Indian Ghibli fans have always had their work cut out for them. A decade after his last cinematic outing with The Wind Rises, it seems to have taken a Golden Globe, a BAFTA, and an Academy Award for Hayao Miyazaki’s beloved anime studio to convince Indian distributors of the film’s chops. Today, a few weeks since the film first premiered in the country, remnants of the bewitching fever dream still linger.
The marvels of Mahito’s adventures in Miyazaki-land, however, would most certainly feel bereft of the characteristically Ghibli charm that had Indian fans flock to the theatres like a siege of herons without the secret sauce behind the studio’s spellbinding success. That secret sauce is none other than the musical genius of Joe Hisaishi.
Born Mamoru Fujisawa, 73-year-old Joe Hisaishi’s journey into music began at the tender age of four when he started learning the violin. Early exposure to a wealth of films, courtesy of his father, laid the foundation for his future career. Hisaishi’s early works, composed under his given name, include music for the anime series Gyatoruzu in 1974, as well as Sasuga no Sarutobi and Futari Daka. His compositions during the 1970s were influenced by J-pop, New Age, and the late Ryuichi Sakamoto’s early Japanese electronic band, Yellow Magic Orchestra. This eclectic mix of influences created a plethora of themes and helped him develop his music from minimalist ideas to expansive orchestral works.
The turning point in Hisaishi’s career came in 1983 when he created an image album for Miyazaki’s Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind. This collaboration was the first of many with Miyazaki, drawing obvious parallels to the legendary partnership between director Steven Spielberg and composer John Williams. As Hisaishi’s fame grew, he crafted his alias inspired by the American composer Quincy Jones. The name “Quincy,” pronounced “Kuinshī” in Japanese, shares the same kanji as “Hisaishi,” while “Joe” was borrowed from “Jones.”
Hisaishi’s music for Studio Ghibli guides viewers through the emotive landscape of Miyazaki’s imagined worlds. His music conceals a lesser-appreciated complexity behind the garb of simplicity, allowing his compositions to become an inextricable part of the narrative.
Hisaishi’s musical genius lies in his knack for filling the emotional gaps left by Miyazaki’s minimalist dialogue. In Spirited Away, his score dances between uncertainty and resolve, perfectly capturing Chihiro’s journey. His strategic use of silence, especially in Howl’s Moving Castle, amplifies realism, making every musical note that follows feel like a revelation. The charming simplicity of Totoro and the epic grandeur of Mononoke demonstrate his understanding of how to mirror characters’ growth, making their triumphs and tribulations feel deeply personal.
The magic of Hisaishi’s music also lies in its ability to evoke a spectrum of emotions you can’t quite put your finger on. Tracks like his most popular, “One Summer’s Day” from Spirited Away, flaunt this duality, blending melancholic undertones with a sense of uplifting resolution. His music has the rare ability to make audiences feel a sense of longing for places and times they have never known, creating an almost universal emotional experience that transcends cultural and linguistic barriers.
Alongside his American contemporary John Williams, Hisaishi belongs to a group of film music titans, each wielding a unique style that defines the cinematic experience for legions of fans.
. Williams, the maestro behind the iconic sounds of Star Wars, Indiana Jones, and Jurassic Park, boasts a jaw-dropping 52 Academy Award nominations, making him Hollywood’s go-to guy for aural grandeur. On the flip side, Hisaishi weaves more introspective musical ideas. His scores, imbued with folk influences, create a gentle nostalgia that feels like a warm hug from a beloved childhood memory. Yet, despite his significant contributions, Hisaishi has never snagged an Oscar nod — an oversight that screams cultural bias louder than a Williams’ crescendo. While Williams’ symphonic fireworks align perfectly with Spielberg’s, and by extension, Hollywood’s love for spectacle, Hisaishi’s compositions offer a soothing counterpoint to Miyazaki’s imagination.
Hisaishi’s score for Miyazaki’s latest, The Boy and the Heron, stands as a testament to this synergy between composer and director — a reflective journey that mirrors Miyazaki’s most personal and contemplative film to date. In an artistic pivot from his previous grandiose orchestrations, Hisaishi embraces restraint, drawing on a Philip Glass-like classical minimalism to create an intimate auditory landscape that augments the film’s emotional core.
The film, titled “How Do You Live?” in its original Japanese, presents a thematic inquiry that Hisaishi translates into the score’s main motif, “Ask Me Why.” This recurring piano and strings piece, marked by its childlike purity, reinforces the protagonist Mahito’s quest for love and understanding following the loss of his mother. The theme’s simplicity belies its emotional weight, growing richer with each repetition, ultimately culminating in a powerful orchestral rendition that signifies Mahito’s emotional resolve in “Ask Me Why (Mahito’s Commitment)”.
Miyazaki’s decision to grant Hisaishi free rein in scoring reflects a deep-seated trust and an evolution in their long-standing collaborative process. Where previously Miyazaki’s involvement shaped the music’s direction, this time Hisaishi was left to interpret the near-completed film independently. The result is a score that both complements and accentuates the film’s dichotomous structure.
In its first half, the film depicts post-war Japan. Hisaishi’s ideas are understated, relying heavily on sparse arrangements. Pieces like “White Wall” evoke the gentle lilt of Satie. Tensions between Mahito and the mischievous heron are conveyed through “A Feather in the Dusk,” where strings rise and fall, mirroring the boy’s fluctuating emotions. The lighthearted “Feather Fletching” and the ominous “A Trap” juxtapose levity with suspense, leading to the film’s pivotal transition.
As Mahito ventures into the ominous tower, Hisaishi expands the musical palette, with the score incorporating quirky percussion and electronic effects. “Ark” features wobbly-pitched percussion to reflect the vibrancy of this new fantastical realm, while “Warawara” employs synthesized voices to drive home the ethereal. This sonic evolution parallels Mahito’s journey from the mundane to the extraordinary, calling attention to the film’s thematic progression.
Hisaishi’s choice to focus on repeating patterns and eschewing overt emotional cues aligns with Miyazaki’s narrative intent. By maintaining a certain distance from the story, Hisaishi’s score invites viewers to engage with the film on a more intuitive level, fostering a deeper emotional resonance without dictating sentiment.
Joe Hisaishi is the unsung hero of Ghibli, the method in Miyazaki’s mesmerizing madness.
