Princess Mononoke (1997): The Hidden Godzilla Connection and the Tragic Truth of Ashitaka’s Scar

Hayao Miyazaki’s epic Princess Mononoke (Official Studio Ghibli Website) is far more than a stunning environmental fable; it is a profound meditation on surviving the absurd. To truly understand its darkest themes, we must look beyond the magical forest and examine an unexpected cinematic parallel: the seminal 1954 masterpiece, Godzilla.

Today, we are decoding the shocking “Godzilla-esque” DNA hidden within Miyazaki’s film and attempting to answer the lingering question that has haunted fans for decades: why didn’t Ashitaka’s cursed scar ever truly disappear?

The absolute key to this mystery lies in a startling visual and thematic comparison: the undeniable connection between Dr. Serizawa’s eyepatch in the original Godzilla and Ashitaka’s demonic bruise.

First, let’s confront the inescapable “absurdity” and the crushing “unsolvable problems” that define the foundational philosophy of Princess Mononoke.

*Note: While the Godzilla franchise is vast, all references in this analysis are strictly tied to the original 1954 Godzilla.

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

Princess Mononoke (1997): Hayao Miyazaki’s Unofficial Godzilla

The Curse: A Symbol of Absurdity and the Will to Survive

The epic narrative of Princess Mononoke is violently set into motion by pure, unadulterated “absurdity.”

Ashitaka’s peaceful, hidden village is viciously attacked by a raging demon for absolutely no logical reason. Ashitaka steps up to slay the beast, an act that should instantly make him a legendary hero. Instead, due to rigid, unyielding “custom,” he is lethally cursed and permanently exiled from the only home he has ever known.

Despite being dealt a hand of “absurdity” so cruel it would make anyone scream in despair, Ashitaka cuts his hair and leaves his village, offering a broad, reassuring smile to his grieving fiancée, Kaya.

This incredible resilience—the act of pushing forward with a “broad smile” while simultaneously embodying tragic “absurdity”—is the defining trait shared by all the major characters in Princess Mononoke. I firmly believe that illustrating people desperately striving to live amidst this contradiction is the absolute core theme of the film.

Dive deeper into this paradox: Why Ashitaka Smiles Through the Pain

But can our modern society ever truly eliminate such “absurdity”?

The “absurdity” presented in Princess Mononoke is the ultimate manifestation of “things completely beyond our control”—factors like our innate physical qualities, the circumstances of our birth, or indiscriminate natural disasters like earthquakes. While technological advancements might someday mitigate certain absurdities, it will inevitably spark terrifying ethical dilemmas, such as “should we use technology to eliminate it?” The chilling reality of “designer babies” is a perfect example of this slippery slope.

The truth is this: we can actively recognize the profound “absurdities” embedded in our world, but we cannot manufacture a fundamental “solution” to erase them. Conversely, if a definitive “solution” existed, the tragedy would no longer be considered an “absurdity.”

Therefore, to honestly depict “absurdity” is to present an undeniably “unsolvable problem.” This is precisely why the climax of Princess Mononoke doesn’t deliver a neatly tied, Hollywood-style conclusion. It bravely depicted a conflict that simply cannot be solved.

And whenever I reflect on cinematic keywords like “absurdity” and “unsolvable problems,” my mind immediately gravitates toward Godzilla.

The Demon and Godzilla: Twin Symbols of the Unstoppable

Godzilla is the undisputed king of “kaiju cinema,” first terrorizing audiences in 1954, with its legacy continuing to expand to this day.

While the precise biological explanation for Godzilla’s apocalyptic size and power shifts depending on the era, the fundamental lore of the 1954 original remains untarnished: he is a prehistoric creature driven from his deep-sea habitat by relentless hydrogen bomb testing at Bikini Atoll, hideously mutated and empowered by nuclear radiation.

On a macro level, the original Godzilla is a visceral, walking symbol of the “fear of the atomic bomb,” cementing its status as a foundational “anti-nuclear” and “anti-war” masterpiece.

However, an equally critical element in analyzing the beast is this chilling fact: “it is never logically explained why Godzilla specifically chooses to obliterate Japan.“

This terrifying lack of motive defines the original 1954 film and serves as the terrifying backbone for direct spiritual successors like The Return of Godzilla (1984), Shin Godzilla, and Godzilla Minus One.

Regardless of the “why,” humanity is forced to confront the threat. This confrontation is always impossibly desperate; we barely manage to repel the monster by the skin of our teeth, suffering catastrophic losses in the process.

While Godzilla represents the specific terror of atomic weaponry, he ultimately functions as a broader “symbol of catastrophic disasters entirely beyond our control,” much like an earthquake or a super-typhoon.

When you view Godzilla through this specific lens, isn’t it entirely fair to argue that the Tatarigami (“demon”) in Princess Mononoke operates as the exact same narrative mechanism as Godzilla?

Consider the terrifying characteristics of the “demon” in Princess Mononoke:

If you reinterpret Lady Eboshi’s “Ishibiya” as a metaphor for the “hydrogen bomb,” the parallels are staggering. The demon’s arrival is just as absurdly inexplicable as Godzilla’s. Furthermore, the act of “building a burial mound” implies a profound, lingering “sense of guilt” for killing the creature. This echoes the deeply unsettling “sense of guilt” that permeates the grim victories in the original Godzilla and The Return of Godzilla (1984).

Given this structural DNA, viewing the “demon” as Hayao Miyazaki’s personal, historical take on Godzilla is an incredibly compelling theory.

And when we finally circle back to the central question of this analysis—”why Ashitaka’s curse mark never faded”—we must remember that there is a pivotal character in the 1954 Godzilla who suffered an equally “absurd” fate.

Dr. Serizawa’s Eyepatch: The Scars of an Unforgiving War

In the original Godzilla, the narrative hinges on the brilliant, tortured scientist Dr. Daisuke Serizawa. Though he isn’t the traditional “leading man,” Serizawa holds the ultimate key: he successfully obliterates Godzilla using his horrifying invention, the “Oxygen Destroyer.” However, to ensure the weapon’s secrets die with him, Serizawa makes the ultimate sacrifice, voluntarily choosing to die alongside the monster in the ocean depths.

Visually, Dr. Serizawa is defined by a haunting physical trait: he lost his right eye during the horrific chaos of World War II and permanently wears an eyepatch.

But his physical wound is only a fraction of his tragedy.

Serizawa is the protégé of Dr. Yamane, and societal expectations heavily positioned him as the “fiancé” to Yamane’s beautiful daughter, Emiko. While the 1954 film keeps the exact romantic history vague, it is painfully obvious that they would have married had the war not shattered their world.

Instead, Emiko falls deeply in love with the film’s protagonist, Hideto Ogata, while treating the scarred Serizawa strictly as a “dear friend.” In a moment of striking vulnerability, Ogata confesses:

“I know I shouldn’t hesitate, but when I think of Serizawa, I lose my nerve. If it hadn’t been for the war, he never would have suffered that terrible wound.”

The subtext of Ogata’s dialogue is heartbreaking. He is essentially admitting, “I stole Emiko from Serizawa.” Worse still, he feels he succeeded by inadvertently exploiting Serizawa’s physical and emotional “disadvantage.”

From Emiko’s perspective, avoiding a loveless, obligatory marriage was a positive outcome (she clearly admired Serizawa, but romantic love is entirely different). Ogata shouldn’t inherently feel guilty, yet he is acutely aware of the agonizing pain Serizawa must harbor.

When you force yourself to look through Serizawa’s remaining eye, his reality is a waking nightmare. He was:

Losing an eye was a catastrophic physical blow; losing the love of his life was the emotional finishing move. It is entirely understandable why his genius birthed something as apocalyptic as the “Oxygen Destroyer.” The post-war reality he was forced to inhabit offered him absolutely no hope.

In this psychological context, the “Oxygen Destroyer” is the literal, physical manifestation of the crushing destructive impulse festering inside Serizawa’s soul. In fact, the unstoppable rage of Godzilla itself perfectly mirrors Serizawa’s internal agony. Godzilla was, in many ways, Serizawa’s monstrous alter ego.

Realizing the sheer terror of this destructive impulse, and acknowledging that his dream of a life with Emiko was permanently dead, Serizawa uses the “Oxygen Destroyer” to commit a tragic double suicide with the beast.

He dragged his own “hatred” down into the lightless depths alongside Godzilla.

Take a moment to absorb that tragic arc. Doesn’t the dynamic between the “demon” and Ashitaka in Princess Mononoke suddenly feel breathtakingly similar?

The Mirror of Suffering: Ashitaka’s Bruise and Serizawa’s Eyepatch

Dr. Serizawa’s eyepatch is a brutal symbol of the “scars of war.” There was no karmic reason for Serizawa to suffer that specific injury. The war itself, and the permanent disfigurement it forced upon him, were manifestations of pure “absurdity.”

This narrative device shares a striking, undeniable similarity with the lethal curse Ashitaka received and the jagged bruise permanently burned into his arm.

The connection deepens when we examine the theme of the “destructive impulse.”

When Ashitaka arrives in Irontown, Lady Eboshi casually confesses that she was the one who shot the boar god, Nago, with her Ishibiya, directly causing the demon’s creation. Upon hearing this, the curse on Ashitaka’s right arm violently erupts. Driven by an alien rage, his hand draws his sword, desperate to strike Eboshi down. This triggers one of the most intense exchanges in the film:

Lady Eboshi:	“Your right hand wants to kill me?”
Ashitaka:	“Perhaps that would lift this curse. But my hand would not be stayed.”
Lady Eboshi:	“Must it kill us all to find peace?”

How did you interpret this iconic scene? Most viewers naturally assume, “The lingering grudge of Nago no Kami possessed Ashitaka’s arm and tried to enact revenge on Lady Eboshi.”

However, when we factor in the immense suffering Ashitaka had silently endured, a far more compelling psychological theory emerges: “Ashitaka momentarily surrendered to the urge to murder Eboshi, using the ‘power of the curse’ as a convenient excuse, but his overwhelming sense of rationality ultimately suppressed the violence.“

The jagged bruise on Ashitaka’s arm is undeniably a physical manifestation of the boar’s curse, but it simultaneously serves as a raw expression of his own internal destructive impulse—a blinding rage born from being dealt a completely “absurd wound.”

“Ashitaka’s bruise” and “Dr. Serizawa’s eyepatch” function identically: they are physical brands that symbolize a profound, festering “destructive impulse.”

And if we look back to the agonizing opening minutes of Princess Mononoke, we see the final, tragic parallel: just as Serizawa lost his future with Emiko, Ashitaka lost his future with Kaya. The shared cinematic DNA between these two broken heroes is absolutely remarkable.

Princess Mononoke (1997) Ending Explained: Why the Scar Remained

Miyazaki’s Revisionism: From The Little Mermaid to Ponyo

To understand the ending of Princess Mononoke, we must take a brief detour and look at Miyazaki’s later work, Ponyo on the Cliff by the Sea.

In a fascinating interview published in Ghibli Textbook 15: Ponyo(ジブリの教科書15 崖の上のポニョ, in Japanese), Director Miyazaki candidly revealed his creative motivations:

“When I was nine, I read Andersen’s The Little Mermaid. In that story, the little mermaid turns into foam at the end because she has no soul. I just couldn’t accept that, and even now, I feel like I can’t forgive that kind of Christian thinking.
~Omitted~
So this time, I thought I would try to depict that kind of love with a happy ending. Whether it’s a happy ending or not might be perceived differently by each viewer, though.”

(Original Text in Japanese)
「九歳の時にアンデルセンの『人魚姫』を読んだんです。あの話は、最後に人魚姫は魂がないからと言って、泡になってしまうでしょう。それがぜんぜん納得できなくて、いまだああいうキリスト教的な考え方は許せない気がしていたんです。 ～中略～ だから今回はそういう愛をハッピーエンドとして描いてみようと思いました。ハッピーエンドかどうかは見る人にとって受け取り方は違うでしょうけれども」

True to his word, at the climax of Ponyo, the titular heroine does not dissolve into tragic sea foam; she boldly claims a happy ending with Sosuke.

While I am not suggesting that Hayao Miyazaki habitually rewrites classic tragedies just for the sake of it, Ponyo proves that he is absolutely willing to aggressively alter a devastating ending to offer hope.

Isn’t it entirely possible that Miyazaki did the exact same thing with the ending of Princess Mononoke?

The Final Verdict: Redeeming the Ghost of Dr. Serizawa

The Inescapable Weight of Unsolvable Problems

From a purely thematic standpoint, Ashitaka’s faded bruise had to remain because it stands as a permanent testament to the “unsolvable problems” that define the philosophy of Princess Mononoke.

The curse is the ultimate emblem of “absurdity.” If the scar magically vanished at the end, it would betray the entire film, leaving audiences with a foolishly naive, Hollywood-style resolution: “I have no idea how, but everything got perfectly better because he tried really hard!” If Miyazaki intended for a clean slate, he wouldn’t have built a narrative around unsolvable geopolitical and environmental warfare.

The fact that Ashitaka’s curse faded but didn’t disappear is Miyazaki’s ultimate, pragmatic wish for humanity’s future. Through Ashitaka’s scarred arm, Miyazaki is challenging us: “We may not see a perfect solution to the world’s horrors right now, but perhaps one day we will. Until then, we must bear the scars, believe in the future, and fight to live life to the fullest.“

Miyazaki’s Cinematic Redo of the Original Godzilla

Accepting that Ashitaka’s bruise “didn’t disappear” forces us to acknowledge a harsh reality. But acknowledging that it “faded” offers us a profound, hard-won glimmer of hope.

When we fully embrace the undeniable “similarities between Ashitaka and Dr. Serizawa,” that faint glimmer of hope transforms into a powerful, roaring “assertion.” It feels as though Miyazaki, through Ashitaka’s survival, is shouting back through the decades:

To be clear, this is my own passionate speculation. There are no official quotes from Hayao Miyazaki directly confirming he wrote Ashitaka as a thematic redemption for Dr. Serizawa. This is a deeply personal, philosophical interpretation.

However, given the overwhelming structural and psychological parallels explored in this article, it is a theory that absolutely demands to be considered.

While it is always risky to put words into the mouth of a legendary director like Miyazaki, I hope this deep dive encourages you to revisit both Princess Mononoke and the original 1954 Godzilla with a fresh, intertwined perspective.

I genuinely believe analyzing these two cinematic titans side-by-side reveals a richer, more profound narrative. That is all!

The images used in this article are provided by the Studio Ghibli Still Images collection.