Once you experience your first Hayao Miyazaki film, you understand exactly why he’s one of the most celebrated filmmakers around. I wish I could say the proper beginning of my Studio Ghibli journey was Princess Mononoke, which I watched with my significant other as an uncultured philistine way later in life than I’d care to admit. However — though it’s not technically part of Studio Ghibli’s oeuvre — my actual initial contact with the prolific studio was through a demo of 2013’s Ni no Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch.
Considering I wrote about my thoughts, feelings, and the personal impact of Ni no Kuni for The Punished Backlog (hi, old TPB friends!), it’d be redundant to retread old ground by explaining how much the game means to me. So, instead, I’ll one-two-skip a few to my point. In the midst of one of the most eventful months of my existence, I figured it was time to physically, mentally, and spiritually reset. Somewhere, I’d lost myself. In fixating on everything else, I’d forgotten one of life’s cardinal rules. “You can’t take care of anyone else unless you first take care of yourself.”
That’s when I once again found Oliver, Ni no Kuni‘s young protagonist, when I needed him the most. Ni no Kuni, for the uninitiated, is all about grappling with alternate versions of yourself. Oh, and trauma. There’s a whoooooole lot of trauma in Ni no Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch. Even outside of everything accomplished with the game’s nuanced character work and spry pacing for an extensive JRPG? It’s just a perfect little gremlin. As games often do, it saved me from myself. When I thought I was down for the count and had nothing left, a distant yet distinct tune made itself clear in my mind.
‘Ni no Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch’s message of hope is timeless
Think about it: what was the last game that made you feel hopeful? Not happy — hopeful. Not to get weirdly psychological, but to me, “Happy” hangs out with “Content.” “Hopeful,” however, strengthens you when you’re weak. Heals you when you’re wounded. Keeps you going when everything feels hopeless. That’s Oliver’s journey in Ni no Kuni. An exploration of loss, guilt, and inner turmoil. But also, an odyssey of savoring small moments of joy with those you care about and who care about you. Understanding that, sometimes, it’s okay if you aren’t quite strong enough, as long as you keep the right company to lighten your burdens until you find your strength again.
Listening to Ni no Kuni‘s “World Map” track reminded me of everything I felt and understood during and after my playthrough. In the pantheon of video games I adore with the fullness of my being, “Hope” isn’t exactly at the heart of many of those experiences. And with how artistically broad gaming is (and has always been), there’s room for many core emotions or sensations. Power. Wish Fulfillment. Catharsis. Thrill. Relaxation. Curiosity. Togetherness. Wonder.
But when I need a good ol’ refill of Hope? If I don’t have time to replay Ni no Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch, I can get some headphones, cue up the soundtrack, and allow myself to remember that it’s okay to take some time and space to reconnect with what matters. It’s no mistake that Miyazaki himself centralizes hope throughout his works, after all.
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