Hayao Miyazaki’s 1997 epic, Princess Mononoke(Studio Ghibli Official), is a cinematic triumph that I saw in theaters as a child and continue to cherish deeply. However, the very first Studio Ghibli film I ever experienced on the big screen was actually Isao Takahata’s shape-shifting masterpiece, Pom Poko(Studio Ghibli Official), released in 1994. To this day, it remains my absolute favorite Ghibli film.

I own both movies on Blu-ray and have rewatched them countless times. Over the years, as the themes marinated in my mind, I arrived at a fascinating, unshakable realization: Princess Mononoke is essentially Hayao Miyazaki’s version of Pom Poko.

On the surface, an intense, bloody historical fantasy and a quirky, comedic fable about raccoon dogs seem worlds apart. Yet, beneath their distinct visual styles, a profound, shared thematic thread binds them together.

Today, I want to explore this cinematic connection from several analytical angles, starting with a surprising psychological link: the bizarre similarity between the tanuki monk, Tsurukame Oshō, and the fierce wolf god, Lady Moro.

*This is a translated version. The original (Japanese) is available here.

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  • Complex Feelings Toward Humanity: Tsurukame Oshō and Lady Moro
    Tsurukame Oshō is a tanuki who disguised himself to trick humans but ended up sincerely fulfilling the role of a Buddhist priest. Similarly, despite her immense hatred for humans, Lady Moro lovingly raises the human child, San. Both characters likely had peaceful relationships with humanity in the past, but were forced into violent hostility by the changing, encroaching times.
  • A Shared Narrative Structure: “The Known Ending”
    Both Princess Mononoke and Pom Poko are stories where the audience implicitly knows the ending: nature loses, and human modernization wins. The difference lies purely in perspective—Pom Poko is told from the animals’ side, while Mononoke is heavily anchored to the human perspective. Both are profound elegies for a “lost world.”
  • The Resonance of Surviving Defeat
    Pom Poko concludes with a mandate to “somehow, go on living,” while Princess Mononoke ends with what Miyazaki called “a pathetic revival.” Both films bypass ideal, fairy-tale victories to depict the gritty, unglamorous reality of surviving beyond profound loss, offering a grounded beacon of hope.
  • The Era of Loss and the Conclusion of the Nausicaä Manga
    The epic Nausicaä manga, which concluded in 1994, ends with the grim resolve to “live on” even in a doomed, polluted world. Like Pom Poko and Mononoke, it speaks directly to a 1990s Japanese society reeling from the collapse of the economic bubble, passing down the message: “The world has changed forever, but it is still beautiful.”
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Princess Mononoke (1997) Analysis: The Surprising Similarities with Pom Poko

A thematic comparison showing Lady Moro from Princess Mononoke and the tanuki from Pom Poko, both fighting a losing battle against human expansion.

Tsurukame Oshō and Lady Moro: Forced Enemies of Humanity

At first glance, the old, wrinkled tanuki Tsurukame Oshō and the terrifying, majestic wolf god Lady Moro couldn’t be more different. However, if we examine their life trajectories, a striking parallel emerges.

Tsurukame Oshō is the easier of the two to analyze. The biggest hint to his character is found in his dialogue:

  • “We raccoons are too trusting. It’s easy for humans to fool us. Then we get into trouble. Does everyone understand?”
  • “The humans who died were victims of this war. First, we should pay our respects to the memories of those who died.”

Before unpacking his words, we must recognize that his very title—”Oshō” (a high-ranking Buddhist priest)—is inherently strange. Buddhism is a human religion; why would a shape-shifting raccoon dog hold a title at the forefront of human spirituality?

The answer is implied in his history. Long ago, Tsurukame Oshō likely transformed into a human priest to squat in the deserted Manpuku-ji Temple and pull pranks. However, his disguise was so convincing that he was treated with genuine reverence by the human villagers, prompting him to sincerely perform the duties of a priest for years. He essentially played the role too well.

Crucially, even after the humans stopped visiting and the temple fell into ruin, Tsurukame Oshō remained there, guarding the sacred space. Deep down, he possesses a foundational, lingering affection for humanity.

Believe it or not, Lady Moro from Princess Mononoke radiates this exact same underlying sentiment.

Moro exists within the narrative as a walking contradiction. Namely, she actively slaughters humans and professes a deep hatred for them, yet she tenderly raises San, a human infant.

Why does this psychological contradiction exist? I explored this anomaly deeply in a previous article:

Read the full analysis: The Mystery of Eboshi’s Sympathy and Moro’s Contradiction

To summarize, the key lies in a confession Miyazaki made during the production documentary, How Princess Mononoke Was Born (「もののけ姫」はこうして生まれた, in Japanese). While correcting the key animation for Moro, Miyazaki muttered:

“I can’t help but remember the dog I used to have.”

(Original Text, in Japanese)
「つい、自分の飼っていた犬を思い出す。」

“You see, you didn’t grow up with a dog that was essentially your other half…”

(Original Text, in Japanese)
「やっぱりね、子供の頃に一心同体の犬と育たなかった・・・」

These remarks reveal the profound emotional reverence Miyazaki holds for canine loyalty based on his own childhood. Would a director who views dogs as humanity’s soulful “other half” ever depict a wolf god as a creature that unilaterally, inherently despises humans? Personally, my answer is NO.

This implies that Moro, being a canine, does not despise humans in the purest depths of her heart.

However, just like Tsurukame Oshō, the world around her violently shifted. To protect her forest, her cubs, and San, she was forced into a brutal war against human industrialization.

Moro’s decision to raise San likely stemmed from her innate, maternal canine empathy. But in the “present day” of Princess Mononoke, survival demands she bare her fangs at mankind.

Therefore, it is highly probable that, centuries ago, Lady Moro coexisted peacefully with humans.

This is further supported by the film’s dialogue: while the apes and boars project a blanket hatred toward *all* humans, Lady Moro specifically directs her venom toward one individual leader: “Lady Eboshi.” Her vendetta is political, not inherently biological.

To summarize the parallel:

  • Tsurukame Oshō’s title proves he once lived peacefully among humans, deeply integrated into their society.
  • Moro’s maternal adoption of San strongly implies a foundational empathy for humanity that predates the current war.
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A Narrative Inevitability: The “Known Ending”

The most vital structural similarity between Princess Mononoke and Pom Poko is that they are both “stories with a known ending.“

As modern viewers, we know the historical outcome. We know Japan did not become an untouched, magical paradise ruled by shape-shifting raccoons. We know giant, primeval forest gods do not roam the mountains today.

In short: we know going into both films that the animals and the spirits are going to lose. Human expansion is inevitable.

Pom Poko is the story of this inevitable defeat told from the perspective of the animals. Princess Mononoke is the exact same story told from the perspective of the humans.

While Mononoke attempts to balance the scales, the fact that our anchor is Ashitaka (and San, biologically) means we view the tragedy through a human lens. Both films are grand, melancholy elegies for a lost world.

“Somehow, Go On Living” vs. “A Pathetic Revival”

Because both are fundamentally “stories of defeat,” the true emotional core of each film lies in how they handle the aftermath. In Pom Poko, the conclusion is: “Somehow, go on living.” In Princess Mononoke, Miyazaki described the ending as: “A pathetic revival.“

The message of Pom Poko is painfully clear: “Even if we lost our home, even if our magical era is over, and no matter how undignified we look blending into modern society, we still live on.“

Meanwhile, the phrase “a pathetic revival” was explicitly used by Director Miyazaki in the Mononoke documentary when deciding how to frame the final shots of the film.

If you view the war as “Humanity vs. the Gods,” the humans technically won. But because they annihilated the Forest Spirit and permanently lost the rich, primeval ecosystem, it is a hollow, Pyrrhic victory. It has become impossible for Lady Eboshi to ever operate her massive, wood-consuming Tatara ironworks in that valley again.

Yet, amidst the ashes, small saplings begin to sprout—a slight, “pathetic revival” of the forest. And standing in that fractured landscape, Ashitaka and San, nursing their own “pathetic revival,” resolve that they will still live on.

Neither film offers a clean, triumphant fairy-tale ending. They end with the characters losing something profoundly precious, yet finding the grit to survive in a compromised world.

Looking at these overlapping themes of lost innocence, forced hostility, and surviving defeat, it is impossible for me not to conclude: Princess Mononoke is Hayao Miyazaki’s dramatic echo of Pom Poko.

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Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (Manga 1994) Lore: The Era of Loss and the Resolve to Live

Nausicaä from the manga standing resolutely. The overlaid catchphrase reads 'And yet, the world is beautiful,' summarizing the era's thematic resolve.

While the Mononoke and Pom Poko connection is fascinating on its own, the psychological landscape of Studio Ghibli in the 1990s becomes incredibly three-dimensional when we weave in the epic conclusion of the Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind manga.

Miyazaki’s original Nausicaä manga began serialization in 1982. After numerous hiatuses, it finally concluded in March 1994—the exact same year Pom Poko was released. Finishing this massive, grueling saga was an essential psychological milestone for Miyazaki before he could even begin to conceptualize Princess Mononoke.

The Shocking Ending of the Nausicaä Manga

Most fans have seen the 1984 animated film, but the manga’s storyline spirals into vastly darker, more complex philosophical territory. Without writing an entire dissertation, here is the massive, spoiler-heavy truth of the manga’s climax:

  • The toxic “Sea of Corruption” is actually an artificial “world purification device” engineered by the old humanity to cleanse the planet.
  • Nausicaä and her people are genetically modified, artificial humans designed specifically to survive in the polluted air.
  • Tragically, Nausicaä and her people will physically hemorrhage blood and die if they breathe the clean, purified air the Sea is creating.
  • The “old humanity” is waiting asleep in a giant crypt, waiting for the planet to be cleansed so they can revive and reclaim the earth.
  • The crypt’s master tells Nausicaä that her people can be surgically altered to survive the new clean world if she cooperates.
  • In a shocking twist, Nausicaä rejects their offer, violently destroys the old humanity’s crypt, and condemns her own genetically modified people to eventually perish in the changing world, choosing to live out their remaining days in the toxic ecosystem.

Only Nausicaä and a very select few ever learn the horrifying truth of this decision. She carries the weight of humanity’s inevitable extinction on her shoulders alone.

It is a staggering, deeply controversial conclusion.

Nausicaä’s Final Resolve: “We Must Live”

The absolute final panel of the Nausicaä manga features the stark, chilling text: “We must live.” It is Nausicaä taking responsibility for her world-ending choice, but it also serves as a direct message to the Japanese populace of 1994.

Modern Japan experienced two massive, generational “turnabouts” or collapses. The first was the devastation of World War II; the second was the catastrophic bursting of the economic bubble in the early 1990s.

I wasn’t even alive for the first, and I was just a child during the second—fortunate or unfortunate as that may be. I didn’t consciously “experience” the adult despair of watching the world turn upside down overnight.

But for the storytellers who lived through that sudden economic and social collapse, what kind of “story” were they compelled to tell?

The answer was the trifecta of Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (Manga), Pom Poko, and Princess Mononoke.

Every single one of these masterpieces ends with the protagonists forced to navigate a world that has been permanently stripped of “what used to be there,” or “what they wished was there.” Crucially, this “lost world” is never depicted as entirely hopeless or ugly.

In the Nausicaä manga, the tribes still laugh and share meals; in Pom Poko, the surviving tanuki still gather to sing and drink; and in Princess Mononoke, the scarred forest and its scarred people inch toward a pathetic, yet undeniable, revival.

Ultimately, weren’t phrases like “We must live,” “Somehow, go on living,” and “A pathetic revival” pleading with those of us who were children at the time to realize that, despite the loss, “the world is still beautiful“?

And if so… isn’t that an incredibly profound, stylish way for a generation of adults to pass the baton?

The images used in this article are from “Studio Ghibli Still Images“.

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Sifr
A Japanese man in his 30s, originally from northern Japan and now based in Yokohama. He works in the education field by day, and in his spare time, writes articles about his favorite movies and animation.