SPOILER-FREE REVIEW
Despite containing plenty of visual splendour and taking on complex and sophisticated adult themes, The Wind Rises never quite soars thanks to flat character work and sluggish storytelling.
Back when Hayao Miyazaki’s The Wind Rises was first released into cinemas, audiences everywhere believed that this was quite possibly the last they were ever going to see of one of animation’s titan figures. Miyazaki had declared his retirement, only to return to Studio Ghibli years later to work on projects that, as of writing, are still in production. In a way, this would-be swansong makes me happy that he eventually chose to make more films. With its soaring aircraft, complex themes and impressive visuals, The Wind Rises showcases Miyazaki in his element, but almost paradoxically, the film he intended to be the high note at the end of a long illustrious career in animation turns out not to be his best work for reasons that are occasionally even baffling.
A loose, fictionalised biopic, The Wind Rises chronicles the life of Jiro Horikoshi, the Japanese aeronautical engineer who went on to design the infamous Mitsubishi Zero fighter plane. As a boy, Jiro longs to become a pilot but is prevented from doing so by his near-sightedness. Inspired by the famous Italian aircraft designer Caproni, Jiro soon finds himself studying aeronautical engineering at Tokyo University before seeking employment at Mitsubishi, just as his country enters the throes of the Great Depression and slides towards fascism and war. At the same time, Jiro falls in love with Nahoko, a woman who steadfastly refuses to marry him until she recovers from tuberculosis, then an incurable disease.
When this movie was first released, it attracted criticism from all across the political spectrum. But the politics aren’t the problem here. Miyazaki’s film serves as a requiem for pre-war Japan and uses the country’s traumatic modernisation to create a stirring central conflict. He was reportedly inspired by Jiro’s own words: “All I wanted to do was make something beautiful”. As an artist and designer, Jiro thinks of aeroplanes as objects of grace and beauty, but how do we square our admiration for these flying machines with the destructive purposes they’re being designed for? Just how culpable is a creator for the wrongs facilitated by their own inventions? And will Jiro’s pursuit of the perfect plane blind him to Nahoko, who’s suffering all the while from tuberculosis? The moral complexity, and the tale of a beautiful dream corrupted by real life, represents a subtle incorporation and awareness of what Jiro’s work eventually led to. The ardent pacifism is present here, as always.
With themes and ideas as complex as these, I can forgive the film for occasionally handling them clumsily. But The Wind Rises lacks momentum, and its story is frequently torpid. Biopics should strive to lend complexity to their subjects, and though we accept that this depiction of Jiro is heavily fictionalised, he remains a character whose passivity stands at odds with the behaviour of the studio’s roster of excellent protagonists. Things happen to him through no fault or action of his own, and in his obsession, he seems wilfully blind to what’s happening all around him. Even as he demonstrates bravery and kindness by rescuing people from an earthquake-stricken train or offering cake to kids on the street, we barely ever see him rail against the militarism and destruction he claims to oppose in his dreams, where he converses with his idol Caproni. About the only thing that brings the character to life is his serendipitous relationship with Nahoko, whose illness is beautifully juxtaposed with Jiro’s success and Japan’s rise. The tragic, bittersweet romance, set against a backdrop of fast-approaching war and dreams of beauty corrupted, carries both hope and dread for a modern viewer who has a far better idea of what happens next.
At the very least, there’s one area that Ghibli and Miyazaki never seem to fail to excel, and that’s the animation. With its soaring aircraft and breathtaking aerial sequences, Miyazaki is absolutely in his element, but these scenes are contrasted with the bleakness and poverty of life on the ground. Jiro’s aeroplanes are beautiful machines worthy of admiration, and in his dream sequences, the movie really comes to life with the sense of visual extravagance that frequently defines the studio’s best works. Here at least, the film is full of life and energy. Miyazaki even finishes the film with a masterstroke of sound design: some of the sound effects were created by distorting human voices, from the roars of aeroplane engines to the eerily human groans of the Great Kanto Earthquake. In this film, the planes are given souls and nature itself seems to have a voice.
Naturally, the high-quality animation is expected. The sluggish storytelling is more of an oddity, with complicated themes and a rich backdrop richly grounded in history but without the character work needed to raise it to the same level as its peers in the Ghibli repertoire. We have Miyazaki in his element, working on a film that isn’t quite his best. I’m just glad that he chose not to retire for real following this movie. It wouldn’t have been a bad exit, but it’s hardly a blaze of glory or a final spectacular flourish.
Comments