and respect-seem sorely lacking in today’s society. Even more distressingly, it would seem the saintly Rogers was beginning to have his own doubts about his life’s work as the cruelty and hate of the 21st century emerged in full on 9/11. Won’t You Be My Neighbor expresses human goodness as something fragile which must be fostered and prioritized by all of us if Mr. Rogers’ message is to mean something in our modern world.
23. Moana
Moana’s audiovisuals are off the charts amazing. The lush tropical landscapes and utterly lifelike oceans make this the most graphically impressive 3-D animated work I’ve ever seen. The soundtrack, partially composed by Lin-Manuel Miranda, stands as one of Disney’s best all time. But it is Moana herself, the titular princess, who stands as the film’s greatest game-changer. Realistically proportional, of Pacific Islander descent, and strong enough to carry a story without a love interest, Moana is a refreshingly modern character utterly in command of her own destiny. Add in a rich story steeped in Polynesian culture and veined with environmental undertones, and you get the new high bar for the Disney Princess Movie.
22. The Breadwinner
The Breadwinner is a testament that must be heard. Adapted by Cartoon Saloon from Deborah Ellis’s excellent book of the same name, the movie is a street-level account of Parvana, a young girl who goes undercover as a boy to feed her family in Taliban-era Afghanistan. The conditions portrayed are nearly unimaginable; imagine being a prisoner in your own home, only let out for reprieve under the supervision of a male guardian. Such was the reality of thousands of women and girls in Kabul as late as 2001. Cartoon Saloon drenches this film in a constant, lingering fear; at the same time, normalcy is depicted and triumphed. Siblings still squabble. Clothes are still washed, meals are still cooked and eaten, water is still fetched. Stories are still told. The Breadwinner is not just Parvana’s tale; it is the voice of the thousands who live in war-torn or oppressive societies worldwide, and yet still make their own brand of normalcy, still form expression and find joy. Their daily survival is an inspiration to us all; their story is to glimpse the resiliency and spark of the human spirit.
21. A Quiet Place
A Quiet Place is one of the most auspicious debuts I can remember. First time director John Krasinki makes his creature feature a masterwork of tension and clever sound editing, and crafts an indelible world where so much as a pin dropping puts everyone on pins and needles.
20. Inside Out
Pixar’s peek inside a child’s mind is a work of the utmost intelligence and sensitivity. Intuitive enough for even the youngest viewers to understand, yet nuanced enough to describe the transition of a human consciousness from child to adult with painful clarity, Inside Out is one of the studio’s very best features, and a strong defense of mental health and self-expression.
19. Your Name
For so long, director Makoto Shinkai was an exercise in frustration. 5 Centimeters Per Second was gorgeous. Garden of Words was the most visually stunning 2-D animation I had ever seen. And yet the writing was pedantic. The plot was tepid, the characters flat. I would watch these films, eye candy at its most pure and non-nutritional, and seethe that they were not better, that all that glorious potential was yet unrealized. And yet, I never stopped believing in the potential of Makoto Shinkai. One day, I reasoned, this guy was going to piece a story together with some semblance of care as he did his illustrations, and on that day something special would be born.
I saw Your Name just a short time ago. Of course it’s jaw-droppingly beautiful, that goes without saying. But here’s what else it is, folks: it’s funny. It’s heartwrenching. It’s suspenseful. It’s got plot twists. It’s got a story. And not just a good story, but a GREAT one.
I imagine watching this movie must be like watching your kid graduate high school. You forget all the mouthing off and dirty socks left all over the place and that fender bender with your new car, and just soak in the glow of that special moment you always believed would come. You couldn’t be happier. You couldn’t be prouder. And you know this is the beginning of something truly wonderful.
Congratulations, Mr. Shinkai. You did it, man.
18. Interstellar
The knock on Christopher Nolan was always that he had the heart of a robot and didn’t have strong female characters. Debate whether that is true of his other films, if you must; but not this one, because Interstellar is possibly the biggest tear-jerker in sci-fi history, and Jessica Chastain’s Murph is a bitter, brilliant centerpiece to it all. Interstellar stands tall as one of the best science-fiction films of the decade. It has strong, ambitious science wrapped in glorious visual effects, and is very quietly a solid piece of Americana, lovingly arrayed amidst America’s cornfields and dusty roads in a tribute to The Great Depression. Most of all, however, Interstellar is a wondrous joining of heart and intellect, a working theoretical thought experiment that demonstrates love is a force greater than gravity, space, time, or any other cosmic entity the universe may foist upon us.
17. The Force Awakens
While it is not number one on my list, perhaps no film brought me greater joy this decade than watching The Force Awakens during its Thursday night premiere. It was nothing less than the very Star Wars movie I had hoped and dreamed for as a kid. As a massively entertaining blockbuster surpassing huge expectations, Star Wars: The Force Awakens is terrific. As a perfect passing of torch from beloved old to promising new, it is an utter triumph.
16. Rogue One
Okay, is my bias showing yet?
Perhaps this is a bit steep for some people, but heck, when you are dealing with the second-best movie in one of Hollywood’s most beloved franchises, you have to give props where props are due. Rogue One is such a gamechanger for Star Wars. Its gritty, pulpy sense of realism seems peeled straight from a Star Wars comic book; its characters immediately strike as memorable, particularly K-2SO, who is like C-3PO if C-3PO got sent to prison and came back jacked. Rogue One also is important for its many departures from tradition. Many of the innovations credited to Episode VIII were done first-and done better-in this film. Rogue One is not afraid to show the rebellion in terms of moral gray; a shocking act shortly after the film’s opening establishes this and destroys the previous model of basic black and white good vs. evil. If Luke, Leia, and Han got to play the part of hero in A New Hope, then it was because there were elements in the Rebellion doing the dirty and morally-questionable grunt work shown here; Rogue One shows how the war was won.
Rogue One also introduces a few other themes riffed heavily by Episode VIII, including the idea that the Rebellion/Resistance is not a neat, idealistic counter to oppression but an uneasy conglomerate ravaged by internal conflict, and that force-sensitive people are not necessarily the product of hereditary chains of Jedi and Sith, but often sporadic and independent products of the Force. It is, on top of what it initiated, simply a well-paced and superbly-crafted piece of space opera. Rogue One has the best romance (besides Han and Leia) in Star Wars history, has hands-down THE BEST Vader scene ever filmed and another that is a classic in its own right, and has one heck of a villain in Director Krennic. Krennic is one of those mid-level bureaucrats that must have always existed for the Empire but which never received such deserved attention before; his position of weakness, coupled with burning ambition, makes him a hilariously pathetic figure, one you might begin to feel bad for were he not such a nasty piece of work. Even the soundtrack is great. Rogue One is a war film, and Michael Giacchino of Medal of Honor fame makes this sound like a war film, even though it also sounds very much like Star Wars. Ultimately, that’s what Rogue One is. It is a Star Wars film that manages to be a war film and everything else it wants to be terrifically well. To hell with it. I’m putting it this high. If you have a problem with Rogue One being the #16 movie on my list, you can go kiss a wampa’s backside.
15. Roma
Like its protagonist-a nanny to a wealthy family in 1970’s era Mexico-Roma is a film of marvelous patience and understated strength. Alfonso Cuarón’s otherworldly composition and autobiographical authenticity makes this movie a deeply complex take on class and gender, as well as a heartbreaking meditation on what it means to love and be part of a family.
14. Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse
Spiderverse was such a brilliant reimagination of what the superhero genre could be. Not only did it break convention by featuring an African-Hispanic-American kid as its protagonist; it prismed a classic Marvel character in danger of going stale into a delightful and zany spectrum. At once funny as hell and a poignant portrait of growing up as a minority in America, Spiderverse isn’t just the great animated Spiderman movie that nobody saw coming; it’s one of the best superhero movies ever made.
13. Baby Driver
Baby Driver is the coolest movie of the decade. The film centers around Baby, a gentle young getaway driver locked up in bad deals with bad hombres, motoring through traffic and criminal plots in an attempt to just get out and get his girl; but it is so much more than that. This is Tarantino, juiced up on Bullitt, playing in time to a nonstop eclectic jukebox. The dialogue is sharp and hilarious, the characters are all immediately memorable and lovable (even the baddies), and it should go without saying that the car chases are PHENOMENAL. This is entertainment on nitrous oxide.
12. Lady Bird
I did not go into Lady Bird expecting great things. Lady Bird is a family drama. I, for the record, do not like family dramas. But I liked this one. I liked this one a heck of a lot.
Lady Bird is told with so much humor and honesty about the mistakes we make as kids and parents. Struggles for independence and control, respectively, fuel furious arguments and alienation during the difficult period of adolescence. It is not until later that we gain the wisdom to understand why we fought and gain a richer understanding and appreciation of one another’s feelings. In Lady Bird, there is a key revelation regarding the girl and her mother that seems to unfold at the film’s close. It is a profound and emotionally resonant moment that brings the film around to a highly satisfying conclusion.
This movie is also one of the first “time capsule” pieces on the early 2000’s. As we grow older, I would expect more of these films to emerge, but as of right now Lady Bird is the only one that comes to mind. The film absolutely nails the sense of growing up in a troubled time; the Iraq War blares constantly on the news, full-time employment becomes a tenuous prospect no matter how qualified you are, and gay rights are still something very much in infancy. Lady Bird plays out its teenage struggles against this backdrop, showing how such crises were navigated, albeit painfully sometimes, and overcome. Few films have been so well-rounded, nuanced, and well-crafted this decade.
11. Song of the Sea
If you are unaware of the name Tomm Moore, it may be time to become acquainted, as the guy has been killing animation since he first stepped onto the scene with Secret of Kells in 2009. It is no exaggeration to call him the Irish Miyazaki; and Song of the Sea his Spirited Away. Like that film, there is a deeply human story to be told, but it is all dressed up in fantastical trappings. In Spirited Away, a girl struggling to grow up found herself working in a spirit bathhouse. Song of the Sea uses Irish mythology as a gateway to understand the deep and complicated love between siblings, and the necessity of expressing and sharing loss.
This is one of the most beautiful animated pictures this decade. Were the framed stills not hundreds of dollars on Cartoon Saloon’s website (yes, I’ve looked at them), I would probably own at least a few by now. The animation style is so distinctive and innately appealing, with gentle watercolors that soothe and invite the mind. The Celtic musical arrangements are similarly intricate, wonderful, and soothing. Together, story, art, and music come together, and work some deep and affecting magic on the soul. Song of the Sea should be regarded as one of the best animated films this decade.
10. Sicario
Sicario is an utterly bleak, magnificent film that truly depicts the drug war as it is; a chaotic maelstrom of murder, torture, and corruption, spinning and spinning with no end in sight. In such a storm, there is no moral high ground to claim, let alone hold. There is only power to control which direction the storm is heading next, whom it will chew up and devour in its path. And as for the powerless, the best they can hope for is to stay out of its way. Sicario is a sharp critique of American drug policy and a stark glimpse into the grim reality of cartels, packaged perfectly as an ultra-violent thriller.
9. Looper
It is hard to do a time travel story well. Managing plot threads makes plots a nightmare; it is a difficult juggling act merely to keep one’s head above water. That is what makes Looper so special. It is not only a cool-looking, cyberpunk-flavored noir that manages its logic very well; it also features great characters, and larger overarching themes of fate and redemption it advances via those same logistical acrobatics. Looper blew my mind the first time I saw it. It is easily one of the best time travel stories ever, and a sci-fi classic to boot.
8. Blade Runner 2049
It is going to ruffle some feathers to say this, but I think Blade Runner 2049 is even better than the original Blade Runner. While Ridley Scott’s dark, smoggy Los Angeles will always be iconic, Blade Runner 2049 had Roger Deakins behind the camera, and he took us to sections of our nightmarish future we had never been before. Patterns of solar farms set up outside of town to feed swathes of humanity. A post-apocalyptic landfill outside of town for the city’s forsaken. Best of all, a neon-orange radioactive Las Vegas. That seems to be the common theme of 2049. It has taken all the best features of Ridley’s classic and expanded them while trimming down the less successful elements. The defining theme of Blade Runner-what makes us human-is here expounded upon and taken to even deeper levels. And the film’s beautiful ending brings the franchise to a truly satisfying conclusion.
7. Zootopia
Zootopia feels like Disney’s final evolution. The cute critters from its primordial past have fully anthropomorphized, to the point that they must contend with some of the same societal ills as us; chief among them prejudice. Visually gorgeous, full of top-notch tongue-in-cheek gags, and the slickest, most concise cartoon buddy cop riff since at least Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Zootopia counts as one of the most finely crafted animated features I’ve ever seen. Its timely message, coupled with its fantastic quality and outreach potential to the young, makes it one of those rare movies that can change the world.
6. Ex Machina
Ex Machina is one of the most finely-tuned and lean films science-fiction has to offer. In the age of growing research into artificial intelligence, it is also vastly important. Many films have explored the issues associated with artificial intelligence, but few have so fully delved into the ethical quagmires which might arise. Creating new minds means accepting responsibility for the lives of welfare of other beings. Are we prepared to do such a thing? We, who are constantly waging war and victimizing one another? Also, if we are so morally limited, how can we avoid passing on negative traits to our digital children, who will be vastly more powerful and intelligent than us? What if they think differently than us? The possibility of misunderstandings would be catastrophic for both parties.
Ex Machina explores all of these issues with deep intelligence and building tension. This film is one of those beautifully ambiguous works I love so much that require you to pay attention and come to your own conclusions. The primary question in the film asked of the characters is the same one the film asks you: is Ava, the artificial intelligence in question, essentially human? For me, the question was left unanswered until the final, remarkable, tragic shot.
5. The Revenant
Bloody as hell and absolutely gorgeous, The Revenant is a deep plunge into our primal hearts, into the remarkable human invention of identity. At the most fundamental level, we are all the same species; we share the same roots, the same trunk. Yet by means of our human experiences, our courses of life and interactions with other humans, we draw deep fundamental lines between one another. These lines are powerful things. They are what we see ourselves as. We draw lines of genetic heritage; lines of cultures born into, or adopted. Lines brand certain people as friends, while others remain strange or alien. Sometimes, lines can even define people as something hostile; a new species which may destroy us if it is not destroyed in turn. And there are lines which describe the people we call our families; those whom we love and protect at the most fundamental level of our being.
The Revenant draws attention to the lines we draw as human beings; how they are as deeply ingrained to us as breathing or bleeding, for better, and for worse. Aided by director Alejandro Iñárritu’s magnificent direction, and anchored by Leonardo DiCaprio, who has never been better in his storied career, The Revenant is a deep, uncompromising gaze into our personal and national Heart of Darkness.
4. Zero Dark Thirty
Zero Dark Thirty became the unfortunate victim of warring politics. Right-wingers decried the portrayal of torture in the movie, while leftists criticized the movie’s account of torture supposedly supplying the correct information (Director Kathryn Bigelow acknowledged to Stephen Colbert her lead, being from the CIA, might be untrustworthy on that particular facet but she was operating with accuracy to her source). That is all a shame, because such criticism misses the point of the movie entirely. Zero Dark Thirty is made in the spirit of true and utter neutrality. There is no political axe to grind. There is no glorification in the act of Bin Laden’s death; in fact, the face of America’s most notorious terrorist is never shown. Zero Dark Thirty is a work of national recollection. It begins with a deeply painful call to authorities on 9/11, and does not end until Bin Laden’s assassination over 9 years later. In between, there is torture, bombings, false leads and frustrations, hours upon hours of poring over data and entries, and finally, that fateful, dangerous foray into Pakistan. We are reintroduced to each of our own actions through the eyes of Maya, the CIA agent who supposedly made the case that it was in fact Bin Laden hiding in Abbottabad. At the end of Zero Dark Thirty, the movie adds up that long tally of what we sacrificed in order to defeat our greatest enemy and posits a simple question: was it worth it? Each will have their own answer to that difficult and important question. This is one of those rare films that forces us to review our path as a nation, examine what we did right and what we did wrong, and adjust our trajectory accordingly. Zero Dark Thirty is an essential American masterpiece, crafted by a true and powerful auteur at the top of her game.
3. The Raid 2: Berandal
The Raid: Redemption was a revelation in what could be attempted in a martial arts movie. Its creators decided that wasn’t enough and upped the ante. What ensued was the madness of Berandal.
The stuntwork of Berandal has to be seen to be believed. Some participants were knocked out cold; it is amazing nobody was killed. It is doubtful something like this will ever (or should ever) be attempted again, so we may as well enjoy it. There are car chases, assassins affectionately known as “Bat Boy” and “Hammer Girl”, simply loads and loads of fantastic martial arts combat, and more. But in between all this ruckus, there is a compelling gangster story to be told, populated with fascinating characters. A son looking to take over and dangerously expand his father’s influence; a creepy rival leader who cheerfully pulls out razors for throat-slitting; a sad, old-timer assassin who confesses to his daughter that killing was the only way to provide for her; an informant, caught in the middle of the maelstrom and sweating out the possibility that he will be discovered and never make it back to his young family; and of course, Hammer Girl. She’s my favorite.
In The Raid: Redemption, character Mad Dog talked about the pulse. Berandal is that pulse, fully transposed into brutal, symbolic symphony, in which the façade of civilization and negotiations between thugs break down into savage, unbridled violence. This is the best action movie ever, and the Indonesian Godfather, all rolled into one.
2. Avengers: Endgame
No list of top films of the decade would be complete without Avengers: Endgame. It’s the biggest blockbuster in history; and for once, that title is deserved. Nothing like it had ever been attempted before; indeed, it may be hard to do ever again. Facing 1 in 14 million odds, the Russo brothers pulled off a miracle, wasting not a moment in a three hour movie that never feels long and completing the arcs of over a dozen beloved characters, en route to a final and wholly satisfying conclusion to the most ambitious film project ever attempted. If that wasn’t enough, there are more than enough in-jokes, clever riffs on past movies, and sensational action pieces to please even the most critical fan. Avengers: Endgame is the closest to pure catharsis you can feel, and without a doubt the best superhero movie ever made. I confess that I moved it back and forth between #1 and #2 on my list at least a few times; ultimately I left it at #2, with the compromise that even if it cannot be called the best movie of the decade, it will forever be known as THE film of the decade.
1. Wolf Children
Wolf Children is one of those movies you come across that can only be described as magical. As a simple tale of motherhood, it succeeds. As a complex allegory for race and adolescence, it works equally well. It can be shown to the young. It can be shown to the old. It can be shown to all in between. It is sublimely beautiful, patient, and paced. It is excellently scored. It has some of the most fully-realized characters ever depicted in animation. It is warm. It is gentle. It is funny. It is sad. It is life; in all its unpredictability, twists and turns, and wonder.
But I think the reason I truly love Wolf Children is because it engages with the two most difficult and important aspects of being a good, healthy, happy human; how do I love others, and how do I love myself? Wolf Children shows us a truly rapturous example. For being the most beautiful movie, both inside and out, I have seen this past decade, and for a whole host of other reasons, Wolf Children deserves to top this list. Truly, it is Alpha Wolf.
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Stein’s; Gate
This entry is an anomaly. First, it is entry 13 in a list of 12. Secondly, Stein’s; Gate is not a standalone movie, but a show followed by a movie epilogue. It violates both of my previously established criteria; yet, somehow, that is okay. Appropriate, even, for a show about anomalies in the flow of time, and for a viewing experience which changed my perspectives as well.
For some time, I was convinced Avatar: The Last Airbender was an untouchable program in terms of quality. I had seen many shows I considered great during that time: Gravity Falls, Futurama, Steven Universe, Cowboy Bebop (yes, all of these shows are animated. Apply judgement as necessary.) Each was wonderful, and had individual episodes which could be called on par with Avatar. But as a total viewing experience, I continually held reserve. No show could match Avatar: The Last Airbender. It was just a fact, seemingly. A limit, a natural law. Like the speed of light. Or, as most physicists would agree, the impossibility of backwards time travel.
After watching Stein’s; Gate in its entirety, I walked about in a daze for some time and realized I could no longer hold my previous assertion. Stein’s; Gate was as good as Avatar. I could have lied. I could have been dishonest with myself and others, continued to hold the latter on a false pedestal out of respect or veneration. But it would have been wrong. Stein’s; Gate had earned the right to stand alongside it; not above it, perhaps, I won’t go so far. But in any event, my comfortable assumptions were shattered.
Stein’s; Gate is special for so many reasons. One could start with the plot, which is absolutely genius and maddeningly unpredictable. I guessed nearly nothing of what would come next, and it was not for a lack of trying or experience. At the same time, there is no sense of “jumping the shark”. Stein’s; Gate understands that a good time travel story must establish set limits and rules to its lunacy. The rules do change at various points, but make sense given the larger concepts at play.
Characterization is a plus. Stein’s; Gate is smart enough to make its two best characters, Okabe and Makise, the stars of the show, a decision which pays off richly as the show progresses to its final points. The supporting cast is great too, with each member a distinctive and engaging personality. The show also has enlightened perspectives concerning gender. The smartest character and the resident badass both happen to be women. All other female characters are fleshed out fully as sensitive and unique beings, rather than mere eye candy. And one becomes an undeniable statement that personhood trumps gender.
Another thing that helps sell the show is style. There’s a certain panache that comes with Dr. Pepper-swilling supernerds hashing things out in full-length lab coats, eating chicken tenders and microwaving bananas into gooey oblivion. The in-jokes and snarky dialogue is just a delight. Visually, Stein’s; Gate has a style too; although that is considerably darker in nature. Because when time shifts, so does reality, and when realities are drawn transitively and hazily, one can imagine what sensations might come along with slowly going mad.
Perhaps that is Stein’s; Gate’s defining strength. No other work of time travel, to my knowledge, views the logistical mechanics and problems of it so clearly through the prism of the human soul. What begins as a gleeful experiment eventually unearths shattering revelations about each character. In a race against time, not in terms of speed, but of inevitability, progress can only be had through disturbing experiences, pain, and trauma, rare courage, and sacrifice. Everything is earned in Stein’s; Gate, for the viewer and the characters.
It is a testament to the show’s capable writing, its careful balancing of both the brain and the heart, that it could have ended three times over and I would have been satisfied each time. But it only seems right to end with the movie, which I was admittedly frightened to watch for fear of ruining a good thing through run-on. If the show is a harrowing game of rat-in-the-maze, the movie is something even deeper and sadder; a representation of pain as experienced in real life. The trauma of PTSD and its resulting isolation and miscommunications, the effects of crushing loneliness, the knowledge that there might be someone out there meant for you and you cannot reach them, the sheer inanity of a life lived by just going through the motions, and accepting despair in hopes that it will dull the hurt. Pain is universal. Fortunately, so is a means to cope.
Love. It is when we care about others, and know their care for us, that we realize we are important, irreplaceable, unmissable. The value of these moments is the core of what forges our identity, more important than our own individual set of events and circumstances; anchors us to our lives, and enables us to carry on. That is a tremendous closing statement to make for a work that simultaneously concerns itself with all the convolutions of time travel. Stein’s; Gate is the best anime show I have so far seen. It earns my highest recommendation.
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Spirited Away
Spirited Away is the greatest anime film of all time. Its accolades stretch to astonishing heights; it won the Japan Academy Award for Best Picture, is the only foreign film to win the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature, and has been widely acclaimed by film critics as one of the finest animated films of the century. It smashed box office records in Japan, overtaking James Cameron’s fabled Titanic. It enjoyed robust box office drawings in the United States and worldwide as well. To this day, it is the most famous work from Hayao Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli, and one of the most beloved and iconic animated features to ever grace the screen.
If there is any work that invites immediate comparisons, it is MGM’s classic The Wizard of Oz. Like that film, Spirited Away has plenty going on beneath the surface, but is celebrated most for the sheer scope of its imagination, bursts of color, and visual inventiveness. Miyazaki literally births a whole new world, limitless in its possibilities and bizarre to our normal expectations, and utterly rich in wonder. There are absurdly large babies, talking frogs, pieces of soot performing menial labor, and a 6-handed man working a furnace. The principal setting is one of the all-time greats; a dazzling, ritzy bathhouse for wayward spirits where humans are not welcome.
Into this strange new environment drops Chihiro, a girl still struggling to deal with an impending move. A new home and school end up seeming pretty mild by the time the girl’s parents turn into pigs and she is stuck wiling with an unscrupulous witch and a horde of wacky creatures for her freedom and survival. Spirited Away is a growing-up story, and a great one at that. Critics and audience have marveled at the way Chihiro progresses through the movie from apathetic, weak, and frightened to a newly self-reliant and strong person. The movie has also been lauded for its cleverly submerged themes. The problems faced by Haku, one of the resident spirits, and an appallingly gooped-up “stink spirit” are concerned nods at pollution and environmental concerns, while the workers’ lust for gold and Chihiro’s parents’ rude advances at a food stand are condemnations of greed.
The characters are some of Miyazaki’s best, and oh so memorable. Yubaba is a manipulative and opportunistic witch, whom you might hate if she were not so damn good at running that bathhouse. Haku is an amnesiac, whose current condition has him struggling to do good as he grows increasingly cold. Lin is a hilariously sour woman who takes Chihiro on as her protégé. But the best of all is No-Face, a sprite who goes from sad and lonely outcast to absolute blood-curdling nightmare in about zero to sixty, then somehow manages to reverse course again.
Leading and anchoring everything is Chihiro. Surely one of Miyazaki’s finest heroines, Chihiro was reportedly fashioned after the daughter of a friend who visited the director on occasion. As stated previously, her personal growth is remarkable characterization and a true joy. However, I have always been bothered by reviewers’ initial assertions of Chihiro. “Lazy”, “cowardly”, and “whiny” are common adjectives; even Miyazaki seemed to share the sentiment, referring to her and real-life girls her age as “lazy bums.” It is worth noting that the people Chihiro was a stand-in for are now roughly my age. That’s right; Miyazaki, a Baby Boomer, was trashing Millennials before it was cool (joking, of course). It is interesting that my assertion of Chihiro is so much different…and perhaps that is because I identify with Chihiro so much. Kids fear differently than adults do. Irrational fears predominate, and are often not given serious credence by adult figures…such as Chihiro’s parents. Childhood fears are often more deeply intense as well; catastrophic, paralyzing events made worse by the fact that children have not yet developed the emotional maturity and skills to manage them. To me, it is not at all unnatural for Chihiro to be depressed and upset by such an upending life event. I had difficulty managing my various fears well past her age. Chihiro’s apparent apathy may be a side-effect of her emotional struggles; alternatively, they may also simply represent a relative inexperience with work which is not out of place for someone of her years and maturity.
Moreover, Chihiro has a good heart. She consistently acts with sensitivity, compassion, and generosity throughout the movie, letting in No-Face when he is left outside in the rain, pursuing friendship and meaningful relationships over wealth, and risking her own safety and comfort repeatedly to help loved ones and strangers alike. This is in marked opposition to the characters around her, who manage to be far more efficient, resilient, and self-reliant than her, but are also motivated by empty capital (gold), are consistently self-serving, and lack emotional warmth and compassion. When Miyazaki criticized girls like Chihiro as “lazy bums”, he also added that he knew they had tremendous potential as well. Notice that when the “stink spirit” enters the bathhouse, it is Chihiro who recognizes the problem instead of just trying to get the job over with and the unwanted guest out. Her removal of tangles of garbage from the spirit’s side is symbolic of environmental clean-up; suggesting Miyazaki believes Chihiro and her kind will bring greater emphasis and effort towards meaningful environmental protection. Extrapolate further, and you can say the same for social empathy and non-materialism. If we truly take this analysis to the extreme and consider Chihiro to be a surrogate for Millennials and the bathhouse workers to be a surrogate for Baby Boomers, an interesting dynamic emerges. Chihiro learns from her stewards’ tough love to become an independent, resilient, and confident actor so that she can bring her inner disposition forth to do good in the world. At the same time, Chihiro gradually thaws her teachers, so that they can act more empathetically and selflessly. This successful generational interplay helps both parties to better themselves; perhaps, an applicable lesson for today’s divided society.
One of the finest aspects of Spirited Away is in that it refuses to sugarcoat the process of growing up. There are a lot of joys to be had, for sure; Chihiro has a grand adventure, after all, making new friends, overcoming obstacles, and opening her horizon to beautiful new things. However, there is definitely a darker side towards becoming an adult. Fear and uncertainty are an easy observation in her maturation and in ours; the only way to improve one’s mettle is to test it. Less apparent to me, at least the first time around, was Miyazaki’s less-than-flattering critique of the modern workplace. Essentially, once Chihiro becomes employed at the bathhouse she is treated as an adult, and we become proxy to a fascinating array of observations. First, there is the perception of being trapped. Whether it is Yubaba’s contract, Chihiro’s obligations to her now-pig family, Lin’s lamentations that she would love to leave the place, or the liberation presented by a train ticket away, the bathhouse’s oppressive atmosphere is an easy stand-in for many modern workplaces. There is also notably an aspect of distance and isolation to everyone who works there; in Haku’s case, the longer he has worked there, the colder and more aloof he has become. The necessity to watch out for one’s self as an adult separates us from one another, Miyazaki argues. That effect is a mere trickle into the core vein running throughout the movie: loneliness.
Notice the water which surrounds the bathhouse. On my second viewing, it struck me that the supernatural flooding is not merely a plot device to prevent Chihiro from escaping her situation; it is also a visual representation of the world as viewed by an adult. The infinite horizon of its waters provokes the vast expansion of worldview that comes with growing up, but also an increasing sense of solitude, emptiness, and personal reflection. Joe Hisaishi’s wonderfully sensitive score frequently adopts a longing, minimalist tone, and we feel a certain absence and sadness in the events happening onscreen. Of all Chihiro’s various trials, the impact of loneliness strikes most devastating and realistic of all. Miyazaki’s solution to this common adult malady is friendship. The essential nature of friends to a normal and healthy adult life is driven home by Chihiro’s experiences. Fear, threats, and harsh treatment do not significantly transform Chihiro. It is only when she is approached from a place of support and caring that she finds courage and stability to act with decision, and the confidence in herself to succeed and respond to failures. Even as relationships with family fade, the relationships we form with others can help us reform a socially abundant life so that we can thrive and be happy.
Growing up is a process. Fraught with peril and difficulties, chock-full of excitement and rewards, it is as tumultuous and constant throughout life as it is necessary. The fear we have as children towards change may mute somewhat as we grow older, but it is still ever-present, accompanied by a second, sharper note…nostalgia. The takeaway message of Spirited Away is that we don’t really have to be afraid, because we’ve been there before. By the end of the film, it is not entirely clear what Chihiro will be facing next. She has no guarantee of ever revisiting her friends at the bathhouse, or her friend from her former school. But she has stopped looking backward towards what has been, and is looking down the road to whatever comes next, reassured by the fact that whatever happens, she can handle it. That is what matters.
That is what growing up is all about.
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Tokyo Godfathers
Tokyo Godfathers opens up with three homeless people watching a nativity play on Christmas Eve. An evangelist is loudly exhorting the glory of the Baby Jesus to them; the homeless throngs all nod along, but mostly they’re just there for the free meal. Hours later, they stumble upon a baby abandoned in a heap of trash in the middle of winter night. The baby is not Baby Jesus. Our three heroes are no Three Wise Men. And the mother is certainly no Virgin Mary. Yet for them, the child may indeed prove to be one of providence; their very own Christmas miracle.
Tokyo Godfathers is one of my absolute favorite anime films of all time. Not coincidentally, it also happens to be one of the most original. Satoshi Kon never shot for anything less than the moon, and this film is his masterpiece. Offbeat, bombastic, weird, gritty, and massively entertaining, Tokyo Godfathers is packed to the brim with kidnappings and mob bosses, wild hilarity and somber reunions, street fights and car chases. All of this is balanced with a warm sense of humanism, which may prove to be the film’s most enduring trait. All too often in movies, homeless people are portrayed as wackos servicing cheap comic relief, or screw-ups who just need a kick in the butt to get them right back on track, get them “normal” like us. In Tokyo Godfathers, homeless people are just that; people, who happen to be homeless. That’s not to say these characters are perfect; each of them contains flaws, as we all contain flaws. Each of them has made poor decisions, in the way we have each made poor decisions. Their decisions lined up with the circumstances to make them homeless. Also notable is that while none of the three characters like being homeless, each has deep and cutting reasons they are willing to tolerate the harsh realities of life on the streets. For them, prospects of returning home seem like an even worse option than where they already are. They are, in an essence, trapped. I would surmise many homeless people in our society feel the same.
The film is brave in that it does not shy away from its depictions of a homeless life in downtown Tokyo. There are sneering faces, hunger and exposure to elements, and even beatings. Living in such a precarious environment is equivalent to urban survival, and characters resort to all sorts of measures, from robbing offerings at a grave to skimping out on taxi fares. A lesser film would have invited judgement. Here, the characters are understood and even applauded for their ingenuity. After all, while offerings to the dead are a kind measure, who would rather they not attend to living people in the most desperate need? Particularly when these people are trying to care for a baby that is not theirs, in the dead of winter? The compassion and practicality applied to its protagonists make Tokyo Godfather truly refreshing.
The characterization in Tokyo Godfathers is some of the best to be found in animation. Gin, an alcoholic, Hana, a transvestite, and Misuke, a youthful runaway, form a brilliant stable of protagonists who are great together and on their own, which is as it should be since theirs is more of a happenstance, albeit close, grouping than a solidified family. The way Kon peels back layers via a series of anecdotal fireside stories and minor revelations is masterful and original, and also a tongue-in-cheek reminder to keep our initial judgements in check, especially concerning those who are homeless. When I first met Gin, Hana, and Misuke, my first instinct was to form an initial impression for each of them, the way I normally would for any character to better understand their actions and motivations. By the end of the movie, my grasp of each character was drastically different from my initial impression, and vastly more complex. It was only a movie, but Tokyo Godfathers still made me feel small-minded and prone to rushing judgement based off of what amounted to a person’s book jacket. It’s a true stroke of brilliance by Kon, as well as a great humanitarian touch.
The plot in Tokyo Godfathers is wonderfully engaging and unpredictable, in part because it never feels boxed in to one particular convention. One minute the characters are savoring a quiet recollection at the hospital, the next they are chasing down an escapee in a screeching taxi, and you’re wondering how the hell that just happened but you’re loving every second of it. At the same time, carefully layered intricacies match up so well that nothing ever verges on being out of sync. Twists and turns abound, as one might expect in a film by Satoshi Kon. As usual, the director makes good use of his trademark blending of reality and artifice to throw us off the trail, although it is toned down considerably from his other three films. That is for the best; the plot is meaty enough to support itself. A few red herrings are all that is needed to accentuate the flavor.
In terms of technical attributes, Tokyo Godfathers is great on all marks. The written dialogue is superb; these people talk like real people, and that sense of grounded realism draws us in, allows all the soul-bearing to ring true. This is one of the few animes I have watched that was not available dubbed in English, and having seen the subtitled version I can’t imagine seeing it any other way. The actors do a great job; while I can’t understand the syllables or pronunciations they are using, the emotions and emphasis they are conveying requires no translation.
The animation is richly drawn and wildly expressive; it is not as smooth as, say, the animation of Studio Ghibli, but the more jagged transitions create a “rough” feel that just somehow feels right for this movie. I think it’s perfect. The music is delightfully screw-loose and jazzy, and does just about everything it can to one-up the madcap hijinks going down onscreen. The ending theme is a Japanese hip-hop remix of Beethoven’s 9th symphony. Now you have an idea.
Tokyo Godfathers is a terrific Christmas movie. Oh sure, the subject of Christmas ends up being rather tangential to the actual proceedings (much in the vein of Die-Hard, or even It’s a Wonderful Life), but in spirit the film contains all the trappings of a Holiday classic. Its larger-than-life characters, zany mile-a-minute schemes, strong heart, and air of the miraculous are a perfect tonic against the oppressive onslaught of cold winter months. When I first bought it on a whim at a local resale shop, I eyed it up a bit suspiciously like that last grungy box stashed under the Christmas tree. That is Tokyo Godfathers; the present you never knew you wanted but end up loving and cherishing long after the other ones have languished forgotten upon the shelf. It is a miracle, about miracles, during the most miraculous season of the year. Joy to the world! And whatever you choose to celebrate, may it be a most wonderful time of the year for you, my dear reader.
-Yours Always,
Marcus Ganser
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Wolf Children
Wolf Children is, in my opinion, the finest anime of all time. I realize to say that is heresy. Surely, it must be Hayao Miyazaki’s hugely-acclaimed Spirited Away, or perhaps Princess Mononoke, or Akira. If you argued the merits of any of those films to me, I would smile and nod along politely. But inwardly, I would still be thinking, “But what of Wolf Children?”
The film is just as it sounds: a young mother struggles to raise her two half-wolf, half-human children. It may sound simplistic, or outright strange, when described on such a superficial level, but keep in mind that I came in with similar pretenses. This movie is truly magical; a whimsically sweet and sad meandering journey during which the twists and turns are supplied by all the spontaneity of life’s daily comedies, joys, and heartbreaks.
The film was directed by Mamoru Hosoda, Japan’s brightest new star in the animation industry. His filmography is relatively brief at this point in time, but it is dynamite. The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, Summer Wars, The Boy and the Beast, and Wolf Children reads like an absolute murderer’s row of great animation. Each film resonates with a special warmth, focusing on social issues such as family and growing up, spiced with fantastical elements which serve to further the human elements at play. It’s the Miyazaki recipe, essentially. Except that unlike so many of his contemporaries, Hosoda has perfected it and made it his own, because no anime director so consistently and successfully ties in deeply personal stories with a keen eye for society as a whole. Summer Wars focused on technology’s impact on communication and human interaction. The Boy and the Beast reflected on the importance of fatherhood, and how its absence can lead to lost souls and violence. But in Wolf Children, Hosoda outdoes even himself. Consider the following. Wolf Children is a film touching on (ahem): biracialism, the complex interactions of nature, nurture, and environment, gender roles, prejudice, problems with our one-size-fits-all style of education, personal identity, societal pressures to conform or dichotomize ourselves towards like-fitting groups, and the fundamental human need for belonging and acceptance. If that all sounds a bit heady to you, then rest assured that Wolf Children also works remarkably well as a simple story about a mother’s love for her children. It can work, simultaneously, as a coming-of-age story under some pretty alienating circumstances. In that sense, Wolf Children, unlike so many other films which may claim likewise, is a film that truly serves the 9 to 99 crowd, even the surly teenager crowd that hates to be in the same room as you.
The characterization in Wolf Children is, to keep it short, masterful. Hosoda pulls off an incredibly tricky feat in cinema; he creates characters who can change, often dramatically, throughout the course of the story, yet remain distinctly themselves. I cannot recall characters from an animated film rendered so realistically in their actions and motivations as Hana, Ame, and Yuki. Even characters who could have easily been relegated to stock status, such as Sohei and Mr. Nirasaki, are here fleshed out as fully human individuals. I’m a believer that great characters make everything work better; like a great broth for soup, they serve as the foundation upon which everything else can contribute. Wolf Children has fantastic broth.
It is also gorgeous. Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous. Wolf Children might not be the best-looking anime I have ever seen, but it is most certainly in elite company. The natural landscapes are mesmerizing gazes through a painter’s eye; one scene involving the children ripping down a snowy slope is sheer exhilaration. Hosoda also has a tremendous eye for direction. Not only is each scene expertly composed; the director has a rare virtue of patience which is so often underappreciated in animation. He lingers on a subject or a scene, allowing us to soak it in and understand; only then does he move on. There is one vignette scene in Wolf Children that is probably one of the top few animated sequences I have ever seen. It says more in about 30 seconds than many films manage in 30 minutes. I am also in love with the concept of the wolf children themselves. What could have been merely a highly effective cutegasm (warning: wolf children are ridiculously cute) is instead used to indicate the characters’ passionate emotions, such as frustration or excitement. As the film progresses, the use of the children’s inherent “wolfiness” becomes even more inspired. Morphing becomes synonymous with the literal “animal instincts” of puberty; namely, stirrings of a sexual and increasingly independent nature.
Lest I forget to mention, Wolf Children is a beautifully scored film. Soaring orchestral tracks mark occasions of triumph or exuberance, only to give way to quiet piano interludes during more tranquil scenes. The song during the credits may hit mothers hard. Be warned, mothers.
The ending song also hit me hard. Because in many ways, I never realized what it all takes to be a mother. I took it for granted that I have someone to care for me and love me unconditionally; Wolf Children is an education. It shows the stages every mother goes through. The scared shitless, what-do-I-do-now moment of realizing you are now entirely responsible for another human being, the daily sacrifices and patience required to raise a child who is happy and healthy, the frustrations and cataclysmic horror that come with realizing that despite your best efforts, your children will and perhaps must suffer, and then that final, hardest stage. Taking the person you recentered your entire life around and letting them go. Because if you do not, they can never be truly happy.
Wolf Children is the type of movie we should all buy for our mothers. We should watch it with them, and laugh and cry, and then say thank you. I am certainly saying thank you to my own mom. Raising me had to be a chore at some times, but I’m glad she took the time and pains to do so. I hope she knows that because of what she did for me, she will always have someone to love her back.
Thanks, Mom.
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Grave of the Fireflies
Grave of the Fireflies is one of the greatest anime films of all time. Directed by the legendary director Isao Takahata (who helped found Studio Ghibli) and widely lauded by reputable film critics such as Roger Ebert, you would think Grave of the Fireflies would be one of my most forthright recommendations.
You could be wrong.
Is Grave of the Fireflies great? Yes. Is it important? Absolutely. One of the most important movies ever made. But it is also very, very, very sad. Understand this clearly. This film is not, “watch The Notebook, have a good cry, feel better afterward” kind of sad. It is a brutal, crushing, depressing kind of sad. I’m talking Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire, Fry’s Dog, and everything of that ilk rolled into one. It is the kind of sad that sticks with you afterward and then some, the kind of sad that makes you feel the world is deeply, irrevocably fucked up in some ways and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. For viewers who feel they are up to the challenge, their reward will be a piece of seminal art deeply sensitive about an important and timeless topic. But understand that this film will not be for everyone, and you should go in with the expectations that you may find what you see to be deeply upsetting.
Grave of the Fireflies is centered around two children, brother and sister, who die as a result of World War II. That is not a spoiler. The main character acknowledges as such in the very first line of dialogue. The rest of the movie ensues to show, in excruciating detail, how exactly the two children end up starving to death. The grimness does not stop there. There are firebombings, beatings, corpses upon corpses, and utter destruction. Francois Truffaut, one of the founders of the French New Wave, famously wrote that an anti-war film was impossible because all war movies, in their depictions of battle, inevitably make war seem like fun. Grave of the Fireflies was one of the first films to shatter this assertion, and remains to this day perhaps the most potently effective anti-war film ever created. By turning the focus away from the scene of battle and towards the civilian sphere, Takahata was able to entirely sidestep all the nonsense of glory and noble sacrifice, and get right down to the essence of what a war is; suffering.
That is the intent of Grave of the Fireflies, and Takahata commits to it with almost diabolical resolve. There is little to no happiness in this movie. If there is a scene where the siblings find a momentary respite from all the chaos, filth, and violence, it blinks out in an instant, emphasizing the destruction of any sense of normalcy these children could have had. Strangers and relatives are presented as overwhelmingly cruel, bitter, and callous, although it is implied that wartime stresses may be responsible for this nasty streak of human behavior. The film is nearly awash in fire, smoke, and dirt; it becomes almost literally a depiction of hell on earth.
What elevates Grave of the Fireflies above what would have simply been a brutally effective act of blunt force trauma is Takahata’s superb use of human fantasy and forays into the ethereal. When Seita, the older boy, fantasizes about his mother reappearing to offer them both a full meal, it is heartbreakingly clear his emotional and physical starvations have become intermeshed. A later recollection by Seita of a Japanese naval parade serves as a sharply bitter denunciation of short-sighted jingoism and nationalistic pride. But for me, the most memorable and tragically beautiful bit of imagination is the incorporation of the children’s “spirits” or “ghosts” throughout the movie. The inclusion of an afterlife is a critical and well-thought out balance to the rest of the film, most notable for reempowering the children following a lifetime of victimization. Here, they control what we see and do not see; what is worth reliving to them, and what they turn us away from, wincing in memory of unbearable agonies. Death has robbed them of life; but as spirits, they exist together forever, establishing their love to the audience as something defining to their persons and grandly important. The harsh fires and rock of wartime are gone, replaced by a soft, reddish aura that encompasses tranquility. This is the film’s sole ray of light; in death, at least, there may be some consolation of peace to the victims. Cheery stuff.
I wrote before that this film cannot truly be recommended to everyone. But on the other hand, perhaps that is exactly why it must be seen. Perhaps, Grave of the Fireflies should be required viewing for every single citizen. War is an ugly solution. World War II, known perpetually as “The Good War” and probably necessitated as much as any conflict in human history, was still fraught with horrific consequences for the most innocent and helpless members of the population, as Takahata’s film clearly demonstrates. Even so, war continues to be glorified in today’s world and society; the easiest, strongest, swiftest, most straight-forward solution to any international dispute. It must always be a last resort. All of us, as members of the human race, have a responsibility to consider carefully the consequences of warfare in our world today; what it will mean for those whom we may have never met, but whom are still somebody’s mother, father, neighbor, friend, husband, wife. Or children.
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Laputa: Castle in the Sky
So you’ve never watched an anime before. Hey, I’m not here to judge. I’m here to help you. There’s a lot of really great films for newbies out there: The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, Wolf Children, My Neighbor Totoro, to name a few. But Laputa: Castle in the Sky is probably my knee-jerk recommendation. It’s anime’s Indiana Jones; complete with breathless action sequences, mysterious artifacts, dastardly villains, stunning locales, and even a little romance. It is kid friendly, sophisticated enough for adults and return viewers, helmed by the form’s greatest director (Hayao Miyazaki), and essentially without misstep. It is the perfect introduction to mainstream Japanese animation, and nearly impossible to dislike.
The film is titled after “Laputa”, an island some crackpot claimed he once saw from the sky, bobbing inside a sheath of clouds. Years later, the crackpot’s son is working as a miner. He still carries a sketch his father once drew of the apparition; he knows the man was no liar. But he has no proof. No leads. He’s stuck working in a mine, providing power for the machines flying freely over his head in the sky. One day, the young miner (named Pazu by the way) receives a very big lead; so big, in fact, that it is being actively pursued by both the military and a gang of sky pirates.
The lead is a girl named Sheeta. In the film’s opening, she is flying under military guard in a huge flying fortress. The fortress is attacked by aforementioned pirates, the girl is lost overboard in the mayhem, and faints as she plummets towards her untimely death. In one of the truly legendary moments in anime, the necklace glows a vibrant blue and Sheeta’s fall slows to a gentle float as the opening credits roll.
You can guess by now that Sheeta falls near Pazu; directly into Pazu’s arms, in fact, and that the two must clue-dig. And bond. And do it all without falling into the clutches of the army. And dodge bands of pesky sky pirates along the way. And at last maybe, just maybe, find Laputa and uncover all of its deep and monumental secrets.
Just off of that synopsis, one can see how the plot is saliva-inducingly good. The movie moves briskly from one adventurous moment to the next without ever seeming frantic, and holy cow does it pack in the action. We are treated to some truly awesome scenes; how about a train chase, set hundreds of feet in the sky and featuring two trains and one precariously driven automobile? How about a battle between an army of guards and one hyperadvanced robot? It’s Miyazaki, so naturally we have to include flight into the mix; does piloting a light glider through a hurricane suit your fancy? You would love that? I never would have guessed.
The massive entertainment quota is leavened nicely by Miyazaki’s wonderfully drawn characters. Sheeta is a timid, gentle soul who would like nothing more than to be free of the attention-and violence-her necklace attracts. Pazu is a cheerful hardworking kid who longs for adventure and discovery, yet finds himself beat down by life and alone. The way these two help each other grow and become happier, more fulfilled people is the film’s sound foundation; it is also remarkably sweet. Dola, the sky pirate captain, is an instant hit as a strong female character with impure inclinations but a heart of gold. And Muska, the government agent heading the hunt for Sheeta, is the most wicked antagonist Miyazaki ever devised; and one of his most memorable (evil Mark Hamill, anyone?).
Miyazaki is famous for incorporating environmental and anti-war themes in his movies, and Castle in the Sky is no exception. In some sense a science-fiction story as well as a fantastical romp, the strange technology of Sheeta’s glowing pendant is indeed a blessing and a curse. An object promising limitless energy to flying machines powered by dirty coal and laborious mining…but also perhaps equally limitless destruction. Nuclear power is one obvious parallel, as a weapon in wartime and fossil fuel solution in peace, but Miyazaki’s focus is perhaps even broader, encompassing power in all forms, and what comprises its proper use. The use of power for destructive or selfish purposes is of course villainized. But the use of power to combat this destructiveness is more conflicted. In another Miyazaki film, pacifism would have won out; the destructive tendencies of the antagonists would turn against them, and they would desist or be destroyed of their own accord, reinforcing passive attitudes. Castle in the Sky tacks a different route. Terrible things are still not taken lightly; rather, it is the fact that they are terrible and will produce drastic consequences that gives the movie a satisfying emotional arc. Castle in the Sky is about finding the strength to fight an enemy that will destroy everything if you do not. Violence is presented as the most dreaded solution; and in some situations, the only solution. We navigate a perilous road of good discretion and decisiveness. The route we choose will shape and reshape our world, perhaps forever.
Miyazaki doesn’t beat us over the head with such philosophical ramblings. His themes here are well-integrated and more a complementary accent than anything. They’re just really great garnish. Make no mistake about it, Castle in the Sky is a grand adventure story. That has always been, and will always be, its main draw. It is also, I would venture, appealing at a more elemental level. The film has an almost subliminal excellence in how it looks, feels, and sounds. That may sound strange; allow me to expand on this a bit. I can objectively appreciate that the artwork in Castle in the Sky is stunning and well-executed, and I can objectively state that his partner Joe Hisaishi’s score is good. But when I watch Castle in the Sky, I am struck by how right everything feels, how it flips on all my pleasure centers like light switches. My brain is enjoying what I see and hear on a level I cannot comprehend. That is awe-inspiring.
Castle in the Sky is best described as a daydream. Not a dream, for those can be unpredictable or unpleasant; but a daydream, never. Only our favorite things reside there, a slew of things we dreamt up or remembered fondly, tossed together with reckless care of abandon. Fantasy takes care of the rest, blending and incorporating each element until the end result is bliss. Daydreams, in moderation, are good for the soul; a chance for us to reflect on what we really desire out of life, and an oasis amidst the busy madness of daily routine. There is no better escape than to disappear into a daydream for a while; filled with wondrous flying machines, plucky heroines, exhilarating verdant landscapes, and a Castle in the Sky. I hope that when you could use a little break from tough times, or are an adventurer at heart but can’t quite leave yet on your own adventure, you will check out the beautiful daydream Miyazaki drew up for everyone.
You might just float yourself.
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Millennium Actress
In 2001, Spirited Away won the Grand Prize for Animation at the Japan Media Arts Festival. That would be of no surprise to most people; Spirited Away is one of the most critically-acclaimed and commercially successful animated films of all time. What might be a surprise to some, but not all, is that it had to share the award with a film you’ve probably never heard of-named Millennium Actress.
It says a lot about Millennium Actress’s quality that it stood toe-to-toe with the greatest anime of all time and lived. And yet it doesn’t really say enough. Millennium Actress is truly seminal filmmaking, the great Satoshi Kon’s most ambitious and cinematic work. Equal parts fictitious biopic and cinephilia, Millennium Actress functions at the same time as a love tale of sweeping proportions, a war-time period piece, and a working account of Japanese history. It is utterly unique in the anime landscape, and one of its very best features.
The film centers around retired actress Chiyoko Fujiwara. Once the movie industry’s brightest star, she quit abruptly at the height of her fame to disappear into solitude. Now, the studio she used to work at is being torn down; a movie enthusiast and his cameraman show up to interview her about her legendary career. A key is produced in conversation; the key carries a story more wondrous and moving than anything the Big Pictures could ever have conjured up. It is the Key to The Most Important Thing There Is; and it unlocks the secret of Chiyoko’s life.
In short order, the film buff, his cameraman, and us, by proxy, are quite literally whisked away to the various scenes of Chiyoko’s memories. This is where the magic of the movie sets in. Satoshi Kon is well known for his subversion of reality with other elements. Here, Chiyoko’s actual experiences alternate with, and in many cases, blend together with her cinematic work. It is up to the viewer to decide what is real and what is fiction, and more importantly, how much that matters. Millennium Actress celebrates the concept of movies to an extent and level perhaps unsurpassed in film. Take, for example, the role of movies in self-expression. Chiyoko’s experiences and acting career overlap in a way that transcends mere coincidence; it becomes clear, and increasingly tragic, that her great performances were inspired by her own feelings and experiences. On the other side of the coin, we see how audiences participate and interact with movies. The interviewer, a raging cinephile, joyfully relishes each opportunity to play the character of his choice, be it the knight or hero, alongside Chiyoko. In the same way, a viewer helps create the movie by “becoming” the characters; feeling and experiencing their world by proxy. At the same time, they project their own feelings and experiences into the movie, fostering a deep emotional and intellectual connection. Without audience engagement, the illusion collapses; one of my favorite aspects of the movie is the cameraman. Younger and more disinterested, he doesn’t understand the framework of Chiyoko’s retelling, the disorienting jumps between old films, old memories, and so on. His frustration and confusion at what he sees is both hilarious and a welcome dynamic to the wide-eyed enthusiasm of his boss; a means to disarming potential cynics and grounding the increasingly wild proceedings.
Millennium Actress’s analysis of cinema goes even further. The snippets of Chiyoko’s film career are loving tributes to Japan’s cinematic culture. Ninjas and samurais are of course represented; along with wartime propaganda, post-war regret pieces, and even new-age space and science-fiction. Taken together, the genres also become a living representation of Japan’s history, encompassing feudal, fascist, and modern eras, respectively. Movies, in this way, become a reflection of our society; our histories, our unique cultures, and how we relate back to these elements and interpret them. Movies help us remember who we are. This occurs not just on a societal level, but on an individual level as well. The strong experience of film can stir up memories or recollections we might have forgotten otherwise. This is played out perfectly in the movie; it is suggested that Chiyoko may be suffering from some type of memory loss or dementia. Her film roles blending with personal memories may then not be a creative choice on Chiyoko’s part as much as a means to resurface deeply buried memories, or to act as close surrogates in order to complete her retelling.
The movie, at once deeply intellectual, is also a wonder to look at. As we are gazing through Chiyoko’s collected personal memories and a series of movies set in the past, present, and future, there are massive leaps backwards and forwards in time and across multiple realities, different color and tonal aspects, and fantastical elements appearing and disappearing at whim. This kaleidoscope of textures and visions is delightful and endlessly interesting, but handled in a way to minimize disorientation. Contrast that with Perfect Blue, where Kon took a similar concept but used it to maximize viewer disorientation. The animation is crisp, colorful and vibrant; probably the best of any Kon film until Paprika came out in 2006.
The soundtrack is one of the best in anime. Kon wanted Susumu Hirasawa as his composer for a long time, and his tracks in Millennium Actress demonstrate why. Sampling everything from bells and whistles to soaring Malaysian vocals, Hirasawa infuses catchy electronic beats with a life and vitality rarely, if ever, seen in synthesis pieces. The perfect score reaches as far as the onscreen ambitions of the film, allowing it the necessary gravitas and atmosphere to truly flourish. The music of Millennium Actress, as the film itself, is a celebration of life. And life, as we all know, comes with a side of bittersweet.
While only his second film, Millennium Actress is perhaps Satoshi Kon’s defining swan song. One of the very best and most inventive directors in all of animation, Kon’s work was nonetheless never a big hit internationally, or at the box office. The same year Spirited Away smashed box office records, earning almost $275,000,000 on its way to an Oscar, Millennium Actress garnered a meager $37,285 in the US and mostly disappeared from memory. Even Kon’s most profitable film, Paprika, failed to crack the million-dollar mark in the USA, earning a gross total of $881,302. Kon’s tragic, untimely death from pancreatic cancer at the age of 46 was just another unfair circumstance stacked against him. In his heartbreaking goodbye essay to the world, the director expressed regret that his films never made much money.
Satoshi Kon never received the generous acclaim of Studio Ghibli and Miyazaki. He was not rich by the end of his career, and not particularly famous outside circles of contemporaries, critics, and devotees. Yet, he was perhaps animation’s truest artist. His collection of works is towering; oozing ambition, skill, and tenacious devotion to the craft. Satoshi Kon loved animation. He loved to create. That love, that drive to make things wholly new and wonderful, is the legacy he leaves behind for all of us; it is also what is important. We cannot control how our lives will play out, whether the goals and dreams we strive for will ever come to fruition. But perhaps the end accomplishment of the goal is not really the point. The point of art-and of life-is in the striving for our passions, in pouring all the contents of the heart forth so that not a drop is left unspent. The effort is in itself beautiful. It is what is worthwhile. It is, perhaps, The Most Important Thing There Is. Millennium Actress echoes this sentiment to perfect sublimity. As a piece of art, it is fantastic. As a sendoff to Satoshi Kon, one of the finest directors I know, it is even better.
You can read Satoshi Kon’s goodbye letter here. I highly recommend that you do.
http://www.makikoitoh.com/journal/satoshi-kons-last-words
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My Neighbor Totoro
Picture, if you will, an opening pitch. The director clears his throat and announces he wants to make a movie with little to no plot, little to no conflict, and two small kids as the protagonists. They will befriend a Totoro in the countryside. What’s a Totoro? Ah, it’s hard to explain…see, it doesn’t really exist in real life. Or in any previous works of fiction. But don’t worry, people will see it for the first time and just kind of go with it. Oh, what else is in the movie? Oh, I dunno…I mean, the kids will be doing countryside stuff, just living really. There will be a cat that’s a bus. And…that’s about it.
Okay, so this is probably a lot more flippant than the actual proceedings. But still; is it not amazing that Miyazaki didn’t get laughed out of the room? Is it not even more of a miracle the film actually got greenlit? If anyone else but Miyazaki-fresh off of two big box office hits and the hottest new thing in animation-would have tried to make My Neighbor Totoro, it wouldn’t have happened. He also helped found the studio he was pitching to, so maybe that had something to do with it. Anyway, let’s all be thankful that such a strange idea came to wonderful fruition. My Neighbor Totoro is widely known as one of the most beloved animated movies of all time. It was, simultaneously, one of the greatest revolutions not only in animation, but perhaps in all of film. And it all came from the mind of Miyazaki.
Following the success of his two masterpieces Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind and Laputa: Castle in the Sky, Miyazaki had already garnered the sway to do just about whatever he wanted as a director. Both of his previous films were classic action-adventure films; fantastic to say the least, but perhaps the formula was growing stale for Miyazaki. At some point or another, great artists feel a need for reinvention: U2 had their Achtung Baby, Jim Carrey had The Truman Show, and Steven Spielberg filmed Schindler’s List. Perhaps My Neighbor Totoro was spawned from the same familiar itch. At any rate, My Neighbor Totoro was like nothing that came before. Critics were incredulous that there was no plot, no villains or typically violent concluding act. They also loved it. Audiences loved it as well. Thusly, My Neighbor Totoro ushered in an entirely new format of film, now recognized and widely repeated as the “Slice of Life” genre in anime. “Slice of Life” films, as a rule of thumb, have little overall conflict, and minimalist plot. What allows this philosophy to succeed, in contrast to other films, is in redefined audience expectations. In most films, payoff is linked directly to challenges being met and overcome by the protagonist. If there is no challenge to face, no payoff can occur, and the film becomes boring. My Neighbor Totoro circumvents this scenario by fundamentally changing the payoff structure. There are no more challenges; instead, dopamine hits come from instances of shared euphoria. When a character explores/discovers new things, witnesses natural beauty, feels joy, or obtains meaningful social interaction, we, as audience members, recognize these positive instances in our own lives and share in the experience. The end result is a warm, “buzzy” feeling that is more level and persistent than the sharper adrenaline hits that typically come from a more conventional movie.
I am unsure if My Neighbor Totoro was the first to try this approach; but certainly, it was the film that made it commercially legitimate. This is due, in no small part, to Miyazaki’s skill and tenacity behind the canvas. His notorious attention to detail allows the film to work; the beautiful depictions of the countryside, alternating between grand scale and deeply intimate, make it easy to be swept away. Setting the film in rural Japan was a wise choice, and an inspirational one. The majority of modern “Slice of Life” films have followed suit, simply because there ain’t no outdoing Mother Nature (sorry, country boy acting up in me there). Miyazaki set another precedent by featuring children as his main characters. “Slice of Life” anime’s have overwhelmingly featured young people as protagonists, and it is surely by design. Childhood and adolescence is full of strong, emotionally resonant memories. Most people remember their youth as a happier, more innocent time, an era of tender new discoveries, and perhaps more than anything, safety. If there is an element of conflict at all in My Neighbor Totoro, it lies in the dark realities of the world. The girls’ mother is sick with a mysterious illness; at another instance, a character goes missing, and the frightening prospect of something terrible happening to her is raised. As we grow older, frightening or sad events such as these become commonplace, and frequently we find ourselves battling them alone. As children, we are not yet equipped; and so, childhood is associated with greater kindness, and compassion, from others. There is a trust, as a child, that someone will help you if you are ever in trouble. Darkness is a foe not permitted to stay in My Neighbor Totoro. Whether it is Totoro and his friends, or their human counterparts, good neighbors are Miyazaki’s assurance to children-and the child in all of us-that someone out there exists who will help us. It is a wonderful assurance that we should dare to believe. It is the essence of optimism; of simple belief in a more altruistic life and human goodness, of guardianship in the form of a gigantic rabbit-like creature with rather small ears but a very large heart. It is the essence of Totoro.
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The Girl Who Leapt Through Time
What would you do if you could jump back in time? Let me rephrase that. What would you do if you could jump back in time, and you were still in high school?
Chances are, you wouldn’t travel backwards to kill Hitler and save Kennedy. At 16, your mind would be focused on far more important, that is to say, frivolous activities; acing that test you’ve been struggling with, for instance. Or maybe double and triple-dipping on your favorite meals and fun occasions, thereby fulfilling your most wild and hedonistic fantasies. Maybe you would wipe embarrassing memories from existence, or avoid dealing with difficulties in your social life and relationships. The world would be your oyster.
In time, you might turn your attention toward more ambitious and dangerous goals. Maybe you would meddle in the lives of your friends and family, engineering their lives the way you see fit. Maybe you would make your life the exact image of your visions, down to the last detail. Maybe things would turn ugly.
See, you’re not God. Changes, even simple ones, could have impacts you would never foresee, might struggle to correct. Satisfying your own selfish goals and desires might be paid in the suffering of other people. Punishment for hubris is a common trope in any time-travel story. But there is another angle you probably haven’t considered; yourself. Even if you were to act unerringly, get every moment right, replay time over and over again to construct your own perfect reality, you would end up perpetually unsatisfied. Because eventually your goals would change. You would change. Then you would have to start your little cycle of perfection all over again. Eventually, you’d go mad.
What I have just described to you is the gist of Mamoru Hosoda’s terrific film, The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, although Hosoda tells the story with ever so much more grace and charm. It is a tremendous crowd-pleaser, one of anime’s most entertaining and easily accessible features. If you are new to this whole anime thing, The Girl Who Leapt Through Time is a great choice to make your entry. Indeed, the film is the medium’s equivalent of a glass of summer lemonade; light, utterly refreshing, with just enough tartness to bring out the underlying sweetness of it all.
The plot focuses on Makoto Konno, a high school student who discovers by a stroke of unbelievable luck she can now jump-quite literally “jump”-back in time. The plot is quite good, with a brilliant twist partway through that will catch many viewers by surprise, but the reason the movie really resonates is Makoto herself. She is the plucky embodiment of every teenager that ever was, or ever should have been; energetic, impetuous, infectiously endearing, delightfully irresponsible, and yet for all her outward bravado, deeply insecure and unsure of everything. Her strategy of avoidance and delay in response to the complex issues of adulthood is something every person who has ever grown or is still growing will immediately identify with; her personal growth is the movie’s true reward.
Makoto is bracketed by a pair of fine characters in their own right, her best friends Kousuke and Chiaki. Kousuke is the responsible one of the group who chides Makoto for being late to class; Chiaki is the only one who somehow finds a way to be even later. Hosoda, as usual, uses great characterization to the film’s immense benefit, advancing the plot through and with them. The trio’s banter and interactions is well-written; utterly believable, it is also wonderfully entertaining…and at times, emotionally resonant. As a successful counter to the jibing of adolescents, there is also present Makoto’s spookily wise Aunt Witch. She serves as Makoto’s adult counsel about an impossible subject (except the subject isn’t impossible, because Aunt Witch is what we refer to as a black magic woman), and also occasionally her conscience. The inclusion of Aunt Witch was a wise choice; she’s a stabilizing force which keeps the film from veering too far haywire. Did I mention she is creepy? And awesome?
The Girl Who Leapt Through Time is mostly fun adventure, but it has its share of quiet, somber moments as well. This is where Hosoda separates himself from the rest of the pack. His extraordinary patience, coupled with a natural skill for composition, allows him to frame each one of these moments with cinematic elegance, and then leave them undisturbed for the audience to reflect upon and absorb. It is nearly like inserting a painting in the middle of a movie; it is Hosoda’s trademark. The film is animated perfectly, in that its soft tones and style reflect the gentleness of the movie as a whole.
Upon repeated viewings, an unexpected note emerged for me in The Girl Who Leapt Through Time: loss. Perhaps Hosoda was inserting his own nostalgic remembrances of high school, but the tone goes further than that. The Girl Who Leapt Through Time is much about so many things we take for granted. The carefree nature of teenager life eventually extends to a variety of other things. Baseball games. Lazy sunny days. Jamming out with friends, sharing time with people we love. Each of these things is a gift, whether we realize it or not, and we should cherish them fully, lest they prove temporary. The possibility of loss is a frightening prospect in The Girl Who Leapt Through Time; it is what drives Makoto’s fear of adulthood and growing up. But though we should cherish what we have here and now, lingering on what remains and not progressing on with our lives is definitively portrayed as no way to live, either. A life lived forever in neutral grows stale. Even Makoto, with her supernatural advantages, finds the experience pretty miserable. Saying goodbye to what we know is so hard; yet that is how we move on to new things, sometimes things we never knew were so wonderful. The film’s ultimate message is that when change comes, change with it. The journey is not without its merits. Makoto’s journey is one for everyone to see and enjoy. Go see it today.
After all: “Time Waits For No One.”
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Princess Mononoke
“What exactly are you here for?” Prince Ashitaka is asked at one point in Princess Mononoke. He replies, “To see with eyes unclouded by hate.” It is a noble pursuit, but easier said than done. In both our world and the movie, there seems to exist a fundamental lack of understanding. This failure to connect seeds conflict; in Princess Mononoke, it has bred war between nature and man.
Princess Mononoke is often considered a superior clone of Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind. To call it such is to do both films a tremendous disservice. While both contain similar elements of subject and plot, occasionally even identical elements, the films are dramatically different tonally and in what they are attempting to convey. If Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind is a fire-and-brimstone sermon told by an equally fiery preacher, Princess Mononoke is more like a carefully researched and concerned dissertation. Part of the reason for this was that environmentalism was less a fringe topic by 1997 and more universally important than it was in 1984. Miyazaki himself doubtlessly changed as well. Age tends to temper passions and bring new, complicating perspectives. For a modern era and beyond, Miyazaki helmed the project, intending it as his last and most definitive.
A fundamental change between Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind and Princess Mononoke is the perceived supremacy of nature. In Nausicaä, the war between man and nature is decidedly one-sided in earth’s favor. All efforts by men to affect it are futile and self-destructive. In Princess Mononoke, interestingly, the arrow of dominance has been flipped. This time, man is clearly the domineering force, and nature is in full-blown retreat. This, I surmise, is much more accurate of the world as we know it. Human beings absolutely possess the ability to override the earth. This was already true in 1997, even 1984 and beyond, let alone 2017. We have razed prairies and replaced them with square plots for growing food, knocked down trees to build dens for ourselves, reduced biodiversity to swell the populations of species we find desirable. If there is indeed a war raging between man and nature, then nature is royally getting its ass kicked.
Of course, the problem with war against nature is that victory is truly pyrrhic. The domination of humans is only good for us so long as the earth’s infrastructure remains intact; damage it irrevocably and there is hell to pay. In Princess Mononoke, the moment of nature’s apparent demise leads to a symbolic cloud of death, choking off everyone and everything it comes in contact with. We are still reliant on this planet, and only this planet, for most of our basic requirements of life; air, water, food, and shelter. Understanding our tremendous power to shape the world means understanding we have the freedom to end ourselves in the process.
Another huge change between Princess Mononoke and Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind is in their respective considerations of the human element. In Nausicaä, we are placed firmly on the side of nature. Nature is considered neutral, or even benevolent, until it is provoked; humans are the aggressors. For the most part, human characters are portrayed as fearful, vain, selfish, and violent. Their actions provoke global catastrophe in the first place; their continued action means nature strikes them down to preserve balance. Princess Mononoke has a far different and more sympathetic opinion of man. Humanity is still presented as deeply flawed, with elements of selfishness and pride clearly at play. But we are also, Miyazaki surmises, locked in our own desperate struggle for survival; impossibly unique, sensitive, and altruistic creatures, we are also deeply vulnerable to the cold tidal whims of the universe. If we have drastically changed the world, then that is because life is harsh. Skyscrapers in place of trees bring us a level of insulation and protection we would not enjoy otherwise; a level of personal comfort we now view as necessary. In Princess Mononoke, Lady Eboshi at first would appear to be the clear-cut villain in the story; some sort of haughty madwoman bent on natural destruction. Ashikaga’s anger at her reflects our own. But then, we are introduced to the kingdom of Irontown, and a far different portrait of Eboshi emerges. She provides lepers, formerly discarded and unwanted souls, a place to call home and a valued purpose; basic human dignity. Former prostitutes run the bellows for mineral smelting. Irontown is a shelter for all of the rejects and disvalued of the kingdom; yet despite the relative level of comfort provided, life is still hard and tentative for all its subjects. Irontown is seen as being under assault nearly the entire course of the movie. The city is utterly remote, so nature must be suppressed to provide resources and prevent the wilderness from swallowing civilization. It is remote because that is where valuable and untapped resources are, and Eboshi correctly calculates that the trade value of those resources will afford the encampment value and security from the underlying kingdom. At the same time, locating the city on the outskirts of the kingdom serves to protect it from opportunistic seizure by the kingdom’s forces. Lady Eboshi may be vain; there can be little doubt that she enjoys being seen as a leader and savior of her people. But rarely, if ever, does she seem self-serving; and she is certainly not evil, as much as she is simply pragmatic. The gray areas encompassed by Princess Mononoke are one of its greatest strengths, and an important topic of discussion in our actual lives. How does one compare the value of a human life against the beauty of a thousand sunsets? Or the diversity of a rainforest against a chorus of hunger pains? Currently, DDT, yes, that DDT, is used prevalently in certain regions of Africa. The effects of DDT on bird species and overall ecosystems is well-documented; and yet, thousands of people on the continent die each year from malaria. In the same way, certain GMO’s such as BT corn have been decried for the toxins they produce and can impart other species to produce; but there are already too many people to feed. What will happen as we continue to add millions more? Shouldn’t GMO’s be at least part of that discussion? When it comes to such difficult underlying issues, there are no easy answers. Each of us must come to our own appropriations of what merits value.
The greatest difference between Princess Mononoke and its cousin lies in what they seek to address. Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind seeks to bring our attentions to the issue of ecological destruction. Princess Mononoke seeks to provide an appropriate solution. The overall message of the film is tied neatly into the arc of its two main characters. Prince Ashitaga is a village leader who is deeply invested in human welfare; throughout the course of the movie, his experiences with nature cause him to care for and protect it with nearly equal regard. San, aka Princess Mononoke, is a savage girl who was raised among wolves. Her initial hatred of men softens when she meets Ashitaga, and hidden human elements and feelings emerge. Her transformation is more reluctant and incomplete than that of Ashitaga; yet by the end of the movie, she has become an undeniably more tolerant and peaceful character. The means of solving conflicts is in growing mutual respect, cooperation, and even appreciation. Unfortunately, in our current society, conflicts over the environment have been marked by an obsession with winning, a phenomenon probably tied into an equally destructive obsession in politics. Economic success has been planted firmly against natural protection; middle ground has ceased to exist. Dialogue and legislations are increasingly being made for the wrong reasons; often times, to hurt the opposing side solely for the sake of perceived victory of the other, even when no actual benefit exists. Understanding is a concept seen as weak or wishy-washy. In fact, it is in the best interest of every person on the planet. Since when did budget health or environmentalism become singular goals? Aren’t both a mutual interest of everyone? Nobody wants to breathe air chock-full of suffocating carbon dioxide, or turn half of the world into uninhabitable wasteland. If someone smirks at you and says they would be fine with it, they are lying. Or they are refusing to acknowledge what they know, at the back of their minds, is inherently true.
If there is a lesson to be learned from Princess Mononoke, it is that in conflicts, environmental or otherwise, compromise and balance are key. Environment and human interests are not mutually exclusive goals; they can be accomplished concurrently. All that is required is a little open-mindedness and human ingenuity. In cases where concurrent benefit isn’t an option, mediation should be able to produce partial benefits for each side. We are conditioned to believe working together is frustrating or impossible; instead, it is a challenge we should cherish, an engaging and beneficial puzzle. And it starts with mutual respect; an appreciation for utilities that are less tangible, and equally precious.
There is a moment in Princess Mononoke, following the cloud of death, where a villager gazes awestruck upon a field of blooming blue flowers. “Huh…I didn’t know the Forest Spirit made the flowers grow,” he murmurs. How carefully will we tend to our own flowers? Our children will want to see them too.
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Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind
Hayao Miyazaki’s great Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind has long been a victim of perceptions. The film’s close association with Miyazaki’s masterful Princess Mononoke, with which it shares many similarities in plot and theme, has been an unfortunate blow to the film’s reputation. Additionally, the film’s age has worked against it; Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind was Miyazaki’s first true work, and even predated the establishment of Studio Ghibli (although the familiar elements were already in play and it is often considered Studio Ghibli by proxy.) In time, the consensus on this remarkable piece is that of disregard; that it was a warm-up round for a genius, a primitive, dated hashing that was remedied a decade later by Mononoke’s cutting-edge animation and more complex and ambiguous overtones. I would argue that interpretation is invalid, for the simple reason that Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind was never intended to be a work of subtlety.
The early 1980’s were a time in which environmental concerns were sidelined in favor of elevating the bottom line, and in which increased worldwide tensions were bringing the world back to the brink of nuclear war. Ozone depletion was a serious worry by many scientists, but was not addressed on a sweeping and worldwide platform until the Montreal Protocol in 1987, 3 years after Nausicaä’s release. Frequent spats between the United States and the Soviet Union culminated in the Able Archer 83 exercise, which simulated a full-on assault by the United States and pushed tensions to nearly the level of the infamous Cuban Missile Crisis. One can imagine a young Miyazaki’s frustrations mounting in the wake of such apparent carelessness and inaction; Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, then, is his wake-up call. If Miyazaki had not yet learned the arts of disguise and duality, then that is to the film’s benefit. It stands apart in his library; a raw gem, unfiltered in its passion and purity, that insists in no uncertain terms that if we do not change, if we continue to violate nature and one another, we will be doomed to inexistence. Never again was Miyazaki so urgent, so stark, so angry.
The movie rotates around the titular character, Princess Nausicaä, who is certainly among the finest heroines Miyazaki ever assembled. She is by turns a ferocious warrior, a pacifist, a selfless leader, a scientist, and even a willing sacrificial lamb. Most of all, she is a caring and compassionate individual who seeks to understand. It is good that Nausicaä is such a bright and vastly appealing character, as the world she inhabits is disturbing and sad. Global conflict, human extinction, apparent genocide, and rampant environmental destruction are all by turns depicted. The last pockets of humanity are being swallowed up by the advancing “toxic jungle” which is inhospitable to human life; Nausicaa’s people are better off than most, due to the cleansing winds of their valley and their sensible cohabitation with nature, but not by much. Most of them will die slowly of tumors and cancer. Infertility is a major problem; there is enough food to survive off of, but perhaps little else. Stronger and more aggressive nations pose a constant threat to life and freedom.
The film is awash is holocaustic allegory. Much of it is symbolic of the prospects of either nuclear war or catastrophic environmental damage. A mushroom cloud emitted from a fiery being is one obvious example; others include allusions to the ground being “poisoned”, a possible reference to irradiated soil which can persist for decades, and the enormous growth of toxic vegetation, which notably happened following the explosion in Hiroshima. The deadly little white spores which float to the ground, covering it like snow, are a likely mirror for nuclear fallout. The unbreathable air could be interpreted for a number of things; irradiated dust, trapped industrial smog, pesticides, or innumerous poisons emitted by man. The “acid lake” spoke of by the villagers reflects the 1980’s hot-button topic of acid rain. And so on and so forth.
Miyazaki’s acumen for visual storytelling is fully on display in Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind. In one scene, a sword-wielding Nausicaa accidentally impales the hand of Lord Yupa, her elder and friend, rather than her enemies. As Yupa tries to calm her down and explain the sense of surrender, Nausicaa stares at his red blood dripping off the hilt of the sword. The message is clear: violence will spill the blood of innocents. In another scene, Nausicaa and the antagonistic Princess Kushana are surrounded by gigantic insects. Kushana brandishes a pistol, but ultimately ends up frozen in place, quaking with fear, helpless. Nausicaa engages the insects peacefully and calmly, keeping her head all the way through. The message this time: people with guns are often the ones who are most afraid.
Of course, visual eloquence benefits greatly from a little bit of music. Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind birthed one of cinema’s most happy marriages: director Hayao Miyazaki and composer Joe Hisaishi. The opening scene is just rapturous; one of my favorite symbioses created by the two. The combination of stills drawn of an intricate tapestry, combined with a piano piece appropriately named “Fantasia”, is strange, somber, and effective at transporting the viewer; the closest I can come to evoking the feeling is walking through an empty museum, and seeing not what has been, but what is to come.
Hopefully, what happens in Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind is not to come. Or at least, not something in a similar vein. If there is one takeaway from Miyazaki’s first and most intense work, it is that nature is indomitable. It may be burned, starved, drowned, or frozen, but no event yet has killed the earth. It will adapt to fit new circumstances; but it will do so with cold indifference towards us. War against the earth is a folly; it is also nonsensical. One can say the same thing for war against each other. Miyazaki’s indictment of humanity is that our innate tendency is to fear, and that fear drives stupid decisions, hostility, and suffering. The solution then? Miyazaki seems to indicate it is understanding. Woven throughout this horrific cautionary tale is an excellent science-fiction story in which that very concept is demonstrated beautifully; that the earth’s overwhelming power has as much potential to save us as it does to destroy us. All that remains is for us to get smart…or perish.
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Ghost in the Shell
Ghost in the Shell is widely known as one of two major productions which kicked off mainstream anime to the West, the other being Katsuhiro Ôtomo’s incomparable Akira. While it has achieved legendary status among anime enthusiasts, among more casual film buffs it will forever be linked with The Matrix, on the basis that it involves characters jacking into a virtual world via a port in the back of their necks. A much more apt comparison would be that Ghost in the Shell is anime’s version of Blade Runner; a somber, haunting meditation on the similarities and differences between machine and man.
Blade Runner, of course, was the film Harrison Ford famously quipped as being about “whether or not you could fall in love with your toaster.” Ghost in the Shell posits an even more interesting question: suppose you were replaced gradually, bit by bit, with toaster bits. Would you eventually become a toaster? If so, at what point could you consider the transformation complete? Even if you were replaced entirely by toaster parts, could a small part of you remain inscrutably, indescribably human?
This is the question that has been haunting Makoto Kusanagi, aka The Major, recently. She was involved in an accident; the government decided she would be better off not dead and one of their cyborg super-soldiers. Now, all that remains of her original self is a scrap of brain cells in a nigh-indestructible composite body. A Ghost in the Shell.
What is a ghost exactly? It could be argued as consciousness, but that interpretation falls out in favor of a soul. Something less definable and more important. Kusanagi tests herself. She plunges into deep waters to evaluate her own fear at mortality, as metal bodies sink and must be resurfaced with floatation systems which may or may not turn on. At another point, a cybernetic being is “shocked” to reveal hidden information. The Major is disturbed. But she keeps it to herself. There isn’t a whole lot of time to brood. A super-hacker known only as The Puppetmaster has been hacking into people’s minds and controlling them remotely, because that is now a terrifying possibility. And so Kusanagi’s special unit, Section 9, is put to the task of ending that threat.
It goes without saying that as a highly influential work, Ghost in the Shell boasts impressive technical aspects. It was one of the first anime works to feature scenes in CGI successfully, and paired that with uniformly excellent standard animation. The action scenes are some of the best choreographed in anime history. The standout scene to me involves a brutal fight scene between two combatants in a pool of reflective water. Only one is visible. The soundtrack is outstanding as well. The opening scene is truly one of the best in animation, as Makoto’s synthesis proceeds eerily to a chilling, effective combination of a traditional Japanese wedding song and methodical cold-sweat ambience.
Ghost in the Shell is a spine-tingling mystery in the trappings of an intense cyber-thriller. The outcome of Section 9 vs The Puppetmaster is much less vital than what is going on within The Major. How human is she? Her self-testing and personal worries would suggest she has human inclinations; but then in the same breath, she is killing targets emotionlessly and acting completely oblivious to her own nudity. Sexuality and gender are indeed a core concept explored in the film; Batou, a fellow cyborg who is less completely mechanistic than Makoto, self-consciously averts his gaze, or even covers her when it appears she is too revealing. Is that a sign that a portion or all of Makoto’s humanity has been lost, in comparison to Batou? Complicating the issue is that The Major may simply view her body as unimportant. It isn’t hers, after all; it’s a metal shell. On the other hand, could machines wonder about their own consciousness? Also, the honchos in charge of Section 9 regard their subjects’ “bodies” with clinical detachment, despite being far less synthetic. What does that say about their humanity? The film drops many clues, but nary an answer.
The coldness with which the agency heads regard their cybernetic charges is perhaps the most frightening aspect of Ghost in the Shell, one that rapidly steers it into the realm of technological nightmare. The film appears to be fantastical on the surface, a chilling “what-might-be” scenario. And yet, look around us. I am currently typing this review on a Core i5 Toshiba laptop. It is far from a cutting-edge machine; yet it enables me to transcribe my thoughts faster, save them word-for-word, erase and edit as needed, and share them instantly to millions of others. We are already in a world of tremendous synthetic enhancement. More dramatic, the artificial limbs that seemed far-fetched when Luke lost his hand in The Empire Strikes Back have practically become reality. Even as such synthetic advancement serves us, it comes with a hidden cost.
Operating by proxy through machine increases the distance between our interactions, and thus increases our detachment to one another. When everyone is an avatar, all too frequently we see each other as just that; an abstract entity, to whom no responsibility or accountability is owed. If this seems like a bit of a stretch, keep in mind that numerous articles can be found about the advance of cyberbullying in the current age, and even deaths which have resulted from it. Even easier, just visit your average internet comment section, and take in some of the hateful verbiage and rancor that are found there. Ask yourself if that has made us better as a society.
Technology is a great tool. It has the possibility to benefit us tremendously in nearly every capacity, but it also has the capacity to change us definably as human beings. By the time we’ve found how far we’ve drifted from ourselves, will it be too late?
The answer, as they say, is flowing in the circuits.
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Akira
In so many ways, one cannot really begin to talk about anime without first discussing Akira. It is perhaps the iconic movie in any library of Japanese animation. The fantastic opening, in which a gigantic pressure wave synonymous with nuclear explosion disintegrates a city, has been replicated more times in works of popular culture than bear mentioning. Certain films have a sense of presence, a “power” or gravitas if you will that makes them remarkable. Akira is one such film.
Throughout the course of Akira, you will encounter, among other things: roving biker gangs, a sprawling toxic urban jungle built vertically on top of old Tokyo, children with telekinetic powers, mad hallucinations, grotesque mutating body parts, the 2020 Tokyo Olympics (which are actually en route to happen by the way; God help us all), chases on fully armed hoverbikes in underground sewers, and of course, the massive pressure wave scene discussed before. If that is not enough to get your blood pumping, I’m afraid I can’t help you. Oh wait. Yes I can. Let me discuss the art.
When in came out in 1988, the visuals of Akira were light-years ahead of any work that had come before in Japanese animation. Indeed, even in a modern age of computer assistance and nigh approaching its 30th anniversary, the animation still holds up as remarkable. Try gazing at a skyscraper lit with thousands of individual windows, mobs of people obscured by wisps of smoke and heat distortion, or gaudy living advertisements strutting their way over the dark city skyline, and then comprehend that all of that was painstakingly etched by hand. Every window. Every puff of smoke. Tell me your mind doesn’t melt a little. Of course, all of the stunning efforts of Akira’s animators would have been wasted without a similarly grandiose vision, and that is supplied by the film’s legendary director, Katsuhiro Ôtomo. His portrayal of a gritty and decaying city landscape is every bit the achievement of Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner or Fritz Lang’s Metropolis. And the frequent sequences of action figuratively and quite often literally explode on screen, with uniquely ambitious scale and a famously extreme appetite for violence and gore. The eye candy is balanced out by a memorable soundtrack; the best piece is a vibrant jungle beat that brings to mind the film’s signature anarchy and primordial tastes.
But all technical wizardry aside, what is Akira truly about? Limited to one word: apocalypse. The term has been overapplied in today’s news and art; in western culture, apocalypse has come to signify everything expressly negative; death, destruction, and complete upheaval of our neat and enjoyable ordinary lives. In truth, the term apocalypse was always more complex. Ancient Greek defines the term as “an uncovering,” and its famous use in the Book of Revelation recognizes apocalypse as a multifaceted event. Death and destruction is evident, yes; but the fundamental nature of the apocalypse is that it encompasses a major change in human understanding or existence. As one dies, so is another born. Japan has a more solid understanding of this phenomenon than perhaps any nation on earth. Disaster is interwoven and unique in its history; Japan is famously in the path of huge oceanic storms, tsunamis and earthquakes. It was the first and only country to experience the dropping of the atomic bomb; and at the same time, experienced the even more destructive firebombing of its capital city. In recent times, Japan was subject to the Fukushima disaster. Occasionally, disaster has even been a benefactor to Japan; the typhoons which struck and destroyed a Mongol invasion force were termed “Kamikaze,” or, “Divine Wind.” Later, the Japanese would use this term to devise a disaster of their own making.
Each of these events caused widespread suffering. Yet for the Japanese, the continual coming and going of disaster has granted it a unique understanding of tumult; a stoic wisdom that apocalypse is inherent to human existence, and a natural cycle. Disaster may produce a period of upheaval and chaos, but when it leaves, it allows for the progression of new ideas and identities. After every storm, Japan rebuilds. After the nightmare of World War II, it saw itself transition from a fascist state into a powerful player in the capitalist sphere. Buildings toppled by natural disasters are replaced quickly by newer, more sturdy ones. Japan is one of the most technologically forward places in the world. Embracing growth and progress, it is reasoned, means that one will also embrace chaotic and often painful means of restructuring. To not do so, as in Akira where telekinetic children are left forever stunted in order to dull their capabilities, is presented as unnatural and limiting for the human condition. There is also a hope expressed in Akira that perhaps the cycle will not always be so destructive. That someday, we will develop the wisdom and sensitivity to catch up with our appetite for knowledge and technology, and thus use them in ways which are more uniformly positive.
Apocalypse then, at its most pure essence, is change. Not change necessarily for better, or for worse. Simply change. The circumstances that swirl around are secondary to the wonder of the event itself, an event which is power to revolutionize us and the world. Akira understands this concept fully, and indeed, the destructive forces at play are more hypnotic than anything; awe-inspiring, dwarfing the human elements caught amidst the maelstrom. The movie itself is that kind of experience. It changes our perceptions by painting with broad, bold strokes, stoking the imagination with fearless aplomb and blowing us away with tremendous, ground-shaking sequences. It is feverishly ambitious, unapologetically violent, and fearlessly abstract. Akira is king.
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Introduction
I can’t tell you how many times I have heard the following: “I just don’t like anime.”
It’s a declaration waged across the lines; from every disparate grouping or individual identity, from family, friends, and acquaintances alike. Chances are if you have not heard this turn of phrase before, you have said it yourself. But why does Japanese animation often carry such a sullied reputation? The answer can usually be boiled down to one of four possibilities.
1. Limited/and or Negative Experiences
Understand that no matter what genre or styling of film there is to be had, there will always be a few pieces that are just…well, garbage. When I was a kid, my only experience with anime was probably the same as for many; early morning cartoons, with jerky, cheap animations, nonsensical quasi-storylines, and lots and lots of screaming. Not exactly the sort of thing that will endear most types of people to the medium. I flipped the channel to One Saturday Morning, watched Recess, and enjoyed my sugar cereal in peace.
The problem with this assertation is that a small sample size will always incur a higher proportion of random chance. This is universally true no matter what is being talked about. If you have never watched science-fiction before, and your first experience is Plan 9 from Outer Space, you might come away with the assumption that all science-fiction is ridiculous. If you have never had Chinese food before, and your first taste is Hundred Year-Old Egg, you will probably decide Chinese food sucks. If you are driving a Toyota for the first time, and the gas pedal sticks, you will probably wish in retrospect you had never bought a Toyota. You might be right on that count, you might be wrong. The point is, in each of these cases, you might hold different opinions if you garnered a larger sample size. You might decide you liked science-fiction after seeing Star Wars or 2001: A Space Odyssey, you might order Chinese takeout again after some General Tso’s Chicken, you might champion the excellent mileage and engine quality of Toyota after buying 5 subsequent Toyota’s. Provided of course, you were able to bail out in time before the thing flew off a cliff.
For the record, I don’t have anything against Toyota. I just needed to influx some humor, I’m limited creatively, and it was there. Onto Numero Dos.
2. Animation Don’t Get No Respect (Well, Here Anyway)
When it comes time for accolades, awards, and recognition, animation clearly gets the Rodney Dangerfield treatment.
Consider the following: since 2000, only two animated films (Toy Story 3 and Up) have earned a Best Picture nomination from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. The other animated films released during that timeframe? Spirited Away, Finding Nemo, The Incredibles, Ratatouille, Wall-E, Inside Out, Zootopia…and so on, and so forth. All of these films had over 95% on Rotten Tomatoes’ famed Tomatometer, and a few were listed as some of the best films of the decade by film critics, but apparently did not do enough to warrant a nod. Last year (2016) saw all 5 nominees for Best Animated Feature crack a Tomatometer score 95% or above. Not one received a nomination for Best Picture.
There seems to exist a perception in America that animated features are lesser works. Perhaps this opinion is perpetuated by a belief that the skill required to painstakingly craft an entire world, often by hand, does not equate to the organizational and logistical challenges of live-action work. The lack of open-mindedness towards animated works hurts Japanese animation by proxy, regardless of the blatant unfairness involved.
Mystifyingly, while the United States regards the animated form with a rather chilly demeanor, Japan has embraced animation in their culture with open arms, rewarding films such as Spirited Away and Princess Mononoke with the Japan Academy Prize for Best Picture, and oodles and oodles of money at the box office. This disparity between nations can probably be accounted to a number of factors, but none more so than this:
3. Animation is for Kiddies
Man, oh man, is this a common reason for disliking anime, and what a frustrating one at that. Firstly; the assumption is not accurate. Check out films such as Akira or Ghost in the Shell. Go ahead, pop those suckers in at daycare. Email me the aftermath a few days later, I could use a laugh. Secondly; implying that animated works exist solely for younger audiences shoehorns the entire medium into a particular convention, when in fact, it exists across an infinity of styles and genres. You can have science-fiction in animation. You can have animations that are dramas, or action-adventures, or comedies. You can have animations that are horror films; yes, horror films! Check out Perfect Blue. Regarding any brand of filmmaking as something exclusively for children is close-minded, simplistic, and just plain wrong.
Thirdly; what if an animated film ends up being child-friendly? So what? Is that such a bad thing, that you can watch a film with somebody younger than you, and enjoy an experience together, and have meaningful discussions afterward regarding what the film said and did? It is good for society, to have films that promote such dialogue and social connection. That is not to say that child-friendly works must be watched exclusively with children either. The fear of watching something because it might make you seem “immature” or “kiddy” is irrational and silly. Besides that, films for younger audiences tend to feature themes which are more readily universal and positive, which are good things for one to reflect on no matter their age. It isn’t always such a bad thing to connect to your inner child; hell, I’m always looking for any way possible to feel younger than I am.
4. Cultural Differences
This is probably the most understandable and least easily overcome problem regarding anime. Because the medium is generally produced with Japanese audiences in mind, there can be gaps in understanding, different flavors or tastes to the proceedings which can seem indigestible or “weird”, and even basic language incompatibilities. I find that the more I watch anime, the more I grow to understand and appreciate these differences. If you find anime to be off-putting, I would suggest starting with something more accessible to western audiences or newcomers. There are a lot of great films which fall into this category, movies that can be enjoyed virtually right off the bat. Inevitably, the more you watch, the more you expand your horizons. That is a good thing; for both your film tastes, and your personhood.
I didn’t really get into anime at first. Obviously, as a kid growing up in the 1990’s, Disney took priority. It was a good time to be a Disney fan. As I grew older, Roger Ebert and others piqued my interest in the likes of Pixar, which was consistently putting out some of the best films in the world. Finally, when I reached college, I began to investigate Japanese animation. I enjoyed it, but it was Mamoru Hosoda’s sublime film Wolf Children that proved to be a life-changing experience, and flung the door open wide for a literal whole new world of film. Anime has proved to be a great addition to me; culturally, creatively, and simply from a point of personal happiness. Recently, I’ve considered that, if not for the writings of people like Roger Ebert or Richard Roeper, I might not have ever given anime a shot. With that in mind, I decided to write what I call, “12 Days of Anime.” Each day, proceeding towards December 25th of this year, will feature a different review of a Japanese-animated work. To simplify things, I am operating with a few ground rules. One; only feature-length films will be listed, because I simply do not have time to grind through 100+ episodes of television a pop, and most of you probably do not either. Two; where an English-language dubbed copy and Japanese-language subtitled copy exist, I will default to the dubbed variety, again, to make things more accessible for newcomers. These films aren’t listed in any particular chronology or order, but I consider all of them great pieces, and they adopt a variety of genres and tones so that no matter your personal tastes, there is something here which may pique your interest. I hope that if you have been resistant towards trying out Japanese anime in the past, are looking to get into something new and enlightening for 2018, or are simply a goofball enthusiast like me, this guide will be of some use and value towards you.
Let’s get started!
-Marcus Ganser
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