Review: The Wind Rises

★★★★★
Five Stars

A field of corn stands still, as dawn breaks in the first scene of The Wind Rises. Soon, though, the wind picks up, a dream begins, and so does the story. The eleventh of Japanese director Hayao Miyazaki’s career, it tells the tale of a young boy growing up alongside the simple dream of making planes fly, in the shadow of the Japanese militaristic ambition of the 1920s and 30s. 

It is made up of the same components that have come to be expected from the father and founder of Studio Ghibli, Japan’s world-famous animation studio. Beautiful scenes follow on from each other, as sorrow and humour is drawn out from images in ways that should seemingly be only be possible from live action. Unlike Miyazaki’s previous work, The Wind Rises flows slow, imbued with a sort of languid, pensive beauty that lies in contrast to the rapid action of films such as Spirited Away, or Howl’s Moving Castle. This works though; it is the goals and relationships of the characters that keeps this film going, rather than sequential events. It feels as though Miyazaki has finally, with his last work, been given the space to slow down the pace. 

The subject matter, in which warplanes are designed and made in anticipation of the Second World War, has drawn criticism from audiences both in Japan and abroad. However, it seems as though those accusing Miyazaki of failing to properly condemn the actions of those involved have found focus in the wrong place. The film is not a commentary, but a story – a story about a young man who finds passion in the power of flight.

The narrative demonstrates the amazing ability of the human mind to validate its actions, no matter what the consequences. Provocatively, perhaps, during one dream sequence the hero, Jiro is asked by his mentor Marconi, ‘‘Which would you rather choose, a world with pyramids, or without?’’ This chance to engage with the repercussions of his actions however is passed over by Jiro. He replies simply, ‘‘I want to build beautiful airplanes.’’

The film’s dream sequences see Jiro recognise the disastrous results of the flights taken by the machines he has made. Time after time, planes fall to the ground, becoming grey, lifeless wreckage. The colours and shapes used to represent this destruction bring the mind back to the fallen civilisations seen in Miyazaki’s previous work Castle in the Sky, or Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, where advanced societies are brought low by their quest for power through technology. Here, though a statement is not made on the problems of society, it is made on the overpowering and amazing ability of Jiro, and his colleagues, to reach for a dream no matter the consequences. 

The film is an incredible and powerful way for Miyazaki to finish his career. Beyond the context in which it is placed, it is a touching love story about relationships in the face of overwhelming creative passion. And, although it is stationed in an adult realism that may come as a surprise following works such as My Neighbour Totoro, or Ponyo, it is, simply, about the power of dreams. As one character proclaims, standing on the tip of an airplane wing, soaring over fields of green, ‘‘Yes, this is a dream. The world’s a dream.’’