SPOILER ALERT: In this post, I talk in great detail about The Wind Rises. If you haven't seen it yet, you might want to skip this post and come back later. :-)
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Miyazaki's latest and (allegedly) final movie doesn't have much of a plot. There is no grand climax, and not even much character development. It's just the story of a boy's life, as he follows his life's ambition to be an aeronautical engineer. It takes place in Japan, from just a few years before the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923, through Japan's ensuing economic collapse, and into World War II. Although you witness all these disasters in the film, the main character, Jiro, seems oddly detached from them emotionally. And though the moral question of how the planes that he's creating are being used does come up repeatedly, he never really grapples with the issue in any noticeable way. Even surrounded by the wreckage of a war that he, in a material way, helped to create, he remains aloof, untouched--forever in his own little world.
It is easy to describe The Wind Rises in this way, and if you do, it sounds terrible. But with all this being said, I found this movie to be beautiful, touching, full of life, inspiration, and experiences both sensual and surreal. I loved it.
The thing that makes this movie work for me, is that even though you are always held a bit apart from the disasters that befell Japan throughout that period in history, you're only held apart from them in the sense that you are experiencing the world primarily through Jiro's mind. Jiro, I believe, is one of those rare people of incredible genius who lives for one thing and one thing only: that is his passion for designing planes. In this movie, contrary to the stereotypical story of genius, Jiro is allowed to live a life that fully realizes his potential and his purpose. Even amidst all the war, crisis, and destruction, Jiro miraculously manages to fully pursue his raison d'être. He achieves this through a very plausible combination of family money, connections, the proper schooling, and, of course, his brilliance and passion for what he does. Although it is probably quite rare for all these ingredients to come together in one person, it certainly does happen, here and there--and this is the story that Miyazaki has chosen to tell.
Even given this predominance of Jiro's feelings and sensations in the movie, you still experience some of what other characters feel. All the characters in The Wind Rises are distinct, unique, and at times, very intriguing (i.e. that German guy! He was so weird and I enjoyed him so much. I also love that he just drives away with a gleeful wave over his shoulder, never to be heard from again--leaving behind not-so-vague suspicions that he was wanted by Axis governments.) But you feel Honjo's jealousy of his friend, Jiro. You feel their frustration at Japan's poverty and the stunted growth of its technology. You feel the impending sense of doom when the German talks about the coming war, and how the famous aeronautical engineer, Juncker, "fights the hand that feeds him. And he will lose." Jiro's sister comes crashing into each of her scenes with a fierceness, a vivacity, and a need for human connection that Jiro seems to lack.
The one exception to Jiro's detachment from people is his true love, Nahoko. She seems to be the only person that Jiro really needs in his life. She and his planes are the only two things that Jiro cries for, that make his heart beat faster--the only two things that seem to allow Jiro to connect with other people. All the rest--fires burning all of Tokyo, people mobbing banks as the economy implodes, the Japanese Secret Service coming after him, the war--he floats through it all untouched, his head forever filled with dreams of beautiful planes and (perhaps?) imaginary conversations with the great Italian plane-maker, Caproni.
When I try to think of what Jiro's story is about, and what makes him so significant as a character and a person, I think of Najinski. Vaslav Nijinsky was, by all reports, one of the greatest ballet dancers who ever lived. He was a genius, both in the choreography and the performance of ballet, and he lived only for his art. People who met him off-stage said that he seemed to have virtually no personality, and no interest in anything or anyone that did not involve dance.
Najinsky's story, however, is one of unfulfilled genius. He choreographed several revolutionary pieces for the Ballet Russes in Paris--the most famous of these was Stravinsky's Rite of Spring in 1913, where the music and dancing were considered so bizarre and barbaric that they actually caused an all-out riot among the audience at its premier. After only five performances, they shut down the production and almost all of Najinsky's original choreographies were later lost to history. No one wanted to work with or see his choreography, and his attempt at managing his own ballet company proved disastrous. His career fell apart after that, and he became insane: severely schizophrenic. He danced his last public performance in 1917, at the age of 28, and he spent much of the rest of his life in and out of institutions, until he died in 1950.
Jiro's story is the antithesis to Najinsky's. He is what Najinsky might have been, if he had been given full reign to pursue his destiny--and I use that word with complete sincerity. Some people are simply destined to do one particular thing. That is their purpose here on earth. Jiro was lucky enough to have his genius recognized by his superiors, and also to have a talent that was so useful that he was given everything he needed to reach the full height of his abilities. Jiro was born to design planes, and that's what he did. The fact that these planes will be used to kill people, and the fact that Jiro knows this, will not dissuade him from it. He is one of those vanishingly rare people who is so in touch with his own destiny that there is no room for doubt, and nothing will cause him to swerve from it. There is no inner moral dilemma, there is no anxiety about the course his life is taking. His head and heart and soul are filled with planes, and for him it's as simple as that.
The same goes for his relationship with Nahoko. Their love for each other follows the same unerring path as his career. They both know it's right, and they know it so deep-down and so naturally that there is no place for questions. It is simply the way it must be. They are meant for each other.
I know some people will think that sounds cheesy, overly sentimental, or unrealistic--just plain wishful thinking. But personally, I believe I have seen cases of true love that lasted a life-time (not many, but a few), and I believe that there are people on this earth who are put here to follow their passion for one thing, and one thing only: like Najinsky. And if both of those things can exist, isn't it possible that they could both happen within one person? Besides, in the story-telling world all things are possible; and so Miyazaki tells the story, not of a perfect life, not of a perfect man, but simply of genius and destiny fulfilled.
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