Last summer I set out to write a superhero novel. It was a profoundly difficult task. Not only because writing a novel is no walk in the park, but because of the demands of the superhero genre. Like many writers, I identify with my protagonists; but in the realm of superheroes, that creates a dilemma. I needed my characters to lash out at their enemies but how could I get into the heads of such characters, when I, quite literally, won’t hurt a fly?
This is not to say I don’t enjoy superhero, and other morally-dubious action movies. All’s fair in the world of fiction. Nonetheless, when filmmakers do craft compelling characters who also embody higher ideals, that’s something worth celebrating. Such films are not only subversive as works of art, but also contribute to our imaginations of what a better world could look like. One such beautifully subversive film is Hayao Miyazaki’s Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind.
Nausicaa (Alison Lohman) lives in a fantasy world. She seeks guidance from a Gandalfian figure named Lord Yupa (Patrick Stewart) and from a witch named Obaba (Tress MacNeille). Like fairy tale characters, the residents of Nausicaa’s village, wear peasant garb and knights’ armour. Yet these signifiers of pastness coexist alongside the present and future. Instead of swords, the knights fight with machine guns and drive tanks. Instead of horses, they ride airships. While these choices have merit from a simple aesthetic standpoint, their meaning goes beyond that.
When people carry out grotesque acts of violence we call their behavior “medieval” — this is dubious naming since the medieval period included a large range of behavior. But these kind of temporal imaginations play a role in the battles of today — and Japan harbors a special form of such imaginations. Miyazaki is invested in the maintenance of a provision of the Japanese constitution that bans the institution of a standing army. Therefore, in Miyazaki’s context, militarism is not an ugly present, but a medieval past (thus Nausicaa’s peasant village) and a terrifying prospect for the future (thus the airships).
Nausicaa, meanwhile, stands at the center of another interesting juxtaposition. She is a “princess,” and, on the one hand, her father’s palatial home makes her appear the conventional, feudal monarch. Otherwise, however, she seems far more a princess of the Leia variety. Her clothes are not extravagant, and she walks amongst her people as their equal and champion. It is this latter vision of princess-hood that triumphs in Miyazaki’s story, for just as he is committed to juxtaposing the literal and figurative meaning of “medieval,” he also explores the literal and figurative meanings of “nobility.” Nausicaa acts nobly from the film’s get-go, and her commitment to justice only grows from there.
Nausicaa’s character growth comes surprisingly early in the movie. She discovers her father has been murdered by soldiers from an occupying army. She draws a sword and quickly gets rid of several of the assassins before Lord Yuba interrupts her. Several scenes later, Nausicaa breaks down in tears in front of Yuba, shocked that she had the ability within herself to kill.
I actually had to rewind the movie at this point, since I could not remember what act of killing Nausicaa was talking about. The reason why I “missed” her early act of violence, is that in a more typical action movie, it would count as unremarkable. Consider the Star Wars films, which are notable for lending villains like Darth Vader and Kylo Ren moral complexity, and calling on their heroes to show these villains mercy. Star Wars does not give the same courtesy to its villains’ minions, the storm troopers, who are mindlessly killed off in filler, action sequences.
For the duration of the movie, Nausicaa all but abandons her swordsmanship in favor of her skills as a machine-flyer. While she occasionally uses threats, she expertly fights for her causes without ever again having to draw blood. In addition to physical skills, Nausicaa is able to avoid violence from the power of her mind. She sees the moral complexity in her foes, and this allows her to negotiate with them. This is no more apparent than her ability to deal with an army of angry insects and isopods. To most of the film’s characters, the literal non-humanity of this army makes negotiation with them futile. Nausicaa, however, has had a life long fascination with and affection for these beings, giving her a unique ability to bring out their peaceful side.
There are all kinds of reasons one can love a movie. Sometimes a movie can be great because of its storytelling, even if it has forgettable or even problematic politics. Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, by contrast, is not a perfect piece of storytelling. A quirky blend of science-fiction, high-fantasy, Pokémon and environmental allegory, it tries to do too much and doesn’t really get to develop any of its characters (other than Nausicaa.) Its plot jumps are abrupt and its emotional beats predictable. But as a piece of political imaginatoin, Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind is unrivalled.
We live in a world where political centrists have appropriated the concept of non-violence. The centre-left makes vapid, comments about civility and unity, and the centre-right makes offensively ahistorical references to Martin Luther King. True non-violence, however, is a radical and creative approach to the world. It’s not about loving the system, but about finding the most just and effective ways to change it. Princess Nausicaa’s non-violent technique is an eccentric combination of aerial-athleticism, emotional intelligence and biological savvy. She may not be the film hero our culture most remembers, but she is the one our planet most desperately needs.
© 2020. UniversalCinema Mag.