In Response to Hayao Miyazaki

In a docuseries following Miyazaki Hayao through some of the production process of Ponyo, he’s especially irritable one day because an animator he knew had passed away suddenly. He had always thought that animator would outlive him, and she is suddenly gone. In his words (and the translator’s), he feels like a comb without teeth. 

At the end of the frustrating workday, he and a couple other employees step outside to a fiery sunset. Miyazaki comments, “It looks like Earth’s final day.” As the few of them stand and take in the view, he puts his hands behind his head and seems to exhale with frustration? exasperation? exhaustion? A cigarette hangs from his lips and he sighs, “Ahh. When you die, you can’t see sunsets anymore.”

How can he weave such a story so easily? Does he know what layers he has created with a few quiet words? On Earth’s last day, the sky ignites with grief for the lost animator—now that she is gone, it says, “What am I saving up my energy for anymore? I should let it all out tonight.” But the sunset is also what sends strength to Miyazaki’s fingertips as he clutches the slippery surface of life. If he were to let go now, how could he cope with never seeing a sunset again?