Isao Takahata
Pom Poko

The scrotum of certain tanuki can transform into dragons and ships. But not even the terrifying procession of monsters through the streets of Tokyo can stop the greed of man, who has decided to destroy the mountain - home of these delightful creatures - to build a new residential area. Warning, the text contains some plot spoilers.

I am overwhelmed by the beauty of this film, which was warmly recommended to me by a friend and user of Debaser. Miyazaki's Princess Mononoke is one of my all-time favorites, and this is its perfect complement, the other half of the Moon. In the Yin and Yang, Takahata's is the black spot, the shadow. And it reminds me of many dialectics and oppositions that develop at a distance between the two films: in fact, Mononoke was a response to Pom Poko, being released three years later. Now I can understand and appreciate it even more, besides being left in awe by the conceptual richness and tone play of this one.

It seems like a documentary at times. There's a voiceover that almost scientifically explains (the adaptation is by Cannarsi, alas) the operations carried out by the tanuki to stop human advancement. This is somewhat paradoxical, seeing as these creatures belong more to the fantastical than the natural. As mentioned, they can train in shapeshifting and essentially become anything, but it's an immense effort, as well as a sacrifice, a distancing from their home and surrendering to the fate of losing it.

But the entire work lives on paradoxes and tones that deliberately contradict the gravity of the themes, almost to make it a farce, leaving only the attentive viewer the chance to understand the subtext. And here, the subtext is everything or almost. The battle isn't between nature and man, between animals and concrete. The battle is between the world of tradition, of faith, the slow and ancient world, and the modern, frenzied world, without god and superstitions, without fear and without an idea of home as a place of roots. The home is a concrete box connected to central Tokyo via a fast train, the important thing is convenience, not the spirit of the place where generations before you have lived and struggled.

The tanuki are another face of humans; they are a certain type of humanity. They truly belong to Japanese mythology, and here they represent it in its entirety. But they make mistakes too, they are foolish and wicked. They just don't want to surrender to the idea of an uprooted life, as the cunning foxes have already done. It is a battle against windmills, but one cannot surrender without fighting.

Shapeshifting is a cartoonish way of representing all that in human culture refuses to submit to the pure logic of profit and progress. It is the healthy fear that should besiege the human spirit when deciding to destroy the greenery around. But it doesn’t have true concrete power, it cannot move buildings. It can only act on the human soul, urging caution. But the industrious and postmodern man accepts no explanations that aren't scientific, and a parade of monsters is explained as a publicity stunt by an amusement park.

Compared to Miyazaki’s Mononoke, Takahata is softer in his depiction, he doesn't shy away from simplifications and child-like animation traits, in order to sugarcoat his pill. There is no epic here; it’s all a carnival, seemingly. But that’s because the pill he has in store is much more bitter, and I believe that friend Hayao reacted in order to find a less toxic recipe, to look at the world with less cynical eyes. And to do so, he created a god (beast).

The vision of Master Isao is enriched by a complex corollary of reactions. We are in a sort of documentary, and precision is essential. Thus, we have tanuki who become terrorists, others who turn to exhibitionism on TV to convince humans. There’s the master who gives in and embarks towards a sweet death, there are those who embrace (strenuously) human civilization and those who remain wild, with all the risks it entails. The finale is an anticlimax, meant to portray the slow agony brought to the “ancient world” by the “modern world.” The peak of tension, almost horror, is in the heart of the film, at the center, when the city is invaded by ghosts. A macabre dance for modern man, without fears and without roots, without superstitions and without magic.