Making a trip to Disneyland always holds that certain power over our inhibitions to awaken some inner child that, whether we admit it or not, kept us from sleeping soundly the night before. Once you make it through the entrance, any reasonable adult will transform into a ball of giddiness for spinning cups, high-fives from Goofy, and on hotter Anaheim days, animatronic presidential addresses. And that’s okay. Within the walls of the Magic Kingdom, it’s okay to wear monogrammed Mickey Ears and challenge Gaston to a pushup contest. That’s why we go there.
It’s hard to think of other places that hold such gleaming nostalgia for its visitors, until Laura and I headed to Mitaka to visit the Ghibli Museum.
The Ghibli Museum is a small building showcasing the works of the thirty year-old animation studio, founded by a man no stranger to feeding the inner child, Hayao Miyazaki. He and his team personally contributed to the realization of this museum, which only allows two hundred visitors daily.
I could go on about the wonderful exhibits and intimate portraits of the Ghibli team’s world-class commitment to master strokes, but it’s best for you to see the museum yourself. And if you ever have plans to visit Tokyo, you really should.
I love to talk to people about their passion and sense of purpose, and this museum gives Miyazaki-san and his colleagues a place to show it. And for all their films, Ghibli has a way of letting down your guard and speaking to your innocence and wonder. Three examples of such:
Spirited Away is a newcomer’s go-to first Ghibli film, myself included. Chihiro’s a timid girl thrust into a world of lake spirits, witches, mysteriously masked creatures, and a giant radish. The animation is crisp and expressive, the characters and humor boast’s Miyazaki’s signature, and you really root for Chihiro every step of the way. Strange creatures and magic aside, watching her shoulder responsibility almost overnight while maintaining a bit of naivete was ten years of growing pains and foolish turns vacuum-sealed in ninety minutes.
My Neighbor Totoro is the first Ghibli film, and its most famous; Totoro is pretty much Micky Mouse in Japan. Satsuki and Mei move to the Japanese countryside with their father. In their new home, they encounter tiny soot sprites, and the large, mostly aloof guardian of the forest. More than fairytale neighbors, this is really about family, and why I keep telling Laura we must have a girl first. Whether or these spirits are real, imaginary, or selectively real is not as important as realizing what it means to be a big sister and how you fill those shoes.
Grave of the Fireflies came out the same year as My Neighbor Totoro, and while the tale of siblinghood is shared, the tone is profoundly heavier than the usual Ghibli offerings – this one not made by Miyazaki. This film of a boy, Seita, taking care of his sister Setsuko during WW2 is brutal in portraying the worst casualties of war, but also how innocence, coupled with the best big brother in all of cinema, shields us from these horrors. I’ve only watched this film once with good reason. You’re probably going to cry after watching this movie. And then think about Setsuko and a certain tin. And then cry again.
Do your homework, watch some great movies, and once you’re a fan, figure out a way to make it to the Ghibli Museum. You might not walk in the entrance with personalized Totoro ears, but you will walk away a kid again.
Although the museum carries a strict no photo/video policy, there were a few chances to steal a shot:
