Miyazaki Hayao is not only an animation legend—he’s the world-builder behind worlds so dense and feeling-rich that entering a Ghibli movie is like floating into a dream from which you never want to awaken. Even at 84, his creative mind was still very much alive, and his movies continue to touch, comfort, and challenge people all over the world. It doesn’t matter if you are the proud owner of a dozen Totoro soft toys or only recall the spellbinding experience of watching the bathhouse scene in Spirited Away; one thing is clear: the singularly enchanting way Miyazaki creates his universes can’t be disputed.
What sets Miyazaki apart is the way he can make the mundane sublime. He’s an artist who will struggle over a scene for weeks, wipe it all out, have a nap, and then return to paint something beautiful. Inspiration may strike from a beachside town, an abandoned box of pastels, or just the drudgery of struggling through a slump until something breaks through.
But this magic isn’t just pulled out of thin air—it’s deeply grounded in real places. Totoro’s forest home was inspired by the Sayama Hills in Saitama Prefecture. The mystical woods of Princess Mononoke came from Yakushima’s ancient cedar groves. If you’ve ever wanted to step into Spirited Away, Dogo Onsen in Ehime Prefecture offers the hot spring experience that inspired Chihiro’s bathhouse. Even the lantern-lit alleyways of Tokyo’s Yurakucho and Shinbashi make cameo appearances in Spirited Away. Miyazaki doesn’t simply copy these locations—he reimagines them, blending memory and imagination until they feel both familiar and otherworldly.
His universes are not confined to Japan. Miyazaki dips his brush in water from everywhere around the globe, painting on Western influences with flair. The Mediterranean skies of Porco Rosso and the European landscapes of Howl’s Moving Castle are such love letters to the West, but refracted through his pacifist, green, weltanschauung. He draws inspiration from everywhere – from French pilot Saint-Exupéry to Japanese legend – and his films feel universally relatable, yet intensely personal.
One of his recurring themes is the idea of “elsewhere”—taking characters out of their comfort zones and pushing them into unfamiliar worlds. Ashitaka leaving his home in Princess Mononoke, or Kiki flying off to start her life in a new town, are journeys about more than just adventure. They’re about growth, connection, and finding one’s place in the world. Miyazaki’s “elsewhere” is equal parts risk and possibility, a space where characters are tested and transformed.
The enchanting aura of his movies somewhat conceals the fact that it is the well-known, incredibly detailed creative process that is behind everything. Miyazaki is such a perfectionist that he will reanimate the character movement over and over again until it feels like he is living, or he can concentrate on one particular shot for months. However, he will only go on with the time limits in a very insane manner, but at the same time, they will become the crucible for the best pieces of work. Overall, despite all the pressure, he is just searching for the essence of the story – an image or a feeling that would be a sign of the tale’s existence.
Furthermore, the concepts of family and rivalry are the other strong themes in Miyazaki’s story. The case of his son Goro is so complicated that it might only be referred to as a combination of love, strictness, and creative separation. Without of doubt, Miyazaki’s criticism of Goro’s debut directing work at Studio Ghibli only reminds us that the coming of a genius is usually an occasion of strife. Besides rivalry, Miyazaki was supported by his long-time, conflicting, and working relationship with Isao Takahata, Ghibli’s co-founder, who was always there for him. The truth that Takahata was still making films gave Miyazaki the urge to keep going even when he was in his eighties.
So why do Ghibli movies feel like dream adventures we never want to leave? Perhaps it’s how they entwine the mundane with the fantastical, or the emotional resonance that lingers well beyond the credits. Perhaps it’s Miyazaki’s own creed—that if his movies entertain and touch people, then they’re enough to make him worth existing. Or maybe it’s simply that his films remind us to pay attention, to find wonder in the everyday, and to never stop seeking out magic.
Whatever the reason, Miyazaki’s worlds remain timeless, enchanting, and always ready to welcome us back—like stepping into a dream that feels like home.