The Boy and the Heron

Tumultuous tragedy bellicose bombardment inhospitable hegemony disconsolate disaster, wartime waspish wincing saturnine dismal devastation laconic lockdown.

A spirited move out of harm's way felicitous fortunes august acculturation, incumbent sadness besought fatigue synchronized siesta voltaic vroom.

Resilient retinue gregarious gatherings sycamore sympathy symphonic stack, unhindered wanderings atavistic adventures non-sequitarzany clandestine quests. 

Distressing disappearance worrisome whittling Sombretown searching hearty solemnity, immersive quandary querulous kibble flexible physics asymmetric stone.

Intangible tinsel impalpable pulp amorphous dimension sibilant sorcery, spiritual succotash insouciant sushi transformative quadrant juxtaposition. 

Whambient wavelengths fantastic frequencies imaginative hyper-reactive illusion, bewildernestled oblique immaterial shapeshifting quagmiracult-de-saquesters.

Archaic sentiment serpentine simplicity quaker o'tantamount reanimation, consistent regroupings chrysalid coordinates oblong addresses arhythmic artistry. 

Aquadrilatticeworkinder'eggstatic palimperception existentorian, quintessenshisha hurrisugarcandolittle exubearingstraitjacket willowridesharangue. 

Sublimerickshawshankbernard encompassing subterranean nexus, dreamlichintegritty gruel mossemboss'kosh granknitty slimpickety bandanana. 

Subconscious sandmanic slumberton reverie quixoticambridge i'deal'emblematic, elephanatic rhinosirriustic wildebeesturnstyle crocodilettantics.

Vacancy velvet caroussel candleliturgy seasaunter Mirvishlistless incredulity, acceleration inquisitive maven curious exquisite tournyquil'bation.

Accented effervest hogtirade levity interlude schism cosmicrobull mist, courageous acoustics tumbledown tweedle discursive reunion familial galaxy. 

Saw a heron the day after I watched this.

In an uncharacteristic spot.

It didn't fly away either, like they usually do when you're up close.

Neat.

I've seen every Ghibli. 

Kaze no tani no Naushika (Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind)

My thoughts regarding the resilience of nature as pertaining to a post-pandemic environment, find rational contradiction within Ghibli's Kaze no tani no Naushika (Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind).

Within a toxic environment has pesitferously emerged after an apocalypse, most forests having become so polluted that they can no longer sustain human life.

Human life as we know it the forests and the giant insects who reside within them, have no tolerance for extant humanity, being fully aware that we destroyed the planet.

Thus, rather than habitual resiliency which sees the abundant return of cherished plants and animals, the forests still grow but have become infected with inherent anatomies hostile to humans.

Such a development corresponds to the theory that microplastics herald our doom, and will perhaps one day make food sources unsustainable as our population expands.

The literary irony within the minuscule components which once ruled the land with colossal magnitude, as fitting as the end of a Victorian novel as applied to the fossil fuel age.

You would think we would simply take steps to gradually transition away from fossil fuels, but that doesn't seem to be happening anywhere, this film was made in 1984.

You would think the consistent stewardship of a robust environment hospitable to our needs, would indeed be of the utmost importance considering the maintenance of posterity. 

It really isn't though, rather the chaotic clash of market based dogma rules the millennia, and should prudent planning screw up a sale fury will vociferously tantrum incarnate.

Such facts aren't lost on Kaze no tani no Naushika which sees the world still fighting suicidal wars, hellbent on annihilating our species 1,000 years later, ignoring science and ecologial rhythms. 

Nausicaä herself reveals the value of study and the just rewards of patient duty, as her innate wonder and curiosity find working solutions to age old problems.

Don't we have working solutions now to fossil fuel issues and environmental bedlam?

Isn't it best to employ them through a gradual transition?

Like sustainable economics.

Just a little less so. 

Tenkû no shiro Rapyuta (Castle in the Sky)

A largely unknown mythical heritage gracefully envelopes young aloof Sheeta, who would rather just be left alone than frenetically chased by an irate military.

Pazu has found work and community when he suddenly finds her one fortuitous day, and helps her feverishly escape when her former captors defiantly threaten.

Pirates also emerge in search of legendary boundless treasure, to which they believe Sheeta holds the key unlocking mad abundant riches.

They search for an ancient legend solemnly floating in the sky, where once a race of international influencers secretly advanced global sociocultural reckoning.

They also hypothetically accumulated mass resourceful mineral commodities, how to infiltrate and escape with such embroidered booty remaining a compelling infinite challenge.

The military naturally thinks the fortress could be used as an invincible weapon, and seeks to somehow control it with no prior knowledge of the structure whatsoever. 

A descendent of the race who once dwelt there seeks the same thing but possesses access codes, and could theoretically wield its power should he acquire Sheeta's magic talisman.

She's much more modern however and adamantly agrees with her mystical forebears.

Isn't it more exciting to live on the surface?

Away from lofty sequestered disparities.

I imagine it's fun to live everywhere perhaps even under the ocean in a secret sea fortress, which could furtively move undetected alongside pods of whales and ebullient dolphins (wrote this before I saw Ponyo). 

The tale still presents a classic narrative style congenially bent on less stratified collectives, wherein which mutual prosperity guides communal initiatives with fluent understanding.

I'm surprised a live action version of this story has yet to be made, it's the best fantasy film I've seen in years and has so many thrilling adventurous elements. 

The magical ties to ancient ways still potentially producing postmodern peculiarities. 

Is this just something people have always assumed?

Still fun to have (harmless) origin myths at times. 

Gake no ue no Ponyo (Ponyo)

An eccentric caretaker vigilantly monitors and looks after oceanic depths, consistently attempting to facilitate harmony beneath the temperamental seas.

He's rather tightly attuned to rhythmic supernatural submersion, and even cares for aquatic wonders too young to freely roam. 

But his most spirited daughter suddenly escapes one propitious morn, and eventually finds herself on land in the adoring company of a human.

The child is on his way to school when he accidentally cuts himself, his wound soon licked by the curious goldfish and instantly healed through nascent magic.

She's named "Ponyo" by little Sôsuke who becomes deeply enamoured with his friend, but her father remains distraught and soon reacquires her through immortal counsel. 

We learn that he is collecting unique transformative elixirs, which he hopes to use to change the world one epoch transfigurative day. 

But little Ponyo makes an escape during which she chaotically disrupts his plans.

The ocean erupting in imaginative fury.

Ponyo finding Sôsuke once more. 

Imagine the ocean 10,000 years ago, abounding with the practically uninterrupted fecundity of thousands upon thousands of transformative millennia!

Whales everywhere to be seen coral reefs extending far past fathomable limits, manatees and dugongs flourishing unabashed, crab and lobster expertly radiating. 

No wonder legendary tales consistently emerged with divine hyperbole, as a lack of knowledge inspired courageous deeds and habitual curiosity envisaged remonstration.

Ghibli suggests that even with our technology and the ways we've adapted to oceanic resilience, we've lost something by moving beyond legend into a much more practical repartee.

Too much of an emphasis on fact can tether daring adventurous spirits, to wayward predictable trajectories lacking variability and versatile imagination (we clearly still need to clean the oceans up). 

Not that a practical focus isn't particularly requisite in traditional commerce.

It's just at times it doesn't make recreational sense.

And for thousands of years there was nothing to do.

*Figures not precise estimates.

**That's the first time I've ballparked civilization's history.

Mononoke-hime (Princess Mononoke)

A young prince must fight a demon who threatens the prosperity of his humble village (Yôji Matsuda as Ashitaka), his people forced to flee long ago after infuriating the emperor. 

He successfully slays the intruder but touches its infected tentacles too, a curse then emerging within his arm which the village elders cannot cure.

Not willing to sit back while it spreads he boldly departs in search of medicine, making his way to a rowdy village engaged in the act of making iron.

He's welcomed for having rescued some of its menfolk from irate wolves, the village leader (Yûko Tanaka as Eboshi-gozen) eagerly entertaining and letting him get to know her people.

But as it dishearteningly turns out, their ironworks is destroying the local wilderness, where a resident forest god has lived forever, in quiet peace and regal seclusion. 

The animals are loosely united and intent on fighting the destructive town, arguments erupting amongst them, at other times, cohesive calm.

A young maiden lives with the wolves and is just as fierce in her condemnation, known as Princess Mononoke (Yuriko Ishida), she denies fear and exhales resolve.

Prince Ashitaka soon finds he's in love with her as all hell emphatically breaks loose.

Eboshi-gozen wants the god's head to grant immortality. 

But is unsure if the legend's true. 

Princess Mononoke and Prince Ashitaka find comfort in their mutual adoring amicability, the ideal unification of masculine and feminine harmoniously embracing age old enlightened daring.

It's more difficult to figure out the role matronistically played by Eboshi-gozen within, for on the one hand she supplies freedom and community, on the other, environmental devastation.

Not only the naturalistic bedlam to be expected by efficient mining, but she also pursues the forest god itself, intent on despairing ancient resiliency. 

She frees many from vile servitude and supplies honest work for her surrounding cast, while promoting the development of Mordor, it's a difficult contradiction to balance.

Environmentally friendly mining practices at peace with resident animals, certainly would have been less burdensome, and providing a heightened degree of friendly interdependency.

Love still innocently flourishes beyond problems associated with industrialization.

A narrative like none other.

Forest mystics, spellbound exhilaration. 

*Note: Ghibli doesn't show up in spellcheck!

Kurenai no buta (Porco Rosso)

An aging pilot hiding away on a remote exotic island, with some wine, a tent, a plane, and a radio, the hours slowly pass by, until called upon yet again (Shûichirô Moriyama as Porco Rosso).

He's somewhat of a virtuoso and was feared during World War I, his daring exploits exceedingly agile mechanistic maestro intuitive ignition.

He works as a bounty hunter recovering loot obtained by pirates, who grow weary of his nimble meddling, and hire a challenger to face him (Akio Ôtsuka as Donald Curtis).

His plane stalls, he's suddenly shot down, after just having made his last payment, the government changing and promoting fascism, which doesn't jive with his democratic sympathies.

Fortunately, friends have been made, one who'll set about rebuilding his plane (Bunshi Katsura VI as Mr. Piccolo), his granddaughter's brilliance seeking distinguished prominence (Akemi Okamura as Fio Piccolo), if she can stop love from fouling things up.

She designs his new wondrous jet stream just before the secret police arrive, the two escaping to Porco's secret hideout, which the pirates have meanwhile discovered.

The challenger arrives and is jealous of how much a maiden thrice widowed loves freewheeling Porco (Tokiko Katô as Gina), and defies him to fight once again, enough money to cover his costs versus Fio's begrudged hand. 

L'amour's injudicious vicissitudes bewilder nimble Porco's individualism, the intensity swiftly increasing the more he denies them, the more he attempts to reconstitute anew.

Transformed into a pig who some quietly say can only have his curse lifted by heartfelt innocence, he worries intently about age and probability, still with no interest in settling.

Definitely the strangest Ghibli I've encountered (it's rather literal) yet still abounding in feminine strength, as it creatively contends with a bellicose world so often composed by combative men.

Versatile lyrics enlighten the madness yet inspire more danger as they're sought after, equanimous tandemed quaint domesticity reservedly tempting romantic plots.

A film certainly like none other this airborne Kurenai no buta (Porco Rosso) imaginatively glides.

What's love like if uncertainty abounds.

And you consistently take to the skies?

Hauru no ugoku shiro (Howl's Moving Castle)

I suppose watching Ghibli films is like moving to a new city, assuming you're intent on exploring.

The imaginative transitions and unexpected revelations disseminate inherent constructive flux, producing gemini ensemble; it's not chaotic or turbulent or nutso, it just takes some time to make sense of it, and because the dynamics are always changing, new hypotheses consistently accrue.

Patterns precociously present themselves which embrace diversification exclaimed, staunch traditions dependably mutated as the unforeseen glibly freely fascinates.

Since cities are vast like Ghibli's repertoire there's plenty of room for cultural investigation, different neighbourhoods/themes influencing one another through variable grassroots multiplicities. 

Changing jobs from time to time can encourage synergistic sleuthing, especially if the jobs demand travel to previously unheard of quarters.

Local cuisine and enticing craftspersonship generate curious reflective lore, folksy fashions and animate complements melodically streaming eclectic impulse.

From scene to scene Ghibli regenerates and humbly presents something unanticipated, like a store that only sells mushrooms or vegan sushi or doorknobs or vinyl. 

Throw in a new language and it's wildly unpredictable as practically everything reverberates fresh meaning. By no means a walk in the park. But illuminating as time slowly passes.

Howl's Moving Castle habitually transfigures from one mobile scene to the next, thematic variation in nimble motion denoting canvas and rhythm and text.

Unfortunately their nation's at war and wizards and witches have been conscripted, before a young adult is suddenly transformed into an aged contemplative constellation.

Howl disrupts the fighting as best he can as it rashly insists, seeing no point in taking a side since they're both hellbent on destruction.

But the most powerful sorceress demands he yield and fight in the rank and file.

Even if his heart's just not in it (not me, this makes more sense if you see the film).

If he's too much of a chill elemental (see The Chronicles of Riddick).

The beautiful intricate scenes overflowing with compelling detail aptly highlight war's thoughtless menace as the bombs abruptly fall.

But many are still intent on living regardless of imperial hubris.

A romantic tale abounding with wonder that won't relent in tumultuous times, it illustrates poetic convection, while harvesting paramount mischief (not looting and destroying things but peaceful protests and critical analysis).

Sen to Chihiro no kamikakushi (Spirited Away)

A traditional family moves to the countryside to embrace less hectic surroundings, the daughter noticeably upset at having left her friends behind.

Upon trying to locate their new home, they steer down a foreboding country lane, only to stop several kilometres on down, at the sign of a diminutive statue.

Uncertain of where they are, exploration seems in order, father believing they've found an (abandoned) amusement park, where they may find something to eat.

Food awaits their lavish appetites and soon mom and dad are feasting, unaware they're gorging upon meals prepared for visiting spirits.

For they have entered an alternative dimension wherein which gods and monsters composedly bathe, their bathhouse managed by a haughty witch (Suzanne Pleshette) who's none too fond of humans.

Chihiro's (Daveigh Chase) parents are transformed into pigs for supping 'pon victuals forbidden, and she's soon looking for work, as advised by the helpful Haku (Jason Marsden). 

But it's tough to settle in since she's never laboured before, and bathing a shy stink spirit proves a vast malodorous chore.

She may be able to escape and set her parents free indeed.

But not before the greedy witch has successfully decreed. 

Sen to Chihiro no kamikakushi (Spirited Away) investigates incorporeal phenomena, substantiated on their own terms, without overlooking endemic economies.

Chihiro soon learns she was wrong to critique her cozy creature comforts, as the prospect of ceaseless work suddenly materializes. Fortunately she makes friends who don't lack sympathy or compassion, and isn't strictly monitored throughout the day, has a bit of time to roam.

Ghibli Studios presents another world overflowing with narrative innovation, unexpected otherworldly creations untethered unleashed at play.

Its characteristic light heart brightly beats as the current doth flow, but it's somewhat less innocent more frightening than some of its equally wondrous contemporaries.

As genuine affection shines through and even monsters slowly relent, the strong bonds forged between workers wholeheartedly freely cement.

In practically every scene throughout the film there's something new to charmingly ponder, even if it's comically startling or slightly stressed or wild or fearful.

As if the peeps at graceful Ghibli were concerned with chill enchantments.

The spellbinding glib green light.

Ethereally expanding.

Tonari no Totoro (My Neighbour Totoro)

A family moves far away to raise young in idyllic surroundings, the peaceful breeze a windswept melody, the silent nights a tranquil balm, even if living in the city can be equally mesmerizing, its rhythmic variations wondrous catalysts, its gritty flux dynamic grains, a different kind of symphonic swing, still in tune with seasonal contrarieties, the countryside presents more immediate environmental difference, the rays of the sun like molten fusion, a livid storm compressed surprise, it's good for restful relaxation, for decompressing from time to time, but can lack what you weren't expecting, if you don't dig deep, experiment, sleuth.

Look for animals.

Learn about different birds.

Make your own diverse mechanics, soaking up whims and signs, like the kids in My Neighbour Totoro, as they nimbly acclimatize.

Prudent planning was exercised in their locale, and patches of forest were left amongst the fields, the rice fields abounding but not all-encompassing, the children still finding lots of room to play.

Wherein which they discover a magical realm, bold immersed unrestrained imagination, a godlike creature with remarkable powers, exhaling induced exclamation.

Like an idea he can slip the mind, but concentration helps Totoro shine through, to perhaps summon the omniscient cat bus, or play music at the end of the day.

The film doesn't retail shock or ceremony.

It's as unobtrusive as it is inquisitive.

The exact opposite of a horror film in fact, you aren't filled with dread or anxiety afterwards.

It's like productive chill curious growth invigorated, as if you've just seen a badger or had dinner at a local restaurant, as if it's distilled that feeling you get when you're free of responsibility and have time to explore, blend, hypothesize, adventure, recall all those things you misplaced in the bustle, like a band you used to really like, or a view you haven't seen for awhile.

Everything's there in the city too, just have to keep your eyes open, like the girl I saw discover a caterpillar at Sainte-Catherine and Peel one day, or signs that look like animals. A wayward soccer ball in the park. Eating sushi as you walk down the street. A bottle dropped with conversational intent.

I missed the conversational intent of the bottle drop because I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts, and didn't realize I was supposed to pick it up, and that the person who had dropped it wanted to talk to me.

I believe the expression is, my bad.

Totoro's like all those things you never expected to see all decked out and rolled into one.

The divine chillaxed im/material.

Always present.

Never forgotten.

Majo no takkyȗbin (Kiki's Delivery Service)

Sometimes you get lucky.

I didn't find what I was looking for earlier this Summer when I went out to see Die kleine hexe (The Little Witch), but decided to see Majo no takkyȗbin (Kiki's Delivery Service) last week on a whim, and I'd be lying if I didn't say it was exactly what I'd been searching for, apart from the fact that it was released in 1989, and therefore lacking in contemporary applicability.

If it was indeed contemporary, it would have ideally and bewilderingly fit.

Not that I'm complaining.

Finding something in the present that produces an affect you cherished long ago reliably revels in enigmatic ecstasy, but finding something from the past that commensurately impresses, shouldn't be dismissed for ye olde bygone praise.

I'm reminded of people dismissing classic films because they aren't contemporary, the assumption being that the current moment must be the most advanced, because the arts evolve in an unerring progression.

I've tried to explain that the arts are more like a mutation, and that seminal works emerge at different intervals regardless of what mesmerized the past, or will dazzle the future, by citing several well known examples (Citizen Kane, Dr. Zhivago, Casablanca, Dr. Strangelove), and arguing passionately to the viable contrary.

I've never gotten very far, but it's true if you can wrap your head around it, although it was much easier to access classic films in my youth (many are available on Itunes) at what were called "video stores", where you went to rent movies, some of them having better collections than others, many of them wiped out as Blockbuster rose.

It's even hard to come by a film from back in the day that disseminates age old wonder, for I'm sure you've watched some of the beloved films of your youth in recent years, and found them lacking in tantalizing appeal.

Or you've streamed films you missed way back to reimmerse yourself within an old school aesthetic, and found some of the exemplars lacking in eccentric magnetism, or at least not as spellbinding as you had hoped they would be.

Majo no takkyȗbin (Kiki's Delivery Service) resonates with that innocent yet risk-fuelled ageless atemporal fluidity you find in Dickens and Proust however, as the little witch Kiki (Minami Takayama) heads out on her own, to build a life abounding in unchecked novelty.

With her wise contradictory cat Jiji (Rei Sakuma), who supplies grumpy yet pertinent commentary.

It's like otherworldly cool and alternative pluck were joyously yet controversially distilled to craft a regenerative narrative elixir, as intergenerational as it is unique, as wondrous as it is compelling.

I'll have to see every film crafted by Ghibli Studios I'm afraid, and share observations from time to time.

I could have just as easily seen something else that night.

Good fortune when that kind of thing happens.

Kaze tachinu (The Wind Rises)

The dreams of a modest principled hard working youth patiently materialize in Hayao Miyazaki's Kaze tachinu (The Wind Rises), an animated account of a brilliant Japanese aeronautical engineer whose poetical mathematics helped remodel Japan's aviation industry.

The frame insulates a wise psychological stratagem for growing and changing during tumultuous times, within Jirȏ Horikoshi's (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) mind, and provides him with the strength to go-with-the-flow as hardships, sicknesses, and political aggressions challenge his strong sense of self.

He grew up in the years leading up to World War II and had to helplessly sit back while his designs were co-opted by the military.

The film doesn't shy away from exploring technological testaments to militaristic miscues.

Horikoshi has to hide for a time as jingoistic agents grow suspicious of his activities.

This aspect of the film fades without receiving enough attention.

I'm supposing the pre-war years were quite oppressive as indicated by Horikoshi's attempts to converse with less fortunate citizens who are frightened by his humble offering of sponge cake.

Research and development processes and workplace pastimes are a recurring feature as his dreams become a reality through the application of diligent trials and errors.

Love fills-out the creative cure, as a respectful romance energizes his designs.

Kaze tachinu offers innocent industrious insights into a dedicated upright life of work and study whose successes and failures are stoically articulated.

Romance, rewards and retinues refine his tragic pursuit of innovation, his revered reveries, seek, search, discover; apply; install.