Studio Ghibli’s Ponyo (Miyazaki 2008) is an easy watch, but I still couldn’t sit through the English dubbed translation. It was going alright until Ponyo, a human-faced fish in a bucket, says ‘Ponyo loves Sosuke’. Something felt off, as though Disney’s The Little Mermaid had suddenly declared its intent to invade.

‘Love’ (the word) is so problematic that my literature classes have taken to using Greek to describe it. Like Greek, the Japanese language expresses love in a variety of ways. Ponyo shows many of these through its dialogue and others still through its action.

Some ground-work:

Japanese	Translation	Description
suki	like	‘ice-cream ga suki’ becomes ‘I like ice-cream’
dai-suki	love (big like)	something more than the standard level of interest. An obsession.
koi	love (eros)	as in ‘koibito’ (translated: ‘lover’). This is intimate-romantic love.
ai	love	An expression of adoration and dedication. The bond of a life-partner.

The most literal translation of the English word ‘love’ is ‘ai’, suggesting that a reverse-translation of ‘Ponyo loves Sosuke’ would be ‘Ponyo wa Sosuke o aishite iru’.

This expression of love – ‘aishite iru’ – is used in the Japanese dub, but not at this moment, and never by Ponyo. ‘aishite iru’ is first used by Koichi (Sosuke’s father) as an apologetic overture (via ship-board light signals) to an irate Lisa. (For anyone interested, Lisa’s Japanese reply is ‘baka baka baka…’) Far from this, the word Ponyo uses is while in the bucket is ‘suki’ which, as I have said, translates to ‘like’.

… But it’s not just ‘like’ either.

Context matters. ‘kimi ga suki’ is the language one uses to express romantic interest, just as an English teen-crush-romance might begin with the phrase ‘I think I like you’. The thing is, the Japanese dub Ponyo doesn’t even say ‘Ponyo likes Sosuke’.

The exact phrasing is ‘Ponyo. Sosuke. suki.’ Ponyo speaks like she’s just learning words for the first time (which is exactly what’s happening, of course). Miyazaki has chosen words which invite misinterpretation at adorable levels. That’s the point. Sosuke’s response, ‘Boku mo suki!’ (translation: I like you, too!) is full of exuberant adoration, but it’s the kind of adoration my nephews show to frogs or lizards they’ve brought inside from their grandmother’s backyard. (In case anyone hasn’t met a five-year-old, frogs and lizards rate pretty damn high in the ‘like’ index.)

Miyazaki says as much, recounting the joys of collecting insects as a child; ‘the wonder one experiences in that moment is extraordinary.’ Miyazaki (2009:416)

The joy which Ponyo and Sosuke share in that moment carries through to the film’s conclusion. Sosuke’s confession is very specific: ‘fish-Ponyo, and half-fish-Ponyo, and human-Ponyo, I like all of them.’

It’s not Disney’s idea of love, but maybe love is the best word after all.

REFERENCES

Miyazaki H (director) (2008) Ponyo on the Cliff by the Sea [motion picture], Studio Ghibli, Koganei, Tokyo.

Miyazaki H, Schodt FL and Cary B (2009) ‘Earth’s environment as a metaphor’, in Miyazaki H and Schodt FL (eds) Starting point; 1079-1996, VIZ Media, San Fransisco.

In Stories We Tell (2012), Canadian director Sarah Polley documents her search for the truth of her late mother—the much-loved actress Diane Polley. A curiosity of the film is it’s postmodernist structure, which betrays the traditional documentary style of a single dominant narrator. Stories We Tell is exactly that: a cluster of demonstrably unreliable narrators sharing their individual recollections of Diane and surrounding events, subjective biases and all. The tales often overlap or contradict each other, but to delightfully entertaining results.

In perhaps the most conflicting scene of the entire film, Harry Gulkin—famed producer—lays down his thesis: ‘the crucial function of art is to tell the truth, to find the truth of the situation’ (Polley 2012). A transcript of Gulkin’s monologue would make for a compelling argument; he was the only person in that situation—he was the only person connected to the truth of this particular story, and so it is his privilege alone to share that truth. Only in the context of the film does the conflict emerge.
Surrounding snippets from other interviewees cast shade on Gulkin’s monologue, as they’re perfectly positioned to expose the biases of his own narrative. The monologue is overlaid with images of previous interviewees—of the narrative voices he, with full authority of director, would likely subdue or exclude—emphasising their importance to the present film. Polley takes the ‘constructed nature of identity and memory-driven storytelling’ (Waites 2015:544) and creates a theme of it. You claim ownership of truth of this narrative, the film seems to say, then why do these voices feel so important?

It’s a question not-so-easily answered. Rather than try, the film self-scrutinises.
Michael—characterised as a phenomenally skilled actor, and narrator for much of the film—criticises his interview as ‘six hours of stuff, and you’ll decide what you want out of it’ (Polley 2012). The duality of the narrative is again reflected in mise-en-scène. The final edit includes a blooper: the snap of a scene-take interrupts Michael’s comment. But the actor emerges; unperturbed, Michael resumes his comment from the start. The inclusion of this edit acknowledges the ‘director’s hand at work’ and subjects it to the same scrutiny it just imposed on Gulkin. Questions emerge. Are these interviews authentic? Even if they were, can this edited work be trusted?
The thematic question changes. Can anyone claim ownership of truth of this narrative?
The answer would appear to be a resounding no. So, a final question emerges.
Does this story even matter?

The original mission of the film was to create an image of the director’s lost mother. Each narrative thrown like paint-filled balloons at the invisible woman. Some missed and splattered uselessly, and others hit and exposed an outline. Only in the collection of many small contributors could the full image of a person begin to take shape. It delivers a satisfying narrative arch from initial quotation of Margaret Atwood, to Michael’s closing sentiment, ‘I will go on. I will go on.’ (Polley 2012)
This satisfaction is perhaps what makes the final inclusion so surprising. As if critiquing her audience for falling for an enrapturing narrative, Polley thrusts Geoff Bowes back onto the screen where he confesses to a singular dalliance with Diane. I shall admit I laughed ruthlessly.
I consider this scene ‘key’ as it closes the theme. Stories We Tell goes out of its way to reinforce its undecidability, but shows at every opportunity why we love such stories regardless.  Well, maybe this story doesn’t matter, Polley seems to say, but you still had fun, right?

References

Polley S (director) (2012) Stories We Tell [motion picture], Madman Entertainment.

Waites KJ (2015) ‘Sarah Polley’s documemoir Stories We Tell: The Refracted Subject’, Biography, 38(4):543-54, viewed 28 May 2021.

This is my first attempt at a podcast. As part of a university assignment, I share a story of family injustice, and examine the ways activists use social media to further their cause.

The issue I touch on is a legal one, where mere accusations of domestic violence are sometimes weaponised after parents fail to agree on custody arrangements. It’s a little known issue, the kind of hidden abuse through the legal system that you’d never know existed until it happened to you or someone you knew (as was the case with me)—at which point it’s far too late to prevent it. My argument supports the activists fighting against this injustice, but try to prompt an ‘allies focused’ approach to their online awareness campaigns.

I’ve structured the podcast to make storytelling the driving force behind understanding. The issue is intensely contextual. With a true story as context, I hope the arguments and evidence are understandable, even to someone who might never have looked at this kind of law before.

I take a look at activist organisation the Australian Brotherhood of Fathers. My arguments support their practical efforts, and certain aspects of their twitter campaigns, but also try to offer some wholistic and research-based criticism in regards to some of their uses of Social Media.

While creating the podcast, I wanted to make more use of my history in music, but was heavily restricted by the seven-minute time limitation. Though spreading news of this issue was worth the sacrifice, it’s still frustrating! As such, I was only able to include a single piece of self-composed music, which I’ve titled Jingle1. You’ll find its delightful abruptness near the beginning of the podcast. In the creation of my SoundCloud account I’ve included similar stylings as my Twitter, hence the banner is also my own creation. I did make use of “Microphone” by Average Jane (licensed under CC BY 2.0) as the track image. I’ve also peppered this blog post with CC0 1.0 images, which is why they have no attributions.

This isn’t the first time I’ve messed with soundwaves, so the process of recording didn’t present any major surprises. However, the hardware and room I have to work with isn’t the greatest. My initial recording was ear-splittingly base-y, and very quiet. I tried to overcome some of these issues using Audacity’s amplification feature, and heavy use of equalisation.

The greatest challenge I faced creating this podcast was—as with all my university projects this trimester—a sad lack of time. I wanted to give it more. I wanted to add mood music. I wanted to do hundreds of re-takes for expressive tone. I wanted to record on any other day, when I wasn’t locked inside a tiny little box, hiding from the rain. But it is what it is. Maybe next trimester, when I only have three units to juggle.

I did learn a lot from this exercise. Firstly, that my phone has a speech-to-text recording feature. It’s a very personal blessing, but due to a physical ailment, the amount of time I can spend reading each day is limited. Being able to brainstorm while a computer writes what I say actually increases my potential daily work-rate by nearly double. I also learned that I rather enjoy making podcasts. I need to let the audiophile-in-me out more often. Lastly, I have new eyes for social media activism and how it relates to the good-work people do, which is often tucked behind the online chaos. Despite all the other benefits I feel, this alone would’ve made this little adventure worth it.

REFERENCES

Cabrera N, Matias C and Montoya R (2017) ‘Activism or Slacktivism? The Potential and Pitfalls of Social Media in Contemporary Student Activism’, Journal of Diversity in Higher Education, 10(4):400-415, https://doi.org/10.1037/dhe0000061

Crenshaw K (15 March 2016) ‘Kimberlé Crenshaw – On Intersectionality – keynote – WOW 2016’ , Southbank Centre, accessed 25 May 2021.

Kearns M (2020) ‘The Sex That Ruins Everything’, National Review, 27(19):27-30.

Satell G and Srdja P (27 January 2017) ‘How Protests Become Successful Social Movements’, Harvard Business Review, accessed 25 May 2021.