Never-Ending Man: Hayao Miyazaki

Hayao Miyazaki is restless. Or, one could infer as much from the title of Kaku Arakawa’s documentary, Never-Ending Man. For over fifty-five years, the now 77-year-old director has stood tirelessly at the helm of one of the most prolific animation studios in the world, producing a body of work that’s left an indelible mark on the world of animation. The first Japanese director to be awarded “Best Animated feature” for his 2001 film Spirited Awayand the recipient of three total Academy Award nominations, Miyazaki’s name is recognized by those with even the most cursory knowledge of Japanese animation.
But this amounts to the silt of trivia, telling you nothing more about the man that you wouldn’t have already known from a glance at his wikipedia page. Who is he though, really? For a man whose films have brought so much joy and recognition to the medium of Japanese animation, Miyazaki has played the part of the ever-aloof auteur, forever engrossed at work in the throes of some yet even greater-to-be fantasy. What weighs on his mind at night?
Never-Ending Man documents Miyazaki’s return to animation after his 2013 retirement, following the three-year process of producing his first CG-animated short, Boro the Caterpillar, the idea for which Miyazaki had nurtured in some form or another since as early as 1979. When asked if his decision to use CGI was founded on a belief in the medium’s possibilities, Miyazaki balks at the suggestion. “No, that’s not it. I have ideas I can’t draw myself. This might be the way to do it. That’s all I hope.” This sentiment from Miyazaki is repeated several times throughout the course of Never-Ending Man, and it’s in these moments where we, the audience, can catch a chance glimpse at the heart of the man.
Miyazaki’s propensity for announcing retirement, only to subsequently retract said announcements months later, has become something of a running joke among fans and critics throughout his late career. The tone of his announcement in 2013, his sixth to date, however, carried all the weight and portent of a life well spent, though all too aware of its imminent conclusion. “I try to stay in shape and go easy, but it’s getting harder to concentrate. It’s a physical fact: old age brings problems. It can’t be helped,” Miyazaki said in a press conference following the release of The Wind Rises, his then thought to be “final” film which premiered just two months prior. “My era of feature-length films is clearly over. I’ve decided to treat any desire to continue as the delusions of an old man.” Gradually, we learn that Miyazaki’s decision to retire in 2013 was not made out of any exasperation for the medium itself, no, but out of fear—fear that his exacting creative vision would be stymied by the inescapable toll of his advancing age. The fear of an otherwise immaculate career, painstakingly cultivated over the span of a lifetime, being sullied by a subpar effort born out of, in his own words, “the delusions of an old man.”