There are few filmmakers who are so associated with artistic integrity and unrestrained, pure expression of their vision, the mere mention of their names evoke a wealth of emotions in any viewer who has experienced their films. Hayao Miyazaki is undeniably one of the most beloved directors to ever work in the medium, with his films being a dizzying blend of visual splendour, heartfelt stories and an array of sensations that we simply struggle to find anywhere else. His career may not be as prolific as some of his contemporaries (mostly due to his process of personally hand-crafting each one of his films taking years, leaving large spaces of time between his work), but as a result, nearly every one of his films is a masterpiece in their own right. There are certain films that carry the consensus of being is magna opera (with it being necessary to speak about them in the plural, since he has a few that could take the title), as well as several that could stake a legitimate claim to the spot as well, albeit from a much smaller group of devotees. The subject of today’s discussion is one of these films, one of Miyazaki’s more unheralded works that may have a dedicated base of supporters, but hasn’t reached quite the peak as some of his more quintessential masterpieces. Porco Rosso (Japanese: 紅の豚) is an extraordinary film for a number of reasons, each one providing clear and coherent context into exactly why this should be included at the upper-echelons of the director’s already intimidatingly-impressive list of works, a film that gives the audience so much more than we expect, as well as showing the director doing a few things quite differently, without sacrificing even an iota of what makes Miyazaki such a distinct and unforgettable filmmaker in his own right.

When considering some of Miyazaki’s better-known works (meaning those that are widely beloved, even by those who may not have had the fortune to experience the lesser-known entries into his career), such as Spirited Away or Howl’s Moving Castle, there is something that is immediately striking – he is a director who can extract vivid feelings from just about anywhere, regularly plumbing emotional depths that very few, if any, filmmakers have ever been able to do with nearly as much dedication. These are works that evoke some incredibly poignant reactions, tugging at the heartstrings and taking us on an emotional journey that tends to linger with us for decades – one just needs to take a glance at a piece I wrote for Spirited Away to see how much his films tend to mean to his audiences. However, Porco Rosso offers a quality that isn’t foreign to Miyazaki at all, but is often forgotten when we’re thinking back on his more melancholic masterpieces – he is capable of entertaining us as well, which is more prevalent in the films he made earlier on in his career (Spirited Away represented a leap towards more fragile, heartfelt stories that looked deep into the human condition, and provoked ideas of what it meant to be alive). There is a sense of whimsy that isn’t often discussed, and while My Neighbour Totoro may be the pinnacle of this side of Miyazaki’s career, Porco Rosso has amassed enough of a following to be a decent alternative, which isn’t at all difficult to understand. Everything that we love about the director’s lighter work is embedded deeply in this film – joy, exuberance and a sense of humour that simply doesn’t abate, we’re witness to a story that may be lighter than his more notable fare, but matches with it beat-for-beat on both a conceptual and emotional level, which is a bewildering concept for a film that’s logline essentially mentions how it is about an anthropomorphic pig who flies his plane over the Mediterranean – and it’s even more charming considering the extent to which the director is willing to take this material.

Utterly absurd, but delightfully so, it’s not at all difficult to see why Porco Rosso is so cherished by a wide portion of audiences.  There is an intergenerational appeal to this film that keeps us captivated, regardless of our specific demographic. Of all the aspects that are most regularly praised when it comes to the work produced by Studio Ghibli, it’s the ability to enthral absolutely any viewer that perhaps stands above all the others. These are films that may take place in locations foreign to us (sometimes even venturing into entirely different realms of existence), as well as looking at individuals from different countries, cultures or even species, but they still come across as so genuine, since they have something quite unique: they touch on universal issues. We can relate to these stories, since we see ourselves reflected in them, even if the specific characters or locations may not be entirely familiar to us. Miyazaki is far more than just an acclaimed animator – he is someone who has the ability to position his stunning images alongside impressive premises, making him as gifted a storyteller as he was an artist. Like most of his films, Porco Rosso consists of a highly-conceptual story that traverses many significant themes, which is then contrasted with a beautifully simple approach to unveiling the various narrative nuances, which is then tied together by a stunningly beautiful array of images, each one carrying a gorgeous significance that speaks to both the wonderful story it is telling, and the undying artistic integrity of its creator, who was doing something quite remarkable with this film.

Porco Rosso is ultimately one of Miyazaki’s most simple films – on a narrative level, it is remarkably straightforward, having a story that doesn’t lend itself to too much analysis, which is only beneficial in the context of this film, since so much of what makes it so effortlessly captivating comes on behalf of how the director gradually portrays the depths of meaning embedded in this charming little parable, which feels both sweeping and intimate in equal measure. The animation is truly extraordinary, and the director’s methods of finding nuance in the most unexpected places have rarely been better conveyed than here, especially in how it manages to encapsulate a particular time and place without becoming too intent on world-building, or being too ensconced in the social and cultural nuances of its setting (its the primary reason why most of Miyazaki’s other films are set in indeterminate locations, as it gives him the freedom to focus on the story, rather than being constricted to a particular era). This may not immediately announce itself as an unheralded masterpiece, since so much of its charms reside in the more quiet moments of meditative humour, which occur in between the exuberance of a very upbeat, almost impossibly cheerful story. It’s a tremendous film, one that doesn’t lend itself to an endless, thought-provoking discussion, but rather to short bursts of unflinchingly adorable enthusiasm that all converge into the creation of a truly unforgettable, profoundly moving animated masterpiece that is more than fit to stand alongside the canonical masterpieces as one of Miyazaki’s greatest achievements, or at least one of his most endearing, which is certainly quite a statement for a director who has always peddled in unrestrained artistry more than most of his contemporaries.