Granted near-unfettered access to the notoriously insular Studio Ghibli, director Sunada Mami follows the three men who are the lifeblood of Ghibli – the eminent director Miyazaki Hayao, the producer Suzuki Toshio, and the elusive “other director” Takahata Isao – over the course of a year as the studio rushes to complete two films, Miyazaki’s The Wind Rises and Takahata’s The Tale of The Princess Kaguya. The result is a rare “fly on the wall” look at one of the world’s most celebrated animation studios, and insight into the dreams, passion and singular dedication of these remarkable creators. The pair founded Studio Ghibli after Takahata took on Miyazaki as an apprentice; for a while they worked on animations together, but the younger Miyazaki wanted to direct his own features and soon became the bigger star.
Often hailed as the Japanese Walt Disney, Miyazaki is revered as the creative genius behind such charming and enchanting fare like My Neighbor Totoro, Spirited Away, and Kiki’s Delivery Service, they might picture a gentle, grandfather type with heart and eyes full of wonder. Well, these fans are wrong. Miyazaki, on the other hand, largely comes off well as a polite, diligent worker blessed with a stroke of genius. But the man is also marked by moments of cynicism, resentment, and self-doubt that hint at a darkness behind his creations. “I don’t ever feel happy in my daily life,” he says. “How could that be our ultimate goal? Filmmaking only brings suffering.”
Miyazaki is in his 70s, but during The Wind Rises’ production, he comes into the studio every day from 11AM to 9PM, returning to a nearby workshop each night. Sundays are also very busy, he tells us – he always cleans the local river. But this isn’t a person altogether at ease with his position in the world. “I’m a man of the 20th century,” he tells us at one point. “I don’t want to deal with the 21st.” Miyazaki also often embarks on tangents that are circular, but philosophical, at times, even eloquent, but they also betray a deep discomfort with the present world order. The Fukushima disaster, for instance, has had a profound impact on his thinking.
Despite worldwide acclaim and his status as perhaps the greatest living animator, Miyazaki doesn’t express much confidence or even affection for his work. “How do we know movies are even worthwhile?,” he asks at one point. “How did this happen? What am I doing with this film?” at another. When asked about the future of Studio Ghibli, which has been the subject of much speculation in recent years, his answer is blunt. “The future is clear: it’s going to fall apart,” he says. “I can already see it. What’s the use worrying? It’s inevitable.”
Takahata is a ghostly presence throughout the film until a brief appearance near the end. Miyazaki doesn’t hold back on his colleague, accusing him of having a personality disorder and leaving the studio in disarray. When announcing The Tale of Princess Kaguya for the first time, producer Suzuki Toshio admits to reporters that Takahata has “never delivered a film on time or on budget,” already knowing that the movie won’t make the release date he’s giving. “Takahata-san is incomprehensible. Does he not want to finish?” Suzuki later asks in exasperation. Sunada expertly weaves the relationship between the two directors throughout The Kingdom of Dreams and Madness, playing the two off each other to spin an absorbing narrative.