Nausicaä, a hopeful memory

Written by Daniel MacKeith on 08 May 2025

On a day that I can’t remember, on a holiday that is now just another fond memory floating around idly in my mind, waiting to bump into my mind's eye, I happened to find myself in the Forbidden Planet store in London. I say happened to, the fact is I very consciously sought it out, as massive nerds like myself tend to do. During this little moment of me-time, buried in my own bubble and isolated from the other worlds around me, those inhabited by bubbling not-quite-as-alone fellow shoppers, drifting around me, as I hovered in and out of their orbits, I happened to find myself pleasantly surprised. I was surprised because I had found something that I thought I might never see, and yet had at many points thought about regardless, as one often does about things one might realistically never have. I had found a book all about the process of the production of Hayao Miyazaki’s 1984 film Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind. A film that had a profound impact on me when I first watched it. Unsurprisingly, all of Miyazaki’s works have had a profound impact on me, as they have had on the millions and millions of people who have watched them. 

But it wasn’t the incredibly well known, world-renowned and rarely controversial filmmaker and public figure Hayao Miyazaki who worked on, wrote and directed this film, he had yet to grow into that person's shoes. It was the at the time relatively unknown Hayao Miyazaki who wrote and directed this film, still starting out, still not quite off the ground yet, working on a project he had at that point dedicated years of time, effort and passion to. Nausicaä has all the trademark aspects of a Miyazaki film, and I would go so far as to argue that it does this job as good if not better than any that Miyazaki has made since. It is a film that gives me hope, as someone who is still finding his footing in the world, who feels unsure about his future, who doesn’t know what it holds, who isn’t always sure if it’s even there, if he will even live to see the outcome of his present struggles. If he will survive the things that at times drag him down and suck the air out of his life. It is a film that tells me that it is never too late to create something that so purely communicates your artistic spirit to the world, to express yourself so purely and openly. That it is never too late to stand up and fight, that it is never too late to find hope, wherever it may come from. That it is always there, we need only look for it, in everything. In the everyday, in the things we so often overlook, the things we so often fail to appreciate.

Miyazaki’s films ooze life. Pure life, the kind that wakes you up one day, wherever you are, and reminds you that you are alive. Not just surviving, not just living day to day. That you are fully in tune and focused on the wonderful, exciting, breathtaking beauty that is all around you. That you so often take for granted, that beauty that you may not recognise because you are fully immersed in it. That makes your hair stand on end, that makes you feel as though no matter what happens, no matter what may be weighing you down, there is so much joy within you and within the world, that it will always be there, even if you cannot see it, that it will be waiting for you when you can. That things will be alright. It’s a warm hand on your own after a day you couldn’t stand. The wind in your hair. An explosion of flavour in your mouth. A song on your lips. It’s a reminder that even in a cruel dark unforgiving world, there will always be things to live for, to fight for. 

If I’m waxing poetic in a little too snobby and stick up the ass-ish way for you, then I apologise. It’s this kind of art that sparks the drive in me to go on and on in the most insufferable ways possible, pure passion that flows through me and makes me unbearable to anyone within rambling range. Getting back to the point somewhat, it was in that comic bookstore, flicking through the pages, getting a feel of things I thought I might never see, that I really felt what I had thought made Miyazaki’s films so special. All too often I think we’re fed the idea of the artist's ego. We see someone’s works and deem them ‘special’. That they are above the rest of us, looking down on us even, that they are made of something we are not, and that this makes them worth more than us. Even I am somewhat guilty of this in this very piece of work. It’s undeniable that I am putting Miyazaki up on a pedestal somewhat, that my praise for his work makes him seem to be more important than you or I. We put these people up on a pedestal and we claim they have some quality that is beyond us, that makes them beyond reproach. And all too often, I think we see artists who truly believe this view. We see artists who are unwilling to question themselves, artists who are unwilling to learn, unwilling to even consider that they could ever be wrong. And this goes without saying, but not questioning things is exactly how they stay broken.

What I saw in that book, that I so briefly flicked through, was a man willing to question himself, a man trying to constantly change his work for the better, a man who wasn’t just willing to be wrong, but who actively wanted to find out where he was wrong. Miyazaki’s level of attention to detail, in the way he helped shape this world and the people in it, speaks the story of a man who thought of every aspect of his piece of work, who wanted it to reflect his values and vision. Who put love and care into making sure that each detail mattered, so that no matter how small, it contributed to the overall beauty of the piece, that it was given the attention it deserved, and who wasn’t happy with anything lesser than that. It is with that insight in mind that I would like to assert that, despite what Miyazaki himself may have said otherwise, the things that Nausicaä does, the things that make it stand out, that make it and his other works special, have and always will be a conscious effort by those involved to make a piece of art that dared to question. 

We live in a world where we are told that to get what we want we must be strong. We are told that we must be ruthless, that we must be dominant, that we must put ourselves first and foremost. That we must trample all others who are in our way without mercy. We are told that this is the way things are, rules of nature, the strong eat the weak, predators and prey, simply how things are meant to be. We are told that we must be the same as this, that kindness is weakness, that it’s just not that simple. And time and time again this idea of strength is reflected in the art we consume, the films we watch, the things that mould us. They affirm this view through the protagonists they portray, through the battles they fight, through the worlds they live in and how their characters interact with them. They serve to justify the kinds of callous cruelty that we are often so numb to. They serve to make us think that war can ever be something that we should cheer for, or that violence can ever be something noble. 

And then there is Nausicaä. Both the film and the protagonist stand as something and someone that sees the world, sees the way things are, what the rest of the world believes in, what they think is right and wrong. That see all of this, and in spite of it, because of it, plant their feet, stand in the way of it all, and refuse to budge. That demand that the world change before they do. Nausicaä isn’t a brilliant protagonist because she must undergo a journey of self-discovery and change. Nausicaä is a brilliant protagonist because she is introduced to us fully formed: Exactly as she needs to be, from the moment she is introduced to the moment it ends, the film only continues to assert this. It is not Nausicaä who needs to change to accommodate a cruel world, it is a cruel world that needs to change to adhere with the ideals of understanding, acceptance and kindness that she embodies. And she knows this, and never for a second doubts that she can make a difference. Her greatest strength isn’t that she can kick ass, she can, but the film never attempts to glorify this. Nausicaä’s lowest point in the film is in fact when she gives in to rage, when she chooses violence in a moment of weakness, it is not her real strength. Her real strength is her empathy, her understanding, her compassion. It takes strength to live the way she does, it takes a willingness to be vulnerable, to accept that you could be hurt, and to choose to do so anyway. Continually throughout the film Nausicaä opens her heart to others, to Teto the fox squirrel, to the Ohms in the forest of decay, to the gunman who fires at her as she soars through the air towards him, arms open and outstretched, unafraid.

At the beginning of the film, when she befriends Teto, Nausicaä says something that stuck with me throughout the rest of the film, that echoes in every confrontation she and the others in her village encounter, that is reflected in just about every act of violence or aggression throughout the film: ‘You’re not scared’. Although Nausicaä is a film that has an antagonist, it would be hard to say that there is a true villain to the story. At its heart, there are those that can work through their fear and their pain, to choose to live with compassion, and those that cannot. Anyone can change, just as all it takes is love and trust to change the aggressive fox squirrel into Nausicaä’s friend, so too can it help transform those who are angry and scared. Show them that they don’t need to be, that there is a better way forward. Miyazaki’s films are often not so concerned with plot as they are with presenting us with fascinating worlds and engaging characters, and in doing so say something poignant to the viewer. The themes and ideas of these films come to us as we observe, as we take our time to really see things, to not rush, to stand still. This has and always will be reflected in the style Miyazaki uses: Time is given to really introduce us to the world, to see how these characters live, to breathe in their lives. The camera often lingers on shots, as though we were passersby stopping and admiring the view. I try to reflect this in my own life myself: To stop and stand still, to take my time, to admire the view.

Miyazaki has denied in the past that the film carries anti-war and pro-feminist themes. And in a way I could believe him, I do think that his primary focus when making the film was to provide something entertaining first and foremost. However, it is no coincidence that these ideas come through regardless. Miyazaki puts his soul into his films. He takes what makes him human and bares it to the world. He takes his wonder, his positivity, his hope, his passion and his principles and he uses it to create art that touches these aspects of ourselves that we carry within us. Even the angriest, most scared people have these parts within them. I believe it, I have to. Miyazaki himself is not without fault, the man is notoriously grim, and he has an abrasiveness to him that I have no doubt has caused hurt to those close to him, his son, Goro Miyazaki especially. And yet within his own works lies that longing to change, to face the worst parts of yourself and become better as a result. To face the anger at the injustice of the world, and to choose to be kind regardless. In that moment, in that store, surrounded by people, I remember briefly feeling more alone than I had in a long time. And in that moment of vulnerability, I saw that book, and I remembered. I remembered to hope, I remembered to nurture and care for the best parts of myself. I remembered to slow down, to stop and admire the view, to enjoy life as it comes, to cherish those small moments of happiness. I hope that many more people can continue to do so, inspired by a filmmaker that we won’t soon forget.