Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Cinema: The Tale of Princess Kaguya: A Princess's Crime and Punishment



The new Ghibli animation, The Tale of Princess Kaguya: A Princess's Crime and Punishment, tells a story of a girl born inside a bamboo, adopted by a couple in the country, and educated to transform herself from a peasant girl into a lady. In the end, Kaguya is revealed to be a kannon (kuanyin, or bodhisattva) and has to return to her duty.

The animated film is an end result of Isao Takahada’s years-long effort. Distinct from Hayao Miyazaki's works, which are known for their full-bodied and bright colors, Princess Kaguya is drawn in water color. The characteristic loose lines, soft-toned shades, and the spaces deliberated left blank contribute to the breezy and fabled atmosphere of the work.

It is a simple story, like most folklore much narrated in one’s childhood, and a great watch.

The story goes like this: a baby is discovered inside a bamboo by a farmer. The farmer and his wife adopt her and are simply overjoyed with her presence, a hopeful addition to their childless life. At this point, nothing is expected of the baby except for her good health and happiness. She is called Hime, literally the princess, by her parents; she is known to villagers as the child of bamboo, Takenoko, given that her parents are bamboo farmers. One day, the father discovers a pile of deluxe fabric and a hoard of gold in the same bamboo forest where he has found the child, and the treasure makes him believe that it is provided to make his daughter a real princess, a real lady. His interpretation of these signs motivates him to proceed with a grand educational program for his daughter. The family moves to a city and settles in a grand palace, in which their girl has to learn all the talents that are expected of a princess: playing musical instruments, practicing calligraphy and drawing, studying classics, and learning appropriate etiquette so as to become valuable in upper-class marriage market. Despite her disinterest and indifference, she is quick to acquire all these skills. She soon earns the name of Kaguya Hime, the princess of gleam, and such fame attracts tons of the most eligible suitors far and near. She, however, remains melancholically nostalgic for her life in the country, a past that has been forlorn. A time has finally come when she remembers that she has come from the moon and is bound to return to the duty as a kannon. The departure is preordained against the parents’ wish and the defense force that has been employed to secure her.

The family’s move away from the life of the poor to the life of the rich is very much about parenting and child-raising, I reckon. The adoptive father understands the appearance of fabric and gold to be an indicator of the daughter’s noble heritage, which is innate to his child of bamboo. His interpretation, whether correct or not, makes him forget about the mere pleasure of the child’s company and their simple wish for her happiness, but urges him to carry out a plan that is believed to realize the daughter’s potential. The parents’ decision results in consequences in which the daughter suffers from her renown and yearns for a thorough breakaway from social constraints. Isn’t it true that most parents take it their responsibility to pave the way to a bright future for children? Isn’t it still true that most parents attempt to interpret all sorts of signs they can find in their children? Are parents to blame in cases as such? Are children to blame if they ever feel rebellious in situations as such? Kaguya turns out to be a kannon. Does this fact coincide with the noble heritage that the father has believed to be in Kaguya? Or, is it the father’s misjudgment?

In the issue of parenting and child-raising lies an interesting question of ‘becoming’: what would become of a child? Is that future foreseeable? Kaguya manages to become an object of desire, an ideal image that her parents have projected for her, but she has also consequently failed to become what she has wanted to be – an innocent girl, unworried and free, who will spend her entire life in a small village.

Each of her suitors proposes that as long as she becomes his wife, all of what he owns will become hers. The purpose of the entire process of becoming is to increase Kaguya’s exchange value in the market of marriage, to make her become the desirable object of others. ‘Becoming’ in this case has little to do with the realization of one’s self, but much to do with other people’s ambition. The journey of becoming is equivalent to the process of acquiring some sort of asset, which one can deploy in exchange for greater capital.

The subtitle of the film is a princess's crime and punishment. It is confusing for me to see what crime she has committed and why she has to be punished. Given that it is a story of kannon, one might say that she has committed the crime of allowing herself to be driven by feelings and emotions. Additionally, she might be partially responsible for the death of a suitor, who accidentally kills himself when seeking her favor. She might be considered arrogant when she refuses to marry any of the suitors. 

The subtitle seems to be a patriarchal note to the film itself, I guess, whether it is because of its religious context. I wonder if the film suggests that Kaguya should not have rebelled against the life her parents have planned out for her, and her resistance, a misbehavior in accordance with the ethics in Asian cultures in general, has resulted in her separation from her parents. In the story, she is separated from a childhood sweetheart with whom she has closely grown up: a romantic relationship that is terminated before it has any chance to take shape. Does the story try to say that she is not allowed to chose the life she wants to live? Or, is it because the peasant boy is thought to be a wrong match for her anyway? Is it the crime, or the punishment?

Monday, January 06, 2014

Cinema: Hannah Arendt

K and I watched Hannah Arendt as a birthday treat to him. It was a good story provoking its audiences to think beyond themselves.

I am quite charmed by the portrayal of Arendt's powerful character as a philosopher and her independent spirit as a woman.

Intriguingly enough, however, she also seems to be totally confident in her relationship to her husband, who apparently, to every one's knowledge, is having an affair with one of their common acquaintances. She is able to greet the mistress and to invite her to a house party. She appears to be immune to the disturbing (to the standard of the general public) reality of the affair as if her relationship to her husband has already assumed a Platonic form. They are each other's intellectual counterpart and therefore insusceptible to any worldly distractions. They can still love and respect each other even if the relationship might be tinted with a scandal of unfaithfulness.

Is it the power of intellect that has empowered her to stand against all these flaws in her emotional life? Does she also practise the belief that to love does not mean to possess? Does she feel powerful even if she is not possessive in love?