×
  • remind me tomorrow
  • remind me next week
  • never remind me
Subscribe to the ANN Newsletter • Wake up every Sunday to a curated list of ANN's most interesting posts of the week. read more

This Week in Anime
Revisiting The Timeless Millennium Actress

by Steve Jones & Monique Thomas,

Satoshi Kon's filmography is incomparable, but none of his works so perfectly encapsulates the art of film as Millennium Actress. Nicky and Steve revisit the journey of Chiyoko, an actress always running towards something across the many eras of the silver screen.

This movie is streaming on Crunchyroll

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by the participants in this chatlog are not the views of Anime News Network.
Spoiler Warning for discussion of the series ahead.


@Lossthief @BeeDubsProwl @NickyEnchilada @vestenet


Steve
Well, Nicky, I wanted to try something a little different. Since everyone agrees that pivoting to video is great for online journalism, I decided to record myself watching this week's film! I can only imagine how excited our readers must be about gripping footage like this:
Nicky
Ah yes, now everyone will watch me cry over moving screen pictures for realsies! The future is powerful.
And all too appropriate, considering we're about to discuss a film explicitly made about crying over movies in the past, present, and future. It's a story spanning a thousand years and millions of miles of celluloid. It is, of course, Satoshi Kon's classic Millennium Actress. Now on Crunchyroll!
Despite his tragically short-lived career as a director, Kon remains one of the greatest filmmakers ever to grace the world of anime. We're lucky to live in a time where his few movies are still remembered, celebrated, and available, and I hope we keep it that way. Millennium Actress, a movie about movies, is a perfect example of what makes Kon's approach to anime special and why some may consider it to be the most incredible work of a man with a 0-miss record.
I know I was thrilled to revisit it. The last time I watched it might have been right after Kon's death. Now, 12 years later and over 20 years after the film's debut, I still left the final scene wholly blown away by it. This is a perfect movie. It's a perfect movie about movies.
Its narrative is also ostensibly about the passage of time and how movies, whether it's the period of the setting, the time they were made, or the times that we experience them, are both free and rooted in various points of time. So while we're not quite hurdling there yet, I always consider it an appropriate movie to watch around the new year. Though, do be sure to watch Tokyo Godfathers for your proper dose X-mas first!
True! I've gotta get my fix in sometime this week. But Kon's oeuvre has a timelessness, perhaps due to its deliberately dreamlike qualities. And of them, Millennium Actress achieves that state with the most deftness, heart, grace, and humor.

I love how quickly it settles into the central conceit of throwing these guys in the middle of every scene and running amok with it the whole time. It's so playful.
Well, good human stories are indeed eternal. As an animated film, the characters in Kon's film might only be drawings. Still, they've always been animated in a way emphasizing both realism and expression, making them feel more real than any flesh-and-blood actor could capture. These two bystanders, a Television interviewer and his cameraman on a mission to shoot a documentary about a now-bankrupt landmark movie studio and its once-star actress, serve as the framing of which we view the life and career of Chiyoko Fujiwara.
And in Chiyoko's case, time is a huge factor in her story. Specifically, the time period she grew up in determines her own experiences and the kinds of films she stars in as she doles out her recollections to the crew. Kon's greatest trick here—which, again, is revealed very early—is how these sides of Chiyoko blend together in her memory. Fact and fiction fuse together. Real-life wars bleed into their cinematic counterparts. Characters slip in and out of time. It'd easily fall apart into a confusing mess if not for the film's impeccable sense of craft, linking each scene to the next with beautiful precision.


Sit me down with any random scene in Millennium Actress, and I'll find something to gush about. It's so rich.
Its intentionally layered and freeform narrative where details collage into one picture is also why this film deserves multiple viewings. It hasn't been nearly as long for me as it has for Steve since I first watched this, but there are new parts I picked up on and others I have yet to piece together. However, even if you're not one for puzzle-solving, it's still enjoyable every time. Especially if you watch with someone else who might see something different. The blurred nature is guaranteed to make each viewing feel unique.
They're also VERY different films otherwise, but it's a little insane to me that this and Mulholland Drive, two highly surreal films about actresses navigating the ups and downs of the film industry while in possession of a mysterious key, both came out within like two months of each other in 2001. Millennium Actress, however, is far more celebratory about its subject matter. This makes it a neat contrast/companion piece with Kon's previous film Perfect Blue.
The hope and optimism Millennium Actress has towards life and filmmaking is infectious; you can see a lot of Kon's appreciation towards the medium as we cycle through each film. Chiyoko has had an extensive range of roles, all in pursuit of chasing a runaway revolutionary she happened to meet as a teenager. Even though everyone tells her it's a hopeless endeavor, she never gives up. She acts her way out through political dramas and period films, and she survives natural disasters and wars while twists of fate and ancient curses spit in her face. All for a promise with someone she barely met at an early point in her life.
It's a narrative you can easily imagine turning cynical at any moment, but it never does. That's also not to say it turns a blind eye to the struggles and injustices of its subject. Chiyoko fights against jealousy, betrayal, fascism, abuses of power, and Nature itself. In the context of the film, though, these pitfalls only deepen her resolve and the romanticism of her long journey.

In other words, it's a movie that's aware of the industry's fallibility but also in love with the art it produces. You see that, especially in the fidelity of its references, which span the history of Japanese film in the mid-20th century. Look at these gorgeous allusions to Throne of Blood, for example.

And similar to how Kurosawa saw distinct sociological parallels with Scotland portrayed in Shakespeare's Macbeth and Middle Ages Japan that viewers could take lessons from, Millennium Actress intentionally parallels all its stories in a way that reflects how the outer world impacts Chiyoko's life. Japan's history is no stranger to war and unrest, but these stories equally reflect her desire to go beyond her role as a woman and how restrictive that's always been, forcing her to find power and agency.
The biggest visual motif in the film is Chiyoko running. Whether she's running from or to something or someone, she's always running with a purpose and against any possible deterrent. She's restless in an inspiring sense. It's very easy to understand why Genya is such a fan.


It's also hard to demonstrate with still images, but the way the film's climax stitches all of these scenes together is a masterstroke of editing. It feels like we're watching Chiyoko seamlessly time travel from one era to the next. And Susumu Hirasawa's score is the cherry on top. It's unfairly good filmmaking.
I also want to mention some elements I picked up This Time: the film's connection to Buddhism and why this is called Millennium Actress, despite Chiyoko only acting within the 20th century. During the homage to Throne of Blood, the princess is cursed by an old witch, as Steve posted above. However, the witch becomes one of the elements that transcends between films, and even appears outside of them as Chiyoko envisions her several times during her most disastrous life moments.

So how does this connect to Buddhism? Well, it's said that desire is the root of life's suffering. It can be argued that much of Chiyoko's misfortune is caused by her endless pursuit. Her curse is to bear a fire that cannot be quenched. She's attached to the idea of someone, so she cannot move on from it. While the witch represents many of Chiyoko's anxieties, if we consider this curse true, her roles become more than simple fiction or abstract retellings but also reincarnations, a desire spanning not just from one life but across multiple.
You see this with other key players, who keep reprising their roles no matter the time or circumstances. Like the military policeman in pursuit of the painter.


He does, however, break that cycle in the end.
This also makes the inclusion of interviewer and fanboy Genya's casting himself in roles to twist the narrative in favorable ways more interesting. He's following Chiyoko just as she follows someone else. Though he feels the most embellished out of all of the repeating characters, he's still destined always to play a bit part. I don't mind because it's saying something about how viewers want to feel involved in the stories we see and how what we consider a "good story" requires twists to differentiate what would otherwise be regarded as a tragic reality.

Genya's a character I appreciated more on this rewatch. Like he is, in the most basic sense, a fanboy of Chiyoko, but the way the film explores his reverence for her is really interesting. For instance, this moment on the train stood out to me This Time. He doesn't wish that Chiyoko, specifically, would pursue him. He experiences a more general longing induced by her story and performance. It's art connecting with its audience. Movies, by their nature, make this connection feel more personal. In Genya's case, it does eventually transition to them working together. Even then, there's a clear divide between the two of them that is bridged by the power of cinema.

Again, it's neat to contrast this with Perfect Blue's depiction of fandom. Genya's appreciation for both the craft and the people behind it, and the way that inspires his passions and professions, make him much more of a role model than your typical fandom stand-in.
It also helps that we discover he is a much bigger piece in this than he gives off but also knows his place; he recognizes that his desire and admiration are selfish and unachievable. And yet, his actions are altruistic, noble, and born of faith that we don't see from other characters. Without viewing Chiyoko through him, the audience loses much of the perspective, like how a director isn't always an active leader of a story but rather a passive mediator for the audience. It's not a director's or a storyteller's job to create life but to observe and portray it.

It's also why he gets so mad whenever Otaki, an actual director, is on-screen. He is the person who actively involves himself with Chiyoko and arrogantly tries to mess with her story out of his self-interest.

Yeah, I wouldn't call this a film with a villain, but he's by far the worst guy in it. I do love that Eiko helps liberate Chiyoko from him in the end by breaking the fourth wall and owning up to her actions. She, too, wasn't an adversary. Just another woman molded by a system run by men like Otaki. Just someone else playing a part.

It also says how little we know other people until we have time to reflect on it. When you're close-up with events, everyone else feels like they're playing a part. After Chiyoko faces several instances of health failure throughout the interview, she expresses her desire to continue reminiscing as it's the only opportunity she has left to pull back the camera, so to speak.
And the nature of those reminiscences allows for so much of Millennium Actress' magic. Her feeling of desolation pulls her away from the snowy wastes of Hokkaido to the dead surface of the Moon, where her despair can be better expressed. Like many of my favorite films, it throws out the logical sense in pursuit of emotional truth.


This Time around, I was also blown away by this seamless transition from the road to the hallway of Chiyoko's hospital. Only Kon can make this look so simple and effortless.
I'd also like to point out another Buddhist connection here; upon introducing himself, Genya's card says he's employed by studio LOTUS, like the flower Chiyoko hosts in her garden. The old lady responds by prompting Genya about their symbolism. In Buddhism, the lotus in full bloom represents the highest point of spiritual enlightenment after shedding all forms of attachment. As we send Chiyoko off to her final destination, the launch pad looks very much like a lotus opening on a lily pad.
And that leads into Chiyoko's dying words and final line of dialogue, which beautifully and starkly sums up the film's take on romanticism. It seems almost callous when you first hear it, but it ends up, to me at least, as a poignant statement of purpose and enlightenment.
With the wrong framing, Chiyoko's life could easily be considered a tragedy, a woman cursed with no choice but to doggedly spend her life chasing after something she could never obtain, but that was never how she saw it. Her desire was always what kept her living; it made her strong. Her story serves as a chronicle of her journey. Is it not enough to pursue happiness regardless of whether we are certain that we can obtain it? Is it foolish to hope that people will meet again, whether it's in this life or the next? I'll leave you all to answer that.

Meanwhile, something is haunting about this film. Kon died of pancreatic cancer in 2010 after only directing four films. While he made several after the release of Millennium Actress, along with some non-film projects, this film is so personal it's hard not to read it as a statement about his life. I could easily frame this as a tragedy, but I won't. Like our heroine, Satoshi Kon's films are proof of his life and passion. Sadly, he never got to achieve more, but what we have left are gifts.

Kon himself feels like that painter now. An incredible artist most of us can only ever try to catch up to. But that doesn't mean the chase is pointless. Far from it.
Even now, it's impressive how his works stand the test of time and serve as little artifacts of Kon's existence. Even when he's gone, it's still possible to gaze upon them and feel hopeful about a promise that "This isn't the end." Even if the audience knows how the story ends, what matters most is how you tell it.

I'm off to ponder for the rest of the year. I'll see you in the next life, folks!


discuss this in the forum (7 posts) |
bookmark/share with: short url

This Week in Anime homepage / archives