It’s impossible to watch a Studio Ghibli film without being struck by the beauty of the artistry on display. The legendary Japanese animation studio, and specifically the films of its co-founder Hayao Miyazaki, have been praised for not only their visual splendor but also their soul-enriching storytelling that emphasizes the importance of the shared collective experience of humanity and living in harmony with the natural world. Recently, Studio Ghibli has been a major trending topic on social media, but for all the wrong reasons. A recent update to OpenAI’s GPT-4o platform allowed users to produce recreations of photographs and images in the trademark style of Studio Ghibli. As anyone with any sort of social media account can attest, users went nuts taking both well-known and personal images and generating Ghibli-like versions of them. And it wasn’t just your college-roommate-turned-tech-bro and suburban high school friend who got in on the action. The official social media accounts for the White House and the IDF posted propaganda in the form of Ghibli-styled AI art. These two organizations have ideologies and practices that couldn’t be further from the virtues espoused in Studio Ghibli’s films – a dark dichotomy that, judging by the vitriolic replies to those posts, wasn’t lost on most. Although the intentions of the everyday ChatGPT image-generating user are likely far better than this pair of fascistic groups, every single Ghibli-styled image generated by AI is unequivocally and definitively spitting in the face of the iconic animation studio.
In a coincidence of timing straight out of dystopian fiction, this AI trend coincided with the IMAX re-release of “Princess Mononoke” in a 4K restoration. Miyazaki’s 1997 fantasy epic is one of the crown jewels in Studio Ghibli’s near-flawless collection. And given its message of environmentalism and humane coexistence with nature, it’s grimly ironic that it screened nationwide at the same time that people were gleefully using an unquestionably environmentally destructive tool to plagiarize Ghibli’s artistic stylings for little to no reason beyond fleeting, momentary amusement.
“Princess Mononoke” takes place in a fantastical version of ancient Japan. As the opening titles explain, “In ancient times, the land lay covered in forest. Here dwelt the spirits of nature from time immemorial.” In this world, many humans occupy tribal villages surrounded by trees, living in peace alongside supernatural entities that are representations of various aspects of natural life. As the film opens, one of these villages is attacked by a violent demon that has infected a giant boar god named Nago. Ashitaka, the young prince of the village, successfully fends off and kills it, but his arm is cursed by the demon in the process. After the village oracle ascertains that this curse will inevitably kill him, he leaves the village in hopes of finding a cure. On his journey, he learns of the Deer God, a forest spirit who lives in the West that may be able to help him. As he travels to find this god, Ashitaka is forced to take a detour to Irontown, a mining village run by Lady Eboshi. Her workers destroy nearby forests in order to collect the sand necessary to produce iron, which is, in turn, used to make rifles and other firearms. As such, she finds herself under near constant attack by forest spirits and creatures, and one particularly insistent attacker is San (also called Princess Mononoke, a nickname derived from the Japanese folk legend of vengeful spirits called “mononoke”). San lives alongside a wolf pack led by her adopted mother, the immortal giant wolf goddess Moro. The pack has made it their mission to push back against Eboshi’s destructive forces. Ashitaka finds himself torn between two worlds – those of his human brethren who are tearing apart the forests and the contrasting animalistic spirits that seek to defend them. Tensions build, leading to a climactic battle between both sides, with a host of different spirit groups rising to save their natural habitats through any means necessary.
From the very beginning of the film, Miyazaki makes it clear that this is a tale meant as a warning against the sweeping cataclysmic effects of uninhibited industrialization and reckless developmental practices. Similar themes run throughout many of his films, like “Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind,” but in no other film is this ethos more apparent or unapologetic than in “Princess Mononoke.” As portrayed here by Miyazaki, nature can be both serene and tranquil when undisturbed or violent and vengeful when provoked. The film’s visions of nature pushing back against human-led ruination even call to mind the increasingly violent weather events, often accelerated by climate change, that have become all-too-commonplace in the present day. Similarly, it’s difficult to see Eboshi’s ironworks and not think of modern-day data centers that consume energy and water for the training and processing of generative AI models at rates far above those of typical computing workloads.
One of the most brilliant choices the film makes is in its characterization of Lady Eboshi. Unlike what might be expected of her, she’s not a simple, two-dimensional villain. Though her motives and methods are catastrophic to the world around her, she’s also shown to have surprisingly altruistic business practices. Namely, she’s made a point of employing formerly enslaved women and lepers, providing them with steady work, food, and shelter. One of the female workers even remarks that, although their labor is hard, their lives are undoubtedly better than those who live in the nearby towns. Similarly, in our real world, many tech companies and those that lead them seek to shelter themselves from critique by focusing on the positive aspects that accelerated technological leaps can lead to. But still, there’s a huge difference in purpose between, say, AI models that are trained to find more efficient cancer detection methods and those that exploit natural resources just to benefit those too lazy to write a simple email on their own.
It’s hard to fathom how gutted Miyazaki and his colleagues at Studio Ghibli must’ve been to discover that their trademark creative style was being stolen and mindlessly aped by machines that tear apart the environment in the very ways that their films have warned against. This trend represents a complete betrayal of the goals and intentions of these creatives, as conveyed through their art. In a famous clip from the 2016 documentary “Never-Ending Man: Hayao Miyazaki,” when shown a brief presentation of AI animation, Miyazaki calls it an “insult to life itself.” He even goes on to say, “I feel like we are nearing the end of times. We humans are losing faith in ourselves.”
Watching these AI-generated images spread like an infection through social media (it’s truly a viral trend in the literal sense) has been beyond disheartening to witness for those of us who’ve been deeply affected by the works of Studio Ghibli. Those participating in this trend decisively fall into two categories, both of which are upsetting in their own ways: either they haven’t actually seen the films of Studio Ghibli and are merely drawn to their aesthetic appeal without wishing to investigate what the art represents, or even worse, they have seen their films and completely ignored their messages. The latter camp is representative of the climate of disposability that defines our current world. To many, art isn’t something with which to cerebrally and spiritually engage, but rather quickly devourable “content” to simply pass the time on the way to the grave. The best art is meant to reflect our world and ourselves and serve as a point of comparison and a way in which to experience an existence outside of our own. Roger Ebert nailed it when he compared the movies to “a machine that generates empathy.” But our contemporary culture rewards ignorance and quick consumption. The insistence on referring to media as “content” only emphasizes the ways that tech-backed entertainment companies want audiences to view their output as trivial. It’s hard not to feel the insidious intentions behind this newly-adopted mass media mindset. For over a decade, streaming services have sneakily trained audiences not to appreciate the human effort required to create the films and TV shows that they host on their platforms. Upon hitting play, viewers are almost immediately met with an enticing “skip credits” button, and the second the program is over, they’re hurried away via the autoplay feature the moment that “Directed by…” appears on screen. As such, millions have been taught to ignore the actual artists responsible for their beloved “content,” which makes it easier for those in charge of the business side of media to get away with devaluing artists’ abilities and potentially exploiting them. Thus, a viral trend like ChatGPT’s Ghibli filter, predicated on aesthetic plagiarism and a complete removal of actual human artistry, can easily flourish.
It’s nearly impossible to discuss the horrifying impacts and implications of generative AI without sounding like a hypocrite. This very article was written on a laptop – and is likely being read on smartphones – that require cobalt to power their rechargeable batteries. Cobalt is not only environmentally ruinous to gather, but the miners who do so are often treated as subhuman, working in abhorrent conditions. While it may seem easier to bury your head in the sand with the idea that there is no ethical consumption under modern capitalism, it’s far more productive to use what limited power and resources one has to advocate for changes to these types of practices. And, of course, it’s best to avoid using completely unnecessary and harmful tools like ChatGPT. Indeed, “Princess Mononoke” concludes on a similar note: nature doesn’t completely triumph. Miyazaki constructs an ending that is far more complicated and realistic than that. Eboshi survives the battle, having learned the error of her ways, and Ashitaka resolves to stay and help at the ironworks. San, however, declares that she’ll never forgive the human race for their destruction. The film ends with the hope that a more balanced world is possible, one that allows for human innovation and advancement that doesn’t come at the expense of nature. If the spirit of Studio Ghibli’s films can be properly adopted by society rather than simply hollowed out and exploited, we just may have a chance at a better, more stable existence.
How do you feel about AI art? What’s your favorite Studio Ghibli film? Please let us know in the comments section below and on Next Best Picture’s X account.
