In the wake of its military defeat in World War II, Japan experienced a period of unprecedented economic change that stretched from 1946 to 1991. This period, referred to as “the Japanese economic miracle”, saw Japan experience huge economic growth and become ‘the world’s second largest capitalist economy’.[1] The economic miracle’s causes are still debated: some scholars attribute the growth to effective government fiscal policies; others, a high savings rate which provided large investment funds.[2] However, an acknowledgement of Japan’s technological policy in this period recurs across many studies. Around 1951, Japan imported much of its basic and high-growth industry technology from the West.[3] Then, in the 1970s, Japan began pioneering innovative electronics and robotics technology.[4] Lastly, from the mid-1980s into the 1990s, Japan recognised the export potential of advanced technology sectors.[5]
The miracle also saw growth in the Japanese anime industry. The influence of Western animation techniques, such as those in Walt Disney Studios’ Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937; released in Japan in 1950), preceded the application of domestic innovations like video cassette recorders in the late 1970s.[6] Then, during the 1980s and 1990s, anime thrived in US markets.[7] Owing to this shared trajectory—that is, of the anime industry and the Japanese economy—I will be investigating how the antagonists in three anime films by Japanese director, Hayao Miyazaki, are used to reflect on the miracle. These are as follows: Kushana in Kaze no Tani no Naushika (1984, Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind); Muska in Tenkū no Shiro Rapyuta (1986, Laputa: Castle in the Sky); and Lady Eboshi in Mononoke-hime (1997, Princess Mononoke). For each film, I will be referring to the English language dub.
Because the miracle represents a vast historical event spanning many decades, I cannot offer a thorough exploration of how Miyazaki’s works reflect every factor that contributed to Japan’s substantial postwar economic resurgence. Instead, I will analyse these films with reference to three aforementioned case studies: Japan’s technological importation, technological innovation, and technological exportation, respectively. Again, these are case studies—simplified concepts—and I am not attempting to write a history of the miracle. Shigeru T. Otsubo, a professor of International Development Economics at Nagoya University, divides the miracle into three stages: Phase I (1945-1960s), Phase II (1970s-1980s), and Phase III (1990s-).[8] In accordance with this structure, this dissertation will be divided into three chapters.
Chapter 1 will explore Kushana’s depiction in Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind with consideration of technological importation in Phase I. This period saw postwar Japan focus solely on rebuilding itself.[9] Kushana’s depiction parallels the intrusion of heavy industry into the agricultural sector, environmental damage, singular importation controls, and new trade opportunities. Chapter 1 will also illustrate how the anime industry’s adoption (or figurative importation) of overseas techniques clarifies Nausicaä’s reflection on this particular miracle pattern.
Chapter 2 will explore Muska’s depiction in Laputa: Castle in the Sky with consideration of technological innovation in Phase II. In this period, Japan continued its early postwar economic structures even as the country became economically developed.[10] Muska’s depiction parallels the prioritisation of technological innovation over industrial reform, a competitive economic market, the displacement of female workers, and the increased market influence of formerly marginalised firms. Chapter 2 will also show how Miyazaki’s experiences of technological innovation and lacking structural change in the anime industry clarify why Castle is reflecting on these specific miracle characteristics.
Finally, Chapter 3 will explore the depiction of Lady Eboshi in Princess Mononoke with consideration of technological exportation from the late years of Phase II to the early years of Phase III. During this period, it became clear that Japan’s 1986-1990 “bubble” economy could no longer be sustained.[11] Eboshi’s depiction parallels international trade deficits, seemingly militaristic trade activities, new employment opportunities, and environmental technology exportation. Chapter 3 will also demonstrate how the increased overseas consumption of anime during this period explains Mononoke’s treatment of miracle exportation.
Essentially, I have chosen this topic because these films feature antagonists who pursue their goals predominantly through using technology. However, as anime productions, these films are inherently situated within contexts of the changing state of the anime industry; because the anime industry was, as established, a part of the miracle, there is much to be said about Miyazaki’s personal experiences with economic development in the industry and, subsequently, why his films might be reflecting on this period. Indeed, each factor—technological importation, innovation, and exportation—has its own reflection in the anime industry, albeit not necessarily in a literal sense. For example, the adoption of overseas animation techniques rather than technological importation, or the increasing overseas consumption of anime rather than technological exportation.
External to Miyazaki’s work, the miracle remains a complex situation which encompassed numerous positive and negative effects, and this is consistent with Miyazaki’s nuanced characterisation of his antagonists. Thus, this is an exploratory piece of work which aims to understand how Miyazaki represents this history.
Chapter 1: The Contest of Reconstruction
Technological Importation in Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (1984)
The miracle provides a contextual foundation that enhances understanding of Hayao Miyazaki’s Kaze no Tani no Naushika (1984, Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind). Whilst not a product of famed anime house, Studio Ghibli, Nausicaä created the talent base that eventually comprised Ghibli.[12] Nausicaä’s subtext borrows from how postwar Japan equalled North American and European industrial economies through adopting, modifying, and absorbing foreign technologies.[13] To explore how Nausicaä allegorises these contexts of postwar reconstruction and the emergent problems of Japan’s industrial policy model in this period, I will explore the depiction of the film’s antagonist, Kushana. A militaristic figure, Kushana can be considered a conduit for these contexts: she is instructed to use an imported machine (the “Giant Warrior”) to fulfil a singular phoenix-from-the-ashes vision for her state, Tolmekia. Thus, Kushana’s agenda reflects Japan’s opportunity to ‘devote all its energies towards [a] single goal: the rebuilding of the country’.[14]
To clarify why Nausicaä, an anime film, is reflecting on the miracle’s technological importation, it is necessary to establish how anime history fits into these broader patterns that I am describing. Japan’s post-World War II economy was characterised by openness to the outside world, and its growth resulted from an American economic ‘hegemony’ which created a beneficial global environment for technology transmission.[15] Similarly, early Japanese pop culture can be traced to the importation of overseas animation following the US-influenced, postwar industrialisation of the anime industry.[16]
Amongst the clearest examples of the influence of American animation techniques into anime is rotoscoping.[17] Matt Delbridge notes that ‘Rotoscoping was first developed by Max Fleischer, the creator of the cartoons Betty Boop (1930) and Popeye (1933). It was later exploited in feature films by Disney studios, with the first animated feature to use rotoscoping, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937).’[18] Elsewhere, famed Japanese animation studio, Tōei Dōga’s, Hakujaden (1958, Panda and the Magic Serpent) was regarded as the first Japanese full-length color animated film, and relied heavily on rotoscoping techniques.[19] Clearly, anime history was entwined with Japanese economic development: both shared a thread of overseas influence. Therefore, it is uncontroversial to state that anime history shares its trajectory with the miracle; Nausicaä is not merely reflecting on miracle technological importation contexts—it is part of them, too.
Regarding Panda’s impact on the anime industry, Sugiyama Taku suggested that the film ‘established backgrounds as an important [part] of the Japanese animation process’.[20] Furthermore, Jonathan Clements notes that Tōei Dōga’s work on this ‘feature-length, rotoscoped, colour cartoon in the Disney model served as a powerful lure to young would-be animators [including] the young Miyazaki [who was] drawn to Tōei [by] the performance of the making of the film’.[21] This clarifies why Nausicaä is reflecting on the miracle: where the anime industry had experienced industrial progress through supplementing internal advances (e.g. Panda’s backgrounds) with “imported” foreign technologies and techniques, the wider Japanese economy seemingly achieved progress by displacing long-standing, domestic structures with imported technologies. Whilst Miyazaki acknowledges some benefits of the miracle’s technological importations, Nausicaä reflects disgruntlement at Japan’s singular importation vision.
Kushana’s depiction elucidates Nausicaä’s relationship between technological importation and agricultural industries. For example, when the Valley of the Wind’s villagers are taken from their agricultural commitments to transport Kushana’s army materiel, a long shot from the upper valley renders the villagers nigh-invisible. Kushana’s presence emphasises this ethos of irrelevance and displacement; the long shot is visually dominated by Kushana, along with her military aircraft, tanks, and the Giant Warrior. Japan’s industrial policy during the miracle clarifies Kushana’s depiction here: in the early 1950s, foreign technology was absorbed in key industries, such as strip mills in steelmaking and technologies for chemical fertilisers.[22] Simultaneously, Japan’s growth rate during the miracle is often partially attributed to inexpensive labour permitted by moving people out of agriculture, and heavy manufacturing investments.[23] Hence, agricultural industry employment, whilst acknowledged, was increasingly displaced by imported technologies. Therefore, Kushana’s visual composition emphasises how her brash dictation and alteration of the villagers’ lives echoes the increased dominance of technological importation in the miracle. The displacement of agricultural employment characterises both, and the musical accompaniment of Kushana’s confident “Nice valley […] we should take it” by militaristic horns accentuates her arrogant dominance. Together, this scene and these contexts clarify Miyazaki’s treatment of the miracle. By visually displacing the villagers with Kushana’s industrial actions, Nausicaä connotes an industrial disregard for agriculture.
Iwamoto Noriaki identifies flaws in Japan’s agro-industrial policies, stating, ‘intervention of the sort proposed could only work to the disadvantage of small-scale farmers [and] would be unable to cope with the volume of work caused by rising land prices’.[24] Applying such background history to a reading of Nausicaä suggests Kushana’s depiction is an interpretative allegory for the detrimental effects of Japan’s industrial policy on agricultural employment during the miracle.
This conflict resurfaces later. For example, to transition from Nausicaä crying amidst plants she has cultivated to a shot of Kushana’s aircraft engines, Miyazaki uses a “J cut”.[25] That the diegetic engine sounds are audible prior to the cut emphasises the intrusion of Kushana’s imported technology into the agricultural space, and Nausicaä’s continued sobbing amidst these intruding sounds implies Miyazaki’s negative sentiments towards this process. To clarify, Miyazaki is likely not criticising lacking agricultural progress considering that Japanese labour productivity in farming rose by 20 percent in 1955.[26] Instead, because this growth stemmed from government programs which supported mechanisation, Miyazaki might be criticising how industrial progress was achieved.[27]
Elsewhere, Kushana’s depiction interprets the environmental effects of technological importation. Before Kushana’s forces arrive in Nausicaä’s valley, the Giant Warrior appears in an egg-like state amidst industrial imagery of smoke. Then, a high-angle shot of a villager holding an agricultural flamethrower (for burning crop-damaging spores, thus protecting the environment; this is juxtaposed with low-angle shots of Kushana’s aircraft destroying windmills. The swift transition from a smoking “egg”—arguably a veiled metaphor for early-stage industrialism—to developed technologies connotes rapid technological exchange. Simultaneously, the low-angle destruction of windmills and the interruption of environmental protection suggest a dominant, conceited disregard for the environment. Japan’s difficult environmental history clarifies this depiction of Kushana’s forces: to reiterate, technological importation significantly contributed to postwar Japan’s high-speed growth, but, in the 1950s and 1960s, this same growth in Japanese heavy and chemical industries produced substantial air and water pollution.[28] Through comparable environmental destructiveness, Kushana’s hasty introduction (and figurative importation) of superior technology to a comparatively frugal society is negatively represented. Nausicaä thus presents Kushana’s forces as paralleling drastic technological importation, and reflects on Japan’s economic advances as occurring at the expense of environmental quality. Susan J. Napier supports this thematic interpretation, arguing that Nausicaä concerns the ‘transgression of nature through human technology.’[29]
Nausicaä’s animation further clarifies Miyazaki’s interpretation of the miracle’s environmental damage, and, although this chapter is predominantly concerned with the 1945-1960s stage of the miracle, it is necessary to consider Nausicaä‘s production context. From the 1970s onwards, Japan’s economy was orientated around computers (and other knowledge-based products), and anime studios quickly capitalised on labour-saving computer functions.[30] Accordingly, some productions, such as Daicon IV Opening Animation (1983), demonstrated the introduction of computer-assisted animation processes in anime.[31] However, Nausicaä uses traditional cel animation: its image sequences were drawn frame-by-frame, and image outlines were manually inked and coloured onto cels (transparent plastic sheets).[32] The film’s artisanal production method is far from an exemplar of the miracle’s technology, even going so far as to reject it. Of the anime form, Thomas LaMarre writes, ‘Many anime are decidedly low tech […] in their look and feel. This [does] not, however, imply a lack of technical sophistication.’[33] Thus, Nausicaä’s traditional animation arguably alludes to the continued effectiveness of “low tech” and the unnecessity of hastily adopting “high tech”.
This explains the scene’s depiction of Kushana: her hostile use of “imported” technology to displace “low-tech” windmills and flamethrowers emphasises a championing of “low tech” that, through environmental betterment, remains technically sophisticated. The mise-en-scène of vanes attached to the valley’s towers, and the pastoral scene’s lush green colour palette (contrasting with Kushana’s grey aircraft) emphasise that the villagers successfully prioritise environmentalism through their “low tech”. This reinforces that Nausicaä reflects on Japan’s miracle to address associations of imported, rapidly advancing technologies, and how it criticises that these advances were occasionally detrimental to Japan’s natural environment.
Nausicaä also engages with the miracle via Kushana’s importation controls. Like her agricultural displacement, Kushana’s importation authority raises industrial policy issues. For example, when Kushana rejects her aide, Kurotowa’s, reminder that they are to transport the Giant Warrior to their home state, Miyazaki moves from a two-shot of Kushana and Kurotowa to a close-up of Kushana. This emphasises Kushana’s sole authority over the importation of this technology, whilst her “You really think I should deliver up [the Giant Warrior] as a plaything for those fools back home?” emphasises her distrustful disdain for alternative technological uses. Thereby, Nausicaä figures an allegory for technological importation control by Japan’s Ministry of International Trade and Industry (MITI). Prior to ‘the capital liberalization of the late 1960s’, programs for foreign technology importation had to be approved by MITI, emphasising the vast authority MITI possessed.[34] In Nausicaä, a slow pan across despondent villagers as Kushana addresses them about using the Giant Warrior to reconstruct “a world of prosperity” accentuates how Kushana sacrifices the villagers’ happiness for industrial progress. Kushana connotes selfish economic advancement, and the juxtaposing imagery of her visual wealth (her gold armour) against a poorer homogeneity (the villagers wear worn, brown clothes) presents a dichotomy of economic priority.
Gene Park highlights humanitarian issues in MITI’s importation policies, recounting a 1952 statement by MITI minister, Ikeda Hayato, which stated, ‘maintaining economic stability would […] unavoidably cause some small businesses to go bankrupt and their owners to commit suicide.’[35] Essentially, Japanese progress through technological importation was a central priority, and this progress disregarded the wellbeing of individuals regarded as economically inconsequential. Therefore, viewing Kushana’s depiction through this historical lens suggests that Nausicaä interprets the miracle’s importation as excessively singular and neglectful, particularly regarding the consequences inflicted on individuals in the Japanese populace.
Finally, as Eric Reinders states, Kushana is ‘the first of a distinctive type in Miyazaki’s films’: she is not a wholly villainous antagonist.[36] This permits discussion on how her morally-complex depiction engages with the benefits of technological importation. Take, for example, Kushana’s willingness to foster better relations with the villagers: she tells her army to “Hold [their] fire”, and says, “I’d like [to] get to know [Nausicaä].” Furthermore, during the ending montage, Kushana’s aircraft peacefully leave the Valley of the Wind, and Asbel (from the neighbouring state, Pejite) demonstrates a wind-powered well figuratively “imported” from his state; images of smiling villagers bridge these shots. This editing suggests that Kushana’s enthusiastic introduction of advanced technology encourages the villagers to begin fruitful relations of technological exchange with foreign states (i.e. Pejite), therefore emphasising the benefits of some technological importation. Narratively, the villagers had no cause to engage with Pejite before Kushana’s arrival; her advanced technological presence encourages growth. This parallels the monetary consequences of Japan’s increased technological importation during the miracle: importing advanced technology perpetuated ‘a virtuous cycle’, stimulating economic growth and greater demand for products manufactured overseas.[37] Kushana’s moral complexity arguably commends postwar Japan’s willingness to engage with foreign technologies, and emphasises the societal benefits of such policy. Although Nausicaä begins Miyazaki’s critical interpretative allegory of Japan’s miracle industrial policy, these latter scenes acknowledge Japan’s miracle successes.
In summary, Miyazaki’s knowledge of the anime industry imbues Nausicaä with a mostly consistent approach against the miracle. Although recognising the ‘virtuous cycle’ created by Japan’s willingness to import foreign technologies, he scorns the period’s agro-industrial and environmental neglect. Additionally, there is displeasure at MITI’s seemingly unhumanitarian importation methods. Through Kushana’s arrogance, Nausicaä acknowledges how a singular vision can trample—often carelessly—over entrenched structures.
Chapter 2: The Miracle Misunderstanding
Technological Innovation in Laputa: Castle in the Sky (1986)
Two years after Nausicaä, Studio Ghibli released Tenkū no Shiro Rapyuta (1986, Laputa: Castle in the Sky), another Miyazaki feature and the studio’s cinematic feature debut. Castle’s subtext allegorises how, in the late-1960s to 1970s period of the miracle, Japan’s ‘own technological innovations […] played a major role in its industrial advance’.[38] This period witnessed the ‘new trend in technological innovation’ outlined in the introduction, that is, when Japan pioneered electronics and robotics technology.[39] To explore Castle’s treatment of these contexts and Japan’s increasingly stale industrial policy, I will explore the depiction of the film’s antagonist, the tyrannical Muska. Assisted by other government agents and the military, Muska searches for the advanced technologies of Laputa, a legendary, floating city from the past. Consequently, Muska personifies a country that ‘carr[ied] into maturity economic patterns [of] its adolescence’.[40]
Again, to clarify Castle’s engagement with Japanese technological innovation, I should reiterate anime history’s place within the miracle. In this period of Japanese prosperity and increased investment capital, the 1977 emergence of video cassette recorder technology massively transformed anime ownership, distribution, and access.[41] Moreover, video generated new growth in the anime business, with video and laserdisc sales rising for the following decade.[42] Castle, released in 1986, is thereby associated with miracle contexts of technological innovation.
Regarding the anime industry, in the early 1970s, ‘full-time [Tōei Dōga] staff were still paid a flat rate, regardless of how many frames they produced. With some workers […] only producing a few cels a day, the company was bleeding money.’[43] Furthermore, ‘shop steward Miyazaki Hayao […] raised this issue with management, only to be accused of being elitist by his own union for suggesting that people should only be paid for what they achieved’; he subsequently left the company in 1971.[44] This clarifies why Castle is reflecting on the miracle. In waiting for technological innovation to dictate its structures rather than realising appropriate reform, the industrial policies of Japan’s wider economy stagnated, just as Miyazaki had experienced in the anime industry before its eventual ‘transformation’.[45] Whilst Miyazaki recognises merit in the miracle’s technological innovations, he suggests that technological innovation cannot appropriately substitute more general innovation in Japanese industrial policy. After all, Japan’s failures to change its policy would result in ‘business firms and financial institutions rush[ing] into speculation in financial and real estate markets, creating the “bubble” economy of 1986-1990’.[46]
Muska immediately elucidates Castle’s relationship between technological innovation and staling industrial policy when he shows a Laputan robot to the young protagonist, Sheeta. Muska has kidnapped Sheeta, believing that her crystal necklace is the key to finding Laputa. As Muska speaks, an ‘antiquated’ flashback shows the robot falling to an earthly field, breaking apart as it does so.[47] This sense of advanced but unconstructive technological systems is complicated by Muska’s depiction; Miyazaki cuts from the damaged robot in the field to it lying in the same position at Muska’s feet with a graphic match, tying Muska’s aims to antiquity.[48] Understanding contexts of Japan’s stagnating industrial policy clarifies this. Firstly, 1970s Japanese competitiveness was centred on continuous investments in Japan-centric machinery and processes.[49] Secondly, of late 1970s Japan, Otsubo states that ‘Japan failed to change upon the celebrated success with [its] old system. Collective business practices and government interventions largely remained’.[50] In conjunction, this suggests that Japan’s technological innovations, whilst internally successful, were prioritised over appropriate and immediate industrial reform for the post-revival period. Therefore, Muska’s visual composition emphasises how his attachment to technology that is simultaneously—paradoxically—innovative and a vestige of a bygone era (i.e. Laputan rule) reflects a tension between new technologies and old industry patterns. Arguably, Castle’s veiled depiction of this tension reflects Otsubo’s historical interpretation of the failure of Japanese economic sectors to adapt to a changed industrial environment.[51] Moreover, although the robot’s innovative technologies outclass Sheeta’s steam-powered civilisation, its aimless and self-consuming rampage reinforces that its objectives belong to an industrially obsolete period; its “innovations” are therefore unhelpful. Thus, this scene illuminates Castle’s engagement with the miracle. When General Muoro (a military figure assisting Muska) suggests interrogating Sheeta, Muska says, “I am in charge of you, General”. Muska’s smug dismissal of his subordinate’s suggestions connotes inflexible policy, and, as a self-confessed “governmen[t] secret agent”, Muska literalises the aforementioned remaining government interventions. Thereby, associating Muska with the Laputan robot implicates Muska’s behaviour in its failures of “policy”.
Richard Katz emphasises the disadvantages of Japan’s stagnating industrial model during the miracle, arguing that it ‘was a marvelous mechanism for turning a poor country into an industrial powerhouse [but] counterproductive once Japan achieved economic maturity’.[52] To maintain its economic strength, Japan needed to reform industrially rather than continue its old model in a vastly changed environment. By applying this history to a reading of Castle, and as an original extension of Katz’s historical interpretation, Muska connotes an interpretation of the miracle in which Japan was misguided in its handling of technological innovations. Castle suggests that Japan might be commended for achieving, for example, ‘innovations in new fields such as mechatronics’, but not for doing so at the expense of necessary industrial reform.[53]
This previous point is reinforced by Castle’s production context: like Nausicaä, Castle is a traditional cel animation in which the production was done entirely by hand.[54] Additionally, as Studio Ghibli’s first film, Castle represents the earliest work of a company which was created to produce animation without external interference and with strong personnel rights.[55] Thus, a prioritisation of industrial reform over technological innovation was central to Castle’s development. Elsewhere, in 1984 and 1985, mass production facilitated advances in computer technology.[56] Again, the anime industry capitalised on these miracle advances: SF Shinseiki Lensman (1984, Lensman) demonstrated substantial progress in computer-generated anime processes, and, in 1985, Tōei introduced a computer-controlled filming system to quicken film processing.[57] Therefore, Castle’s traditional animation suggests an increasingly conscious resistance to the miracle’s technological approaches, particularly, Japan’s manner of prioritising technological innovation. After all, in the aforementioned scene, Castle’s traditional animation physically denies Muska his innovation goals: a zoom out shows that, whilst Muska is a character cel, the robot is painted directly onto the background.
These arguments become especially interesting when considering how Muska’s drive for industrial influence interprets Japan’s methods of ensuring technological innovation. This emerges when Muoro and Muska find Laputa: whilst Muoro and his soldiers rush into a Laputan treasury, Muska and his accompanying agents hold back, searching instead for Laputa’s throne room. Here, Miyazaki juxtaposes an eye-level shot of Muoro’s group facing the treasury entrance with a low-angle shot of Muska’s group facing Laputa’s uppermost levels; Muoro’s goals are immediate and unchallenging, whilst Muska desires something grander and harder to obtain (because of its height). This emphasises how, instead of quick material gain, Muska focuses on procuring the bleeding edge technology of Laputa’s “volucite” crystal and subsequently achieving industrial dominance. Muska’s competitive ambitions are confirmed when he labels Laputa’s material treasures as “the perfect thing to throw those fools off the scent”. Thus, just as Nausicaä’s Kushana allegorises the Ministry of International Trade and Industry, Muska exemplifies the industrial behaviour of Japan’s keiretsu groups. These are ‘clusters of independently managed firms maintaining close and stable economic ties, cemented by a governance mechanism’.[58] Regarding the Japanese economy’s dramatic growth in the 1970s, the keiretsu desired market share instead of short-term profits, and created a competitive business environment which allowed new technologies to be quickly absorbed throughout the economy.[59] When Muska is blinded after attempting to procure the “volucite” crystal, the shots of the newly-activated crystal and of Muska screaming are similar in colour hue, associating the two; in desiring industrial dominance through technological innovation, the conceited Muska is undone—blinded—by an environment of his creation. Here, Muska epitomises the creation of a problematically competitive industrial environment.
Hiroshi Niida raises the inadequacy of the keiretsu groups: ‘changes in the economic environment were so large and fast that the once-powerful keiretsu distribution [was] unable to keep up [and] its importance gradually faded after 1975’.[60] Analysing Muska’s depiction with a consideration of these contexts establishes him as Miyazaki’s interpretative allegory for a perceived counterproductivity in Japan’s miracle. Castle seemingly criticises how, in pursuing technological innovation, Japanese businesses necessitated and spawned the very environment that, as outlined earlier, the country struggled to endure.
In the dynamic between Muska and Sheeta, I infer a move away from Nausicaä’s industry-centric approach and towards a gendered criticism of technological innovation. For example, when Muska uses Sheeta’s necklace to activate Laputa’s technologies, Sheeta struggles against restraints. Castle accentuates this prioritisation of technological advancement over female wellbeing by showing Muska in an over-the-shoulder shot, his back to Sheeta as he watches Muoro’s fleet via a technological projection. The treatment of women workers during the miracle provides contextual clarification here: in the Japanese textile industry, the proportion of processes that were modernised increased by 40 percent from 1960 to 1975; to account for the subsequent increased productivity, industrial reorganisation measures occurred, such as pay cuts and layoffs predominantly aimed at female workers.[61] Regarding the industrial priorities of the mid-miracle period, technological innovation seemingly superseded female employees. Thus, Muska’s visual relationship with Sheeta accentuates how his focus on Laputa’s innovations parallels these contexts; each involves de-prioritising women to achieve a technological goal. Consequently, this reinforces Miyazaki’s relatively consistent approach against the methods of the miracle. The scene’s notion of a gendered dispensability is reinforced when Muska demands that Sheeta “[B]e gracious to the new king” and throws her to the floor. Then, when Sheeta flees, the mise-en-scène of Muska’s vision of industrial dominance—the projection of Muoro’s ruined fleet—fades. In Castle, the created absence of women obstructs industrial progress.
Janet Hunter and Helen Macnaughtan note the occasional insufficiencies of Japan’s miracle technological innovations: in the textile industry, 1980s Japan increasingly lost out, particularly to China, as a manufacturing and production base.[62] Clearly, dismissing women to prioritise innovation did not guarantee industrial success. Again, applying this history to my reading of Muska figures him as allegorical for inapt miracle sacrifices; Castle criticises how the miracle’s technological innovations came at a gendered cost, interpreting this trade-off as indefensible. Crucially, Miyazaki’s criticism here cannot be reduced to a mere tradition/innovation binary, and he is not suddenly criticising a rejection of the past (having earlier criticised an attachment to past glories). Rather, his criticism is seemingly that when attempts at industrial reform did occur—for example, to accommodate technological innovation—the reforms were inappropriate.
Although Muska is more straightforwardly antagonistic than Kushana—he is violent towards adults and children alike, and purely self-interested—technological innovation in Castle, like importation in Nausicaä, is a multifaceted issue. Muska’s death scene exemplifies this: during Laputa’s collapse, he falls into the sea. Then, Miyazaki cuts to Captain Dola and her pirates—ten in all—alive and well. Finally, freed from Muska’s machinations, Laputa rises higher into the sky. The editing implies a movement of innovation influence from powerful to marginalised figures; Muska loses control over Laputa’s innovations, and the pirates, after helping to overthrow Muska, are implicated in Laputa’s full technological potential. Miyazaki shows that the pirates benefit from this when they reveal that they have taken Laputan treasures. This parallels how, during the 1970s, an increased focus on technological innovation permitted small businesses to stake a fruitful market claim. Per Robert J. Bennett, ‘micro-firms of ten and fewer employees [which] government policy tended to view [as] marginal’ were given more industry attention, and became ‘significant sources of innovative “venture businesses”’.[63] The specifics of Muska’s death arguably allegorise the benefits of Japan’s miracle insistence on technological innovation. Although Castle has a mostly consistent perspective against how technological innovation was achieved, its reflection on innovation consequences is more nuanced.
Ultimately, Miyazaki’s personal experiences permit him to continue his nuanced but predominantly critical interpretation of the miracle. He acknowledges that its market focused on innovation provided an opportunity for otherwise marginalised firms to exert more influence on the economy. However, Miyazaki condemns how Japan’s focus on technological innovation created—and distracted from attempts to survive—a competitive market, and that many women workers were directly disadvantaged by innovative technologies. Castle achieves this via Muska, whose tyrannical characterisation accentuates the self-destructiveness of his behaviour whilst recognising its negative impact on those surrounding him.
Chapter 3: Amends at the End
Technological Exportation in Princess Mononoke (1997)
Towards the close of the millennium, Studio Ghibli released Mononoke-hime (1997, Princess Mononoke). Mononoke’s subtext reflects how, from the mid-1980s, ‘Japan’s exports increasingly concentrated into […] technology-intensive products’, and how, by the early 1990s, ‘Japan [was] becoming a major leader [in] technology exports’.[64] To explore Mononoke’s treatment of these technological distribution contexts, as well as lacking international and domestic transparency in Japanese export policy, I will explore the depiction of the film’s antagonist, the ambitious Lady Eboshi. The leader of Irontown, an industrialised settlement, Eboshi oversees the creation of iron technologies that will help her to deforest the surrounding landscape; these technologies are used by the Emperor Mikado’s armies, and eventually surface in distant lands before Eboshi’s ambitions cause Irontown’s destruction. Eboshi thus personifies scholarly belief that the “bubble” economy of 1986-1990 (see p. 15) was ‘too fragile to endure.’[65]
Once again, to understand Miyazaki’s miracle interpretation in Mononoke, it is necessary to clarify the relationship between anime history and Japan’s industrial history. Per Yoshitaka Mōri, the mid-1980s to early 1990s period was characterised by ‘an overheated economy in a euphoric mood’ and saw anime culture accepted in Japan’s economic expansion process.[66] Furthermore, anime culture was increasingly recognised ‘as a source of national soft power and as a new export.’[67] Thus, Mononoke, as anime, is inherently associated with exportation contexts. The miracle’s importance to the anime industry is reinforced by the recurring significance of video recorder technology which allowed anime to travel overseas without needing to pass through a broadcaster.[68]
Regarding anime exports to international territories, Clements notes that Miyazaki’s earlier film, Nausicaä, ‘[was] adapted by American localisers into a shorter, bowdlerised video release called Warriors of the Wind (1986).’[69] Miyazaki ‘was aghast at the treatment his work received and his display […] establish[ed] that the owners of anime might in future want some say in how it was localised.’[70] This clarifies why Mononoke is reflecting on the miracle: Japan struggled to balance domestic and international exportation desires just as Miyazaki had experienced in the treatment of his work. Whilst Miyazaki recognises that the miracle’s technological exportations had some merit, Mononoke suggests that Japan would have benefited from greater domestic and international transparency in its export aims and policies. After all, the miracle’s fragility was confirmed in the early 1990s when the asset bubble in the real estate and stock markets burst, causing a decade-long recession.[71]
Eboshi illuminates Mononoke’s interpretation of the relationship between technological exportation and international frictions when she brings Ashitaka, the protagonist and an outsider to Irontown, into her manufacturing building. Ashitaka informs Eboshi that a boar wounded by her technologies attacked his village, and that killing it brought a curse upon his arm. With Ashitaka angered by the revelation that Eboshi personally wounded the boar, the camera attempts to follow his flailing arm; however, it fails to keep it within the frame. This failure to handle the negative effect of technological “exports” on others (i.e. the introduction of Eboshi’s technologies into other communities) is illuminated by Eboshi’s presentation. As she addresses her people, her face is lit; conversely, as she speaks to Ashitaka, her face is shadowed, emotionally distancing her from him. Understanding contexts of Japan’s trade deficits clarifies this. Whilst other industrial countries balanced imports and exports of manufactured goods, Japan’s growth relied more on exporting manufactured goods (such as satellites and construction machinery in the late 1980s) than imports.[72] This suggests that Japan’s export-oriented trade patterns involved scarce consideration for its international allies. Thus, Eboshi’s sole domestic consideration and visual standoffishness towards a negatively-affected “trading partner” parallel how the U.S trade deficit with Japan reached $49 billion in 1989 and continued increasing, even past the miracle’s end, to $54.3 billion in 1993.[73] The increasing disconnect that Eboshi’s behaviour creates between Irontown and its neighbours is emphasised through Mononoke’s digital composition.[74] For example, Eboshi later “exports” her technology to the adjacent environment via rifle shot: apes, fleeing from Eboshi’s “export”, sit on the closest layer of the image; isolated within its defences, Irontown sits on the furthest layer. Thus, Eboshi connotes a continuation of acknowledged trade wrongdoings without attempted reparations.
Chien-peng Chung recounts the impact of Japan’s trade patterns on its international relations, stating that, even in the years immediately preceding the peak of the U.S.-Japan trade deficit, the United States Congress had labelled Japan’s trade patterns ‘“the predatory penetration of foreign markets”’.[75] Evidently, Japanese trade behaviours brought international disapproval. Reading Eboshi’s representation through this contextual template uncovers Mononoke’s interpretation of the international risks of Japan’s technological exportation policies during the late miracle; Miyazaki’s miracle allegory suggests the need to consider one’s trading partners lest international relations disintegrate. I do not mean to imply, however, that Miyazaki has a U.S.-centric position on this matter; the U.S.-Japan trade deficit merely exemplifies the international trade tensions that arose because of Japanese exportation policies.
Examining international perceptions suggests merit in also considering how Eboshi parallels domestic perceptions, particularly of Japan’s exportation of military technology. This implication surfaces when two Irontown ironworkers recount how Eboshi assisted Jigo, a servant to Emperor Mikado, in fighting the forest’s wild boars. For clarity, I will call these unnamed ironworkers “Ironworker One” and “Ironworker Two”. In Ironworker One’s account, Eboshi stands atop a cliff, providing weapons support for Jigo’s men as they kick explosives at the boars—below, a group of Irontown ironworkers experience the brunt of the violence. Here, a high-level shot of the ironworkers precedes a mid-level shot of Eboshi; the focus is moved up from the ironworkers to Eboshi. This change in the level of framing demonstrates how Eboshi alters the industrial status quo such that it is less concerned with creating technology and more concerned with exporting militaristic applications. That Eboshi stands steadfast amidst the fire of battle reinforces how she challenges an anti-militarist position. Consequently, Eboshi appears not as an analogue for a group—MITI and the keiretsu come to mind—but for an individual; I contend that her industrial direction parallels the exportation policies authorised by Yasuhiro Nakasone, the Prime Minister of Japan from 1982 to 1987. Amongst other initiatives that weakened constraints on Japan’s security policy, Nakasone, in 1983, authorised an initiative which eased the ban on defence technology exports to the United States.[76] When Ironworker One begins describing the battle, a dissolve from a shot of Ashitaka comforting Ironworker Two to a shot of charging boars emphasises that the depicted events are the ironworkers’ personal impression. Regardless of Eboshi’s true goals, the ironworkers perceive her as pursuing frightening military goals and, per Ironworker One, “being used”; Eboshi’s exportation policies generate domestic apprehension.
Glenn D. Hook, Julie Gilson, Christopher W. Hughes, and Hugo Dobson note the national unrest generated by Nakasone’s move, stating that it engendered domestic concerns about the erosion of Japan’s postwar “peace state” identity.[77] Regarding Mononoke with reference to this background suggests that Eboshi symbolises a failure of domestic obligation within the miracle. Mononoke rebukes how the miracle’s technological exportations undermined domestic confidence by threatening what Bhubhindar Singh labels as a postwar purpose of maintaining and promoting peace.[78] Stephen Teo supports my application of this history to a reading of Mononoke, stating, ‘[its] recurring anti-war theme […] is in tune with Japan’s pacifist constitution.’[79]
Although Eboshi is antagonistic, Miyazaki imbues her with enough positive qualities that she might be viewed sympathetically by Mononoke’s conclusion—more so than Nausicaä’s Kushana, and certainly more so than Castle’s Muska. These include her sense of humour, her stanch loyalty to Irontown’s people, and her creation of job opportunities; this latter attribute best reflects Miyazaki’s engagement with technological exportation benefits. This is clearest when Osa, a worker, describes Eboshi’s compassion: Eboshi divides the shot, separating the armed Ashitaka from a worker behind her, and Miyazaki repeatedly cuts to Osa’s bandaged face. The shot composition suggests that Eboshi provides security for her workers from external forces that might threaten their occupations, and the editing associates her with Osa’s anonymised representation of the general figure of the technological exportation industry. The dialogue confirms the employment protection and opportunities that Eboshi provides: Osa proclaims, “She took us in”. This parallels how, in the late 1980s, Japan’s technological exportation policies protected, and created new, employment. Regarding Japanese firms who were diversifying into new areas of technology-intensive business, rather than provoking job losses, overseas investment lessened inflationary pressure in the labour market.[80] Furthermore, MITI estimated that, by 1993, Japanese companies had employed approximately two million people abroad because of increased overseas production.[81] Thus, Eboshi’s position as the most sympathetic of the examined antagonists acknowledges that, by Mononoke’s 1997 release, Japan was no longer experiencing the miracle’s relentless—and, Miyazaki interprets, reckless—economic advance.[82] After all, Miyazaki has admitted hoping for the day when ‘“developers go bankrupt [and] Japan gets poorer”’.[83]
Although technological importation and innovation benefits are covered by Kushana’s and Muska’s depictions, respectively, those characters’ positive influence is incidental. Conversely, Eboshi’s compassionate depiction suggests admiration for a country that seemingly regained some humanitarianism through its technological exportation policies, even as it began to bear the financial problems of its miraculous weight.
Eboshi’s sympathetic depiction continues past Mononoke’s climax, and further indicates Miyazaki’s engagement with technological exportation. More specifically, Mononoke returns to Japanese technological policy’s environmental impact, as seen in Nausicaä. During Mononoke’s closing scenes, after Eboshi’s killing of the Forest Spirit results in Irontown’s destruction, a long shot of Eboshi sitting with her people in the Irontown’s overgrown ruins precedes a long shot of a kodama (a Japanese tree spirit) standing amongst vegetation.[84] The similar cinematography and mise-en-scène invites comparison between these shots, suggesting that, despite her environmentally harmful technological exports, Eboshi now attempts to reconcile her industrial, export-focused collectivity with the environment. The image of Irontown’s central building becoming lush with grass also suggests that Eboshi’s exportation processes might be reconfigured for environmental benefit. Eboshi’s acknowledgement that “The wolves and that crazy, little Wolf Girl [San, the deuteragonist] helped save us”, and her vow to “start all over again [and] build a better town”, reinforce how her industrial policies will henceforth work alongside nature. Thus, Eboshi parallels Japan’s response to criticism of ‘its lack of attention to global environmental degradation.’[85]
Attempts to improve Japan’s environmental image included MITI’s early 1990s Green Aid Plan for Asian environmental technology development, and how the Japan International Cooperation Agency began dispatching environmental technology experts to developing countries.[86] Therefore, Eboshi’s visual acceptance of a harmonious industry/environment binary, despite having previously caused environmental destruction, suggests admiration for a country which, prior to Mononoke’s release, had begun using technological exportation to amend for past environmental damage. Where Nausicaä’s depiction of Kushana sees little reconciliation between technological importation and the environment, Eboshi’s portrayal recognises positive change in Japanese industrial policy. Even as Miyazaki references the environmental shortcomings of early Japanese industrial policy, he acknowledges how, towards the miracle’s end, technological exportation induced environmental betterment. Per Schreurs, ‘By the end of the decade, Japan’s approach to environmental protection internationally was far more proactive than it had been a decade earlier.’[87]
Taking this chapter’s arguments in conjunction, my original reading of Mononoke reveals an uncertainty (rather than a rejection or a resistance) towards the miracle’s technology which is only deepened by Mononoke’s production method. By the early 1990s, Japan had captured over 20 percent of the international computer market, and the price and power of desktop computers became favourable for mass appropriation.[88] Accordingly, contemporary anime, such as Yūsha Ō Gaogaigā (1997, King of Braves GaoGaiGar), increasingly featured digital content.[89] Similarly, Mononoke combines computer technologies with traditional cel animation.[90] Although digital painting quickened the colouring of Mononoke’s substantial number of cels, 3D digital rendering—the film’s most perceptible use of computer technology—was mostly limited to the wormlike infection on Ashitaka’s arm.[91] That Mononoke should predominantly use the miracle’s technology to render a disease—of Eboshi’s technological making, no less—reinforces an ambivalence towards the miracle’s technological characteristics.
In summary, Miyazaki’s prior negative exportation experiences catalyse a conflicted view of the miracle’s last days. Miyazaki criticises the international tensions and domestic apprehensions caused by technological ‘trade practices […] characterized by lack of transparency […] and limited information’.[92] Simultaneously, he recognises that the miracle’s technological exportation brought necessary alterations to Japan’s industrial policies, specifically those relating to Castle’s employment failures and Nausicaä’s environmental failures. Mononoke achieves this via Lady Eboshi, whose opaque and unsustainable ambitions of industrial collectivity veil a willingness to make amends for past shortcomings.
Conclusion
The aim of this dissertation has been to consider how the antagonists in Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, Laputa: Castle in the Sky, and Princess Mononoke advance an interpretative allegory of the Japanese economic miracle.
By predominantly examining antagonists over protagonists, I have been able to use what Reinders identifies as their complex ‘mora[l] poten[cy]’ to explore this multifaceted historical period.[93] In doing so, these films’ allegories for industrial developments, both positive and negative, have been more easily uncovered. Each chapter has established how these antagonists—the single-minded Kushana, the despotic Muska, and the opaque Eboshi—respectively parallel a major technological aspect of Japan’s industrialism.
Admittedly, these characters’ constructions and their accompanying industrial actions prompt a recognition of the miracle’s benefits. After all, Kushana catalyses positive trade relations; Muska, consciously or not, permits marginalised figures a beneficial economic position; and Eboshi improves employment and attempts environmental recompense.
However, when viewing these films as a single developing text, a critical thread runs through it, arguing several industrial concerns for Japan’s history. Firstly, the early miracle was characterised by persistent domestic negligence. Nausicaä suggests that Japan might have benefited if imported technologies were used in conjunction with, not instead of, engrained Japanese systems. Secondly, the miracle’s middle period was characterised by an overdependence on technological innovation, not appropriate and timely policy reform. Castle suggests that, instead of attempting to navigate an economically aggressive market on equipment alone, Japan should have prioritised industrial reform. And, thirdly, the miracle’s final years were characterised by international and domestic failures of transparency in Japanese industrial policy. Mononoke, whilst recognising that the miracle did not end without attempted employment and environmental reparations, suggests the necessity for greater transparency in Japanese industrial communications. These latter points see Miyazaki’s interpretation of the miracle become increasingly nuanced—if not ambivalent—whilst reinforcing his perception of faults earlier in the miracle.
Thus, with the release of each of Nausicaä, Castle, and Mononoke, Miyazaki suggests a reconsideration of the miracle, encouraging a look beyond its economic benefits so that Japan can ensure it does not repeat its missteps, whether industrial, political, humanitarian, or environmental. Napier has argued that ‘increasing disenchantment with the values [of] postwar Japan’ began with the stock market’s 1989 collapse.[94] This might apply to the Japanese public, but relatively consistent criticism in these Miyazaki films suggests a disenchantment with the miracle which predates said public feeling by five years, even if Miyazaki’s criticism lessens with the miracle’s end.
Furthermore, these texts suggest benefit in more closely examining how other artistic works of the miracle might be reflecting on these same miracle developments. By giving background on the anime industry’s developments and animation technologies, I hope to have shown just how important these production contexts can be to an understanding of content and form. For example, the industrial processes of an artistic industry might suggest why a work is commenting on the miracle, as with Nausicaä’s connection to Miyazaki’s experiences of anime industry stagnation. Simultaneously, that same work’s use or disuse of the miracle’s technologies might show how it is commenting on the miracle, like Castle’s continued use of traditional cel animation in the face of computer-generated anime processes.
Indeed, these Miyazaki films’ developing attitude towards the miracle’s technology—from rejection to ambivalence—is especially relevant given recent, post-miracle, industrial developments in Japan. For example, despite continued Japanese technological success—Sony’s PlayStation video game console, for example, shipped around 100 million units between 1994 and 2006—the Japanese economy only began expanding again in 2003 following a worsening recession in the late 1990s.[95] The anime industry also fluctuated: foreign revenue increased from around 10 percent of the industry’s income in 1995 to approximately 50 percent in 2003, only to return to its 1995 levels.[96]
In 1997, Miyazaki spoke of his disappointment in humanity’s desire ‘to become rich without limit’; indeed, with the benefit of hindsight, it would be easy to suggest that the criticisms and concerns in his interpretative allegories for the miracle were warranted.[97] However, we should instead view the increased use of computer animation tools in later Miyazaki-directed Ghibli features, such as Hauru no Ugoku (2004, Howl’s Moving Castle), as an invitation to an examination of Miyazaki’s ongoing relationship with Japanese industrial structures.[98]
Robert Jones is a graduate in BA Film and English from the University of Southampton. His main areas of research interest are animation and East Asian cinema. He enjoys watching films with his springer spaniel, Poppy.
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Notes
[1] Arthur J. Alexander, In the Shadow of the Miracle: The Japanese Economy Since the End of High-speed Growth (Lanham, Maryland: Lexington Books, 2003), p. 320.
[2] Donald W. Katzner, ‘Explaining the Japanese economic miracle’, Japan and the World Economy, 13 (2001), 303-319 (p. 305); ibid.
[3] Dilip K. Das, ‘The diffusion of Western economic ideas and policy concepts in the dynamic Asian economies: an overview’, in The Diffusion of Western Economic Ideas in East Asia, ed. by Malcolm Warner (Abingdon: Taylor & Francis, 2016), pp. 33-68 (p. 45).
[4] Caesar Bucia Cororaton, Technological Innovations in Japan and S&T Experiences in the Philippines: Drawing Policy Lessons for the Philippines (Quezon City: Philippine Institute for Development Studies, 2003), p. 29; Rondo E. Cameron, A Concise Economic History of the World: From Paleolithic Times to the Present (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), p. 395.
[5] Ewan W. Anderson, Ivars Gutmanis, and Liam D. Anderson, Economic Power in a Changing International System (Abingdon: Routledge, 1999), p. 42.
[6] Jonathan Clements, Anime: A History (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), p. 63; ibid, p. 157.
[7] Gordon Gray, Cinema: A Visual Anthropology (Oxford: Berg Publishers, 2010), p. 67.
[8] Shigeru T. Otsubo, Post-war Development of the Japanese Economy (Nagoya: Nagoya University, 2007) <https://www.gsid.nagoya-u.ac.jp/sotsubo/Postwar_Development_of_the_Japanese%20Economy(Otsubo_NagoyaU).pdf> [accessed 15 November 2017] (p. 5).
[9] Wei-Bin Zhang, Japan Versus China in the Industrial Race (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 1998), p. 127.
[10] Richard Katz, Japan: The System That Soured: The Rise and Fall of the Japanese Economic Miracle (Armonk: M.E. Sharpe, Inc., 1998), p. 6.
[11] Keizai Kikakuchō, Economic Survey of Japan (Tokyo: Economic Planning Agency, 1992), p. 147.
[12] Clements, Anime: A History, p. 180.
[13] Otsubo, p. 5.
[14] Zhang, p. 127.
[15] Ellen Hofmann, Japan’s Economy: Phoenix or Quagmire? (Munich: GRIN Verlag, 2010), p. 3.
[16] Dani Cavallaro, Art in Anime: The Creative Quest as Theme and Metaphor (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, 2011), p. 21.
[17] Early rotoscoping involved ‘tracing around individual frames of traditional film to be repurposed and coloured as animation’; Matt Delbridge, Motion Capture in Performance: An Introduction (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), p. 15.
[18] Ibid.
[19] Thomas LaMarre, The Anime Machine: A Media Theory of Animation (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2009), p. 66.
[20] Clements, Anime: A History, p. 100.
[21] Ibid, p. 99.
[22] Otsubo, p. 9.
[23] Joan Edelman and Jeffrey A. Hart, The Politics of International Economic Relations (Massachusetts: Cengage Learning, 2009), p. 86.
[24] Iwamoto Noriaki, ‘Local conceptions of land and land use and the reform of Japanese agriculture’, in Farmers and Village Life in Twentieth-century Japan, ed. by Ann Waswo, and Nishida Yoshiaki (Abingdon: Routledge, 2003), pp. 221-243 (p. 232).
[25] This is a cut in which the following scene’s audio accompanies the current scene’s image before the visual cut has occurred.
[26] Richard Katz, Japan, The System That Soured (Abingdon: Routledge, 2015), p. 140.
[27] Ibid.
[28] Dennis B. Smith, ‘The Japanese Economy Since 1945’, in The Japan Handbook, ed. by Patrick Heenan (Abingdon: Routledge, 2014), pp. 3-19 (p. 3); Derek Hall, ‘Japanese lessons and transnational forces: ODA and the environment’, in Japanese Aid and the Construction of Global Development: Inescapable Solutions, ed. by David Leheny and Kay Warren (Abingdon: Routledge, 2009), pp. 167-186 (p. 175).
[29] Susan J. Napier, Anime from Akira to Princess Mononoke: Experiencing Contemporary Japanese Animation (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2001), p. 215.
[30] Andrew Heywood, Politics, 4th edn (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), p. 372; Clements, Anime: A History, p. 195.
[31] Clements, Anime: A History, p. 195.
[32] Dani Cavallaro, The Animé Art of Hayao Miyazaki (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, 2006), pp. 24-25.
[33] LaMarre, p. xiv.
[34] Chalmers Johnson, MITI and the Japanese Miracle: The Growth of Industrial Policy, 1925-1975 (Palo Alto: Stanford University Press, 1982), p. 17.
[35] Gene Park, Spending Without Taxation: FILP and the Politics of Public Finance in Japan (Palo Alto: Stanford University Press, 2011), p. 75.
[36] Eric Reinders, The Moral Narratives of Hayao Miyazaki (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, Inc., 2016), p. 29.
[37] Daniel I. Okimoto, ‘The Japanese Challenge in High Technology’, in The Positive Sum Strategy: Harnessing Technology for Economic Growth, ed. by Ralph Landau, and Nathan Rosenberg (Washington, D.C.: National Academy Press, 1986), pp. 541-568 (p. 543).
[38] Bowen C. Dees, The Allied Occupation and Japan’s Economic Miracle: Building the Foundations of Japanese Science and Technology 1945-52 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2013), p. 331.
[39] Rondo E. Cameron, A Concise Economic History of the World: From Paleolithic Times to the Present (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), p. 395.
[40] Katz, Japan: The System That Soured, p. 6.
[41] Clements, Anime: A History, p. 157.
[42] Ibid.
[43] Ibid, p. 133.
[44] Ibid.
[45] Clements, Anime: A History, p. 157.
[46] Otsubo, p. 5.
[47] LaMarre, p. 49.
[48] This is a cut in which the shapes and/or movement of one shot are compositionally matched in the following shot.
[49] Dunar F. Kocaoglu, and Timothy Roy Anderson, Innovation in Technology Management: The Key to Global Leadership (Portland: Portland State University, 1997), p. 551.
[50] Otsubo, p. 5.
[51] Ibid.
[52] Richard Katz, ‘The System that Soured: Toward a New Paradigm to Guide Japan Policy’, in The Washington Quarterly, 21, 4 (1998), 43-78 (p. 45).
[53] ‘Mechatronics’ is ‘[t]he marriage of electronic technology to mechanical technology’; Fumio Kodama, ‘Japan’s Unique Capability to Innovate: Technology Fusion and its International Implications’, in Japan’s Growing Technological Capability: Implications for the U.S. Economy, ed. by Thomas S. Arrison and Fred Bergstein (Washington, D.C.: National Academies Press, 1992), pp. 147-164 (p. 149).
[54] LaMarre, p. 86; Brian Camp, and Julie Davis, Anime Classics Zettai!: 100 Must-See Japanese Animation Masterpieces (Berkeley: Stone Bridge Press, 2007), p. 240.
[55] Colin Odell, and Michelle Le Blanc, Studio Ghibli: The Films of Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata, 2nd edn (Harpenden: Kamera Books, 2015), p. 64.
[56] Nanette Gottlieb, Word-processing Technology in Japan: Kanji and the Keyboard (Richmond: Curzon Press, 2000), p. 2.
[57] Toei Animation, ‘History’ (Tokyo: Toei Animation, 2003) <http://corp.toei-anim.co.jp/en/outline/history> [accessed 07 April 2018] (1980~); Clements, Anime: A History, p. 197.
[58] Jerzy Grabowiecki, ‘Keiretsu Groups: Their Role in the Japanese Economy and Reference Point (or a paradigm) for Other Countries’, V.R.F. Series, 413 (2006), 1-79 (p. 1).
[59] Robert J. Crawford, ‘Reinterpreting the Japanese Economic Miracle’, Harvard Business Review, 76, 1 (1998), 179-184 (p. 180).
[60] Hiroshi Niida, ‘The Distribution of Household Appliances: A Keiretsu Distribution System’, in Distribution in Japan, ed. by Yoshirō Miwa, Kiyohiko Nishimura, and J. Mark Ramseyer (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), pp. 77-98 (p. 93).
[61] Helen Macnaughtan, Women, Work and the Japanese Economic Miracle: The Case of the Cotton Textile Industry, 1945-1975 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2004), pp. 56-57.
[62] Janet Hunter, and Helen Macnaughtan, ‘Japan’, in The Ashgate Companion to the History of Textile Workers, 1650-2000, ed. by Elise van Nederveen Meerkerk, Els Hiemstra-Kuperus, and Lex Heerma van Voss (Farnham: Ashgate Publishing, 2013), pp. 305-332 (p. 325).
[63] Robert J. Bennett, Entrepreneurship, Small Business and Public Policy: Evolution and Revolution (Abingdon: Routledge, 2014), p. 98; ibid.
[64] Wendy Dobson, Japan in East Asia: Trading and Investment Strategies (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1993), p. 30; Masao Nakamura, and Ilan Vertinsky, Japanese Economic Policies and Growth: Implications for Businesses in Canada and North America (Edmonton: University of Alberta, 1994), p. 191.
[65] Kikakuchō, p. 147.
[66] Yoshitaka Mōri, ‘The Pitfall Facing the Cool Japan Project: The Transnational Development of the Anime Industry under the Condition of Post-Fordism’, International Journal of Japanese Sociology, 20, 1 (2011), 30-42 (p. 40).
[67] Ibid.
[68] Jonathan Clements, and Helen McCarthy, The Anime Encyclopedia, 3rd Revised Edition: A Century of Japanese Animation (Berkeley: Stone Bridge Press, 2015), p. 613.
[69] Clements, Anime: A History, p. 180.
[70] Ibid.
[71] Alisa Gaunder, Japanese Politics and Government (Abingdon: Routledge, 2017), p. 96.
[72] Kai He, Institutional Balancing in the Asia Pacific: Economic Interdependence and China’s Rise (Abingdon: Routledge, 2008), p. 97.
[73] Ibid; Wendy Dobson, and Hideo Sato, Managing US-Japanese Trade Disputes: Are There Better Ways? (Ottawa: Centre for Trade Policy and Law, 1996), p. 85.
[74] ‘[D]igital composition […] compose[s] many layers [and] each layer carefully isolates a distinct set of elements’; Cavallaro, The Animé Art of Hayao Miyazaki, p. 129.
[75] Chien-peng Chung, Contentious Integration: Post-Cold War Japan-China Relations in the Asia-Pacific (Abingdon: Routledge, 2016), p. 27.
[76] Takeshi Yuzawa, Japan’s Security Policy and the ASEAN Regional Forum: The Search for Multilateral Security in the Asia-Pacific (Abingdon: Routledge, 2007), p. 18.
[77] Glenn D. Hook, Julie Gilson, Christopher W. Hughes, and Hugo Dobson, Japan’s International Relations: Politics, Economics and Security, 2nd edn (Abingdon: Routledge, 2005), p. 156.
[78] Bhubhindar Singh, Japan’s Security Identity: From a Peace State to an International State (Abingdon: Routledge, 2013), p. 53.
[79] Stephen Teo, The Asian Cinema Experience: Styles, Spaces, Theory (Abingdon: Routledge, 2013), p. 90.
[80] Roger Strange, Japanese Manufacturing Investment in Europe: Its Impact on the UK Economy (Abingdon: Routledge, 1993), p. 378.
[81] Ibid.
[82] ‘In 1991, [Japan’s] boom came to a halt’; Christian Berggren, and Masami Nomura, The Resilience of Corporate Japan: New Competitive Strategies and Personnel Practices (Thousand Oaks, California: SAGE, 1997), p. 31.
[83] Marc Hairston, ‘The Reluctant Messiah: Miyazaki Hayao’s Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind Manga’, in Manga: An Anthology of Global and Cultural Perspectives, ed. by Toni Johnson-Woods (London: A&C Black, 2010), pp. 173-184 (p. 181).
[84] Theresa Bane, Encyclopedia of Spirits and Ghosts in World Mythology (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, 2016), p. 81.
[85] Miranda A. Schreurs, ‘Assessing Japan’s Role as a Global Environmental Leader’, Policy and Society, 23, 1 (2004), 88-110 (p. 88).
[86] Ibid.
[87] Miranda A. Schreurs, ‘Japan and global environmental governance’, in Contested Governance in Japan: Sites and Issues, ed. by Glenn D. Hook (Abingdon: Routledge, 2005), pp. 133-151 (p. 139).
[88] Sandra Buckley, ‘Computers’, in The Encyclopedia of Contemporary Japanese Culture, ed. by Sandra Buckley (Abingdon: Taylor & Francis, 2009), pp. 84-86 (p. 85); Clements, Anime: A History, p. 196.
[89] Ibid, p. 197.
[90] Jacqueline Furby, and Claire Hines, Fantasy (Abingdon: Routledge, 2011), p. 115.
[91] Cavallaro, The Animé Art of Hayao Miyazaki, p. 127.
[92] Lawrence B. Krause, and Ai Tee Koh, and Yuan Lee Tsao, The Singapore Economy Reconsidered (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1987), p. 41.
[93] Reinders, p. 29.
[94] Napier, p. 29.
[95] Dominic Arsenault, ‘System Profile: Sony PlayStation’, in The Video Game Explosion: A History from PONG to PlayStation and Beyond, ed. by Mark J. P. Wolf (Santa Barbara: Greenwood Press, 2007), pp. 177-180 (p. 178); Hiroshi Yoshikawa, and Shuko Miyakawa, ‘Changes in Industrial Structure and Economic Growth: Postwar Japanese Experiences’, in Sectors Matter!: Exploring Mesoeconomics, ed. by Stefan Mann (New York: Springer, 2011), pp. 167-218 (pp. 194-195).
[96] Clements, p. 216.
[97] Deborah Goldsmith, ‘Interview: Miyazaki on Mononoke-hime’ <http://www.nausicaa.net/miyazaki/interviews/m_on_mh.html> [accessed 16 March 2018].
[98] Steve Fore, ‘Making Do and Making Meaning: Cultural and Technological Hybridity in Recent Asian Animation’, in East-West Identities: Globalization, Localization, and Hybridization, ed. by Chan Kwok-bun, Jan W. Walls and David Hayward (Leiden: Brill, 2007), pp. 315-328 (pp. 321-322).