Celluloid Confetti

I was hunched over my desk a few days ago, when I was disturbed by a sudden commotion.

I soon discovered the frenzied baying from my colleagues heralded the arrival of a complete set of the Studio Ghibli Collection at MovieMail Towers.

Ten minutes later, I emerged from the scrum, my clothes bloody and torn, my shirt tied, bandana-style round my head, and a copy of Porco Rosso, one of the few Ghibli films I had yet to see, clutched in my bruised fingers.

For the uninitiated, Studio Ghibli is a Japanese animation studio. Over the last couple of decades, they have made not only some of the finest animation, but also some of the finest films, in any language, in any medium, full-stop.

Which explains the Lord-of-the-Flies-esque excitement when the complete collection hit our doormat.

Though Ghibli has released bombastic epics such as Laputa: Castle in the Sky or Princess Mononoke, films whose scale and imagination precede and surpass anything produced by the modern special effects age, the heart and soul of each film is the small-scale interactions between friends, families, young children and the natural world.

As anyone who has seen them will attest, films such as My Neighbour Totoro are utterly delightful, perfectly cut gems of cinematic light and joy.

(Such is my love for all things Ghibli, I have even visited the Studio Ghibli museum in Tokyo, where, as the picture above attests, I met Totoro himself. I was very impressed, though I think the hirsute sprite was a little underwhelmed)

Unfortunately, Japanimation is, frankly, a hard sell.

It took me two full days to persuade my parents to see Spirited Away, and another full hour before they would agree to watch it with their glasses on.

When I told them the film was a delightful, Alice-in-Wonderland-esque tale with a Japanese twist, I think they were expecting two-hours of mecha-tentacled pederasty.

Japanese popular culture seems to have attracted an undeserved reputation for violent perversity (and is there any other kind?).

This is probably because Japan’s main cultural exports are videogames, manga comic-books and late-night anime - art-forms all enjoyed by male adolescents.

The logic is that if male adolescents are interested in something, and do it late at night, then, ipso facto, there must be something wrong with it.

Well, there is nothing wrong with Studio Ghibli, and I am pleased to say I spent a joyful and wholesome Sunday evening watching Porco Rosso, the story of an Italian fighter pilot who has been turned into a pig.

Porco Rosso was directed by Hayao Miyazaki himself, one of the Studio’s founding artists. The film features his trademark fascination with machinery and flight, and includes typically strong and plucky female characters.

Many of Miyazaki’s films take place in an eerily-beautiful early 20th century world of steam, propellors and airships, where the First World War never happened, and where even the most spectacular urban metropolis is surrounded by acres of green.

Miyazaki’s work challenges the assumption that the Japanese aesthetic is relentlessly modern, and whilst startlingly original, his films are never alienating; once you have seen one, you will want to see more.

But now I have the full set of Ghibli films at my disposal, I am not sure which one to watch next.

Maybe Pom Poko, a Watership-Down-esque tale of a clan of Tanuki racoon-dogs defending their habitat from human developers using their magical testicles? Or Nausicaä Valley Of The Wind, an environmental sci-fi about humans being threatened by giant insects spewing from a toxic forest?

So many to choose from, and if I have to wrench the discs from my colleagues’ cold, dead hands, then so be it…