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宮崎駿的神話與神秘世界
2013/03/21 16:28:10瀏覽757|回應1|推薦14

我們一想到動畫劇情長片,立刻會想到「史瑞克」和拍這部片的Pixar動畫公司。我們所知的這種動畫世界是圓的、是由電腦怪才團隊創造出來的三度空間,用喧鬧、心照不宣的手法指涉美國過去和當代流行文化,讓作品生動活潑。

因此,也許有點矛盾,當今在世最偉大動畫電影人是日本作家兼導演宮崎駿,他的動畫世界是平面、手繪的,而且經常寂靜無聲。也不是說,64歲的宮崎駿完全不理會科技進步。從1997年的史詩作品「魔法公主」開始,他就在電影中使用電腦合成畫面,不過他最近定下一個規矩,電腦合成畫面不得超過他電影畫面的10%。

宮崎駿本月初在新作「霍爾的移動城堡」紐約首映會前接受訪問,談到科技時帶著無奈,也帶著抗拒。他說:「我告訴我的電腦合成畫面工作人員,不要太精確,也不要太逼真。我們要拍的是奇幻電影,因此要有神秘感。」他指的是吉卜力工作室的工作人員。宮崎駿在1985年和高火田勳、鈴木敏夫合創這家公司。

有意識的神秘感正是宮崎駿藝術的核心。浸淫在他的世界裡夠久,你也許會發現,你對自己的世界有全新看法。

某些景色如今堪稱宮崎駿式風景──綿延起伏的草原,落英繽紛,天上雲團堆積,陰影遮地,崎嶇的山麓層巒疊聳,上達白雪覆蓋的頂峰,森林邊緣,光線漸暗。

某些故事也堪稱宮崎駿風格,最典型的是足智多謀和態度認真的女孩對抗聰明老婦人的陰謀詭計,還有神秘年輕男子歷經苦難的故事。某些主題也是他的招牌:戰爭和其他暴力那種毀滅性的非理性;不尊重大自然的愚蠢;自私、虛榮,甚至友善等平常行事引起的道德糾葛。

做為視覺藝術家,宮崎駿是恣肆不羈的幻想家,兼為踏實嚴格的自然主義者;做為說故事人,宮崎駿創造的寓言故事至為新鮮,又有難以形容的古老感覺。故事的怪異感來自他在擁擠的青少年奇幻市場裡獨樹一格的新鮮和新奇,也來自一股令人不安的、怪異的熟悉感,他仿佛使深埋在人類集體潛意識裡的傳奇轉醒復活。

在訪談中,宮崎駿被問到,在不斷擴張的兒童流行文化宇宙裡,他認為自己的作品應該放在什麼位置。他露出一絲微倦的笑容說:「老實說,那些東西我幾乎一部也沒看過,我唯一固定看的畫面是氣象報告。」

他不是開玩笑。想不出還有哪個搞電影的人對天氣如此熱中。激狂的暴風雨、溫和的微風和陽光燦爛的天空是帶著生命的、活躍的元素,帶著氣氛、情緒和意義。怪獸與動物和比較傳統的動畫人物一起出現在銀幕上,融入宮崎駿風景之中,不過,他電影裡最突出的角色也許是風景本身。

雖然他的畫面令人想起日本風景畫的工筆和細膩情感,宮崎駿卻是道地的、成長於二次大戰後的日本人,他現在則站在日本五花八門的視覺文化藝術和商業頂峰。

同時,他電影的背景變化多樣,召喚中世紀的日本、19世紀的歐洲,(法國科幻小說之父)朱利.凡爾納和(英國科幻小說家)威爾斯那些古風盎然的未來世界,以憂傷、時而責備的眼光看現今世界。「霍爾的移動城堡」的反戰意識和「風之谷」和「魔法公主」裡對生態的警告同樣明確,而且幾乎在每部電影中,科技的自大、政治野心和人性貪婪都是萬惡之根。

宮崎駿的電影並不悲觀。既是童話故事,就有快樂結局,但他選擇通往幸福的途徑可能令人不安。通常期待電影最後明白劃分善惡,對事物作些濫情肯定的美國觀眾,尤其不易對味。

宮崎駿以存疑的眼光看待把世界剖分為一群英雄和一群壞蛋的習慣。他說:「刻畫邪惡再把它摧毀,我知道這是主流觀念,但我認為這是腐朽的論調。在現實生活中和政治上有邪惡發生,一定可以找到禍首來懲罰,是個無可救藥的想法。」


(田思怡譯)

June 12, 2005

Where the Wild Things Are: The Miyazaki Menagerie

NOWADAYS, when we think of feature-length animation, our thoughts turn immediately to "Shrek" and Pixar (or less fondly, to "Robots" and "Madagascar"). The animated world, we've learned, is round - created in three dimensions by teams of computer wizards and enlivened by noisy, knowing references to American pop culture, past and present. It may seem somewhat paradoxical, then, that the world's greatest living animated-filmmaker - a designation that his fans at Disney and Pixar would be unlikely to challenge - is Hayao Miyazaki, a Japanese writer and director whose world is flat, handmade and often surpassingly quiet. Not that Mr. Miyazaki, 64, is entirely indifferent to technological advances. Starting with his 1997 epic, "Princess Mononoke," he has used computer-generated imagery in his movies, though he recently instituted a rule that CGI should account for no more than 10 percent of the images in any of his pictures.

In an interview last week, on the morning before his latest movie, "Howl's Moving Castle," had its New York premiere, he spoke about the new technology with a mixture of resignation and resistance. "I've told the people on my CGI staff" - at Studio Ghibli, the company he founded with Isao Takahata and Toshio Suzuki in 1985 - "not to be accurate, not to be true. We're making a mystery here, so make it mysterious."

That conscious sense of mystery is the core of Mr. Miyazaki's art. Spend enough time in his world - something you can do at the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan, which is presenting a sumptuous retrospective of his and Mr. Takahata's work - and you may find your perception of your own world refreshed, as it might be by a similarly intensive immersion in the oeuvre of Ansel Adams, J. M. W. Turner or Monet. After a while, certain vistas - a rolling meadow dappled with flowers and shadowed by high cumulus clouds, a range of rocky foothills rising toward snow-capped peaks, the fading light at the edge of a forest - deserve to be called Miyazakian.

So do certain stories, especially those involving a resourceful, serious girl contending with the machinations of wise old women and the sufferings of enigmatic young men. And so do certain themes: the catastrophic irrationality of war and other violence; the folly of disrespecting nature; the moral complications that arise from ordinary acts of selfishness, vanity and even kindness. As a visual artist, Mr. Miyazaki is both an extravagant fantasist and an exacting naturalist; as a storyteller, he is an inventor of fables that seem at once utterly new and almost unspeakably ancient. Their strangeness comes equally from the freshness and novelty he brings to the crowded marketplace of juvenile fantasy and from an unnerving, uncanny sense of familiarity, as if he were resurrecting legends buried deep in the collective unconscious.

MR. Miyazaki's world is full of fantastical creatures - cute and fuzzy, icky and creepy, handsome and noble. There are lovable forest sprites, skittering dust balls and ravenous blobs of black viscous goo, as well as talking cats, pigs and frogs. "Howl's Moving Castle," adapted from a novel by Diana Wynne Jones, features a garrulous flame, voiced in the English-language version by Billy Crystal; "Spirited Away" (2001) had its melancholy, wordless no-face monster; "Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind" (1984), the director's first masterpiece, was nearly overrun by enormous trilobite-shaped insects called Om.

Some of Mr. Miyazaki's creations seem to have precedents and analogues in folklore, fantasy literature and other cartoons. The porcine title character in the 1992 film "Porco Rosso," for example, is a dashing Italian pilot from the early days of aviation, and it is just conceivable that he might have a stuttering cousin somewhere on the Warner Brothers lot, looking for a pair of pants to match his blazer. But most members of Mr. Miyazaki's ever-expanding menagerie - including Totoro, the slow-moving, pot-bellied, vaguely feline character who has become the logo and mascot of Studio Ghibli - come entirely from the filmmaker's own prodigious imagination. In the interview, Mr. Miyazaki was asked where he thought his work fitted within the expanding universe of children's pop culture. "The truth is I have watched almost none of it," he said with a slightly weary smile. "The only images I watch regularly come from the weather report."

The director, a compact, white-haired man whose demeanor combines gravity with a certain impishness, was not just being flip. It is hard to think of another filmmaker who is so passionately interested in weather. Violent storms, gentle breezes and sun-filled skies are vital, active elements, bearers of mood, emotion and meaning. His monsters and animals, who share the screen with more conventionally human-looking animated figures - adolescent girls with wind-tossed hair, short skirts and saucer eyes, mustachioed soldiers and wrinkled crones - are an integral part of Mr. Miyazaki's landscape, but the most striking feature of his films may be the landscapes themselves.

The action in his movies - he has written and directed seven features since "Nausicaä" - takes place far from the cramped cities of modern Japan, and also from the futuristic metropolises that provide the dystopian backdrop of so much anime. His characters tend to live in hillside villages or in tidy, old-world towns where half-timbered houses huddle along cobblestone streets. As much as they can, in gliders, on broomsticks and under their own magical powers, these characters take to the sky; the evocation of flying, for metaphorical purposes and for the sheer visual fun of it, is one of Mr. Miyazaki's favorite motifs. But one reason he ventures aloft may be to offer a better view of earth and water, which he renders with cinematic precision and painterly virtuosity.

Even though his frames evoke the careful brushwork and delicate emotions of Japanese landscape painting, Mr. Miyazaki is very much a product of postwar Japan, and he sits at the artistic and commercial pinnacle of his country's churning, eclectic visual culture. Though he has, in the past 20 years, concentrated almost entirely on film, his earlier career includes television cartoons and manga (comic books). Animation, which arrived in Japan with the American occupying force, has since the war become at once the embodiment of the country's antic modernity and also, in the hands of artists like Mr. Miyazaki and Mr. Takahata, a vehicle for reimagining and preserving its history.

Mr. Takahata, whose clean-lined realism complements Mr. Miyazaki's flights of color and invention, does this explicitly in films like "Only Yesterday," in which a Tokyo office worker looks back on her childhood, and "Grave of the Fireflies," an almost unbearable chronicle of wartime hardship. Mr. Miyazaki's approach to the past is more mystical and elegiac. "When I talk about traditions, I'm not talking about temples, which we got from China anyway," he said. "There is an indigenous Japan," he added, "and elements of that are what I'm trying to capture in my work." The clearest expression of this impulse may be in those carefully drawn landscapes, many of which are overseen by local spirits and all of which vibrate with the feeling that nature is an active presence rather than a backdrop. It makes sense that the world's greatest animator is, at heart, something of an animist.

At the same time, though, Mr. Miyazaki's movies, whose settings variously evoke medieval Japan, 19th-century Europe and the antique futures of Jules Verne and H. G. Wells, cast a sorrowful, sometimes scolding eye toward the present. The antiwar implications of "Howl's Moving Castle," which opened on Friday, are as unmistakable as the ecological warnings in "Nausicaä" and "Princess Mononoke," and in nearly every film, technological hubris, political ambition and greed are the true roots of evil. His criticism of the modern world, though, seems less topical than philosophical; his movies do not represent a point of view, but rather present a way of seeing that is radically at odds with what usually meets the eye. It can hardly be denied that they are marvels of escapist entertainment, but this is in no small part because they offer escape from the noise and aggression that dominate so much other modern entertainment. (Not that Mr. Miyazaki is exactly an outsider to the global entertainment industry. "Howl's Moving Castle," which Disney is distributing here in both a subtitled and celebrity-voice dubbed version, has earned more than $210 million in other countries and is the third-highest-grossing film in Japanese box office history. Ahead of it are "Titanic" and "Spirited Away," which won the 2002 Oscar for best animated feature). His power to enchant can seem unlimited - the wizards, witches and sorcerers who bedevil, beguile and befriend his heroes are less his alter egos than his kinfolk - but it arises from and communicates an equally powerful sense of disenchantment.

It is not that Mr. Miyazaki's films are pessimistic, exactly; being fairy tales, they do arrive at happy endings. ("I'm not going to make movies that tell children, 'You should despair and run away,' " he said.) But the route he chooses toward happiness can be troubling, perhaps especially to an American audience that expects sentimental affirmations based on clear demarcations between good and evil. The division of the world into heroes and villains is a habit Mr. Miyazaki regards with suspicion. "The concept of portraying evil and then destroying it - I know this is considered mainstream, but I think it's rotten," he said. "This idea that whenever something evil happens someone particular can be blamed and punished for it, in life and in politics, it's hopeless." Like the natural world, which follows its own laws and rhythms - "it does what the hell it pleases," in Mr. Miyazaki's words - human nature is not something that can easily be explained or judged. "One thing you can be sure of," says a character at the end of the film - a fellow who has spent most of the movie as a mute scarecrow with a head carved from a giant turnip - "hearts change." In the Miyazakian cosmos, so do minds, bodies, rivers, forests, nations and everything else. Wizards turn into birds of prey; young girls are transformed overnight into 90-year-old women; greedy parents are changed into pigs; shooting stars mutate into fire demons. You can call this magic - a word reviewers of Mr. Miyazaki's films seem helpless to avoid - or you can call it art. But it may just be that he reveals, in his quiet, moving, haunted pictures, the hidden senses of the word "animation," which after all means not only to set things in motion, but also, more profoundly, to bring them to life.

 

( 時事評論教育文化 )
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宮崎駿的神話與神秘世界
2013/03/23 03:38
顛覆傳統的藝術家實不可多得~~
Archangel(Archangel) 於 2013-03-24 12:18 回覆:

對啊,我喜歡手塚治虫與宮崎駿寫的書畫,還有久石讓為宮崎駿電影編寫的配樂。

帰らざる日々  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iwH3UG9zsWg