42 Questions Miyazaki Answered Upon Retiring (Subtitled & Edited Version)

Well, regarding the official retirement letter, I thought I didn't even need an official one, but I've distributed copies of this memo to everyone, so please ask questions, and I'll answer anything. I'd like to make that my greeting. One thing: I've repeatedly said I would retire before, so people might think it's another fraud, but this time, it's serious. The producer has something to say. Good morning. Thank you all for gathering. Things that start must come to an end, I believe. From my perspective, retiring after falling from grace would be uncool, so since the movie 'The Wind Rises' is currently showing and being supported by many, I decided to do this at this time. I think this was good. Also, everyone might wonder what will happen to Ghibli next. As you all know, on November 23rd, Director Takahata's 'The Tale of the Princess Kaguya' will be released. We've caused you concern, but editing is mostly complete, so we will definitely release it on November 23rd. Additionally, although we can't announce details yet, we are currently producing another movie aiming for next summer. I wanted to convey these two things to everyone. That concludes my greeting. Now, I'd like to accept questions from the press.

Well, I can't say anything that cool. If there's an opportunity, please watch the movies we've created, and perhaps something will be conveyed. That's all.

I wrote that I'm free, so there's also the freedom not to do things. However, as long as I can drive, I plan to go to the studio every day. If I feel like doing something, I'll do it. I'm still in a period where I need to rest, so I'll understand things while resting, but making promises here would likely break them, so please understand that.

No, there isn't.

If you watch the movie, you'll understand. I hope you can watch this upcoming movie without being distracted by various words. Also, I'm very happy that people in Korea are watching our works. Additionally, the motif of 'The Wind Rises' is set in a time when Japanese militarism was heading towards destruction, so various questions arose from my family, myself, and the staff. I made the film in response to that. So, I think you'll understand if you watch it. Discussing it without watching the film hardly helps, so I'd be happy if you pay to watch it.

No, I won't.

As written in the retirement letter, 'The Wind Rises' took five years from 'Ponyo'. During that time, I wasn't continuously making films, but I was writing screenplays, drawing my own manga, or doing short films for the museum. However, it took five years. If I start thinking about the next work now, it will probably take more than five years at my age. If it takes six or seven years, I'll be 73, and after seven more years, I'll be 80. I met Mr. Kazutoshi Handō, the former editor-in-chief of Bungeishunjū, and he was upright and clear-headed. I thought it would be nice to be like that at 83, so I said I'd continue working for another 10 years, but if I can, I hope to. However, I don't think my work will be an extension of what I've done so far. I've decided to accept that my era of feature-length animation has clearly ended, and even if I want to do it, that's just an old person's weakness.

I don't remember exactly either, but the preview of 'The Wind Rises' was on June 19th. Probably shortly after that, when we received such a proposal, yes, we've had similar talks before, with different works being the last. I forgot the specific words, but this time I felt he was serious. For me, it's been 30 years since I started 'Nausicaä', and during that time, there were many discussions about stopping. But when he told me this time, the tension I'd felt for 30 years slightly wavered. In a way, I felt relieved. If I were younger, I might have tried to prevent it, but among various feelings, one was 'You've worked hard.' However, since we have to release 'The Tale of the Princess Kaguya' soon, I tied up that loose end and am currently working. Actually, before announcing this to everyone, we discussed how to do it. I thought we should tell the studio staff first. Since Takahata's film was about to be released, I didn't want to announce retirement right after finishing a film, as it would complicate things. So we told the staff on August 5th, and after the film's release settled down, around early September, we could announce it.

Well, regarding the Ghibli Museum's exhibitions and other matters, I'd like to be involved, perhaps as a volunteer. I might even become an exhibit myself, so I'd be happy if you visit the museum.

When making a film, I risk my life, but I didn't think about what comes after. Rather, whether it can be made or is worth making was a greater burden.

Regarding the influence from Norstein, he is a friend and a rival I can't lose to, though not that much. He's always making stop-motion films, and that's one way of life. I invited Director Takahata to come here today, but he declined with a serious face. He's always motivated. I was asked about which work I'm most attached to, and if I have any message across all works. The one that remains most in me is 'Howl's Moving Castle'. It's a game world, but I tried to turn it into a drama, and I struggled. I think the start was wrong, but since it was my own project, I had to do it. I was influenced by many works of children's literature and entered this world. Basically, I believe our job is to convey to children that life is worth living, and that hasn't changed.

Yes, I like Italy, including its untidiness. I have friends there, the food is delicious, and women are beautiful, though they might be a bit troublesome. As for Mr. Hanō, if I work for another 10 years, I might reach his level, but I hope he continues walking. Regarding the museum, I don't want to just say 'Welcome' at the entrance; the exhibits are over 10 years old, and many need recoloring or rewriting. I want to do that. It requires my own brushwork, so when I have time, I'll do it. Museum exhibits fade over time, and when one part sparkles, children gather there. To keep the museum alive, constant care is needed, and I want to do as much as possible. Regarding feature-length animation, I'm retiring as director, but for the museum, short films are part of the exhibition, so I might be involved in short animations. Also, originally, Studio Ghibli was made for Miyazaki and Takahata's works. With next year's new work, and since Takahata says this might be his last and best decision, and if Miyazaki and Takahata retire, what will happen to Ghibli? I'd like to ask Mr. Suzuki.

As written in the retirement letter, I'm free, so I'll do what I've wanted to do, but that's not animation. For now, I'll focus on that.

Regarding Ghibli's future, I hope that when I'm gone, young staff will say 'Let's do this' to Mr. Suzuki. Without that, it's no good. We had such passion in our 30s and 40s. It depends on whether they have it. Mr. Suzuki won't reject such ideas; it depends on people's motivation, hope, and ability.

There are countless, but they were things I shouldn't do, so I didn't. They're all projects that haven't taken shape. While saying I'm retiring, such ideas come and go in my head, but it's not something to share with others, so please excuse me.

I have things I want to do, but if I can't do them, I won't say. Also, I don't want to become a cultural figure. I'm a town workshop owner, and I want to keep that. So I don't think about communicating much. I'm not a cultural figure.

The concept of 'The Wind Rises' was not influenced by the earthquake or nuclear disaster. It existed from the beginning. I felt while making the film that I was being overtaken by the times. As for rest, my rest might not look like rest to others. Working on what I like, even if tough, can be rest. Just lying around makes me stiff. I dream of walking from Aomori to Kyoto, but I'd probably collapse on the way. It's a dream I often have but impossible to realize.

No relation. Animation directors have different ways of working. As an animator, I need to draw to express. So, I have to take off my glasses and draw like this, continuously. Even with good health and discipline, the time I can concentrate decreases yearly. I feel it now. Compared to 'Ponyo', I leave my desk 30 minutes earlier, and for the next work, it will be an hour earlier. This physical limitation is unavoidable. If I could do differently, I would have done so long ago. So, I concluded that feature-length animation is impossible for me.

I'm sorry, but when I work, I don't watch films or TV at all. I listen to the radio a bit in the morning and glance at newspapers, but otherwise, I don't look. Surprisingly, I don't know where Japanese animation is. I really don't know. I can't comment on it. When people reach my age and do desk work like me, they'll understand. I can't spare such thoughts. For reference, they sometimes show films in the studio, but I usually leave midway. I'd rather work. That's who I am. I think the current situation is as it should be.

I didn't intend to announce retirement. I told the staff I was stopping. Then the producer said there were many interview requests, and it would be troublesome to handle them individually. He suggested we do it at my studio, but it was too crowded. Then we considered the conference room at the studio, but that was difficult too. So it ended up here. Since I needed something to back it up, not just empty words, I wrote the official retirement letter. The producer saw it and said it was good, so I made copies. I never intended to do such an event. Please understand that.

Well, it's an excuse, but I try not to think about such things. If I do, I can't focus on the work at hand. In reality, since 'Nausicaä', I've been running continuously for about 30 years without looking back at past works. I thought that was what it meant to continue working actively. So, I try not to dwell on what style I used or what impact my works had. That's my answer.

To be honest, Italian food suits my taste better. Once at Christmas, I went to France for business, and every restaurant served frog legs. It was tough. That's my memory. Does that answer? The Louvre is good, with many good things, but Italian food is better. Don't make a big deal of it. A French friend once asked me to make a film about a French flying boat instead of an Italian one, but I said there are no French flying boats in the Adriatic Sea. France has Paul Grimault, whose film 'The King and the Mockingbird' had a huge impact on Japanese animation in the 1950s, especially on Director Takahata's generation. We haven't forgotten that, and even now, its technique and world-building are impressive. A few works inspired me to become an animator, and the French film had a greater impact than Italian ones.

The most difficult was the schedule for every work. Also, I never made a work where I knew the outcome from the start. Every time, I entered without a clear vision, which was extremely difficult. I couldn't bear it, so I made works I didn't have to see through, but I ended up planning and writing screenplays anyway. I drew storyboards like monthly magazine installments, and the staff worked without knowing where the film was heading. I'm amazed they endured it. That was the hardest part for me. But during that year or two, thinking was meaningful for me. As shots came in, I'd tweak them, deepening my understanding, which allowed me to think ahead. It wasn't a productive method, but it was tough.

I never thought it was good to be a director, but as an animator, there were times. For example, when I drew a particularly good shot, or handled wind, water, or lighting well, I felt happy for two or three days. A director has to wait for the final judgment, which isn't good. So, as an animator, I think it was a job that suited me.

Simple reason: Mr. Takahata and I met at a labor union office and talked for a long time. We discussed everything before working together. The first work we did with full strength was 'Heidi', and we became so in sync that we didn't need to discuss much; we understood each other's thoughts. As a director, when the schedule is delayed, the company scolds you. Takahata wrote many apologies. Seeing that, I didn't want to be a director; I didn't need to. I thought it was enough to handle the visuals. Since I had no training in music or other areas, when I was told to direct alone, I was dismayed. I could only say 'Leave it to me' for music discussions. Moreover, since I didn't know how the film would progress, I could only say that. So, from the beginning, I never intended to be a director or work in direction.

So I did that, and in the process I also got help from Director Isao Takahata. But that bewilderment, I feel I've dragged it along all the way to The Wind Rises, even now. When I'm asked in music meetings 'what about this?', all I can come up with is 'I think I've heard something like this somewhere before.' And conversely, I really like this CD — can't we use this? Isn't this Wagner? I have plenty of those foolish stories. But truly, in that sense, Director Takahata, who set out to do film directing, and I, who thought all I had to do was draw, our training was completely different. During the time I served as director, I also worked as an animator, so I think there were many forms of help and a sense of crisis. The producer helped me a great deal with that. Being someone who doesn't watch TV or movies, I have no idea what talent is out there — I forget immediately. So I truly believe that I was able to do this because of that team, or rather that constellation of people. I was absolutely not the kind of director who stood tall and held everything together by himself. I think I was able to go to the end as a person who admits 'I don't know what I don't know.'

I once proposed to him, 'Let's stand side by side here.' As I mentioned earlier, he said no, no, no — I think he still has the will to keep going.

I really did protest about the ending of The Wind Rises. The reason I protested was that, in any case, I needed to raise the quality. The production desk's Miichi — there's a girl named Miichi — she's on leave now, but she's truly terrifying. When you go to talk to other staff, there are signs on the floor saying 'please leave 10 minutes,' and on desks there are all sorts of stern notices. But that doesn't really matter. The point is that until you put it into drawn form, nothing is resolved. There are many pending items, but I just needed to make it concrete. Making it concrete was the reality of being cornered. So even while thinking 'this isn't good,' during that time — meaning even after the drawings were made, the dialogue could still be changed — I calmed myself down and started over. This may be pointless to talk about, but I wondered where the final reduction was. I established a hypothesis that this is purgatory. That means Kaproni and Horikoshi Jiro have already died and are reuniting there. And Nachi is Beatrice. So when I started saying things like 'don't hesitate, go this way' — a role appearing like that — I scared myself and stopped. I stopped. And by stopping, I think I felt relieved. Reading the newspaper too carefully is what does you in.

I haven't done that kind of summary. If I felt I had been negligent, that would be painful, but I always felt I had arrived at as far as I could reach. After finishing, I never watched the film again. I know the weak points, and I never let things slip by unnoticed, so I made sure not to look back. I tried not to repeat the same mistakes — though people say I made plenty of the same ones — but I intended not to. Does that answer your question?

When I think back to when we started Ghibli, I think it was a time of euphoria and excitement in Japan. Japan had become an economic powerhouse, people were saying 'Japan is amazing,' 'Japan is number one.' I was quite angry about that — if you're not angry, you can't make a corrective film. So Nausicaä, Laputa, and Kiki's Delivery Service were basically made around the question of 'the economy may be bustling on its own, but what about the Earth?' Then in 1989 the Soviet Union collapsed, and Japan's bubble economy burst. During that process, Yugoslavia — which people thought would never have another war — descended into civil war. History really began to move. A time came when we could no longer create works as extensions of what we had made before. At that point, we made a sharp turn — using pigs as protagonists, and Director Takahata used tanuki as protagonists — and broke through. We entered a long period of stagnation. The lost decade became the lost twenty years, and Seiichi Takata predicts it will become a lost forty-five years. It probably will. Our studio was caught in the transition from the upward slope of the economy to the bubble's collapse — that's what shaped Ghibli's image. After that, we stumbled along, making Mononoke and other works, but I made these works while sliding further and further down, wondering where this was all going. However, if this sliding goes on too long, the anchor point from the Nausicaä era onward can no longer hold, and we could sink into the mud. That's how far things have gone — sorry for the abstract language. My seventies — when I talked with Seiichi Takata, I really understood this. As we slide down, I'm not only losing friends but also the young staff who worked with me, and the children in the adjacent nursery who are living their lives. I'm right beside them. So I want to stand up straight and go properly, as Director Takahata did.

I think people who watch TV every day or see lots of Japanese films won't notice. Those watching dubbed versions wouldn't notice either. But I live between Tokyo and Saitama, and as I said, I don't watch movies or TV. What comes back in my memory is especially from the period of making The Wind Rises — it's Japanese films from the monochrome era. Works from before around Showa 30. Young men and various men struggling under dim lights, living difficult lives — that's all I was watching, so that's what surfaces. And compared to that, when I listen to today's celebrities talk, the gap is staggering. What a lack of presence. Steven Alpert and the others have presence. So it was quite rough, I think, but I felt that was right for the film. But I don't think the others were wrong. The person who played Nachi, for instance — she became Nachi before our eyes. I was genuinely startled. In that sense, this Wind Rises film — it's Dolby Sound but not Dolby, if you will. No sound comes from the surroundings. And for ambient noise — not twenty or thirty people gathered to do 'gaya' — the sound director said just two people would be enough. In old films, sound was only picked up where people were speaking on screen. No matter how many people were moving their mouths in the background, it didn't appear in the image. That makes the world more correct, I believe. When you get to 24 channels and are told to add voices everywhere and spread them across the whole field — information increases, but the point of expression becomes extremely blurry. So I took the plunge. Through doing several short films at the Ghibli Museum, testing things out, I thought we could do this. The producer said 'let's go with it' without any hesitation — that truly made me happy. The sound director shared exactly the same awareness. That kind of thing almost never happens. And this was a happy thing — the heads of each section, colors, backgrounds, animation checking, the production desk woman, and even the music — Joe Hisaishi — had a problem right at the end, but everyone finished with a wonderful, harmonious feeling. This was a first. Usually it ends with tensions and frayed nerves. But this time, staff from twenty or thirty years ago came back to participate. Including all of that, the experience of making this film was extraordinarily rare, and I feel truly fortunate.

I was given the platform of Hot Wind, and I spoke frankly about what I thought. I should have thought a bit more carefully and spoken properly, but it was all 'oh, this is no good' — that's all I talked about. That's how the article turned out. I have no intention of correcting it. As for whether I'll continue publishing — as I said, I'm not a cultural figure, so I'll keep it within that scope.

The author I respect, Teru Miyabe — he's nearly ninety now — translated the Book of Ecclesiastes from the Old Testament. He sent it to me, and in that book there's a passage: 'Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your strength.' It's a wonderful passage. Teru Miyabe writes as if to say, 'You're not too bright, so I'll write it again in a way you can understand.' That book has always been with me. The ten years — that wasn't something I came up with. I was told by my drawing teacher that when you do drawing work, the limit comes around thirty-eight, and many people die there, so be careful. I understood it to be about ten years. I started my drawing training at eighteen, so I vaguely thought of it as ten years. But before becoming a director, animation was about perceiving the secrets of the world — the movement of wind, people, various expressions, gestures, the movement of muscles in the body. The secret of the world exists in those movements. When I understood that, I realized my chosen profession was profoundly worthwhile. That period was something. Eventually directing and other things piled up and it became harder, but I still vaguely feel that ten years. I was truly working with all my might then — though it's pointless to say so now. As for the next ten years, I think they'll pass in the blink of an eye. It's already been over ten years since I built the museum — and it feels like it was just recently. So I imagine the next ten years will go even faster. That's how it is, and that's my thinking.

I told her rather abruptly about retiring. She said, 'The bento will continue as usual, so please take care of that.' That was her response. But as she often says, there's no one at our age who still makes bento every day, so I'm very sorry, but please take care of that. I don't remember if I said it that politely. Anyway, I've been made into a person unsuited for eating out. I went to a ramen shop I used to frequent and was shocked by how salty it was — I've been made to eat things with much lighter flavors now. But that doesn't matter. Regarding the question about 'this world is worth living in' — I was deeply moved by a British children's author, Robert Westall, who has passed away. His works are filled with thoughts that must be truly considered. He wrote: 'This world is a terrible place.' And there's a line: 'You're too sensitive to live like this.' It's not a compliment at all. It's saying, 'You can't survive in this world like that.' Those words struck me to the core. I'm not the one originating this message — I'm the one who has received so much. From books, from films I saw long ago. I've inherited this from many sources. I didn't come up with it myself. The message that this world is worth living in has been repeated and repeated through generations — people wondered if it was true as they died, and I believe I've inherited that tradition. Does that suffice?

You can't make a film by trying to put your message into it. There's meaning in setting out in one direction, but you can't capture it with your own consciousness. When you try to capture it, you usually end up in the wrong place. You have no choice but to go into places you don't fully understand yourself. And you have to close The Wind Rises at the end, so if someone comes at you with a deadline, there's nothing easier — but the film is limited to two hours at most, and the remaining seconds keep ticking down. That's the reality. The phrase 'you must live' as a line of dialogue — I think Suzuki-san pulled out some of Horikoshi's final words from somewhere and put it on the poster bigger than the characters I wrote for 'Kaze Tachinu.' I thought Suzuki-san was really going for it. Whether I'm screaming 'you must live' or not — I'm not screaming. But including how the promotion unfolds and rolls out nationally — that's Suzuki's job, and he does it thoroughly. So I have no choice but to leave it all to him. And so, before I knew it, someone was going to Venice. Before that, I was asked to go to a festival with Takahata and said 'please don't make me.' I was asked about a film festival and said the same. I wasn't asked about Venice at all, but then I remembered — oh yes, that's right. Everyone has the impression I'm playing innocent, but I did mention it earlier. I love the Lido. I love the Lido. I love it. And Caproni — the company that Caproni's grandson saw the red Pig and sent me, out of the blue, a large book with the structural drawings of the aircraft his grandfather's company had built. It may be the only copy in Japan. 'If you want it, use it' — it said that. I gratefully accepted, and from the photographs of those strange aircraft, I was able to see the internal structure for the first time. That moved me. The technical level was primitive compared to Germany or America — just fitting wooden pieces together — but the vision behind it was something the Romans would have conceived. Giovanni Caproni, the designer — I understood him as a Renaissance man. To run an airline without an economic foundation required tremendous bravado and bluster. And the aircraft he built remained in the annals of aviation. Learning this made me love him. That became the trigger for this film. But these things accumulate and become material. I've rarely set out to make a film based on a theme I'm carrying. It's usually a book or something that suddenly arrives at my doorstep that eventually becomes material.

I was talking about the economy going uphill and then crashing, and it seems like I understand it well, but there were many times I truly didn't understand. Before making Porco Rosso, when I was lost about how to read the world situation, Miyabe-san would send along a short essay. When I was heading somewhere but couldn't tell where I was going — during those times, I would read his work and he was truly standing without wavering in the midst of contemporary history. It was remarkable. I found my own position through him, many times. Miyabe-san wrote something like 'the state will eventually perish' — words like that were an enormous help to me at those moments. I still think of him as a true adult. With that, time is up, so let's move to the final question.

Well, there were times I made them at one-year intervals too. The first ones — Nausicaä was different, but Castle in the Sky, Porco Rosso, and Kiki's Delivery Service — I had accumulated a lot of material before I started directing. Once there was an outlet, it all came pouring out. After that, I had to search for what to make next, so it gradually took longer. And also — I made Castle of Cagliostro in four and a half months. At the time, everyone was young, and the opportunity to make a feature-length animation came maybe once in a lifetime for the animators, so they worked with incredible passion. But you can't keep demanding that forever. You age, and people start asking whether you choose yourself or the work. For this film, I chose both — I drew Horikoshi. That's not typical. Anyway, that's why it took longer. Also, I could no longer endure sitting at my desk for twelve or fourteen hours. Realistically, seven hours was my limit. The rest was resting, chatting, eating. Meetings and being told to do this or that — that's not work for me. The work is sitting at the desk and drawing. The question is how many hours you can manage. At this age, there are moments when it's simply impossible. The result was that I'd put down my pencil and just leave. I gave up entirely on the idea of finishing neatly, tidying up, or wrapping things up for the day. I left everything in progress and walked out. Even so, I was at my absolute limit. 'Then have someone else do it' — that's what people who don't understand my way of working would say, so there's no point listening. If I could do that, I would have done it long ago. So it took five years. During that time, I decided what kind of film to make, chose the staff, wrote the screenplay — I was doing all that. But The Wind Rises still took five years. Considering all that, the question of how the character in The Wind Rises lives afterward — that's truly Japan's problem today. A young man visits, and at the end of the film, Caproni and Jiro descend — and what awaits them beyond is truly terrifying. That was a startling reaction, but I think it proves they accepted this film as a film for today. I'm satisfied that we truly understood where we stand now. I'm not sure if this counts as answering the question, but that's how it is.

I didn't expect this many people to be here. Thank you all very much for everything over such a long time. I don't think anything like this will happen again. Thank you very much. That is all.