The Technology of Nostalgia and Denial: Miyazaki S Military Manga
The Technology of Nostalgia and Displacement: Miyazaki’s Military Manga
Susan J. Napier
Tufts University
“I have a love of technology that no longer exists” Miyazaki Hayao interview in Animerica
“All around the bombers falls a kind of quiet” Daniel Swift, Bomber County
How do we represent weapons of war? If you are a fantasy writer you may base your weaponry on the arms of ancient times—such as the swords and arrows of warriors in the Lord of the Rings or simply on magical power itself. Thus, Susanna Clark in Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell describes an alternative 19th century where magicians are the technocrats of the age and produce warships conjured out of rain that help the British win against the French in the Napoleonic Wars. To the watching French, they appear to be “heavily armed warships” but “even under the dark sky,” they “glitter” and,
even in all that drenching rain they shone.” Of course, when the sun comes out, the warships flicker and disappear, but they have already done their work of intimidation and now remain a pleasant, gossamer memory of warfare at its most ethereal.
If you are a science fiction writer, especially of what is known as hard science fiction, you would probably extrapolate from the present to create futuristic weapons that are based on believable premises. One of the most immersive sci fi descriptions of future combat appears in the opening scene of Robert Heinlein’s 1959 Starship Troopers. In a viscerally exciting sequence a young soldier named Johnny Rico dons an intricately described mobile suit that augments his powers to such an extent that he can land on an alien world and bounce exultantly through a city throwing “pee wee” (as he calls them) atomic explosions all around him. This vivid opening plunges the reader into a world where the excitement of high level technology deployed in combat immerses him or her into an almost video game level of intensity, the action only stopping when Johnny’s sergeant abruptly cuts off his “juice”, or energy supply.
In both books (and genres) military technology is multivalent. It is beautiful but intimidating. Strong but ephemeral, human and non-human, homely but alien. In other words, it is a work of art. It is also an art that is an art of empire. In Clark’s evocation this is a vanished empire, the British Imperium, seen at the beginning of its glimmering height, but one that will ultimately disappear as completely as the ships of rain. Heinlein’s vision is of a future empire based on the America of 1959, an empire beginning to be built out of the destruction of World War II and the us versus them dynamic of the Cold War. This is an empire fueled by rapid and constant technological innovation that makes mobile suits in extraterrestrial combat look like a product that might appear the day after tomorrow.
The subject of my paper, the animation director Miyazaki Hayao, is also an artist of military technology and of empire. Both these assertions may come across as surprising to audiences who appreciate Miyazaki for his family friendly movies. In many fans’ eyes, Miyazaki’s films are appealing for their distinctive characters, imagery, and agendas, most notably his feisty young female protagonists, his sublimely beautiful visions of nature and what might be called his eco-pacifist message. Such a perception is not inaccurate, but it fails to see a more complex side of Miyazaki, one rooted in both his personal and cultural identity. This side encompasses a sometimes more tragic vision and a more complex attitude toward war which I believe are based on both personal and national traumas, revolving around Japan’s prewar empire and the question of war responsibility.
Miyazaki has worked through these issues in many forms. A notable number of his films involve intense scenes of violence and destruction and, as early as his pioneering television series Mirai Shonen Conan, (Future Boy Conan), these scenes are often related to overarching conflicts that are sometimes literally between empires (as in the case of Conan or the 1985 Nausicaa) or more metaphorically, as in the 1996 film Princess Mononoke where beasts and woodland gods band together to fight against the human Other. (or is it vice versa?) Apocalyptic visions abound, sometimes out of Miyazaki’s own imagination, as in Nausicaa or Princess Mononoke, or at other times based on the vision of Western fiction writers, such as Lloyd Alexander Keyes or Diana Wynne Jones.
One of his most poignant and original filmic examinations of war is the 1993 film Kurenai no Buta (Porco Rosso), Miyazaki’s only film consciously aimed at an adult audience. Set in the Adriatic in 1930, the film has many lighthearted moments but also deals directly with the tragedy and waste of war, particularly in a surreal fantasy scene towards the end of the movie. In this scene the movie’s hero, Porco, a former WW1 fighter pilot who has taken on the face of a pig as a symbol of his disgust with humanity after the war, remembers a vicious dogfight that ended with most of his comrades dead and he himself comatose. As he tells it, he regained consciousness to finds himself still in his little plane flying through a veil of glittering brightness. All around him Porco sees the planes of his dead comrades (and those of the enemy) rising up through the ether, leaving him behind to face his horror, sadness, and loss alone. The initial dogfight echoes the visceral intensity of the scene in Starship Troopers. Although not sci fi, it could perhaps be described as “hard tech”, as the planes’ design and flight paths are beautifully evoked. The sequence ends on a Clark-esque note of poignant ephemerality, however, especially in the final sequence when the dead fighters’ planes become a glimmering evanescent line in the sky. But Miyazaki goes beyond Clark’s aesthetics and Heinlein’s technological celebration to suggest the human toll of war, paradoxically through the porcine transformation of his pilot hero who continues to fly as a bounty hunter after the war but still insists on renouncing his humanity.
I will return to the film version of Porco Rosso later on but for now I would like to leave the world of Miyazaki’s film for a much less well known aspect of Miyazaki’s art, his manga, specifically what I am calling his “military manga.” The original form that Porco appeared in was as a three episode manga version published in the magazine Model Graphix. Model Graphix is a hobby magazine aimed at aficionados of plastic model kits of machines and weaponry, that range from World War I ships and airplanes to futuristic combat suits inspired (and often licensed) by science fiction anime such as the immensely popular Gundam series. Originally entitled “Hikouteijidai” (The Age of the Seaplane) the manga version of Porco Rosso is one of a group of sporadically appearing military manga published under the title “Mosou noto” (crazy notes) that Miyazaki has produced over the last three decades.
These manga are fascinating both for what they are and for what they are not. On the one hand, although they range across countries and historical periods, they are far more limited in terms of period, genre, subject matter and setting than Miyazaki’s breathtakingly broad filmic oeuvre. Each one of them (and most are very short—usually less than six pages) concerns some kind of military technology always appearing in an episode of combat. Sometimes, as in the Porco original, the story is essentially fantastic. For example, the three page Tahouto no deba concerns a pig in a tank who captures a young (human) girl only to be routed by her and her bicycle riding boyfriend. In most other cases, however, they are primarily historic, as in the Civil War period manga Koutetsu no ikiji, (The Pride of the Gunships) which accurately recounts the sinking of the Confederate Monitor by the Union army’s turreted gunboat, Merrimack. Other historical works include a retelling of the German tank commander Otto Carius’s battles on the Russian Front in WWII, and the bombing of London in 1918 by a German Zeppelin.
It is worth looking at the organization and presentation of these manga in some detail. Since most of these (including the Porco manga) are historically rooted, the technology in them is far from the high tech expansive visions of science fiction or the sleek aesthetic images of fantasy. Instead, it is almost endearingly retro, even clunky. Chunky biplanes abound, along with warships weighed down with fat, distended turrets, monstrous tanks sporting what look like grotesque teeth and even a dowdy fishing boat forced into reluctant service as a rescue ship. Even Porco’s plane, while painted a shiny crimson red, is noted for being made of wood rather than steel, an appealingly retro touch.
It is this retro technology that is the star of each manga. Indeed, it is not too much of a stretch to say that, in striking contrast to Miyazaki’s animation, the story and characters in these manga are relatively unimportant. In page after page carefully and intricately rendered images of war machines—are front and center, literally occupying most of the manga space. Even compared to other Japanese military manga—of which there are many—these works are unusual. For example, many of Matsumoto Leiji’s combat flying manga feature sequences in which the planes swoop in and out of manga panels, offering a seamless vision of soaring, darting flight and enabling the reader’s eye to soar along with them. In contrast Miyazaki’s flying and other machines seem to chug along, bulking out of each panel and forcing the reader to stop and examine each one. This slowness of presentation is reinforced by another unusual feature, the enormous amount of textual explanation surrounding many of the images. For example in his Civil War manga, “The Pride of the Gunships,” fully two thirds of each page are given to such arcana as explaining the types of cannon used on the two warships, including their dimensions, firing power and how they were loaded, not to mention a detailed description of how the ships were put into service. Intriguingly, the final battle between them is told mainly in text, a few detailed paragraphs squashed into the bottom of the last page.
In general, rather than combat sequences, these manga seem to privilege military technology for its own sake—as complicated works of art that almost take on a life of their own. Many of the manga show cut out scenes of tank plane and warship interiors, again with a great deal of textual explanation, including arrows pointing between the text and a particular image. Some of the images are so detailed as to have the quality of blueprints. It should be noted, however, that Miyazaki is on record for saying that he does not really know that much about technological design and it is indeed unlikely that anyone could build a machine from one of his diagrams. The overall impact of each manga, however, is of a world overstuffed with machinery that leaps out of the pages at the reader.
If, as Miyazaki insists, he is really an artist rather than an engineer, it is now time to ask why he obsessively recreates out-of-date technology. Furthermore, why should an artist known for his brilliant use of the genres of science fiction and fantasy maintain a separate compartment in his work that is tied, (again, almost obsessively) to history? Part of the answer may lie in the line quoted at the beginning of this paper. In an interview with the American anime magazine Animerica, he explicitly says, “I have a love of technology that no longer exists.” Taking this statement alone we could easily link it with Miyazaki’s use of science fiction and fantasy in his animation. In essence, technology in science fiction is technology that does not (yet) exist while technology in fantasy is technology that cannot exist. In all three cases, therefore, Miyazaki is playing with non-existent technology. More specifically, and here, I think we come to the heart of the matter, Miyazaki is playing with non-existent military technology.
What is the link between Miyazaki and military technology? Part of it, is related to generation and cultural considerations. Miyazaki was born in 1941 and was therefore four years old when the war ended. Four years old is too young to remember much about the war, especially the first two years when the tides of war seemed to be bringing the Japanese toward victory. But he would certainly have been old enough to have vivid memories of the aftermath.
Like many Japanese of his generation and somewhat older (Oe Kenzaburo, who was ten years old, when the war ended immediately comes to mind), Miyazaki pursues a strongly pacifistic agenda in his art and utterances. Howl’s Moving Castle, for example, changed the original novel considerably to make its eponymous hero a literal weapon of peace. Nausicaa, arguably his most beloved heroine, sacrifices her life to stop a war. His military manga also often end with a hymn to peace or, at the very least, a total lack of celebration of victory. For example, his previously mentioned Civil War manga ends simply, on an elegiac rather than bellicose note as the Merrimac sinks into the twilight river. It is hardly surprising that, given his national identity and historical position, Miyazaki should be concerned about the aftermath of war and the destructive consequences of empire.
And yet. at the same time, it must be acknowledged that most of the military manga are devoted in glowing detail to what can be seen as a celebration of military technology. This is not a recent aspect of Miyazaki’s art. As he mentions in his book “Shuppatsuten” (Departures) he had always loved to draw military weapons even as a child. No doubt part of this is related simply to a common love among boys of “cool” technology which is in turn related to an understandable fascination with power and control on the part of children or adolescents. Furthermore, Miyazaki is an artist and rendering war and war machines has been part of many artists’ portfolio, from the Japanese screens depicting the Heike battles to Winslow Homer’s work on the American Civil War. Images of war are riveting, immersive and powerful. Intricately built machinery can be a thing of beauty and a joy forever in the eyes of the appropriate audience.
But I believe that there are other factors behind Miyazaki’s obsessive need to depict military technology in so many different forms. At the risk of oversimplifying, I suspect his celebration of “unreal” technology suggests a more ambivalent or at least more complex attitude towards war and empire than might initially be supposed.
To understand this aspect of Miyazaki it is helpful to return to his personal past, or more accurately, his family’s personal past.
Miyazaki was born into a family with close relations to military technology. In 1942 his uncle and father co-founded a factory, known as Miyazaki Aircraft, which was a subsidiary of Nakajima Aircraft, one of the most important aircraft makers in Japan. The family benefited from their association with the factory. Miyazaki’s father was not called up to serve in the military and the family lived far more affluently than most Japanese did during the war. As Shiro Yoshioka speculates, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that Miyazaki is still working through guilt over the factory’s role in the war and also his family’s relatively comfortable lifestyle during the war.
But I believe that it is more than guilt that operates in Miyazaki art. Or to put it another way, guilt is mixed in with a larger complex of emotions that inspire some of Miyazaki’s most interesting creations. Nostalgia, loss, grief and even denial also play a part and relate to Miyazaki’s complex cultural identity as a citizen of a country with a lost empire. By dealing with military technology that is “unreal” Miyazaki can engage with his personal and national past in a safely displaced form.
For the rest of this paper I would like to concentrate on Miyazaki’s most recent military manga. Entitled Kaze Tachinu (The Wind has Risen), it has the additional designation “mosou kamubaku” or the “come back of the wild notes”. The designation “comeback” presumably refers to the fact that Miyazaki has not written one of these manga in many years. Kaze Tachinu started in 2009 and finished serialization at the beginning of 2010 so it is a particularly useful snapshot into Miyazaki’s concerns at the moment.
There are other unusual aspects to Kaze Tachinu as well. The first is the fact that this is a long manga consisting of nine episodes, published monthly in the magazine Model Graphix. Unlike his previous “mosou notes”, therefore, this is a sustained story with a certain amount of character development and even a romance included as a major part of the plot. (Interestingly, the manga version of Porco Ross contains no hint of the romance that was an important element in the movie version). In fact, Kaze tachinu is based partly on a romantic story of the same name written in the 1930’s by Hori Tatsuo .