Hayao Miyazaki’s Films Ranked

Hayao Miyazaki is one of those directors whose talent and dedication to his craft need no introduction. To borrow Evan Puschak’s description of Quentin Tarantino’s finite filmography, the films of Miyazaki can be seen in oeuvres. And even though his tendency to fail at retiring seems to defy this characterization, Miyazaki’s filmography has a remarkably consistent and a (seemingly) deliberate evolution. It can be read as a philosophical treatise, one that is written with beautiful artistic strokes rather than painstaking argumentation.

This ranking satisfies an all-too-contemporary urge to stratify things into orders palatable to the internet. However, its real objective is to draw attention to Miyazaki’s incredible career, and to identify themes that are prevalent across his movies. This way, we might be able to gleam what this master has been saying to us all this time.

(Credit: Narrative Muse)

12. Howl’s Moving Castle (2004)

At the risk of being too harsh on a film that Miyazaki has said is his favorite creation, Howl’s Moving Castle’s imaginative visuals and colorful characters are regrettably hampered by a messy plot and confusing themes. Howl was the follow-up to Miyazaki’s most internationally successful film at that point, so I suspect its acclaim resulted from Western critics rushing to the bandwagon they missed decades ago. Nevertheless, I cannot deny Howl’s impressive animation and extensive influence (it continues to be an homage in film after film). It also functions as Miyazaki’s critique of the American war in Iraq, reflecting the pacifism guiding his films.

(Credit: Character Design References)

11. Ponyo (2008)

After the success of Howl’s Moving Castle, Miyazaki returned to a more minimalist setting of the Japanese seaside town, upon which he transposed a version of Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid. Eschewing the complex lore and sprawling locations of Howl, Miyazaki held himself back and allowed the singular setting to shine in multitudes. The simplicity allows themes such as environmentalism (specifically, the impact of overfishing), community resilience, patriarchy, and many others to shine through.

(Credit: True Myth Media)

10. Porco Rosso (1992)

Porco Rosso has garnered a reputation for being the ‘strangest’ of all of Miyazaki’s films. This is probably not because the main character is a swashbuckling fighter pilot who’s been transformed into an anthropomorphized pig. That’s the kind of weird with which Miyazaki fans are probably familiar. Rather, I would say that it’s because most of the characters in the film are morally grey. However, that does not make them unlikable. Even in his most adult (read dark) era (the 1990s), Miyazaki is still able to make films filled to brim with characters to which you feel a strong kinship. Aside from this, and the incredible airplane sequences, Porco Rosso also has one of the most iconic lines in all of Miyazaki’s films: “better a pig than a fascist.”

(Credit: Goggler)

9. Laputa: Castle in the Sky (1986)

The opening sequence of Laputa: Castle in the Sky is one of the best action sequences in cinema. It is a fitting prologue to Miyazaki’s third film and Studio Ghibi’s first. Watching the rest of Laputa, you see the complete synthesis of Miyazaki’s unique kinetic 2-D animation and his Marxist-environmentalist-humanist message. In the story of Laputa, we see the destructiveness of war initiated by pencil-pushing bureaucrats motivated by greed. We see joint effort to protect the pristine natural world between the descendent of a royal family and a boy from a coal mining village. These themes of unity between nature, the downtrodden, and human kindness (regardless of class) find their expressions in dynamic actions and editing.

(Credit: Los Angeles Times)

8. Lupin III: Castle of Cagliostro (1979)

If Laputa represents the synthesis of Miyazaki’s signature animation style and themes, then his directorial debut Lupin III: Castle of Cagliostro is the genesis of the former. Even more than Laputa, Lupin III’s animation is bursting with energy. Here, Miyazaki is adapting a story conceived by someone else, so the themes of the story are not the most ‘Miyazaki’. Nevertheless, the differences between the original Manga and Miyazaki’s features reflect some of his sensibilities. For instance, Miyazaki desexualized one of the female characters in the Manga and made her more of an equal (in skills) to the titular male character. The subtle feminism of Miyazaki may have found its first expression here.

Still, it is the technical aspect that places Lupin III high above its contemporary. It remains one of the most well-paced films I have ever watched. Steven Spielberg himself has called it one of the greatest adventure films of all time. Perhaps the best explanation is made by Joseph Ornelas who compared Lupin III to The Velvet Underground, who sold very few album copies but influenced just the right people to become extremely influential.

(Credit: Barbican)

7. Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind (1984)

Miyazaki’s second feature film is the counterpart to Lupin III, and the final step before the animation-theme synthesis in his third film Laputa. Unlike Lupin III, where he was adapting someone else’s story, Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind started its life as a manga series that Miyazaki himself authored. I encourage anyone interested to take a deep dive into the differences between the original Manga and the feature film – I believe it reflects Miyazaki’s inner conflict about the nature of humanity and hope for the future.

Regardless of manga-film differences, the story of Nausicaa sees the genesis of Miyazaki’s Marxist-environmentalist-humanist theme. It places the stratified world of feudal society in one of the most thematically rich post-apocalyptic worlds I have ever seen on screen (probably my favorite post-apocalyptic world in general as well). It also has an iconic protagonist who is at the center of one of the most heart-wrenching ending sequences I have seen.

(Credit: The Frida Cinema)

6. Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989)

In the 1980s, Miyazaki made a foray into the genre of coming-of-age films. While Kiki’s Delivery Service is not my favorite from this era, I would say it is the best at exploring the many dimensions of the coming-of-age process. For instance, Kiki touches upon the pressure of success and the effect of burning out. For Miyazaki, coming-of-age includes finding the artistic expression of oneself. This makes Kiki an impactful story not only for parents and teenagers, but also to artists and creators. It is a great film to watch when you are feeing burned out or facing any sort of a creative block. You find yourself absorbed into the core message in the story, the heartwarming interactions between characters (including scenes of mundane kindness that brings forth happy tears), and a world you wish was the real one.

(Credit: Britannica)

5. Spirited Away (2001)

Spirited Away is a film so large in stature that it often feels pointless to talk about how good and influential it is. It is Miyazaki’s first Oscar winner, the critical darling that cements Studio Ghibli’s position in the canon of high-brow cinema, and in these days an icon of nostalgia for the children of the tumultuous 2000s.

As the film’s legacy widens, the depths of its greatness can become lost memories. Watch it again and be wowed by the detailed animation that cannot be reduced to some descriptions in a film critic’s column. Notice the subtle tensions in the interactions between Chihiro and her parents reflecting Miyazaki’s anxiety towards modern modes of child-rearing. Spirited Away also functions as a critique of urban modernity. He has long been critical of the dirty margins of industries, but here you find him in soulful lamentation over the consumerism of the metropolitan center.

(Credit: IMDb)

4. My Neighbor Totoro (1988)

With Ponyo, I touched upon Miyazaki’s ability to have complex themes permeate stories that, on the surface, seem straightforward and even simplistic. It’s like a clear broth that contains spectrums of flavors. Ponyo is an example of that, but My Neighbor Totoro is the perfect mold. Like Spirited Away, Totoro-the-film is sometimes eclipsed by Totoro-the-icon. The titular creature is literally the logo and mascot of Studio Ghibli. So, it is even more imperative for us to rewatch Totoro, and rediscover Miyazaki’s gentle representation of childhood, his subtle views on the nature of humanity and the humanity of nature, his treatment of grief, anxiety, and fear of the unknown (which is in fact, not directed towards the forest creatures). In Totoro, Miyazaki perfected his observation and admiration of children. I was reminded of the words of a friend who was trying to sooth my panic when having to deal with kids: children are like the forest, all you have to do is observe and admire them from a distance.

(Credit: Character Design References)

3. Princess Mononoke (1997)

Ever since the success of Dune, and its tendency to remind me of the Lord of the Rings saga, I have been wondering if we have Asian epic of which we can speak. For a while, I couldn’t think of any, and then I watched Princess Mononoke. In a story that has reportedly been budding in his head since Lupin III, Miyazaki eschews the usual epic trope of good vs. evil, opting instead to explore the conflict between the modern industrialism and environmental conservation. It is a must-watch for environmentalists and industrialists alike.

Miyazaki immediately blurs the lines between “good guys” and “bad guys”. He shows that even people harming nature might be doing so for very humanitarian reasons. He shows that the spirits of the forest are not all good and pure but can be stupid, blind, and vengeful. The conflict is real but it is not simple. Refreshingly, Princess Mononoke is an epic without a clear three-act structure. There is no hero’s journey. Just the cyclical movement of history and nature. And then there’s the awe of it all. The music of Joe Hisaishi, the sweeping visuals, the gruesome violence, the tender moments of love… Princess Mononoke is an experience to behold, and one epic film for the book.

(Credit: The Heights)

2. The Boy and the Heron (2023)

I have only watched The Boy and the Heron once, so it may be unfair to give it a definitive ranking now. However, I feel oddly confident that this really is very close to the best that Miyazaki has to offer. I could go on and on about The Boy and the Heron (and I have), but I could not put it better than Guillermo del Toro did:

“Miyazaki proves again and again it’s not about leaving you chirpy, it’s about the showing you the sweet and sour of life—the love and the loss and the beauty all at the same time… [in The Boy and the Heron] rhythmically he’s very contemplative… very Ozu. There was something exquisite. An old master dispenses with tools and dispenses with flourishes. They stop trying to impress and they do a simple but beautiful gesture with a brush and that’s what it felt to me, an incredibly beautiful gesture with a brush.”

(Credit: The Verge)

1.     The Wind Rises (2013)

The Wind Rises opens with the Joe Hisaishi’s “A Journey (A Dream of Flight)”. After a bar or two, a quote by French poet Paul Lavery appears on screen: “The wind is rising. We must try to live.”

After that enchanting opening comes a story about beauty and its corruption. I have heard people call The Wind Rises a story about the corruption of beauty. But I think it’s important to separate the two.

The Wind Rises does not simply lament the loss of a dream, but takes the time to show you how beautiful a dream could be, before showing you how quickly it can be lost.

It is also not afraid to question whether following your dream is the right choice. A dream may be a beautiful ideal, but can it replace the real relationships that may be lost in its pursuit?

Miyazaki poses these questions without jumping to conclusions, without passing judgment. He is more interested in juxtaposing beauty with corruption. By being passionate in portraying the former and unforgiving in exploring the latter, Miyazaki creates a dramatic contrast that makes The Wind Rises absolutely devastating to watch.

But there lies the point that I think Miyazaki is making. Beauty feels even more transcendent when it’s destined for destruction. The Wind Rises shows that such transcendental beauty can exist in both humans and nature. It is universal in its temporality. It is there for a moment when we look, and disappears the second we turn away – like a vapor trail.