In memory of Isao Takahata

Note: This was originally posted in Twitlonger in April 6th 2018. I'm reposting this as a commemoration of the anniversary of Isao Takahata's departure.

When I was a child, probably around four-years old, there was a TV show that most children of my generation used to watch, which was called "Marco - From the Apennines to the Andes". It was the story of a little poor boy who travelled across the ocean to find his sick mother.

I didn't know why at the time, but there was something very unusual about this series compared to other children shows I used to watch. Maybe because it was the very first Japanese animation I had seen, with the roughness that comes with it in comparison to children's entertainment in the West but even with more series under my belt, I realized that I was watching something more akin to real life, to more normal sentiments like loving your family, and wanting to do everything for them, regardless of your age. This was my first contact with Isao Takahata's works, who passed away just today. I actually saw it coming given that he was very old, but even just reading the news left me with shock and sadness.

I'm surprised at how much his work has joined me during my life. I didn't know who Isao Takahata was until my teenage years, when I started to watch a lot of films, so I was surprised to see that Takahata was the director of something that I knew so many years ago, but upon reflection, it made sense. Takahata is not as talented as his friend (and rival) Hayao Miyazaki, but he's more of a pensative individual, expressing very thoughtful and deep ideas through his filmography as a result. In "Marco", and another works of him like "Heidi", one could perceive traces of a sensitiveness towards family, and respect upon traditional values that would later define his work.

I think everybody knows "Grave of the Fireflies", and if not, you should definitely see it. It's the first film Takahata himself directed for Studio Ghibli. It gets a reputation of being a depressing film, ranking usually among the saddest films ever made. Though I never cried at it. I've always thought that its reputation misrepresents what the film truly accomplishes. You see, "Grave of the Fireflies" was never about the scars of war, but rather an expression towards the youth. About avoiding isolation from your ancestors, since the tragedies in the film, as harsh as it sounds, are mostly the children's fault. The most striking and important visual component in the movie are definitely fireflies, because the film establishes them as a metaphor for the ephemeral. And the looming threat of evanescence is present during the whole film. The life of commodity vanishes quickly because of an attack, and the children themselves don't last long in this world, because everything is going to disappear one day, according to "Grave of the Fireflies". By the end of the film, a particularly moving scene gives meaning to everything that we've seen: The ghosts of the children who fell during the Second World War look upon the future, and what do they see? A prosperous city of the end of the 80s, product of the Japanese asset price bubble, yet muddled by a screen of fireflies. Takahata argued that this is the future built through the suffering of previous generations, but it's going to disappear. The life of commodity is going to go away, and the tragedies that happen to Setsuko and Seita are a warning to what's going to happen if the rebellious youth decides to reject their families and isolate themselves.

Though most people don't really know Takahata's other works. "Only Yesterday" is probably the most underrated of them all, and yet it remains one of Ghibli's most outstanding films. "Only Yesterday" plays with memories, and uses animation to cross over both past and present, and add a dream-like quality to the mixture. Everything is connected to a very relatable sentiment: The feeling of disappointment or wonder on how life turned out, and a desire for things to be simpler like in our childhoods. Not all memories are positive, and there are inevitable regrets, but there's redemption to be found in them, because they're also our source of inspiration, something to remind us what we wanted or where we want to go forward. At the end of the movie, Taeko acquires contact with her past self, who alongside other children lead her to stay in the countryside instead of returning to her tumultous life in the city. Takahata suggests through this that the past is not a limit to ourselves, but can become a guide to realize what we really want and heal our insecurities.

If "Grave of the Fireflies" was geared towards the youth, and "Only Yesterday" is geared towards adults, then "The Tale of the Princess Kaguya" is probably thought for older people - and given that Takahata made this film at 80 years old, it makes sense. "Kaguya" portrays a rapidly passing life, subtly handling topics like the fugacity of life and projects that are never resolved in parallel to the myth of the bamboo princess. A very intense and joyful childhood put against the rigidity of adulthood and the relationship with society, yet with the constant desire of going back from the artificial urban life. What's a life well spent? It's a question that the film poses. As a final film, "Kaguya" couldn't be more fitting.

With these films, Takahata achieved something truly special, something that captures deeper emotions and thoughts. I'm very saddened by his departure, because the film world has lost a great director, but I'm glad that I've lived on the same era to see his work while he was alive. Rest in peace, and thanks for everything.