I first saw “Spirited Away” when I was in college – risking
dating myself here – about 12 years ago.
I had just gotten into anime the summer before via some friends of
friends, and I loved it almost immediately.
The animation was superb, the detail exquisite, and – let’s face it – it
had a dragon. A DRAGON.
Synopsis: Ten-year-old Chihiro is uprooted from her home and
her school, presumably due to her dad’s job.
On the way to their new home, amid Chihiro’s whining and grumbling, they
take a wrong turn and end up at what they assume is a run-down former theme
park. However, they find that someone
still has a restaurant running, so while the mister and missus pig out on the
delectable eats, Chihiro takes a walk and discovers a bathhouse…and a young man
who most URGENTLY warns her away. Too
late; darkness falls, and Chihiro rushes back to find her parents transformed. Chihiro desperately tries to escape the
nightmare, but all her attempts fail until the same young man comes to her
rescue and instructs her in how to survive.
But can she hold her own against the mercenary proprietress of the
bathhouse? Will she find a way to change
her parents back and return home? Or is
she trapped in a world of scary monsters, adorable soot-balls, Stink gods, and
murderous No-Faces?
I like Spirited Away for several reasons, but the one that
has stood out most to me over the years, and the one that may be quite relevant
considering hot topics swarming around the internet, is that Chihiro is a
self-saving protagonist. A FEMALE
self-saving protagonist.
Not at first, no.
Like most characters thrust into an unknown world, Chihiro flounders to
understand what she’s seeing, to accept it, to alter her expectations of the
norm, and then finally adapt to where she can function in her environment. However, though she does not know the rules
governing this world, she is still subject to them. She cannot protect herself unless she has
help, and that comes through a variety of supporting characters. Each in turn give her pieces of the puzzle,
guide her through the realm of the bathhouse, until she comes face-to-face with
her antagonist: Yubaba.
Yubaba is ferocious, intimidating, treacherous, and
repulsive. She’ll hurt Chihiro if she
can, turn her into an animal and possibly eat her, but using the few precious hints
already given her, Chihiro steadfastly holds to the first rule – ask for
work. Keep asking. Don’t stop.
God knows why, but KEEP ASKING.
Thankfully for the audience, explanation of that rule comes
in a side comment from Yubaba, one that betrays another rule of this universe –
oaths MUST be kept. Even she who holds
all the power must abide by that rule.
And so Chihiro survives, but only just.
In signing the work contract, Yubaba displays another rule of the bathhouse
– names can be taken, and new ones given.
Chihiro is thus dubbed “Sen,” and sent to work with Lin and her cleaning
girls.
Haku reappears at this point, a stoic and arrogant figure,
and shows no recognition of Chihiro/Sen, and even goes so far as to instruct
her to call him “Haku-sama,” which in English is roughly “Master Haku.” The honorific “sama,” to those who don’t
know, is a term of superiority, an acknowledgement that the person to whom you refer
is above you, usually very far above you, and such a person is allowed to treat
you as subjugate to them. This is a
rather humbling position for Chihiro, especially since he had been so kind and
protective at first; she wonders aloud to Lin later if there are “two Hakus.”
However, “Sen” accepts this treatment as part of her new
identity. And it’s an identity too
easily assumed, one that subjects her to harassment and insults by the other
residents of the bathhouse. Later, when
this same Haku comes to fetch her to see her parents, once again all compassion
and patience, he saves her a second time by giving back her true name. In this short scene, we discover Haku is also
under Yubaba’s control, having forgotten his real name, and so became her
puppet.
Now, there’s another character whose existence in the film
is both vital and somewhat enigmatic – the No-Face. There have been many interpretations as to
what the No-Face symbolizes, among which is how some people cannot function
without trying to please others, and in so doing, destroy the very thing they
want to keep. Another interpretation is
that he is the embodiment of what happens when greed is allowed to run amok,
and can only be conquered once removed from the source(s) of temptation. Another yet is the identity question: is he
his own creature, or does he represent the assimilation of external forces that
cause a person to assume a new identity?
Is this identity then something the person wants to keep, or something
to be purged so as to return to their true self? You be the judge. Personally, I find No-Face a pathetic yet
compassion-inspiring figure, and I believe his role in Chihiro’s development is
possibly the most critical. He is both a
monster to be defeated and a victim to be rescued. Chihiro does both. This entire situation evidences yet another
rule – no one is who they first appear to be.
Except maybe the soot sprites. They’re just adorable.
One of my most favorite characters in this movie is actually
the most surprising. She makes her
entrance as a paper doll, one of thousands that actually attack and nearly kill
Haku; she turns Yubaba’s baby into a rat and her harpie into a bird; and to top
it off, she demands Haku’s life in exchange for something he stole. Conniving and homicidal, one at first thinks
that Zeniba the Swamp Witch will be Chihiro’s final test, the boss at the end
of the quest, as it were. Leaving Haku
in the care of those she trusts, Chihiro chooses to leave the familiarity of
the bathhouse and journey with three companions to Swampy Bottom to return what
was stolen and ask Zeniba to lift the deadly curse ravaging Haku. But upon arriving, she discovers Zeniba is
quite the opposite of her rival sorceress.
She demonstrates hospitality, compassion, and a great sense of
humor. While all the other supporting
characters aid Chihiro in a hostile environment, Zeniba provides a safe harbor
for rest, which is exactly what poor Chihiro needs. All crises resolve at Zeniba’s, or somewhere
in between; Chihiro returns to Yubaba a different girl than the one who first
begged her for work, ready to confront her ultimate trial, the one that will
grant her freedom. Zeniba indirectly
demonstrates the fourth rule governing this fantastical world – one can leave
the bathhouse.
“Spirited Away” is one of the few movies, I think, that have
a female protagonist truly transform from a victim into her own hero. No, she’s not competent at first. She complains and whines and resents her
situation. However, being thrust into a
supernatural and frightening realm, she must first learn the rules of her new
world, to function within them, and then begin to exercise her own will against
those rules. This is when she finds she
can save the people she cares about, and ultimately, save herself. One would be remiss, however, to neglect
those that gave of themselves to help her become stronger and more confident. We all have these people, the ones whose
kindness and courage live with us and become part of who we are. “Spirited Away” is not just about a girl
surviving a world of monsters; it’s about character and acceptance and love.
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