The Second Opinion

Round 7: Hans ChristianAnderson

Thumbelina  vs. PONYO

Who Did It First? Who Did It Better?

            By coincidence, both Bluth and Miyazaki have contested 1989’s The Little Mermaid; Miyazaki by applying his style to create a very different version both more and less (mostly less) true to the original story, and Bluth by using the same lead voice to recreate a different tale by the same author. While neither is the respective director’s greatest success, there is none-the-less a noticeable difference in the results.

Thumbelina: Coming off the failure of Rock-A-Doodle, Bluth was probably feeling the pressure to produce another success like The Land Before Time. Whether it was his own idea or some other party within the companies involved, the result is a slight flick that borrows heavily from Disney right down to the lead actress.

Jodie Benson’s Thumbelina, the little girl no bigger than a human thumb, isn’t the only thing in the movie that’s small; the dilemmas are small, the lessons are small, the action is small, the villains’ schemes are small, and in the end, it is altogether a small movie. And yet, on its own terms, the movie begins to work by making one other thing small; the scope. The challenges the movie presents are not always as demanding or weighty as per standard, yet in the world of Thumbelina, they are the most we, and the cast, need worry about. We zero in on simple issues and are given space to observe, to breathe it in, and it has a quiet charm. Bluth’s animation even manages to make it less bland and more distinct in tone.

When a lonely woman wishes for a child, a witch gives her a flower that produces the tiny Thumbelina upon blooming. Thumbelina’s conflict is self-explanatory, and the movie, trying alittle too hard to make us believe that her size bothers her, gives her a meek, woeful attitude that gets old after showing up one too many times. Still, it also provides her with a character arc, capped off well by the moment she finally stands up for herself.

When the fairy prince Cornelius discovers her, they fall into standard fairy tale love, and their song together titled “Let Me Be Your Wings” is perhaps the movie’s strongest highlight, despite its similarity to “I Can Show You the World”. (The movie also has a Razzie-winning song titled “Marry the Mole” which, like “Welcome to the Good Ship Misery”, is bad but sort of amusing. At least Thumbelina found it catchy.)

The rest of the movie is the lovers’ quest to be reunited after Thumbelina is stolen by an opportunistic toad. She stumbles her way back through the forest, encountering several scheming animals and a few friendly ones. You’d have to look elsewhere for special villains, though Gilbert Gottfried’s Beetle pulls off some amusing moments.

Thumbelina is both sweet and distinct enough to act as a “nostalgic” movie, as it does for me, and I was happy to find aspects of it still charming and enjoyable. I can’t recommend against it. Still, it barely ever rises above “passable”, and the clear attempts to rip off Disney really do get in the way. I can’t quite recommend it either.

Final score: 5.5/10

Ponyo: As director, Ponyo is Miyazaki’s last film to date, a couple projects after the two that are largely considered his best. Here, he takes “The Little Mermaid” and re-imagines it as a story of two five year olds who grow to love each other like family.

In this new version of the story, the king of the sea is now Fujimoto, a wizard of sorts who chose to cut himself off from humanity and develop strange projects. Whether one such project was his daughters, goldfish with human faces rather than mermaids, is a bit uncertain. (The mother is a goddess of the sea, absent from the story until Fujimoto is forced to summon her back.)

One of his daughters slips away to the surface and winds up stuck in a bottle, where a boy named Sōsuke finds her, names her “Ponyo” and shows her some TLC, developing a bond between them. Fujimoto manages to steal her back, but her time on land has developed her own powers to the point where they are worthy of his own, and she soon transforms and escapes to rejoin Sōsuke in the world that has her fascinated. The animation in the sequence that follows resembles an oil painting. Miyazaki’s artwork is creative as ever this time around.

Ponyo is another of Miyazaki’s more simple movies (not to be confused with “simpleminded” movies), and the biggest joy is watching the characters experience wonders just a step more magical than those found in real life. Sometimes less than that. The little fishing town he creates is as well done as the town in Kiki’s Delivery Service, and just day to day life in it is entertaining to observe. (Particularly, I enjoyed how Sōsuke can operate a signal lamp to communicate with his father out at sea.) This goes for many of the characters as well. Sōsuke’s mother is still a young parent, almost as flawed as she is energetic and likable. The retirement home she looks after houses the one character in the movie besides Fujimoto who could stand to change their outlook; a cynical, somewhat paranoid old woman who seems to have trouble trusting others.

But the biggest joy in the movie is Ponyo herself, who bursts with charisma, which might be the first time that such is the word to describe a “cute little girl” character. She’s another improvement on the usual pig-tailed, dewy-eyed, passive-aggressively cutesy kid. Ponyo as a girl is a bit chubby, with short red hair and an energetic, proactive personality.  She has about as much of a clue as the average five year old in a brand new place but doesn’t wait for explanations, preferring actions over words to express herself. Finding out for herself is part of the fun.

But all is not well, as the magic she unleashed while crossing over to the land of men has shaken the balance of the world, which is now beginning to flood. After deciding that Ponyo is where she wants to be, her parents plan a test for Sōsuke, which will restore the balance and, if he passes, give Ponyo permanent humanity. If he fails, Ponyo will become sea foam, about the only thing directly taken from the source.

When the town floods, Ponyo, using the same tools that made her a girl, turns Sōsuke’s toy boat into a real one, and they travel together in a dreamlike sequence that is the movie’s best. Fujimoto sets up an elaborate ruse for Sōsuke’s test and puts it into action when they arrive. The ending effectively creates and summarizes the problems with this movie. After setting up a serious conflict and a challenging solution, the payoff suggests a lopped-off finale replaced with approximately five sentences, and the previous buildup becomes baggage.

Throughout his career, Miyazaki has created at least one movie at every age level up to adulthood (and is allegedly planning a sequel to Porco Rosso covering old age). Ponyo is perhaps at an even younger level than My Neighbor Totoro, with which it shares some of the same charm and effect. Sometimes it hits even harder. But as a whole, it doesn’t work quite as well. If the conflict was never meant to be the focus, it should have been stripped of the serious implications that end up resolved with no effort. Personally, I would have liked to see the additional story that could have come from them.

Final score: 8/10

Winner: While Bluth’s offering, which alters the source material just enough to create a running conflict, could teach Miyazaki’s something about cohesiveness, there is little question as to which is the better movie. Other than it’s (as is) superfluous conflict, Ponyo is small in scope as well, yet its simple joys far exceed the passable level reached by Thumbelina. It’s another easy one for Miyazaki (though the answer to both of the titular questions happens to be “Disney”).

Round 7: Hans ChristianAnderson

Thumbelina  vs. PONYO

Who Did It First? Who Did It Better?

            By coincidence, both Bluth and Miyazaki have contested 1989’s The Little Mermaid; Miyazaki by applying his style to create a very different version both more and less (mostly less) true to the original story, and Bluth by using the same lead voice to recreate a different tale by the same author. While neither is the respective director’s greatest success, there is none-the-less a noticeable difference in the results.

Thumbelina: Coming off the failure of Rock-A-Doodle, Bluth was probably feeling the pressure to produce another success like The Land Before Time. Whether it was his own idea or some other party within the companies involved, the result is a slight flick that borrows heavily from Disney right down to the lead actress.

Jodie Benson’s Thumbelina, the little girl no bigger than a human thumb, isn’t the only thing in the movie that’s small; the dilemmas are small, the lessons are small, the action is small, the villains’ schemes are small, and in the end, it is altogether a small movie. And yet, on its own terms, the movie begins to work by making one other thing small; the scope. The challenges the movie presents are not always as demanding or weighty as per standard, yet in the world of Thumbelina, they are the most we, and the cast, need worry about. We zero in on simple issues and are given space to observe, to breathe it in, and it has a quiet charm. Bluth’s animation even manages to make it less bland and more distinct in tone.

When a lonely woman wishes for a child, a witch gives her a flower that produces the tiny Thumbelina upon blooming. Thumbelina’s conflict is self-explanatory, and the movie, trying alittle too hard to make us believe that her size bothers her, gives her a meek, woeful attitude that gets old after showing up one too many times. Still, it also provides her with a character arc, capped off well by the moment she finally stands up for herself.

When the fairy prince Cornelius discovers her, they fall into standard fairy tale love, and their song together titled “Let Me Be Your Wings” is perhaps the movie’s strongest highlight, despite its similarity to “I Can Show You the World”. (The movie also has a Razzie-winning song titled “Marry the Mole” which, like “Welcome to the Good Ship Misery”, is bad but sort of amusing. At least Thumbelina found it catchy.)

The rest of the movie is the lovers’ quest to be reunited after Thumbelina is stolen by an opportunistic toad. She stumbles her way back through the forest, encountering several scheming animals and a few friendly ones. You’d have to look elsewhere for special villains, though Gilbert Gottfried’s Beetle pulls off some amusing moments.

Thumbelina is both sweet and distinct enough to act as a “nostalgic” movie, as it does for me, and I was happy to find aspects of it still charming and enjoyable. I can’t recommend against it. Still, it barely ever rises above “passable”, and the clear attempts to rip off Disney really do get in the way. I can’t quite recommend it either.

Final score: 5.5/10

Ponyo: As director, Ponyo is Miyazaki’s last film to date, a couple projects after the two that are largely considered his best. Here, he takes “The Little Mermaid” and re-imagines it as a story of two five year olds who grow to love each other like family.

In this new version of the story, the king of the sea is now Fujimoto, a wizard of sorts who chose to cut himself off from humanity and develop strange projects. Whether one such project was his daughters, goldfish with human faces rather than mermaids, is a bit uncertain. (The mother is a goddess of the sea, absent from the story until Fujimoto is forced to summon her back.)

One of his daughters slips away to the surface and winds up stuck in a bottle, where a boy named Sōsuke finds her, names her “Ponyo” and shows her some TLC, developing a bond between them. Fujimoto manages to steal her back, but her time on land has developed her own powers to the point where they are worthy of his own, and she soon transforms and escapes to rejoin Sōsuke in the world that has her fascinated. The animation in the sequence that follows resembles an oil painting. Miyazaki’s artwork is creative as ever this time around.

Ponyo is another of Miyazaki’s more simple movies (not to be confused with “simpleminded” movies), and the biggest joy is watching the characters experience wonders just a step more magical than those found in real life. Sometimes less than that. The little fishing town he creates is as well done as the town in Kiki’s Delivery Service, and just day to day life in it is entertaining to observe. (Particularly, I enjoyed how Sōsuke can operate a signal lamp to communicate with his father out at sea.) This goes for many of the characters as well. Sōsuke’s mother is still a young parent, almost as flawed as she is energetic and likable. The retirement home she looks after houses the one character in the movie besides Fujimoto who could stand to change their outlook; a cynical, somewhat paranoid old woman who seems to have trouble trusting others.

But the biggest joy in the movie is Ponyo herself, who bursts with charisma, which might be the first time that such is the word to describe a “cute little girl” character. She’s another improvement on the usual pig-tailed, dewy-eyed, passive-aggressively cutesy kid. Ponyo as a girl is a bit chubby, with short red hair and an energetic, proactive personality.  She has about as much of a clue as the average five year old in a brand new place but doesn’t wait for explanations, preferring actions over words to express herself. Finding out for herself is part of the fun.

But all is not well, as the magic she unleashed while crossing over to the land of men has shaken the balance of the world, which is now beginning to flood. After deciding that Ponyo is where she wants to be, her parents plan a test for Sōsuke, which will restore the balance and, if he passes, give Ponyo permanent humanity. If he fails, Ponyo will become sea foam, about the only thing directly taken from the source.

When the town floods, Ponyo, using the same tools that made her a girl, turns Sōsuke’s toy boat into a real one, and they travel together in a dreamlike sequence that is the movie’s best. Fujimoto sets up an elaborate ruse for Sōsuke’s test and puts it into action when they arrive. The ending effectively creates and summarizes the problems with this movie. After setting up a serious conflict and a challenging solution, the payoff suggests a lopped-off finale replaced with approximately five sentences, and the previous buildup becomes baggage.

Throughout his career, Miyazaki has created at least one movie at every age level up to adulthood (and is allegedly planning a sequel to Porco Rosso covering old age). Ponyo is perhaps at an even younger level than My Neighbor Totoro, with which it shares some of the same charm and effect. Sometimes it hits even harder. But as a whole, it doesn’t work quite as well. If the conflict was never meant to be the focus, it should have been stripped of the serious implications that end up resolved with no effort. Personally, I would have liked to see the additional story that could have come from them.

Final score: 8/10

Winner: While Bluth’s offering, which alters the source material just enough to create a running conflict, could teach Miyazaki’s something about cohesiveness, there is little question as to which is the better movie. Other than it’s (as is) superfluous conflict, Ponyo is small in scope as well, yet its simple joys far exceed the passable level reached by Thumbelina. It’s another easy one for Miyazaki (though the answer to both of the titular questions happens to be “Disney”).

Round 6: Character Driven Heights

Kiki’s Delivery Service vs. All Dogs Go To Heaven

Sweet Sincerity

                        This time, in both respective entries, Don Bluth and Hayao Miyazaki altered their approaches a bit, calling back elements of what they’d done well before while adding some new ideas. Both had passion to their visions, and after some time in production, both came out with movies that showed it.

Kiki’s Delivery Service: I’d be proud to call myself a fan of Miyazaki’s work. I’d be happy to say which of his movies is my favorite. Except on a list that includes action-packed epics, nail-biting heists, and mind-bending tales of magic, he somehow managed to make it his tween girl coming-of-age film. Kiki’s Delivery Service is one of those movies that eventually made me forget everything else and wrapped me up in the story to the point where I only realized just how much I’d loved it as it ended. I couldn’t justify it. I can only smile every time I remember it or watch it again.

Kiki is our protagonist, a witch who has just reached her 13th birthday. She’s hopeful, though a bit insecure, and despite some teenage angst and impetuousness, she shows true decency. Like people we know in real life, she doesn’t have a single trait that stands out above all others, but she is three dimensional. Many people, perhaps even outside the target demographic, may see themselves in Kiki. She’s an appropriate center for a story like this.

In the tradition of witches in this world, Kiki leaves home at age 13 to live a year on her own, flying on her mother’s broom with her black cat Jiji to find a city to settle in. They come across a city inspired by towns in Sweden, drawn with beautiful detail, and Kiki decides to move in. Because she has not found a magical talent besides flying on her broomstick, other than talking to Jiji, she decides to start the titular delivery service.

One of the most beloved aspects of the movie is its characters, who make every little adventure of Kiki’s interesting. After meeting some cold indifference in the new town, a jolly baker named Osono offers to let Kiki use their spare room. She and her husband are expecting their first child, and she takes to filling the maternal role for Kiki almost naturally. A local boy named Tombo, who loves aviation, takes a liking to Kiki that at first goes unreciprocated. He makes for one of the more unique romantic interests I’ve seen. One of her deliveries leads Kiki to go out of her way to help a kindly old woman, for which life at first seems to reward her with a disheartening slap. And a spirited painter named Ursula becomes an interesting friend, providing Kiki with the perfect encouragement in the moment she needs it. Every outing with these people is punctuated with little unforgettable details, from a special casserole baked in an old-fashioned oven to a bike built by Tombo to run with a large propeller connected to the pedals. All of these put the animation to good use, which is sometimes what makes them memorable.

If that were that, I’d give it the same score as the standard good examples of Miyazaki’s filmmaking and compare it to My Neighbor Totoro as a movie that targets a slightly older demographic with a similar vision. But everything is taken to the next level when we reach the third act, one of my favorites in any movie.

After a small string of letdowns, and a revelation that even flying can get boring, Kiki comes home to discover that she can no longer understand Jiji or fly, effectively crippling her success, and the movie moves beyond a single demographic, reaching out to everyone. Ursula compares it to artistic blocks she gets from time to time.

“Sometimes I’m unable to paint a thing,” says Ursula.

“Without even thinking about it I used to be able to fly,” answers Kiki.

Who, in that light, can’t relate to Kiki? Is there anyone who never, say, spent the afternoon missing baskets they usually make, or stumbled over questions in a class they’d been passing, or tried to write a story and found themselves at a loss on where to begin? Ursula would suggest coming back to it later.

“We fly with our spirits,” Kiki informs her in a rather touching scene.

“That same spirit is what makes me paint and makes your friend bake,” she answers reflectively “but we each need to find our own inspiration.”

But Kiki finds herself in the one moment that demands she draw it out when a friend needs her the most. What does she learn from this? Probably not to underestimate herself. Life can have a way of putting us to the test, and while humility is to be valued, many of us are worthier than we give ourselves credit for. We all have our own cause to inspire us.

Final score: 9.5/10

All Dogs Go To Heaven: Sometimes I still think the most fun I ever had with movies was watching my first animated films. Perhaps no stories since have made me as nervous when someone was in trouble, or as excited when the action grew intense, or as happy when the heroes triumphed. Part of it was of course being young and naive, but for pure film escapism, I still think a hand drawn atmosphere may be the best suited of all. But still, it’s not the same when you get older, and there was a period where I thought I was past liking animated movies as much as I used to, until I revisited All Dogs Go To Heaven. This movie is the reason I became a fan of Don Bluth.

Charlie the dog, with the voice and mannerisms of Burt Reynolds, lives a gangster’s life in New Orleans. He’s always looked out for himself and enjoys playing the game of life. His sinister business partner, a pit bull named Carface, double crosses him, and he ends up in heaven, as dogs are “naturally good”. But Charlie desires more adventures (and payback) and swipes the watch that is his life counter, returning to earth. But he’s followed by cries of “you can never come back” that haunt him throughout the movie. Back on earth, Charlie steals Carface’s secret weapon for betting on animal races, a creature he imprisoned that can communicate with not just its own kind but every animal; an orphan girl named Anne-Marie.

The rivalry with Carface is pushed to the background, as the real story, and the driving force running the show, is Charlie’s character arc. He’s not exactly a good guy, but he is likable and fun to follow. Even when he’s angry or upset, there’s real energy to the character that keeps the audience engaged. And though he’s hardly selfless, we really do care about him. He’s a lovable rogue, and we can just glimpse kindness in him. He goes well with his best friend Itchy (Dom DeLuise), the comical but loyal dachshund. But what really develops him is his relationship with little Anne-Marie. Sweet and naive but not stupid, bratty, or overly cutesy, Anne-Marie is a well done character. She never holds grudges, and she’s nothing but friendly to Charlie (who”rescued” her), but she tells him when she’s displeased with him. When something he asks her to do feels wrong, she refuses. So he plays the role of friend and philanthropist to keep her happy and get her to work with him. It’s self-motivated, but we are quick to note that it separates him from Carface, whose preferred tactic was to bully her. He’s not looking for a friend (and doesn’t like being kissed on the nose), but still she grows on him.

What really boosts the whole effect is the atmosphere. In giving off a sense of sheer emotion, light and dark, All Dogs Go To Heaven’s is still the most resonant animated film I’ve seen. The colors are rich and invigorating and give the world onscreen a presence. But that wouldn’t be enough on its own. Bluth’s movies tend to have a sincerity to them, and here he takes that charm to the next level. The three leads all have chemistry together, and we only grow more invested in them as the movie goes on. Bluth permits them to act a bit unusual and have some unconventional adventures, which some people find off-putting. This is perhaps his most polarizing movie. I do have to take points off for the scene in which a giant alligator appears from out of nowhere, but even that was amusing enough. The villain is a nice touch too, in that he provides excitement above the standard for Bluth’s movies. The humor works well, both on a cute level and for hardy laughs, but the genuine moments, wisely limited and free of treacle, are probably even more effective. The ending scene may be the most touching I’ve ever seen in animation.

All Dogs Go To Heaven, polarizing indeed, did not achieve the most success of all Bluth’s works, but those who understand it may find it to be his most passionate project of all. I highly recommend it.

Final Score: 9.5/10

Winner: Bluth. As much as I love Kiki’s Delivery Service, All Dogs Go To Heaven finishes a good two places ahead of it on my animation favorites list. It recalls of the biggest difference between the two directors. Miyazaki has been more consistent, as it seems he knew exactly what he wanted to be and what types of stories he wanted to tell. Bluth started his company as lead director to revive his beloved animation, which is a less specific goal but on the other hand could be a sign of even greater passion. He has had less success, but if all the pieces fall into place, he might have even more to offer than Hayao Miyazaki. He definitely won me over this time.

The Different Dubs

            I suppose I should say what I think about the different English dubs of Kiki’s Delivery Service vs. the original one in Japanese. (If you know where to find the second English dub, let me know.) I found Phil Hartman’s Jiji likable and often funny. Though some lines added for him in the first English dub (Disney’s) were just as well unsaid, it came across as the character just being himself and never felt detracting. (The original Jiji was voiced by a woman, as is common in Japan when cats of either gender are given a voice, and acted as the voice of reason for Kiki. I’m sure this was all well and good, but it doesn’t exactly sound like an interesting character.) When I learned that he originally lost the ability to speak to Kiki permanently, I thought it was a serious difference that demanded one pick a version to side with, but after thinking about it, it’s really not. There’s no need to feel sorry in the version where their relationship changes for good, as relationships sometimes do. Kiki and Jiji both still remember the past, and, as we see in the credits, they’re still friends and still appreciate each other. Kiki matures beyond talking to her cat in one version and matures into reconnecting with him in another.

The other big point is the two songs, which were changed in Disney’s dub from Japanese pop songs to English pop songs. Purists, of course, are always outraged when American dubs slap contemporary music over songs made for the movie. This time, I believe it was the other way around, as Studio Ghibli selected songs from then-popular singer Yumi Matsutoya, while Sydney Forest recorded the English songs specifically for the movie. Dare I suggest that Forest’s music actually works better? The point in both versions seems to be to convey the experience of living life, first starting in a new direction and then finding one’s way, but Forest’s songs add something else; a sense of investment. They speak to not only experiencing life but to living it, treasuring it (particularly the second one). Their removal in the third English dub, which also trimmed a few of Jiji’s unnecessary lines, is the only reason I prefer the first one, which I’d say became a beloved hit in America for a reason. It’s the same quality that puts Kiki’s Delivery Service above Miyazaki’s similar movies for me.

Round 6: Character Driven Heights

Kiki’s Delivery Service vs. All Dogs Go To Heaven

Sweet Sincerity

                        This time, in both respective entries, Don Bluth and Hayao Miyazaki altered their approaches a bit, calling back elements of what they’d done well before while adding some new ideas. Both had passion to their visions, and after some time in production, both came out with movies that showed it.

Kiki’s Delivery Service: I’d be proud to call myself a fan of Miyazaki’s work. I’d be happy to say which of his movies is my favorite. Except on a list that includes action-packed epics, nail-biting heists, and mind-bending tales of magic, he somehow managed to make it his tween girl coming-of-age film. Kiki’s Delivery Service is one of those movies that eventually made me forget everything else and wrapped me up in the story to the point where I only realized just how much I’d loved it as it ended. I couldn’t justify it. I can only smile every time I remember it or watch it again.

Kiki is our protagonist, a witch who has just reached her 13th birthday. She’s hopeful, though a bit insecure, and despite some teenage angst and impetuousness, she shows true decency. Like people we know in real life, she doesn’t have a single trait that stands out above all others, but she is three dimensional. Many people, perhaps even outside the target demographic, may see themselves in Kiki. She’s an appropriate center for a story like this.

In the tradition of witches in this world, Kiki leaves home at age 13 to live a year on her own, flying on her mother’s broom with her black cat Jiji to find a city to settle in. They come across a city inspired by towns in Sweden, drawn with beautiful detail, and Kiki decides to move in. Because she has not found a magical talent besides flying on her broomstick, other than talking to Jiji, she decides to start the titular delivery service.

One of the most beloved aspects of the movie is its characters, who make every little adventure of Kiki’s interesting. After meeting some cold indifference in the new town, a jolly baker named Osono offers to let Kiki use their spare room. She and her husband are expecting their first child, and she takes to filling the maternal role for Kiki almost naturally. A local boy named Tombo, who loves aviation, takes a liking to Kiki that at first goes unreciprocated. He makes for one of the more unique romantic interests I’ve seen. One of her deliveries leads Kiki to go out of her way to help a kindly old woman, for which life at first seems to reward her with a disheartening slap. And a spirited painter named Ursula becomes an interesting friend, providing Kiki with the perfect encouragement in the moment she needs it. Every outing with these people is punctuated with little unforgettable details, from a special casserole baked in an old-fashioned oven to a bike built by Tombo to run with a large propeller connected to the pedals. All of these put the animation to good use, which is sometimes what makes them memorable.

If that were that, I’d give it the same score as the standard good examples of Miyazaki’s filmmaking and compare it to My Neighbor Totoro as a movie that targets a slightly older demographic with a similar vision. But everything is taken to the next level when we reach the third act, one of my favorites in any movie.

After a small string of letdowns, and a revelation that even flying can get boring, Kiki comes home to discover that she can no longer understand Jiji or fly, effectively crippling her success, and the movie moves beyond a single demographic, reaching out to everyone. Ursula compares it to artistic blocks she gets from time to time.

“Sometimes I’m unable to paint a thing,” says Ursula.

“Without even thinking about it I used to be able to fly,” answers Kiki.

Who, in that light, can’t relate to Kiki? Is there anyone who never, say, spent the afternoon missing baskets they usually make, or stumbled over questions in a class they’d been passing, or tried to write a story and found themselves at a loss on where to begin? Ursula would suggest coming back to it later.

“We fly with our spirits,” Kiki informs her in a rather touching scene.

“That same spirit is what makes me paint and makes your friend bake,” she answers reflectively “but we each need to find our own inspiration.”

But Kiki finds herself in the one moment that demands she draw it out when a friend needs her the most. What does she learn from this? Probably not to underestimate herself. Life can have a way of putting us to the test, and while humility is to be valued, many of us are worthier than we give ourselves credit for. We all have our own cause to inspire us.

Final score: 9.5/10

All Dogs Go To Heaven: Sometimes I still think the most fun I ever had with movies was watching my first animated films. Perhaps no stories since have made me as nervous when someone was in trouble, or as excited when the action grew intense, or as happy when the heroes triumphed. Part of it was of course being young and naive, but for pure film escapism, I still think a hand drawn atmosphere may be the best suited of all. But still, it’s not the same when you get older, and there was a period where I thought I was past liking animated movies as much as I used to, until I revisited All Dogs Go To Heaven. This movie is the reason I became a fan of Don Bluth.

Charlie the dog, with the voice and mannerisms of Burt Reynolds, lives a gangster’s life in New Orleans. He’s always looked out for himself and enjoys playing the game of life. His sinister business partner, a pit bull named Carface, double crosses him, and he ends up in heaven, as dogs are “naturally good”. But Charlie desires more adventures (and payback) and swipes the watch that is his life counter, returning to earth. But he’s followed by cries of “you can never come back” that haunt him throughout the movie. Back on earth, Charlie steals Carface’s secret weapon for betting on animal races, a creature he imprisoned that can communicate with not just its own kind but every animal; an orphan girl named Anne-Marie.

The rivalry with Carface is pushed to the background, as the real story, and the driving force running the show, is Charlie’s character arc. He’s not exactly a good guy, but he is likable and fun to follow. Even when he’s angry or upset, there’s real energy to the character that keeps the audience engaged. And though he’s hardly selfless, we really do care about him. He’s a lovable rogue, and we can just glimpse kindness in him. He goes well with his best friend Itchy (Dom DeLuise), the comical but loyal dachshund. But what really develops him is his relationship with little Anne-Marie. Sweet and naive but not stupid, bratty, or overly cutesy, Anne-Marie is a well done character. She never holds grudges, and she’s nothing but friendly to Charlie (who”rescued” her), but she tells him when she’s displeased with him. When something he asks her to do feels wrong, she refuses. So he plays the role of friend and philanthropist to keep her happy and get her to work with him. It’s self-motivated, but we are quick to note that it separates him from Carface, whose preferred tactic was to bully her. He’s not looking for a friend (and doesn’t like being kissed on the nose), but still she grows on him.

What really boosts the whole effect is the atmosphere. In giving off a sense of sheer emotion, light and dark, All Dogs Go To Heaven’s is still the most resonant animated film I’ve seen. The colors are rich and invigorating and give the world onscreen a presence. But that wouldn’t be enough on its own. Bluth’s movies tend to have a sincerity to them, and here he takes that charm to the next level. The three leads all have chemistry together, and we only grow more invested in them as the movie goes on. Bluth permits them to act a bit unusual and have some unconventional adventures, which some people find off-putting. This is perhaps his most polarizing movie. I do have to take points off for the scene in which a giant alligator appears from out of nowhere, but even that was amusing enough. The villain is a nice touch too, in that he provides excitement above the standard for Bluth’s movies. The humor works well, both on a cute level and for hardy laughs, but the genuine moments, wisely limited and free of treacle, are probably even more effective. The ending scene may be the most touching I’ve ever seen in animation.

All Dogs Go To Heaven, polarizing indeed, did not achieve the most success of all Bluth’s works, but those who understand it may find it to be his most passionate project of all. I highly recommend it.

Final Score: 9.5/10

Winner: Bluth. As much as I love Kiki’s Delivery Service, All Dogs Go To Heaven finishes a good two places ahead of it on my animation favorites list. It recalls of the biggest difference between the two directors. Miyazaki has been more consistent, as it seems he knew exactly what he wanted to be and what types of stories he wanted to tell. Bluth started his company as lead director to revive his beloved animation, which is a less specific goal but on the other hand could be a sign of even greater passion. He has had less success, but if all the pieces fall into place, he might have even more to offer than Hayao Miyazaki. He definitely won me over this time.

The Different Dubs

            I suppose I should say what I think about the different English dubs of Kiki’s Delivery Service vs. the original one in Japanese. (If you know where to find the second English dub, let me know.) I found Phil Hartman’s Jiji likable and often funny. Though some lines added for him in the first English dub (Disney’s) were just as well unsaid, it came across as the character just being himself and never felt detracting. (The original Jiji was voiced by a woman, as is common in Japan when cats of either gender are given a voice, and acted as the voice of reason for Kiki. I’m sure this was all well and good, but it doesn’t exactly sound like an interesting character.) When I learned that he originally lost the ability to speak to Kiki permanently, I thought it was a serious difference that demanded one pick a version to side with, but after thinking about it, it’s really not. There’s no need to feel sorry in the version where their relationship changes for good, as relationships sometimes do. Kiki and Jiji both still remember the past, and, as we see in the credits, they’re still friends and still appreciate each other. Kiki matures beyond talking to her cat in one version and matures into reconnecting with him in another.

The other big point is the two songs, which were changed in Disney’s dub from Japanese pop songs to English pop songs. Purists, of course, are always outraged when American dubs slap contemporary music over songs made for the movie. This time, I believe it was the other way around, as Studio Ghibli selected songs from then-popular singer Yumi Matsutoya, while Sydney Forest recorded the English songs specifically for the movie. Dare I suggest that Forest’s music actually works better? The point in both versions seems to be to convey the experience of living life, first starting in a new direction and then finding one’s way, but Forest’s songs add something else; a sense of investment. They speak to not only experiencing life but to living it, treasuring it (particularly the second one). Their removal in the third English dub, which also trimmed a few of Jiji’s unnecessary lines, is the only reason I prefer the first one, which I’d say became a beloved hit in America for a reason. It’s the same quality that puts Kiki’s Delivery Service above Miyazaki’s similar movies for me.

Round 5: GoingTheme-Lite

Castle in the Sky

vs.

Odd Choices

           Castle in the Sky (or Laputa: Castle in the Sky): From anyone else, the title “Castle in the Sky” would probably sound like a cheap toddler flick or an imitation of Disney. From Hayao Miyazaki, it suggests another fresh idea for him to spin his brilliant storytelling around. Titles, however, rarely say it all. First though, the setup:

Long ago, human colonies found a way to build flying cities, which were destroyed in an unspecified event, save for the city of Laputa. The key to finding the legendary city has been handed down through the descendants of Laputa’s royal family and is currently in the possession of an orphan named Sheeta. When we come in, she’s a captive on an airship under the control of Colonel Muska, who wants to find Laputa for his own means. However, during a raid by pirates who want to find Laputa for the treasures it may contain, Sheeta falls overboard in an attempt to escape. She goes unconscious in mid fall, and the necklace she reclaimed from Muska glows with power, slowing her fall to a gentle descent that deposits her in the hands of Pazu, a spirited and good-natured apprentice miner in his early teens.

Important to note about Castle in the Sky is that there’s not as much of an overarching point to it as most of Miyazaki’s features. It arguably gives a nod to the old sci-fi theme of power that man was never meant to have, but otherwise, it mainly reaches out to the audience on a visceral level. This begs the question of whether it stands out among his other quality efforts, and the answer I’ve heard most is that because it offers more simple pleasures, it’s the one that anyone can enjoy. However, for sheer fun and excitement, there is no doubt in my mind that The Castle of Cagliostro is the best Miyazaki has to offer. But on that note, I may as well mention thatI find several of his movies more exciting and fun, since The Castle of Cagliostro uses some PG-13 material, which means it can’t take the “most accessible” title from Castle in the Sky.

Actually, the first third or so of the movie suggests the start of one grand adventure. After the explosive opening places Sheeta in Pazu’s care, we spend a little time with them getting to know each other. Pazu, of course, is a gentleman at heart, and as an orphan himself living alone, he’s grateful for the company. He can be comical in ways usually reserved for knuckleheaded stooges, but here it makes him more like people many of us know; instead of bombastic overreactions, he picks himself up off the floor and is the first one to start cracking jokes about it, happy to make Sheeta laugh with him. In fact, he’s fairly sharp. Sheeta fits the “girl next door” description in more ways than one, though she’s hardly naïve, and she demonstrates more than once that she’s a brave kid. After about five minutes with them, the pirates enter and pursue them in an extended chase scene that highlights the movie. All the while, the mystery of Laputa hangsover the story, and the movie does well in keeping us interested. The visuals are not the most creative Miyazaki has ever produced, despite the science fiction elements of the story. But still, the pirates’ bug-like flying contraptions aren’t bad, and the depiction of mines, factories, and trains are almost vivid enough to make up for it.

After a venture through the mines, however, the two are captured and held prisoner by Muska in a sequence that changes the whole dynamic about one act too early. The adventure is brought to a screeching halt so the movie can give away most everything we need to know about Laputa and rework everyone’s standing; Sheeta is now Muska’s captive again, Pazu is ousted from the adventure, and the pirates, more capable than the ones in Porco Rosso but still nearly as comical, are retooled as his soon-to-be allies and his way back in. Their mission to rescue Sheeta is pretty much accomplished for them in an explosive sequence colored with far too much orange. The move then adopts a more leisurely pace on the trip to Laputa, which contains many sweet moments but isn’t as interesting as the first act or as fulfilling as Miyazaki’s other movies. Not to mention that when Laputa finally appears, it rarely feels like more than a simple MacGuffin.

This is without doubt my least favorite Miyazaki film… which, in a way, is my biggest testament to what a spectacular director he is, because Castle in the Sky is still an effective, worthwhile feature. Pazu and Sheeta’s relationship, though never given the development of some of his best character dynamics, is still one of Miyazaki’s sweetest. That we don’t quite get to see it take the official step past “warm friendship” we know is inevitable is probably best. We grow to like them more throughout the movie, and the moment in which they make a critical decision together carries real weight. The explosive climax, another of the movie’s more exciting sequences, packs a tragic seriousness not quite like anything his other protagonists have had to face. It’s effective after a pleasant, if underwhelming, second act. And the animation is, as always, a pleasure.

Final Score: 7/10

Rock-A-Doodle: Having fallen to “passable” success with his previous feature (albeit with great success on home video), Bluth, it seems, wanted to do something different in Rock-A-Doodle. In fact, he went sort of freestyle.

The creative team behind Rock-A-Doodle seems to have had many impulses along the way and resisted none. The story is told with a paradox of a live-action storybook that becomes the animated story the movie is telling. This walks the line between “mysterious” and “sloppy” and often stumbles. At times it plays like an excuse to show their most odd, exotic images. Many of these can be fun to look at, but the color is a little dingy. In fact, it sometimes resembles Rock and Rule, the 1983 cult film, but it also holds some of the same appeal.

For storybook effect, Rock-A-Doodle provides us with a narrator, who is also a character in the movie. His opening sentence sounds like a combination of openers stitched together in the manner of Frankenstein’s monster; “Once upon a time, back before I knew how to tie my shoes, the sun came up!” This is about the standard for Rock-A-Doodle’s cohesiveness. The story centers around a rooster named Chanticleer, who crows every morning on his farm to bring up the sun. The Duke of Owls, who hates the light, finds a way to make the other animals turn on Chanticleer, and he leaves for the city. This is the animated portion of the story, the one we’ll mainly be following. (This might become hard to keep track of.)

The storybook is being read to a boy named Edmond, who lives on a farm now being flooded by a monsoon. Edmond thinks Chanticleer’s exile in the book may be the reason, so he throws open the window and yells for him. Magically, he is right, but instead the Duke of Owls crashes through his wall and turns him into an animated cat with his magic breath, which resembles expensive glitter. Though it takes him a couple more scenes to become a downright cheesy villain, this moment still lacks timing and visual intensity. Edmond is recued by Chanticleer’s friends, including our narrator dog named Patou, who set off together to retrieve Chanticleer from the city, pursued by the Duke’s nephew and main henchman, Hunch.

Bluth attempts to force in a lesson on believing in oneself, which is unbelievable as the first thing Edmond has problems with upon becoming a cat. But the plucky mouse he befriends is a nice testament in that direction. Much of the humor doesn’t work either, including some slapstick and a head-scratching running gag about the dog’s inability to tie his shoes. (I’m still wondering if the latter was supposed to be a metaphor for something.) My single biggest laugh was when Chanticleer’s manager in the city gets word that his friends are coming to reclaim him, which would mean the end of his new career as a rooster-Elvis that the manager prospers from. (“NO DOGS, CATS, BIRDS, or MICE!” ) But the Duke’s nephew, a gangly pygmy owl with just about the best Swiss Army Knife ever, is actually a better villain, a sort of underdog bad guy who has to rely on cunning and effort and doesn’t always end up the butt of the joke.

If Rock-A-Doodle just had competence from start to finish in addition to its fun aspects, I might have been able to recommend it, but it doesn’t. The narrator speaks far too frequently and often breaks the “show don’t tell” rule, sometimes explaining what we can clearly see regardless. His monologues are inserted with no sense of timing, drowning out moments like the movie’s highlight song for no real purpose. The movie’s paradox of realities also just isn’t as well done as such has been before and since, and I have to guess the only real reason for it was the success of Who Framed Roger Rabbit’s blend of animation and live-action. In fact, as time goes by, even the need for Edmond to be the outsider it makes him becomes less apparent. It would have been fine for him to just enter the movie as a kitten and become the newest member of the group. Still, it surpassed my expectations.

Final score: 5/10

Winner: This is where Miyazaki’s consistency shines. Even his less enjoyable movies have undeniable merit as high-concept entertainment. Rock-A-Doodle isn’t smaller in scope than Bluth’s other movies, but it is smaller in ambition. While the same could be said to an extent of Miyazaki and Castle in the Sky, Miyazaki’s artistic vision and drive are clearly still behind it, making it the definite better of the two.

Round 5: GoingTheme-Lite

Castle in the Sky

vs.

Odd Choices

           Castle in the Sky (or Laputa: Castle in the Sky): From anyone else, the title “Castle in the Sky” would probably sound like a cheap toddler flick or an imitation of Disney. From Hayao Miyazaki, it suggests another fresh idea for him to spin his brilliant storytelling around. Titles, however, rarely say it all. First though, the setup:

Long ago, human colonies found a way to build flying cities, which were destroyed in an unspecified event, save for the city of Laputa. The key to finding the legendary city has been handed down through the descendants of Laputa’s royal family and is currently in the possession of an orphan named Sheeta. When we come in, she’s a captive on an airship under the control of Colonel Muska, who wants to find Laputa for his own means. However, during a raid by pirates who want to find Laputa for the treasures it may contain, Sheeta falls overboard in an attempt to escape. She goes unconscious in mid fall, and the necklace she reclaimed from Muska glows with power, slowing her fall to a gentle descent that deposits her in the hands of Pazu, a spirited and good-natured apprentice miner in his early teens.

Important to note about Castle in the Sky is that there’s not as much of an overarching point to it as most of Miyazaki’s features. It arguably gives a nod to the old sci-fi theme of power that man was never meant to have, but otherwise, it mainly reaches out to the audience on a visceral level. This begs the question of whether it stands out among his other quality efforts, and the answer I’ve heard most is that because it offers more simple pleasures, it’s the one that anyone can enjoy. However, for sheer fun and excitement, there is no doubt in my mind that The Castle of Cagliostro is the best Miyazaki has to offer. But on that note, I may as well mention thatI find several of his movies more exciting and fun, since The Castle of Cagliostro uses some PG-13 material, which means it can’t take the “most accessible” title from Castle in the Sky.

Actually, the first third or so of the movie suggests the start of one grand adventure. After the explosive opening places Sheeta in Pazu’s care, we spend a little time with them getting to know each other. Pazu, of course, is a gentleman at heart, and as an orphan himself living alone, he’s grateful for the company. He can be comical in ways usually reserved for knuckleheaded stooges, but here it makes him more like people many of us know; instead of bombastic overreactions, he picks himself up off the floor and is the first one to start cracking jokes about it, happy to make Sheeta laugh with him. In fact, he’s fairly sharp. Sheeta fits the “girl next door” description in more ways than one, though she’s hardly naïve, and she demonstrates more than once that she’s a brave kid. After about five minutes with them, the pirates enter and pursue them in an extended chase scene that highlights the movie. All the while, the mystery of Laputa hangsover the story, and the movie does well in keeping us interested. The visuals are not the most creative Miyazaki has ever produced, despite the science fiction elements of the story. But still, the pirates’ bug-like flying contraptions aren’t bad, and the depiction of mines, factories, and trains are almost vivid enough to make up for it.

After a venture through the mines, however, the two are captured and held prisoner by Muska in a sequence that changes the whole dynamic about one act too early. The adventure is brought to a screeching halt so the movie can give away most everything we need to know about Laputa and rework everyone’s standing; Sheeta is now Muska’s captive again, Pazu is ousted from the adventure, and the pirates, more capable than the ones in Porco Rosso but still nearly as comical, are retooled as his soon-to-be allies and his way back in. Their mission to rescue Sheeta is pretty much accomplished for them in an explosive sequence colored with far too much orange. The move then adopts a more leisurely pace on the trip to Laputa, which contains many sweet moments but isn’t as interesting as the first act or as fulfilling as Miyazaki’s other movies. Not to mention that when Laputa finally appears, it rarely feels like more than a simple MacGuffin.

This is without doubt my least favorite Miyazaki film… which, in a way, is my biggest testament to what a spectacular director he is, because Castle in the Sky is still an effective, worthwhile feature. Pazu and Sheeta’s relationship, though never given the development of some of his best character dynamics, is still one of Miyazaki’s sweetest. That we don’t quite get to see it take the official step past “warm friendship” we know is inevitable is probably best. We grow to like them more throughout the movie, and the moment in which they make a critical decision together carries real weight. The explosive climax, another of the movie’s more exciting sequences, packs a tragic seriousness not quite like anything his other protagonists have had to face. It’s effective after a pleasant, if underwhelming, second act. And the animation is, as always, a pleasure.

Final Score: 7/10

Rock-A-Doodle: Having fallen to “passable” success with his previous feature (albeit with great success on home video), Bluth, it seems, wanted to do something different in Rock-A-Doodle. In fact, he went sort of freestyle.

The creative team behind Rock-A-Doodle seems to have had many impulses along the way and resisted none. The story is told with a paradox of a live-action storybook that becomes the animated story the movie is telling. This walks the line between “mysterious” and “sloppy” and often stumbles. At times it plays like an excuse to show their most odd, exotic images. Many of these can be fun to look at, but the color is a little dingy. In fact, it sometimes resembles Rock and Rule, the 1983 cult film, but it also holds some of the same appeal.

For storybook effect, Rock-A-Doodle provides us with a narrator, who is also a character in the movie. His opening sentence sounds like a combination of openers stitched together in the manner of Frankenstein’s monster; “Once upon a time, back before I knew how to tie my shoes, the sun came up!” This is about the standard for Rock-A-Doodle’s cohesiveness. The story centers around a rooster named Chanticleer, who crows every morning on his farm to bring up the sun. The Duke of Owls, who hates the light, finds a way to make the other animals turn on Chanticleer, and he leaves for the city. This is the animated portion of the story, the one we’ll mainly be following. (This might become hard to keep track of.)

The storybook is being read to a boy named Edmond, who lives on a farm now being flooded by a monsoon. Edmond thinks Chanticleer’s exile in the book may be the reason, so he throws open the window and yells for him. Magically, he is right, but instead the Duke of Owls crashes through his wall and turns him into an animated cat with his magic breath, which resembles expensive glitter. Though it takes him a couple more scenes to become a downright cheesy villain, this moment still lacks timing and visual intensity. Edmond is recued by Chanticleer’s friends, including our narrator dog named Patou, who set off together to retrieve Chanticleer from the city, pursued by the Duke’s nephew and main henchman, Hunch.

Bluth attempts to force in a lesson on believing in oneself, which is unbelievable as the first thing Edmond has problems with upon becoming a cat. But the plucky mouse he befriends is a nice testament in that direction. Much of the humor doesn’t work either, including some slapstick and a head-scratching running gag about the dog’s inability to tie his shoes. (I’m still wondering if the latter was supposed to be a metaphor for something.) My single biggest laugh was when Chanticleer’s manager in the city gets word that his friends are coming to reclaim him, which would mean the end of his new career as a rooster-Elvis that the manager prospers from. (“NO DOGS, CATS, BIRDS, or MICE!” ) But the Duke’s nephew, a gangly pygmy owl with just about the best Swiss Army Knife ever, is actually a better villain, a sort of underdog bad guy who has to rely on cunning and effort and doesn’t always end up the butt of the joke.

If Rock-A-Doodle just had competence from start to finish in addition to its fun aspects, I might have been able to recommend it, but it doesn’t. The narrator speaks far too frequently and often breaks the “show don’t tell” rule, sometimes explaining what we can clearly see regardless. His monologues are inserted with no sense of timing, drowning out moments like the movie’s highlight song for no real purpose. The movie’s paradox of realities also just isn’t as well done as such has been before and since, and I have to guess the only real reason for it was the success of Who Framed Roger Rabbit’s blend of animation and live-action. In fact, as time goes by, even the need for Edmond to be the outsider it makes him becomes less apparent. It would have been fine for him to just enter the movie as a kitten and become the newest member of the group. Still, it surpassed my expectations.

Final score: 5/10

Winner: This is where Miyazaki’s consistency shines. Even his less enjoyable movies have undeniable merit as high-concept entertainment. Rock-A-Doodle isn’t smaller in scope than Bluth’s other movies, but it is smaller in ambition. While the same could be said to an extent of Miyazaki and Castle in the Sky, Miyazaki’s artistic vision and drive are clearly still behind it, making it the definite better of the two.

Round 4: Building on Trademarks

The Land Before Time vs. Princess Mononoke

Faraway Lands Collide

            Here is where both Bluth and Miyazaki take their trademark stories to the next level and achieve one of the greatest successes in their careers. This is a major win for whoever takes it.

The Land Before Time: Here we catch Bluth when he was just about on top of the world. He’d already put himself on the map by besting Disney at the box office with An American Tail. Here he did it again, setting a new record for the highest-grossing animated movie of all time, and it’s not the only way he surpassed himself either. This is probably where he achieved the golden age Disney-type of movie he had always wanted to make.

The opening of The Land Before Time goes from fascinating to grand with its depiction of prehistoric life and its authoritative narration. Some moments involving the baby dinosaurs’ births are still sort of cartoonish but not gratuitously. Bluth makes this world and its inhabitants exactly what they should be to the eye: impressive.

At first, we focus in on the small herd of “longnecks” and their newborn baby Littlefoot. Like most herds, they have trouble coping with the dying vegetation and begin heading west to find “The Great Valley”. Having started the series on one of the many pale-imitation sequels, I don’t remember what happens next being as much of a surprise the first time I saw it as it probably is. With enough conflict and story for a movie already in motion, the first encounter with a tyrannosaurus brings consequences that shift the story to a whole new playing field, stranding our baby dinosaur protagonist alone and far from the place he needed to reach. And in an age where dead parents in these movies is almost a syndrome, Bluth creates one of the most heartfelt and heart-wrenching scenes of them all. Two in fact; the follow-up is almost as moving.

Where The Land Before Time most improves over An American Tail is probably in its coherence. Characters and motivations don’t just disappear for awhile. Each new member of the group is important, from the friendly, immature Ducky to Cera, whose superior, stubborn-loner attitude in conflict with Littlefoot is a point that progresses throughout the movie. The other two are sort of dependent children even within the group; one is the zany but caring Petrie, and Spike, the benign and gluttonous mute, is a nice touch.

The movie subtly changes when the focus shifts to these five. You could say that we’re placed in middle of this world with them, instead of gazing at it from the outside. Their portion of the story doesn’t push the envelope especially far, as portions that hint at more are a little glazed over, but there’s nothing wrong with it as an adventure. The five are likeable, and the way they grow together is well done. Their challenges are fun to watch, and the issues large and small are concluded in a satisfying manner.

The Land Before Time still isn’t as good a story as Bluth’s opener, The Secret of NIMH, but there’s so much heart in it that it nearly closes the gap. It’s all treated with such dignity that the payoff is even more powerful than you’d expect, and the closing song fits perfectly. The original movie in the series is the only one that’s not a musical, yet it contains the best tune of them all.

   Final Score: 8.5/10 (I did have more of an “8” in mind, but it could be that the experience was hurt a bit from growing up with the rip-off sequels, which all have a different tone. I give it the benefit of the doubt.)

Princess Mononoke: Here we find Miyazaki in the same type of story as Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind. But this time, his storytelling is superior. He originally intended this to be his last movie, and after spending a long, long time creating it, he had something that would have been worthy of the distinction.

The movie wastes no time in showing us its phenomenal animation. We open on the village where prince Ashitaka, our hero, lives, right before it is attacked by a giant warthog covered in writhing, snake-like strands. Ashitaka confronts and ultimately kills it, only for his arm to be scarred by the strands, placing a curse that will slowly kill him. After a bullet is discovered in the boar, believed to be the cause, he leaves to find its source and cure himself.

He ends up involved in one of the more tense man vs. nature battles to be put on screen. The warthog, it turns out, came from the forest around Iron Town, a place developing gunpowder-based weapons by clearing out and mining from the forest. The separate packs living in said forest are led by individual nature gods, who speak for them. In these movies,“nature gods” usually possess wisdom and passivity that the human characters must learn to comprehend, but here they are a more accurate representation of nature, regarding the invaders the same way they are regarded; as an obstacle. It’s true that people started the battle, but the animals hardly discriminate between the innocent and the guilty when striking back. Iron Town, meanwhile, has good reason to thrive. The town is a refuge for outcasts, many from brothels, who are grateful for the faith that their fearless leader, lady Eboshi, holds in them. What everyone wants most is to survive, and we can clearly see that they all have a right and deserve sympathy.

As with Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, it seems the problem is the need living things feel to lash out in securing their own survival, which can lead to the need to gain power. However, instead of following a total innocent who believes life is possible with this removed, we are placed in the middle of a struggle in which it is simply a way of life, and there is no easy solution. Sacrifices must be made, and the tone is sometimes, with good reason, unpleasant. This is one of those movies that I probably admire more than I like. And I like it as much as the standard good example of Miyazaki’s work.

Princess Mononoke, a description/nickname for a girl whose real name is San, is an adopted daughter of the wolf tribe. She’s as bitter as the rest of them for the attack on the forest and strikes back with the same brutal ferocity. She is, however, the one living being on either side that Ashitaka might connect with the opposing one. That both of them start to develop feelings for the other probably doesn’t hurt this cause.

Ashitaka is not the most interesting protagonist ever, but he is sympathetic, and he’s an appropriate character to follow. Nausicaa, in a movie with a simpler goal, was a pure force for the cause her story supported. Ashitaka can’t be sure which side to take, or even if supporting anyone will help. From his upbringing, he knows the whole thing is a shame, but he doesn’t have a solution.

Worse, as invaders from foreign lands start to take the area, Ashitaka grows short on time to save both the tribes and himself. Not to mention that a scheming man named Jigo, it seems, has plans to put his own stake in this. San grows more willing to work with him, but she’s unlikely to stop loathing the people of Iron Town, or people in general. The only other creature whose care might extend beyond one tribe is the mysterious and elusive Forest Spirit, the most powerful of them all, who saves Ashitaka’s life but can be pushed to strike back when damaged enough.

Princess Mononoke is one of Miyazaki’s most powerful films, as well as his most epic in scope. It’s not quite my favorite, only one of them, because we, the audience, are a bit more distanced from its characters, and I believe Miyazaki has reached his greatest heights with his humanist effect. But in this kind of story, one which definitely carries a lot of weight, such is virtually a requirement. At this point, it’s probably just personal preference.

Final score: 9/10

Winner: It’s almost a shame to take one side, as both movies are a wonderful triumph for each director. Box office results might be an indicator that Bluth’s had more universal appeal, though from what I can gather, Mononoke took in more money overall. But Princess Mononoke is a movie with more maturity and depth, and probably the more powerful overall, which secures it the win. Still, only Bluth’s, dark as it gets, is really appropriate for all ages.

Round 4: Building on Trademarks

The Land Before Time vs. Princess Mononoke

Faraway Lands Collide

            Here is where both Bluth and Miyazaki take their trademark stories to the next level and achieve one of the greatest successes in their careers. This is a major win for whoever takes it.

The Land Before Time: Here we catch Bluth when he was just about on top of the world. He’d already put himself on the map by besting Disney at the box office with An American Tail. Here he did it again, setting a new record for the highest-grossing animated movie of all time, and it’s not the only way he surpassed himself either. This is probably where he achieved the golden age Disney-type of movie he had always wanted to make.

The opening of The Land Before Time goes from fascinating to grand with its depiction of prehistoric life and its authoritative narration. Some moments involving the baby dinosaurs’ births are still sort of cartoonish but not gratuitously. Bluth makes this world and its inhabitants exactly what they should be to the eye: impressive.

At first, we focus in on the small herd of “longnecks” and their newborn baby Littlefoot. Like most herds, they have trouble coping with the dying vegetation and begin heading west to find “The Great Valley”. Having started the series on one of the many pale-imitation sequels, I don’t remember what happens next being as much of a surprise the first time I saw it as it probably is. With enough conflict and story for a movie already in motion, the first encounter with a tyrannosaurus brings consequences that shift the story to a whole new playing field, stranding our baby dinosaur protagonist alone and far from the place he needed to reach. And in an age where dead parents in these movies is almost a syndrome, Bluth creates one of the most heartfelt and heart-wrenching scenes of them all. Two in fact; the follow-up is almost as moving.

Where The Land Before Time most improves over An American Tail is probably in its coherence. Characters and motivations don’t just disappear for awhile. Each new member of the group is important, from the friendly, immature Ducky to Cera, whose superior, stubborn-loner attitude in conflict with Littlefoot is a point that progresses throughout the movie. The other two are sort of dependent children even within the group; one is the zany but caring Petrie, and Spike, the benign and gluttonous mute, is a nice touch.

The movie subtly changes when the focus shifts to these five. You could say that we’re placed in middle of this world with them, instead of gazing at it from the outside. Their portion of the story doesn’t push the envelope especially far, as portions that hint at more are a little glazed over, but there’s nothing wrong with it as an adventure. The five are likeable, and the way they grow together is well done. Their challenges are fun to watch, and the issues large and small are concluded in a satisfying manner.

The Land Before Time still isn’t as good a story as Bluth’s opener, The Secret of NIMH, but there’s so much heart in it that it nearly closes the gap. It’s all treated with such dignity that the payoff is even more powerful than you’d expect, and the closing song fits perfectly. The original movie in the series is the only one that’s not a musical, yet it contains the best tune of them all.

   Final Score: 8.5/10 (I did have more of an “8” in mind, but it could be that the experience was hurt a bit from growing up with the rip-off sequels, which all have a different tone. I give it the benefit of the doubt.)

Princess Mononoke: Here we find Miyazaki in the same type of story as Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind. But this time, his storytelling is superior. He originally intended this to be his last movie, and after spending a long, long time creating it, he had something that would have been worthy of the distinction.

The movie wastes no time in showing us its phenomenal animation. We open on the village where prince Ashitaka, our hero, lives, right before it is attacked by a giant warthog covered in writhing, snake-like strands. Ashitaka confronts and ultimately kills it, only for his arm to be scarred by the strands, placing a curse that will slowly kill him. After a bullet is discovered in the boar, believed to be the cause, he leaves to find its source and cure himself.

He ends up involved in one of the more tense man vs. nature battles to be put on screen. The warthog, it turns out, came from the forest around Iron Town, a place developing gunpowder-based weapons by clearing out and mining from the forest. The separate packs living in said forest are led by individual nature gods, who speak for them. In these movies,“nature gods” usually possess wisdom and passivity that the human characters must learn to comprehend, but here they are a more accurate representation of nature, regarding the invaders the same way they are regarded; as an obstacle. It’s true that people started the battle, but the animals hardly discriminate between the innocent and the guilty when striking back. Iron Town, meanwhile, has good reason to thrive. The town is a refuge for outcasts, many from brothels, who are grateful for the faith that their fearless leader, lady Eboshi, holds in them. What everyone wants most is to survive, and we can clearly see that they all have a right and deserve sympathy.

As with Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, it seems the problem is the need living things feel to lash out in securing their own survival, which can lead to the need to gain power. However, instead of following a total innocent who believes life is possible with this removed, we are placed in the middle of a struggle in which it is simply a way of life, and there is no easy solution. Sacrifices must be made, and the tone is sometimes, with good reason, unpleasant. This is one of those movies that I probably admire more than I like. And I like it as much as the standard good example of Miyazaki’s work.

Princess Mononoke, a description/nickname for a girl whose real name is San, is an adopted daughter of the wolf tribe. She’s as bitter as the rest of them for the attack on the forest and strikes back with the same brutal ferocity. She is, however, the one living being on either side that Ashitaka might connect with the opposing one. That both of them start to develop feelings for the other probably doesn’t hurt this cause.

Ashitaka is not the most interesting protagonist ever, but he is sympathetic, and he’s an appropriate character to follow. Nausicaa, in a movie with a simpler goal, was a pure force for the cause her story supported. Ashitaka can’t be sure which side to take, or even if supporting anyone will help. From his upbringing, he knows the whole thing is a shame, but he doesn’t have a solution.

Worse, as invaders from foreign lands start to take the area, Ashitaka grows short on time to save both the tribes and himself. Not to mention that a scheming man named Jigo, it seems, has plans to put his own stake in this. San grows more willing to work with him, but she’s unlikely to stop loathing the people of Iron Town, or people in general. The only other creature whose care might extend beyond one tribe is the mysterious and elusive Forest Spirit, the most powerful of them all, who saves Ashitaka’s life but can be pushed to strike back when damaged enough.

Princess Mononoke is one of Miyazaki’s most powerful films, as well as his most epic in scope. It’s not quite my favorite, only one of them, because we, the audience, are a bit more distanced from its characters, and I believe Miyazaki has reached his greatest heights with his humanist effect. But in this kind of story, one which definitely carries a lot of weight, such is virtually a requirement. At this point, it’s probably just personal preference.

Final score: 9/10

Winner: It’s almost a shame to take one side, as both movies are a wonderful triumph for each director. Box office results might be an indicator that Bluth’s had more universal appeal, though from what I can gather, Mononoke took in more money overall. But Princess Mononoke is a movie with more maturity and depth, and probably the more powerful overall, which secures it the win. Still, only Bluth’s, dark as it gets, is really appropriate for all ages.

Round 3: Romantic Outings

The Pebble and the Penguin vs. Porco Rosso

 

Marco the Pig and Martin the Penguin

                This is skipping ahead in both directors careers a bit, but it’s time to address some different points. (Yes, I’m still covering all 10 theatrical releases from both.) Here we see both men taking their biggest stab at a movie with a love story driving the plot. Bluth’s idea seemed to return to his roots a bit, creating a story around a group of talking animals with a bigger scope and arguably higher stakes. Miyazaki, meanwhile, was heading in a different direction here, exploring different characters and themes than before and even perhaps drawing from himself in creating one of his characters. Their respective results make this one of the easier decisions.

The Pebble and the Penguin:  This the last movie released on the failing streak Don Bluth was on in the early 90s, and though the idea sounds closer to the flicks he made his name on, the fact that the distributors insisted on hacking-up and re-recording much of it probably didn’t help. Until recently, it might have been a contender for his worst movie, having lost as much money as most any of them with hardly a positive review in sight. But internet reviews seem to have improved its reputation slightly, and now it’s seen more as “mediocre”. The story is a standard, agreeable idea, and there’s nothing especially noteworthy to beat down. I have to say though, his other more infamous movies at least left me with something. There are many small problems to point out in The Pebble and the Penguin, but what they really amount to is a movie that, despite flashes of potential, just comes out empty.

The movie’s opening seemed as grand to me as anything I’ve seen from Bluth. We drift through richly-drawn portraits of the South Pole, and the narrator describes the penguin’s mating ritual with a light, quiet sincerity. There’s a certain dignity to these moments, both somber and majestic, and it’s a quality that real nostalgia is made of. It even makes the limp lyrics of the opening song work. Then we dive into a random purple dot, and the movie takes a dive with us, becoming very cartoonish very fast.

The rest of it, with its penguins in hats and ascots and its credits superimposed like a holiday special, is almost cheesy. From here on, the movie never seems to know just what tone to go for or how to make us care. And it unwisely spends much of its time meandering with the same cheesy, almost vaudeville-style approach.

Hubie the penguin is our clumsy, stuttering hero hoping to win the prized Marina. At first I thought he seemed the ideal character for Dom Deluise and wondered why Martin Short of all people was picked, but after listening, I can see why Short was a good choice. Of course a comical wimp isn’t beyond him, but there are also a couple of scenes where we’re supposed to take Hubie seriously, in which Short really does sound like he means it. It’s something I can’t quite picture Deluise pulling off the same way. But what could have been a cute little pairing doesn’t amount to much, as Marina spends most of the movie sitting around reciting why the lovable chump is a better choice than Drake, the scheming gorilla-penguin who doesn’t even have the decency to wait until she leaves before doing the evil laugh. Marina gets exactly one scene to herself, just enough to remind us of what could have been.

The best thing in the movie is easily Jim Belushi’s “Rocko”, the macho penguin who reluctantly becomes Hubie’s buddy, after helping him escape the ship heading for a zoo. Not only is he the most amusing character, but he mocks the slow, sappier bits in the movie better than I ever could. As for Tim Curry… I wish he’d been given more to work with than a poor man’s Gaston. Drake’s “Don’t Make Me Laugh” is the worst of many sub-par songs. Before, I remembered it being the deadpan march “Welcome to the Good Ship Misery”, but actually, that one is sorta funny. (Every day begins with misery. Breakfast in a rusty cup. Then we all get good and miserable. And then we all, throw up!”

When a movie falls short, it’s easier to mock it if it sticks its neck out, if it shows sincerity for something and isn’t totally convincing. Some of Bluth’s lesser movies are polarizing for what they try to accomplish and nowadays are lambasted for it. Not so for The Pebble and the Penguin, which really doesn’t do anything “wrong” like that (save for the inexplicable payoff to Rocko’s dream goal), and even does a couple things right. No harm, no foul. It’s just devoid of anything to recommend it for at all.

Final score: 4.5/10

Porco Rosso: Here is Miyazaki exploring more of his personal interests in a story about an ex-World War I flying ace turned freelance pilot. It doesn’t aim to be his most groundbreaking movie, but I believe the popular notion is that he put a lot of himself into Porco. It is the type of light-hearted adventures we’d all probably love to write around our own proxy, this one a lovable rebel who looks out for number one and shows up anyone who bothers him. Porco is an easy guy to tag along with, even through the story of his political problems. In fact, the only real touch of Miyazaki fantasy here is that Porco (whose name is actually “Marco Paggot”, to the surprise of nobody around him, has been changed into an anthropomorphic pig, which bothers him so little that he actually has a sarcastic sense of humor about it.

The Pebble and the Penguin should have taken notes from this one. When Porco Rosso is cartoonish, it’s with a real sense of glee, and it’s woven into the adventure well, giving Porco harmless oaf seaplane pirates and a narcissist showoff to battle. It’s a deliberately sillier movie than most of Miyazaki’s features, and sometimes it even feels more inconsequential. But some poignant touches and sharp character dynamics put it right up there with some of his biggest trademarks.

To Porco, his intimate longtime friendship with local hotel owner Gina is nothing more than that. (In fact, the brief story of her past relationships is such a tragic surprise that it’s easy to see why he would assume so.) Actually, the only thing standing in the way of them as a couple is Porco himself, with the same self-imposed detachment from real relationships it seems is keeping him a pig. He’s pushed to take the first step when extensive repairs to his plane (in the country where he’s stilla wanted man) tie his fate together with the friendly young engineer Fio, who soon grows to like him and slips around all his attempts to distance himself. His story to her about his greatest adventure as a pilot is one of Miyazaki’s beautiful moments, the first one that comes to mind whenever I think of this movie.

Porco Rosso is a must see for any Miyazaki fan, and a good example of how his movies do not, in fact, become more of the same. And if the payoff seems to lack finality, it’s only one more way Miyazaki has captured an aspect of life. Nobody really wants to say that their adventure is over, least of all these characters. But when they come to see they’re not as at odds with each other as they think, they’ve unwittingly achieved all they needed to.

Final score: 8.5/10

Winner: At its best, The Pebble and The Penguin hints at potentially more interesting ideas, while Porco Rosso takes advantage of everything on screen. Curtis, the rival pilot, is more fun than Drake just by being given more to do, and while Gina does as much sitting and waiting as Marina, we’re actually made to care about her and effectively at that. Porco, meanwhile, is more charming than Hubie and as much fun as Rocko. Needless to say, his showdown with Curtis is far more exciting than watching Hubie step back to avoid Drake Hulk-smashing the ground before delivering a Chuck Norris roundhouse kick a few times. Miyazaki takes this one with ease.

Round 3: Romantic Outings

The Pebble and the Penguin vs. Porco Rosso

 

Marco the Pig and Martin the Penguin

                This is skipping ahead in both directors careers a bit, but it’s time to address some different points. (Yes, I’m still covering all 10 theatrical releases from both.) Here we see both men taking their biggest stab at a movie with a love story driving the plot. Bluth’s idea seemed to return to his roots a bit, creating a story around a group of talking animals with a bigger scope and arguably higher stakes. Miyazaki, meanwhile, was heading in a different direction here, exploring different characters and themes than before and even perhaps drawing from himself in creating one of his characters. Their respective results make this one of the easier decisions.

The Pebble and the Penguin:  This the last movie released on the failing streak Don Bluth was on in the early 90s, and though the idea sounds closer to the flicks he made his name on, the fact that the distributors insisted on hacking-up and re-recording much of it probably didn’t help. Until recently, it might have been a contender for his worst movie, having lost as much money as most any of them with hardly a positive review in sight. But internet reviews seem to have improved its reputation slightly, and now it’s seen more as “mediocre”. The story is a standard, agreeable idea, and there’s nothing especially noteworthy to beat down. I have to say though, his other more infamous movies at least left me with something. There are many small problems to point out in The Pebble and the Penguin, but what they really amount to is a movie that, despite flashes of potential, just comes out empty.

The movie’s opening seemed as grand to me as anything I’ve seen from Bluth. We drift through richly-drawn portraits of the South Pole, and the narrator describes the penguin’s mating ritual with a light, quiet sincerity. There’s a certain dignity to these moments, both somber and majestic, and it’s a quality that real nostalgia is made of. It even makes the limp lyrics of the opening song work. Then we dive into a random purple dot, and the movie takes a dive with us, becoming very cartoonish very fast.

The rest of it, with its penguins in hats and ascots and its credits superimposed like a holiday special, is almost cheesy. From here on, the movie never seems to know just what tone to go for or how to make us care. And it unwisely spends much of its time meandering with the same cheesy, almost vaudeville-style approach.

Hubie the penguin is our clumsy, stuttering hero hoping to win the prized Marina. At first I thought he seemed the ideal character for Dom Deluise and wondered why Martin Short of all people was picked, but after listening, I can see why Short was a good choice. Of course a comical wimp isn’t beyond him, but there are also a couple of scenes where we’re supposed to take Hubie seriously, in which Short really does sound like he means it. It’s something I can’t quite picture Deluise pulling off the same way. But what could have been a cute little pairing doesn’t amount to much, as Marina spends most of the movie sitting around reciting why the lovable chump is a better choice than Drake, the scheming gorilla-penguin who doesn’t even have the decency to wait until she leaves before doing the evil laugh. Marina gets exactly one scene to herself, just enough to remind us of what could have been.

The best thing in the movie is easily Jim Belushi’s “Rocko”, the macho penguin who reluctantly becomes Hubie’s buddy, after helping him escape the ship heading for a zoo. Not only is he the most amusing character, but he mocks the slow, sappier bits in the movie better than I ever could. As for Tim Curry… I wish he’d been given more to work with than a poor man’s Gaston. Drake’s “Don’t Make Me Laugh” is the worst of many sub-par songs. Before, I remembered it being the deadpan march “Welcome to the Good Ship Misery”, but actually, that one is sorta funny. (Every day begins with misery. Breakfast in a rusty cup. Then we all get good and miserable. And then we all, throw up!”

When a movie falls short, it’s easier to mock it if it sticks its neck out, if it shows sincerity for something and isn’t totally convincing. Some of Bluth’s lesser movies are polarizing for what they try to accomplish and nowadays are lambasted for it. Not so for The Pebble and the Penguin, which really doesn’t do anything “wrong” like that (save for the inexplicable payoff to Rocko’s dream goal), and even does a couple things right. No harm, no foul. It’s just devoid of anything to recommend it for at all.

Final score: 4.5/10

Porco Rosso: Here is Miyazaki exploring more of his personal interests in a story about an ex-World War I flying ace turned freelance pilot. It doesn’t aim to be his most groundbreaking movie, but I believe the popular notion is that he put a lot of himself into Porco. It is the type of light-hearted adventures we’d all probably love to write around our own proxy, this one a lovable rebel who looks out for number one and shows up anyone who bothers him. Porco is an easy guy to tag along with, even through the story of his political problems. In fact, the only real touch of Miyazaki fantasy here is that Porco (whose name is actually “Marco Paggot”, to the surprise of nobody around him, has been changed into an anthropomorphic pig, which bothers him so little that he actually has a sarcastic sense of humor about it.

The Pebble and the Penguin should have taken notes from this one. When Porco Rosso is cartoonish, it’s with a real sense of glee, and it’s woven into the adventure well, giving Porco harmless oaf seaplane pirates and a narcissist showoff to battle. It’s a deliberately sillier movie than most of Miyazaki’s features, and sometimes it even feels more inconsequential. But some poignant touches and sharp character dynamics put it right up there with some of his biggest trademarks.

To Porco, his intimate longtime friendship with local hotel owner Gina is nothing more than that. (In fact, the brief story of her past relationships is such a tragic surprise that it’s easy to see why he would assume so.) Actually, the only thing standing in the way of them as a couple is Porco himself, with the same self-imposed detachment from real relationships it seems is keeping him a pig. He’s pushed to take the first step when extensive repairs to his plane (in the country where he’s stilla wanted man) tie his fate together with the friendly young engineer Fio, who soon grows to like him and slips around all his attempts to distance himself. His story to her about his greatest adventure as a pilot is one of Miyazaki’s beautiful moments, the first one that comes to mind whenever I think of this movie.

Porco Rosso is a must see for any Miyazaki fan, and a good example of how his movies do not, in fact, become more of the same. And if the payoff seems to lack finality, it’s only one more way Miyazaki has captured an aspect of life. Nobody really wants to say that their adventure is over, least of all these characters. But when they come to see they’re not as at odds with each other as they think, they’ve unwittingly achieved all they needed to.

Final score: 8.5/10

Winner: At its best, The Pebble and The Penguin hints at potentially more interesting ideas, while Porco Rosso takes advantage of everything on screen. Curtis, the rival pilot, is more fun than Drake just by being given more to do, and while Gina does as much sitting and waiting as Marina, we’re actually made to care about her and effectively at that. Porco, meanwhile, is more charming than Hubie and as much fun as Rocko. Needless to say, his showdown with Curtis is far more exciting than watching Hubie step back to avoid Drake Hulk-smashing the ground before delivering a Chuck Norris roundhouse kick a few times. Miyazaki takes this one with ease.

Round 2: Early Passion Projects

An American Tail vs. Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind

Trademark Successes

                Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind: It was here that Hayao Miyazaki really started to establish himself. It was his first big hit, and his first time really pushing some of his favorite themes. With a story on an epic scale and a runtime long enough to cover all of it, one would think this has all the ingredients tobe the perfect Miyazaki movie.

Through the first act, we can see the potential. Nausicaa the princess is, to date, my favorite character of Miyazaki’s. And he’s had some great ones. Knowledgeable on her dystopian environment, Nausicaa has been raised to survive it, gaining some impressive skills (plus a fairly high tolerance for pain, nice touch). She’s grown up resilient, happy, and, strange for living in such a dystopia, completely removed from the darker side of humanity. She knows how to calm rampaging animals but isn’t at all familiar with distrust, greed, or lust for power, and she doesn’t expect it from anyone else. In a storytelling age where anti-heroes have grown especially popular, some would be quick to call her two-dimensional. I would too, if the reason for it weren’t so strongly implied; she’s just a product of her environment. In her corner of the world, she’s surrounded by loved ones and she’s learned how everything works, so she’s not inclined to see living beings as intentionally dangerous. When she’s hit with the reality of how cruel people can be, she makes us believe that she could be as hateful and self-serving as anyone. But while she’s forced to cope with this side of nature many more times, she’s able to overcome her one breakdown and hold to her values, because she really does believe that happy harmony is possible. She’s seen it. In some ways, her thinking is naive, and she does take things for granted that she probably shouldn’t. But I was quick to note the group’s crash-landing in the jungle, when an enemy Nausicaa saved, Princess Kushana, pulls a gun. Kushana tries to take charge, but Nausicaa points out that they’re in danger and she’s wasting their time. Kushana chastises Nausicaa for expecting anything else from her. Nausicaa compares her to “a scared little fox-squirrel” in need of reassurance. Who’s the unrealistic one?

We’re set up for a great conflict to come, and a lot to figure out before we get there. We don’t know much more than Nausicaa when her valley is invaded by neighboring nations. Though the movie pays tribute to respecting the environment, the issue that they’re plan raises is soon revealed as broader and more universal; simply man’s age-old desire for power and neglect in general for those we wield it over. According to Miyazaki, it stems from our fear, our need for self-preservation. If we were all sure that our needs could always be met, why would we care about controlling more than we do?

Unfortunately, after some adventuring in the “Toxic Jungle”, the movie stops building itsstory and characters and nearly grinds to a halt, with too much revealed to keep us wondering and not enough in play to be exciting. Eventually, we’re just meandering through explanations and back-story. But everything is redeemed when the conflict between the nations and the jungle animals starts to heat up, and Nausicaa’s determination to see both sides survive is put to the test. Exactly where said nations went wrong is up to interpretation, but we can see that understanding is the solution.

Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind is a refreshing reverse of villains informing us that good people in a different environment would know to stop pretending that they don’t only care for themselves. This movie starts out with the assumption that people are flawed and self-serving but offers the hopeful notion that, in the right environment, we can thrive as genuinely good individuals. It’s not the quintessential Miyazaki film it could have been, but it does stand on its own as a good example of his work.

Final score: 8.5 out of 10

An American Tail: After making The Secret of NIMH, Bluth struck a deal with Amblin Entertainment and got what he needed to direct his next film, along with a heavy dose of creative freedom. The result racked up huge box office numbers like no animated movie before it. Here’s another movie I had high hopes for going in.

An American Tail begins with a Jewish family of mice in Russia. After being driven out of their homes by cats, they immigrate to America. On the trip there, they cover the struggles faced by citizens of a couple countries with the memorable tune “There Are No Cats in America”, before reaching America and discovering that it also has cats. Brave little Fievel Mousekewitz, the main character, falls overboard on the trip over, and the rest of the story covers him trying to reunite with his family in America. This is Bluth still at him most ambitious. The problem is that he also adds several subplots and little side note adventures that don’t build on themselves or tie together as well as they could have.

Visually, An American Tail is rich, creative and fun, but watching it is often underwhelming. Other than Fievel’s search for his family, which is often put on hold, we’re just not pushed to care about anything in particular. It’s been called a sad film, but more critics might have been okay with that if it had emphasized its uplifting moments better. When Fievel washes up on shore, he’s found by a friendly pigeon, who sings him the song “Never Say Never”. If we’d seen him go into America with that mindset and stick to it through the tough times, there’d bemore to root for. Instead, he next finds out that there are cats in America, and for the most part afterwards, he’s only as positive as the scene he’s in. There’s so much potential, from the friendship he forms with the friendly cat Tiger, covered in all of one scene, to the scene near the end where he meets a group of cynical orphans, and the movie just doesn’t bring it out.

Still, there is a lot that works. The naive, adventurous Fievel is a different character than Mrs. Brisby, but he’s likable for some of the same reasons. A couple scenes hit some sweet notes, including the movie’s other memorable song “Somewhere Out There”, and several of the side adventures really are fun. My biggest complaint, I suppose, is that it was good where it could have been better. The first time I saw it, I was almost disappointed enough to recommend skipping it, but after a second look, I can tell, it really is a nice little movie; just one that wanted to be, and should have been, a nice grand, inspiring movie.

Final score: 6.5 out of 10

Winner: Both Bluth and Miyazaki were aiming high at this early stage in their careers and making exactly the kind of movie they wanted to make. Each was still getting the hang of cohesive storytelling, which is the biggest problem both ways. The difference is that you can’t really call it a weakness for Miyazaki, who still spins a pretty fine tale. He had a vision to go with his ambition. Bluth, it seems, was sure of little past the fact that he wanted to create movies as daring and well drawn as Disney had in their golden age. This one is taken by Hayao Miyazaki with room to spare.

Round 2: Early Passion Projects

An American Tail vs. Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind

Trademark Successes

                Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind: It was here that Hayao Miyazaki really started to establish himself. It was his first big hit, and his first time really pushing some of his favorite themes. With a story on an epic scale and a runtime long enough to cover all of it, one would think this has all the ingredients tobe the perfect Miyazaki movie.

Through the first act, we can see the potential. Nausicaa the princess is, to date, my favorite character of Miyazaki’s. And he’s had some great ones. Knowledgeable on her dystopian environment, Nausicaa has been raised to survive it, gaining some impressive skills (plus a fairly high tolerance for pain, nice touch). She’s grown up resilient, happy, and, strange for living in such a dystopia, completely removed from the darker side of humanity. She knows how to calm rampaging animals but isn’t at all familiar with distrust, greed, or lust for power, and she doesn’t expect it from anyone else. In a storytelling age where anti-heroes have grown especially popular, some would be quick to call her two-dimensional. I would too, if the reason for it weren’t so strongly implied; she’s just a product of her environment. In her corner of the world, she’s surrounded by loved ones and she’s learned how everything works, so she’s not inclined to see living beings as intentionally dangerous. When she’s hit with the reality of how cruel people can be, she makes us believe that she could be as hateful and self-serving as anyone. But while she’s forced to cope with this side of nature many more times, she’s able to overcome her one breakdown and hold to her values, because she really does believe that happy harmony is possible. She’s seen it. In some ways, her thinking is naive, and she does take things for granted that she probably shouldn’t. But I was quick to note the group’s crash-landing in the jungle, when an enemy Nausicaa saved, Princess Kushana, pulls a gun. Kushana tries to take charge, but Nausicaa points out that they’re in danger and she’s wasting their time. Kushana chastises Nausicaa for expecting anything else from her. Nausicaa compares her to “a scared little fox-squirrel” in need of reassurance. Who’s the unrealistic one?

We’re set up for a great conflict to come, and a lot to figure out before we get there. We don’t know much more than Nausicaa when her valley is invaded by neighboring nations. Though the movie pays tribute to respecting the environment, the issue that they’re plan raises is soon revealed as broader and more universal; simply man’s age-old desire for power and neglect in general for those we wield it over. According to Miyazaki, it stems from our fear, our need for self-preservation. If we were all sure that our needs could always be met, why would we care about controlling more than we do?

Unfortunately, after some adventuring in the “Toxic Jungle”, the movie stops building itsstory and characters and nearly grinds to a halt, with too much revealed to keep us wondering and not enough in play to be exciting. Eventually, we’re just meandering through explanations and back-story. But everything is redeemed when the conflict between the nations and the jungle animals starts to heat up, and Nausicaa’s determination to see both sides survive is put to the test. Exactly where said nations went wrong is up to interpretation, but we can see that understanding is the solution.

Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind is a refreshing reverse of villains informing us that good people in a different environment would know to stop pretending that they don’t only care for themselves. This movie starts out with the assumption that people are flawed and self-serving but offers the hopeful notion that, in the right environment, we can thrive as genuinely good individuals. It’s not the quintessential Miyazaki film it could have been, but it does stand on its own as a good example of his work.

Final score: 8.5 out of 10

An American Tail: After making The Secret of NIMH, Bluth struck a deal with Amblin Entertainment and got what he needed to direct his next film, along with a heavy dose of creative freedom. The result racked up huge box office numbers like no animated movie before it. Here’s another movie I had high hopes for going in.

An American Tail begins with a Jewish family of mice in Russia. After being driven out of their homes by cats, they immigrate to America. On the trip there, they cover the struggles faced by citizens of a couple countries with the memorable tune “There Are No Cats in America”, before reaching America and discovering that it also has cats. Brave little Fievel Mousekewitz, the main character, falls overboard on the trip over, and the rest of the story covers him trying to reunite with his family in America. This is Bluth still at him most ambitious. The problem is that he also adds several subplots and little side note adventures that don’t build on themselves or tie together as well as they could have.

Visually, An American Tail is rich, creative and fun, but watching it is often underwhelming. Other than Fievel’s search for his family, which is often put on hold, we’re just not pushed to care about anything in particular. It’s been called a sad film, but more critics might have been okay with that if it had emphasized its uplifting moments better. When Fievel washes up on shore, he’s found by a friendly pigeon, who sings him the song “Never Say Never”. If we’d seen him go into America with that mindset and stick to it through the tough times, there’d bemore to root for. Instead, he next finds out that there are cats in America, and for the most part afterwards, he’s only as positive as the scene he’s in. There’s so much potential, from the friendship he forms with the friendly cat Tiger, covered in all of one scene, to the scene near the end where he meets a group of cynical orphans, and the movie just doesn’t bring it out.

Still, there is a lot that works. The naive, adventurous Fievel is a different character than Mrs. Brisby, but he’s likable for some of the same reasons. A couple scenes hit some sweet notes, including the movie’s other memorable song “Somewhere Out There”, and several of the side adventures really are fun. My biggest complaint, I suppose, is that it was good where it could have been better. The first time I saw it, I was almost disappointed enough to recommend skipping it, but after a second look, I can tell, it really is a nice little movie; just one that wanted to be, and should have been, a nice grand, inspiring movie.

Final score: 6.5 out of 10

Winner: Both Bluth and Miyazaki were aiming high at this early stage in their careers and making exactly the kind of movie they wanted to make. Each was still getting the hang of cohesive storytelling, which is the biggest problem both ways. The difference is that you can’t really call it a weakness for Miyazaki, who still spins a pretty fine tale. He had a vision to go with his ambition. Bluth, it seems, was sure of little past the fact that he wanted to create movies as daring and well drawn as Disney had in their golden age. This one is taken by Hayao Miyazaki with room to spare.