How do you say goodbye forever? That question seems to have weighed heavily on Hayao Miyazaki, the leading light of Studio Ghibli who’s played a game of brinksmanship with retirement for more than a decade, teasing a fond farewell then pulling back as he searches for the perfect swansong. 

The Boy And The Heron may well be the final film we receive from the world’s greatest animator who, at 82 years old, is insisting he’s simply too old to make another. It’s a fine work to bow out on, receiving an avalanche of praise from critics and breaking the studio’s box office records worldwide. We said in our review, ‘Aesthetically, the film is a thing of beauty, from Joe Hisaishi’s melodic score to the lush animation. Whether it’s the horrifying fires that open the film, or the tranquil countryside where Mahito’s family mansion is, the artwork is simply stunning. However you choose to watch it, this latest Miyazaki masterpiece will leave you enchanted. And its message, to “create a world of bounty, peace and beauty”, is one for the ages.’ Read the full review. 

Miyazaki’s work since the 1980s has turned Studio Ghibli into a household name, creating a brand which acts as an anchor for the lives of millions of people around the world. The animation studio’s fervent fanbase is passionate enough to bedeck their homes with My Neighbour Totoro (1988) figurines, devour Miyazaki art books and attend anime conventions to enthuse about Ghibli stories past and present. These aren’t only films – their painterly aesthetic and rich cast of characters are the focal point of a community. 

The reason for this cross-generational, international love is clear to anyone who’s watched a few works from the Ghibli stable. These timeless tales meld the history of Japan with western folklore to negotiate weighty themes of ecological destruction, feminism, industrial revolution, war and friendship, all while remaining accessible to a broad audience. 

As the work of Ghibli’s tentpole director recedes into the distance, a progressive era of animation is at an end. There’s no better time, then, to take a look back at this feted studio’s work and discuss which films have stood the test of time and which are best forgotten.

Where to start

An epic to rival Lawrence Of Arabia (1962) or The Lord Of The Rings (2001-2003), Princess Mononoke (1997), with its nuanced world-building and majestic characters, stands as Miyazaki’s undeniable masterpiece. It follows Ashitaka, a young boy who finds himself embroiled in a battle between warring clans as he attempts to lift a deadly curse. What begins as a typical hero’s journey is soon complicated by a melancholic pragmatism positing that ultimately all new eras of civilisation are borne from violence and destruction. Its ambivalent conclusion may not be easy to stomach, but its moral complexity and compelling engagement with Japanese folklore make it a towering achievement. 

Arguably the best-known Ghibli film in the west is Spirited Away (2001), which merges a sophisticated attitude towards eastern spirituality with an accessible absurdity which has earned it favourable comparisons with Lewis Carroll’s Alice In Wonderland. Although there are a few Ghibli films from before and after Spirited Away that are superior, there’s no denying that its bittersweet whimsy, memorable cast and lush visuals have kept it in the cultural zeitgeist for good reason.  

If you’re watching your first Ghibli with young children, then the cutesy behemoth of the pack is Ponyo (2008), Miyazaki’s peerless and idiosyncratic adaptation of The Little Mermaid. It was the film that began sparking misguided comparisons between Ghibli and Disney, but don’t be fooled – this is a significantly stranger, less cynically made slice of cinema than the House Of Mouse’s staid and conservative 1989 version. 

Where to continue 

You’d be forgiven for thinking that the world of Studio Ghibli begins and ends with Miyazaki, but this studio houses plenty of talented directors. Chief amongst them when it comes to more adult-oriented fare is Isao Takahata, the co-founder of Studio Ghibli, who carved out a distinctive career with realist studies of postwar Japan and esoteric stories of Japanese culture (fancy a film about talking racoons with magical testicles? Takahata's got you covered). Grave Of The Fireflies (1988), which examines the fate of two children who have lost their parents in the second world war, has become his calling card. It’s a stark and upsetting work, unflinching in its attitude to infant mortality, but its deeply empathetic portrayal of the most vulnerable elements of society make it one of the most potent anti-war films ever made.

Lesser known but no less special is Takahata’s Only Yesterday (1991), a contemplative work following 27-year-old Taeko as she escapes her office job and visits the countryside to pick safflower, reminiscing about her misspent adolescence along the way. The forks in the road of youth is a universal theme, one which could be taken to darker territory by other directors, particularly as Taeko's domineering father becomes an increasingly poisonous presence in the film’s latter half. But Takahata takes a quietly rueful approach to Taeko’s story that is ultimately profound, placing him amongst the ranks of masterful documenters of Japan's day-to-day life like Yasujirō Ozu.

What to avoid

Poor Gorō Miyazaki. The son of the best animator on the planet has lived in his father’s shadow for his entire career, failing to enter Ghibli’s top tier with his own projects. His debut Tales From Earthsea (2007), an adaptation of Ursula Le Guin’s excellent Earthsea series of high-fantasy novels, fell into all the traps that his father knows to avoid, overexplaining its world and cramming in superfluous detail from its source material. While Hayao makes his worlds seem rich by hinting at a history outside of his central narrative, Tales From Earthsea can’t help but overexplain its lore in tiresome detail. Le Guin publicly disowned this confused and emotionally simplistic work, and we can’t imagine Gorō’s too keen on it nowadays either. For his efforts, he received the 2006 Bunshun Raspberry Award for Worst Director from the Bunshun Kiichigo Awards, which recognises the worst films in Japan. Ouch.

The past decade of Ghibli has been haphazard as it emerges from its golden era and searches for new creative vigour. Enter Earwig And The Witch (2020), an uncharacteristically ugly film that adds to Gorō’s dubious CV. Abandoning the studio’s trademark hand drawn style for computer graphics that resemble a botched Pixar experiment from the 1980s, it's nothing short of garish in every frame. This story of a little girl entering the world of magic is wholly aimed at children, but we wouldn’t inflict it on even the naughtiest of young ones. Let’s hope Ghibli’s future without Hayao isn’t paved with similar CGI duds. 

The Boy And The Heron is in cinemas now.