Horus: Prince of the Sun - A Look into Studio Ghibli's Origins

After an incredibly optimistic writing session with Revolutionary Road, I decided I was in dire need of a mood lifter less I risk falling into a deep, brooding state that even a fluffy cat wouldn’t cure me of (unless it is the cat I am still without, but that is a different matter). So I perused the list of foreign films I’ve been wanting to see (thanks to various recommendations) and lo and behold – Horus: Prince of the Sun, as recommended by Allan Estrella, was exactly what I needed. 

Horus is a 1968 anime movie and is the feature film debut of Isao Takahata, director of the classic and haunting Grave of the Fireflies in 1988. The film is about a boy, named Horus, who is entrusted with the Sword of the Sun after pulling it out from the ancient stone giant, Mogue. Before his father dies, Horus learns that he and his father were the last survivors of a sea village devastated by a wicked sorcerer named Grunwald, and thus sets off to avenge his village and stop Grunwald once and for all. 

Watching the film was an interesting experience: there are a lot of Studio Ghibli thematics throughout – the enigmatic forces of nature, the strong female characters, the complexity of motivations and emotions – yet there are a lot of distinctly Disney thematics as well – the evil sorcerer, the bubbly side characters, clashing forces of good and evil, and so on. In a sense, Horus really establishes the distinct divide between the legacies of Disney and Ghibli regarding thematics, animation, aesthetics, and writing. The film is widely unknown outside of Japan because it only ran for 10 days in theaters (for business reasons I’ve yet to really understand) and at that point in time, most of popular culture and public awareness was overshadowed by student protests, civil rights movements and anti-war sentiments pervasive during worldwide political and social unrest. Here, I’ll be highlighting some distinct elements reminiscent of classic Western storytelling and classic Eastern storytelling that sets Horus apart from any prior and subsequent production by Disney and Ghibli, and why it’s quite a gem in the history of anime and animation. 

Animation wise, Horus is topnotch for its time. There are only a few scenes where there is no animation but simply a panning/tilting of the camera with an audio track (a clear sign of budget issues) but besides that, Takahata directs some of the most awe-inspiring scenes that even some of recent animated features don’t come close to. For one, multiple framing types are used throughout the film: 

High-angle shot

Low-angle shot

Establishing/master shot

There are also multiple fields of depth and focal points: 

Grunwald is also holding the axe that Horus threw at him. The rope that holds the axe is blurred since Grunwald is the main focus. 

Here, there are multiple depths of field, with Horus being the closest and Grumwald being the farthest – all indicated by their size relative to the screen. 

These composition traits were severely missing from the Disney (chronicle) colleagues of Horus, The Aristocats in 1970 and Robin Hood in 1973, both which relied heavily on minimal dimensions (the majority of the film was mostly in a linear horizon, with the characters simply moving left and right with respect to the screen) and repetitious animation (there is a set amount of movements each character performs, resulting in a rather limited characterization and performance of the animated heroes and villains). With regards to animation, Horus outdoes The Aristocats and Robin Hood by a long-shot, and is even auteuristic in certain ways: 

A technicolor-like effect was used in the Enchanted Forest sequence. 

Mogue, the Rock Lord. 

Grunwald’s Mammoth of Ice, fighting flames created by the villagers. 

The sequence where the artists animated the reflection of sun on ice was visually astounding, notwithstanding Mogue’s epic entry into Grunwald’s lair. 

Use of a soft focus on a particular person/object, further emphasizing the focus by blacking out everything surrounding the person/object. 

Overlap of animation cels. 

Snow-Ice Wolves flying down the mountainside; these reminded me of Haku in Miyazaki’s Spirited Away. 

The Ice Mammoth and Mogue battle sequence reminded me a lot of the Forest Spirit from Miyazaki’s Princess Mononoke.

I don’t think anyone can ever outdo the animation of Monstro from Disney’s Pinocchio, but the Pike sequence in Horus does an excellent job on a lot of levels; I liked this screenshot the most because of the field depth inferred from the unfocused branch/tree/rocks in the foreground with Horus and the Pike in the background and in focus.

Gorgeous yet frightening sequence where Hilda unleashes mice upon the village in an act of terror.

Hilda’s Owl reminded me of Archimedes from Disney’s The Sword in the Stone - except not funny, less floofy, and white. But back to my main point: evil characters are drawn menacingly, like this here owl (who is the less hilarious version of Archimedes)…

… and good characters are drawn with a charm! (also, they are floofy)

Comparatively, Disney animators used strikingly similar animation in both The Aristocats (right) and Robin Hood (left)

Technical aspects aside, Horus presents some interesting Western and Eastern thematics in its narrative as well. Set in Iron Age Scandinavia, the story is a classic Western fable rich with mystical powers of good and evil that tamper with humans. Foremost, Horus is a very pure and very pious protagonist: no evil thoughts cross his mind, and he’s the perfect archetype for the Western hero; in fact, the first scene revolves around him fighting a pack of vicious wolves, and he is only saved by the rock lord Mogue. Mogue’s first appearance is the classic set-up for such an adventure, the random encounter with a powerful entity who sets forth a goal for the protagonist to strive towards, and warns that there is an evil entity which Horus must be wary of. Additionally, the death of Horus’s father lends further momentum to the story and protagonist’s motivation: the same evil entity Mogue spoke of is who Horus must take his revenge upon. Good and evil are established very early in the film, and while we know Horus will persevere we also know he will encounter numerous barriers that may prevent him from attaining his ultimate goal. Horus includes song and dance like Disney films as well, though I felt that these were less like musical numbers and more like natural characteristics of a small village that has distinct customs and practices; also, singing is a distinct characteristic of Hilda, the main female protagonist, and this characteristic plays a role in how the plot progresses throughout the film, and is less of a classic depiction of femininity. There are also some side characters that are Disney-esque in their animation, but not quite to the extent of candy-covered nudnik that becomes so obnoxiously giddy and uplifting as to induce mental diabetes (I’m looking at you, Cinderella – and don’t think I won’t go and sic my cat that-I-am-still-without on your singing mice if they start messing with my pumpkins). 

Trials of character, essential to Western lore, are also present: there’s a scene where Horus confronts a giant Pike terrorizing the fishing village that saved him after his front encounter with Grunwald, and it’s a scene that echoes of classic fairy and folktales of the Brothers Grimm where a hero/heroine must destroy a elemental force in order to restore natural order (i.e. The Twelve Brothers, The Seven Crows, The Glass Coffin, The Nix in the Pond, The Ball of Crystal). Characters of good are drawn in friendly manner while characters of evil are drawn in poor disposition – the good look good, the bad look bad (for instance, Grunwald’s henchmen wolves are drawn menacingly while Horus’s bear, Coro, is drawn amicably); in a sense, the extremities of morale are personified almost literally, just as Jiminy Cricket was animated as Pinocchio’s conscious in Disney’s 1940 film. Then there’s old Grunwald himself, who simply wants to eliminate all humans in his sight because he’s a pleasant fellow like that. 

The villagers collectively decide how to deal with Grunwald’s antagonism. 

However, there are distinctly Eastern elements to the story as well. Various elements of nature are personified into distinct personalities: Mogue, the rock lord, is booming and almost Ent-like from J.R.R. Tolkien’s universe; Grumwald, the sorcerer, specializes in ice magic and sends out spells of snow-ice wolves; the collective, not the individual, is necessary to accomplish any feat; the environment is distinctly beautiful, dangerous, and omnipresent, trumping over all human attempts of control (in fact, Hayao Miyazaki was responsible for “Scene Design” during production; his painters hand can easily be seen in his famous works, such as Spirited Away in 2002); and most important of all, not all characters are solely evil or good without motivation. 

This last characteristic is particularly important and poignant in most of Studio Ghibli’s film to date (I say most because I haven’t seen all of them yet – I’ll get there soon though!) This is a sentiment I agree with very much so: I’m of the opinion that there’s no absolute good or evil without motive, and even then the term “absolute” is difficult for me to fully endorse at face value; instead, I usually try and analyze the narrative or psychological significance of moral extremes. Even then I feel that absolutes are much more common to Western narratives than Eastern narratives: Eastern stories commonly deal with undertones of actions rather than the actions themselves, and thus the stories often lend themselves to more nuanced (“grey”) characters regarding personalities of good and evil. In Horus, there’s a corrupt deputy named Drago who manipulates everyone so he can gain power and dispel of Horus; purportedly a spy for Grunwald, Drago is obviously not a “good guy,” but his motivations for power and prestige are very much human. Even more interesting than Drago is the character Hilda, who marks a very important thematic in Ghibli’s most famous productions – the strong, independent, and nuanced female character. 

It took Disney 52 years to progress towards strong female characters, beginning in 1989 with The Little Mermaid after starting with the classic damsel-in-distress princess archetype with Snow White in 1937. Takahata included a strong female from the very start with his directorial debut in 1968 with Horus, a philosophy and tradition that has additionally spearheaded by his contemporary, Hayao Miyazaki, with many subsequent Ghibli films such as Nausicaa and Princess Mononoke. In Horus, this character is none other than the solemn and tormented Hilda: though she is initially under Grumwald’s control, it’s obvious that she’s neither pleased or happy with her choice for immortality; in fact, a good portion of the film focuses on Hilda alone (at one point I wondered if Horus had gone M.I.A. just for the heck of it), and generously fleshes out the internal conflict she feels when she’s ordered to wreak havoc upon and kill the very villagers she’s grown attached to. There might be a bit of the damsel-in-distress characteristics – the siren-like singing, her daisy-like physical appearance – but beyond looks Hilda is an mentally and emotionally strong individual, especially considering with the personal conflicts she deals with for almost the entire span of the movie. Comparing Takahata’s Hilda to her earlier Disney counterpart, Aurora/Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty, 1959), is like looking at two different eras of social progress – the former the more progressive advocate of gender equality and the latter bent on chivalry and perpetual D.I.D.s who like being swept off their heeled-toed feet. 

Hayao Miyazaki on the left, Isao Takahata on the right

I like to believe Horus: Prince of the Sun marks the beginning of Takahata’s (and Miyazaki’s) conscious effort to move away from traditional Disney fare, storytelling, and animation aesthetics; yet ironically Horus has numerous elements in vein with Disney productions, which makes it an interesting hybrid: a product highly influenced by Western endeavors while actively trying to establish distinctly Eastern foundations – all with regards to animating stories and the characters within. Horus may easily be one of the most exceptional and overlooked gems in the world of animated films, and it’s a film I can’t recommend enough to those interested in animation, anime, Studio Ghibli and Disney productions. 

Additional Reading/Links for Those Interested

• Notes on Horus and its production history

• A nice video comparison of Disney’s linear animation (also shows how some animation was recycled between Mr. Toad and The Jungle Book)

• Opening credits of Disney’s Robin Hood: here you can see a prime example of linear animation in which the characters primarily move to the left or right, but not away or towards the screen to establish a sense of depth

• Peter Schneider and Don Hahn interview on Waking Sleeping Beauty, the documentary about Disney’s rise, fall, and comeback during the years 1984 to 1994

• Online resource for short stories in Grimm’s Fairy Tales, for those interested in the short stories I listed in this article

Anime – the Medium

Let’s get this straight: anime is a medium, not a genre. 

Specifically, anime is a style of animation, spearheaded by Japanese animators as early as 1917. The famous characteristics – large eyes, small mouths, sharp penciling, action lines, facial expressions – shot forward with work of Osamu Tezuka, creator of legendary series “Astro Boy” and “Metropolis.” With the advent of video cassettes and eventual internet revolution, anime became more and more well known outside of Japan and is possibly one of the most thriving and influential animation industries possible. Most notably, many recent American animated programs and films are showing signs that anime’s popularity is beginning to seep into the minds of American animators. 

From the directing to the composition to the art to the cutting, anime’s influence is profound and prolific in much of modern American animation. The opening of “Toy Story 3” had distinctly sharper cutting that was immediately reminiscent of anime action-cutting: the zoom ins and outs, the close ups and pan outs, the Dutch angles – it was interesting watching the film, seeing how Pixar was subtlety celebrating the anime boom in America. And only a couple of years ago with Dreamwork’s “Kung Fu Panda” did we also see the same techniques employed, where a visually fantastic and comedic effect swept over the film’s premise with sweeping camera movements and razor-sharp shots and cutting. 

Then there’s the most obvious influence – the art style. Big multi-colored eyes, spiked hairstyles, unusual body proportions, exaggerated/default expressions – this is what we think of when the term “anime” pops up in conversation. American animated series have transitioned towards this stylization, away from the Golden and Silver age of Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd and towards projects like “Teen Titans” (2003–2006), “Totally Spies” (2001–2008), “The Animatrix” (2003), “Halo Legends” (2010), “Batman: Gotham Knight” (2008), the “Ben 10” franchise (2005 onwards), and most famously “Avatar: The Last Airbender” (2005–2008). 

Whether or not one considers these American productions as anime is up for debate – what is undebatable is that these productions were obviously influenced by anime in stylization and perhaps composition and directing. The influence is there, and you’d be hardpressed to believe any animator who’d claim otherwise. 

Now after writing the article “FacePainting,” I got a lot of responses that claimed the original series “Avatar: The Last Airbender” was racist in itself because Americans were taking an Asian convention (anime) and using it themselves, and had therefore created a whitewashed version of anime into a American storyline. 

It must be reiterated thoroughly that anime is a medium, not a genre. So while it is a product of Japanese animation and invention it is still a means for which a story can be told and visually presented. What is distinctly Western or Eastern is the narrative intent and driving force of a story. 

In fact, some of the best and most well-known Japanese anime are either inherently Western in narrative or borrow several elements from Western lore. Shinichirō Watanabe’s “Cowboy Bebop” (1998) frequently alluded to American jazz and bebop culture, taking numerous narrative and characterization cues from classic film noir, pulp fiction, westerns and crime stories. Naoki Urasawa’s “Monster” (2004–2005) takes place in Eastern Europe in which a Dr. Kenzō Tenma pursues a sociopath/psychopath he saved years ago. “Gunslinger Girl” (2003–2004) takes place in modern-day Italy in which a Social Welfare Agency exploits its rehabbed patients and turns the girls into counter-intelligence and counter-terrorism killing machines. And Hayao Miyazaki’s “Kiki’s Delivery Service” (1989) takes place in a northern Europe-inspired universe where the young witch, Kiki, deals with misconceptions and prejudices while trying to establish herself as a successful witch. 

I find it hard to call these listed anime productions “yellow washing” because at their core, each narrative either strongly understands or alludes to distinctly Western culture and aesthetics. “Cowboy Bebop” is about as American as it gets, and its entire production team was Japanese – director, producers, composer, animators, voice actors, and so on. “Kiki’s Delivery Service” borrowed heavily from northern European environment, from its Mediterranean-like coast towns to its forrest enclosed cottages, and it too had an entirely Japanese production within the doors of Studio Ghibli. 

So with regards to “Avatar: The Last Airbender”: the anime-inspired style and Eastern influences in the developed Avatar universe – outfits, traditions, implied ethnicities, philosophies, etc – are an American production team’s homage to “Avatar’s” aesthetic roots. Claiming that it is “racist” because it is an American “whitewashed” anime version implies that anime is exclusive to Japanese animators while in reality, art styles are not bound solely by race or ethnicity. If this were the case, modern graffiti would have stayed where it was originally born – the ancient Greek city Ephesus (or modern-day Turkey). 

Anime is a style, and while it is prolific in Japan the stylization is not exclusive to Japanese animators. “Avatar” was animated in this style and vein primarily due to the series creators Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko drawing heavily from Hayao Miyazaki’s “My Neighbor Totoro,” (1988) “Spirited Away” (2002) and “Princess Mononoke” (1997), Shinichirō Watanabe’s “Cowboy Bebop” and “Samurai Champloo” (2004), and Gainax’s “FLCL” (2000), as well as other studios like Production I.G. (“Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex”) and Studio 4ºC (“Transformers Animated”). 

What matters most in the debate of “racist or not?” is the narrative function and presentation, not the animation or drawing style itself. For instance, Belgian artist Georges Rémi’s series “The Adventures of Tintin,” while drawn in a graphic friendly style, is arguably racist by modern standards because of how non-European/Caucasian ethnicities were presented in narration: their narrative function was generally secondary, arguably even caricatured and ignorant. 

Stories are a crucial component of society. Fictions indirectly and nonfictions directly reflect various shades and hues of social and technical constructions at any given time. They are told through various media of choice – writing, photography, film, music, sculptures, poetry, animation – and though each medium offers its unique narrative characteristics of strengths and shortcomings it is essential to focus on the core components of a narrative and what it entails – directly or indirectly so.

By focusing on style over substance, you invariably lose focus and detract away from the bigger issues at hand whether it be racism, sexism, politics or religion. So while narration and its implications employs a style in a medium, style is not bound to reciprocate this back. 

Anime is a style. It has never been a narrative genre, and it never will be.