I remember something I only glanced at the television screen, of a young girl desperately holding on to the horns of a dragon as they both plummeted into the dark depths. The sound of the wind rushed past them in a screaming whine. The dragon is dying and the girl whispers into its ear. Its eyes snapped open.
My description would do no good to describe how I was transfixed by this story I hardly knew. Of course, I'm talking about Miyazaki's Oscar-winning Spirited Away, but that was how I was introduced to this Japanese storytelling maestro. Rarely does any film pull me in so readily whilst in the middle of its storyline and during one of my grouchy moods. He will always be the Japanese Walt Disney to me. Or that Walt Disney will always be the American Hayao Miyazaki to me.
Anyone who appreciates simplicity and complexity, beauty and terror, innocence and wildness, laughter and sadness, hope and wretchedness in a single film, try watching his works.
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