“Reknowned international thief Lupin III comes to the small European duchy of Cagliostro to investigate some excellently-forged money and stumbles across a national conspiracy going back some hundreds of years. Lupin and his friends must rescue the beautiful Clarice from the hands of the evil Count Cagliostro and solve the mystery of a hidden treasure dating back to the 15th century.”
At first glance, Miyazaki’s first
film might seem like a bit of an anomaly, some mercenary work on a big
franchise. That’s understandable—it was his first film after all. But as
franchises go, this one’s a ton of raw fun. First appearing in manga in 1967, Arsène
Lupin III is a gentleman thief who gallivants across the globe with his
colleagues Jigen and Goemon, and his infatuation/rival Fujiko, whilst pursued by
the Javert-esque Inspector Zenigata of Interpol. The perfect recipe for sundry
heists, adventures, and capers, but it does not scream out as the sort of work
Miyazaki, renowned for his painterly grace, gentle pacifism, and themes of the
environment and youth, would undertake. It’s also the only one of his films not
released under the auspices of Disney, further creating the sense that it rests
outside the canon.
That would be incorrect, however. Miyazaki may never have returned to
franchises, or sexy amoral thieves and crooks in exotic locales, but his
fingerprints are all over The Castle of
Cagliostro. Indeed, some fans were critical of how Lupin’s rough, morally
dubious edges are a bit sanded in the film. The Lupin Miyazaki presents
emphasizes the “gentleman” half of his archetype, as he sets about freeing a
young duchess from an engagement to a much older, very nefarious nobleman with
bad intentions. How older generations subjugate and inflict their unwise whims
on the young is a concern Miyazaki would return to again.
Also apparent throughout are many of
the hallmarks of the man’s animation. While the designs of Lupin and crew were
established, all of the figures bear the distinctive Ghibli style, simple and
expressive, from the square face of the Count to the young delicateness of
Clarisse. The nation of Cagliostro exists in a very fantastical Europe, a
little bit Germanic alpine, a little bit Mediterranean, both settings he seems
to feel an affinity towards as the landscape is clearly near and dear to his
heart. But also throughout, you see a fascination with mechanics, from the love
and care granted to the various 60’s Fiats and Mercedeses that appear, to Lupin’s handy
grapple winch contraption concealed in his belt buckle, to the climactic Errol
Flynnian swordfight in an enormous clock, to, of course, the prominent
appearance of an autogiro.
What truly distinguishes The Castle of Cagliostro from Miyazaki’s
other works is a distinct lack of worry, sadness, or fear. It’s very uncomplicated,
relentlessly barreling forward with its overwhelming sense of fun, with no
other thoughts getting in the way. Miyazaki could have continued down that
path, and nurtured a reputation as a ruthless deliverer of romps. But, he
didn’t.
No comments:
Post a Comment