Supernanny vs. Totoro
Auteur is perhaps an overused term, but I think it applies in Miyazaki's case. There are a great number of common themes that emerge from his oeuvre that deserve close inspection: concern for the environment; strong female characters, including the grandmother figures; complex characterisation, with the absence of clear-cut "goodies" and "baddies"; the use of title and credit sequences to provide prologues and epilogues. Then there is the sheer beauty and art of his animation: all hand-drawn (at least until Howl's Moving Castle, there was no CGI). Sunsets (my screen wallpaper is Porco Rosso flying against a crimson sky); woodland and fields with each individual leaf seemingly picked out; running water; reflections in mirrors. None simple, yet all deftly executed and interwoven without showiness, despite the skill on show. And the petrolhead in me loves the faithful recreation of technology in the old cars and planes that recur. Miyazaki's father was apparently in the team that designed the Zero fighter plane.
But the theme I would like to highlight in this post is Miyazaki versus Supernanny. We are afflicted by an Expert culture which claims a monopoly of knowledge witheld from us mere mortals. Now, while this is probably the case for the theoretical physicists among us, parenting ain't rocket science: we all have the instincts to manage if we only had belief in ourselves, and no-one knows individual children better than their own parents. Trouble is, Supernanny has little or no theory, and doesn't have kids. The notoriously litigious Gina Ford likewise has no children, basing her approach on observations of her pet dogs. Are these the people we should be entrusting our children to, rather than taking reponsibility ourselves? I know parenting is not easy, but outsourcing is not the answer. Particularly not if we want children who sincerely apologise because they want to, rather than out of fear of the naughty step. Not if we want children who can think for themselves, and understand where their best interests lie, rather than unthinkingly submitting to whichever authority figure stands over them. Not if we want children with high self-esteem. I like Alfie Kohn's approach:
My advice is to make a point of apologizing to your child about something at least twice a month. Why twice a month? I don't know. It sounds about right to me. (Almost all the specific advice in parenting books is similarly arbitrary. At least I admit it.)Kohn is a little harsh on himself, there, as his work draws heavily on peer-reviewed studies. Still, the cry goes out from this Community: take our children seriously.
So what does this have to do with anime films? Well, let's look at My Neighbour Totoro. I'll try not to give too many spoilers. although the film is really character driven rather than an incident-packed romp. A Japanese academic moves with his two children - Tsatsuki and Mei - to a tumbledown house in the countryside. The girls' mother is in hospital with an unspecified disease (unlike Mr Kermode's thesis on the "Non-specific Hollywood Illness", however, she doesn't look exceedingly glamorous). If you have a tendency to interpret art with reference to biography, you may be interested to learn that Miyazaki's own mother was hospitalised with Tuberculosis...
The girl's father is an absent-minded academic (so no cliches there); it seems at first as though his laissez-faire attitude to letting the girls get on with exploring the house and its environs by themselves is simply a function of his unworldliness. In their roaming, the girls uncover, first, dust sprites, and then the eponymous Totoro - one-half cat, one-half owl, one-half teddy-bear and one-third innumerate. Unlike Elliott in ET, however, the girls see no need to conceal their finds from their father or from the elderly neighbour they call Granny. Indeed, Granny says she used to see the dust sprites herself as a young girl. The girls clearly see the adults in their life as allies, not adversaries; as a result of the trust placed in them, they have the confidence and independence to act on their own. This doesn't result in mischief-making: an extended sequence revolves around the girls going to meet their father off the bus, which entails a long walk on a rainy evening.
The route to Totoro's lair is not always open. Mei - the younger child - is the first to see the three Totoros, and is determined to show them to her sister and father, but can't find the route, leading to a comical episode of her running in and out of bushes. But when she accuses the others of thinking she is lying, her dad steps in and says no, he thinks she saw the spirit of the forest (anyone hear any echoes from Princess Mononoke?). They walk to the tall camphor tree that dominates the valley to pay their respects. In this way, the father shows that he does take his children's beliefs and needs seriously, and will take steps to meet those needs, however strange or unnecessary he might find them himself. The quid-pro-quo (although I would be reluctant to argue that this behaviour is solely motivated by such naked calculation) is the strong and loving relationship he enjoys with his children.
Similar ideas can be seen in Kiki's Delivery Service, where it is the tradition for young witches to spend a year away from home completing their witch's training: the witch herself sets out to choose the place and form of that training. Kiki and her parents clearly have a close relationship, illustrated by a scene in which her father spins her around in an echo of her childhood, but that relationship is healthy enough for her parents to be able to let her go when the time comes. Similarly, in Whisper of the Heart, which, although animated, is a realistic portrayal of coming-of-age. The young heroine is a typical Japanese schoolgirl, under pressure to do well in her exams, but she is overwhelmed by the need to try writing a novel. Aware that her schoolwork is suffering, her parents discuss the matter with her; on seeing the importance of the novel to their daughter, they agree that she should devote her energy towards completing it.
Now, I don't know enough about Japanese society to judge whether this approach is typical among Japanese parents. What does strike me when I watch these films again is how refreshing it is to see such ideas reflected on the screen as opposed to the standard set-up pitting parents against children. I cannot speak highly enough of Miyazake's films, and will probably return to the subject in future posts. My Neighbour Totoro is an outstanding film for people of all ages, a delightful contrast to the frenetic nature of Western films aimed at children (Magic Roundabout, anyone? Thought not...) Perhaps the biggest mystery for me is that Studio Ghibli were not confident anyone would go see it, so they distributed it as a double bill with Grave of the Fireflies, a harrowing tale of two children effectively orphaned in a World War II firestorm...
Labels: anime, gina ford, miyazaki, supernanny, totoro


