MELBOURNE UNIVERSITY FILM INQUIRER

Hayao Miyazaki’s 1997 masterpiece, Princess Mononoke, with its phenomenal score, stunning animation, heartachingly human characters and unforgettable story, is the greatest environmentalist film ever made. Bold claim, perhaps. But I’m prepared to back it up.

For those who are yet to see it, the film follows Ashitaka, the last remaining prince of his tribe in feudal Japan, who kills a demon of hatred and is cursed with its fatal mark. He journeys west, to find a remedy at the source of the demon’s hatred: a war between humans and forest gods. The gods have lived in the forest since ancient times and want to protect their home. The humans want to cut the forest down to keep their town alive and provide for themselves. The two desires seem to be at perfect odds with each other: for one side to succeed, the other must perish. To save himself and countless others, Ashitaka must find a way to stop the fighting and “see with eyes unclouded by hate”.

In a watered-down version of this tale, one side would be good and the other evil. The humans might be merely selfish and angry and hateful, and the animals might just be the benevolent guardians who Ashitaka would join in getting the settlers to leave. But Miyazaki doesn’t do watered-down. He does real-life, messy complication. And, because of this, despite the film being set in ancient Japan, and despite it being more than 20 years old, its message could never be more relevant.

The humans in Princess Mononoke are selfish, yes. They are quick to anger and stupid and short-sighted. But so are the forest gods. The humans don’t understand that their desire to expand will eventually cost them as much as it is costing their adversaries. And the gods don’t understand that the humans want the same as them: to protect each other and prosper. Neither side truly recognises the other’s right to exist, but as the film shows, everything has its place. It is all necessary. It is simply a matter of balance.

The only true villain in this story is hatred itself. Lady Eboshi, the leader of the humans who at first appears ruthless, is actually as compassionate and caring as she is quick-witted and strong. The women who work for her are treated as equals in an extremely patriarchal society and were rescued from brothels, and the people who build her weapons are lepers. San – a girl raised by a wolf goddess – wants to kill Eboshi more than she wants to live, but, like her, is driven by a desire to protect those she cares about. Both allow that desire to drive them to hatred and violence.

As Ashitaka acknowledges in one of my favourite scenes, hate is powerful. In short bursts, it can accomplish ‘inhuman’ feats. But it is never sustainable.

“There’s a demon inside you. It’s inside both of you… Look, everyone! This is what hatred looks like! This is what it does when it catches hold of you! It’s eating me alive and very soon now it will kill me! Fear and anger only make it grow faster!”

Hatred, and by extension fear and anger, is blinding. You rarely see another person or a situation clearly when motivated by rage. For Ashitaka to have any chance at saving himself or anyone else, he realises he must not be blind. 

I first saw this film in February of 2020, when a little thing called COVID-19 was beginning to gain its hold on the world. It struck me then as much as it does now.

COVID has made blaringly obvious so many realities we, people from all around the world, particularly in the West, have been trying to avoid for so long. Our way of living is still deeply unsustainable. For humanity to not only survive but thrive, it must change. There is no returning to normal, and the last few years have shown us that when change is needed, nothing about the way we live is fixed. 

In the face of climate change, a global pandemic and the glaring inequalities intensified by both, it is easy to point fingers and assign blame. We blame governments, billionaires, ignorant neighbours, even family members. While it’s true that many of these people bear significant responsibility, and calling that out is important, we are all responsible to the world we live in to some extent or another. Responsibility, by definition, is the ability to respond to something. We all have the ability to respond to our planet and the people around us. Despair in these circumstances is perfectly understandable, but it will not help us. 

For me, Princess Mononoke reimagines the role humans can play in our world. We do not have to be a plague on the planet. We can choose differently. It will require unlearning so many of the things we have been taught to care about; things that we have for so long prioritised over each other and the health of our planet. But it is possible. Not only possible but necessary. Inevitable even.

And to do that, in all things, the best pathway is one of compassion. Of love. Love that moves us towards unity, collaboration and a willingness to listen to others’ concerns and not give up on those around us. We need urgency, yes, but not urgency motivated by shallow perceptions of each other and misguided anger. The changes we need are needed for the long haul.

If any of that resonated with you, or none of it did, regardless, please watch Princess Mononoke.

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Princess Mononoke can be seen at Film Society’s week 11 environmental screening this Friday the 14th of October, at 3 pm in Arts West Room 353 (aka the Interactive Cinema Space). It can also currently be watched (with subtitles or dubs) on Netflix in Australia, or rented through a variety of other services.