The Tale of The Princess Kaguya

I finally sat down to rewatch The Tale of The Princess Kaguya, which is one of Studio Ghibli’s lesser-discussed gems. Its reputation skews toward “beautiful but slow” and after this revisit, I genuinely get those reactions. It is spellbinding visually from the open, using those flowing, watercolor-style drawings that look more like a cherished picture book than a mainstream animated feature. But the story—which adapts the ancient Japanese folktale “The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter”—makes some pretty deliberate choices about pacing and tone that can be… challenging, to say the least.

The opening is pure magic: a bamboo cutter discovers a tiny girl in a glowing stalk of bamboo. The way the film paints this moment makes the mundane otherworldly, capturing both awe and a strange sense of fragility. Director Isao Takahata uses sparse lines and washes of color to dial up that sense of ephemerality. Honestly, there were moments early on when I wondered if the entire movie was going to be more of a poetic mood piece than a coherent narrative.

What surprised me the most was how much emotional weight builds as Kaguya grows up and struggles with her changing world. The pressure of expectations rings so true—her parents believe giving her a fancy lifestyle is all she could ever want, but moments where Kaguya escapes into the countryside or struggles against the rules pinning her down hit way harder than you’d expect from a “fairytale.” The sound design helps a lot here: sudden silences, and nature noises drifting in, keep everything feeling intimate.

The film undeniably drifts in the middle. Sequences with the various would-be suitors go on a little too long, and while each one is trying to underline a different aspect of societal absurdity, the repetition starts to sag. I found myself drifting during some of these scenes, especially because the narrative stakes don’t feel immediate. It’s a case where the movie’s commitment to being mythic and symbolic slows the actual storytelling momentum.

But then, sometimes Takahata blindsides you with a sequence so visually kinetic or emotionally raw that you snap right back. There’s a brief, breathtaking runaway scene where the artwork totally explodes—streaks of black ink and slashes of color, almost angry, pulsing with the character’s emotion. It is unlike anything you’ll see in most feature animation. That one scene woke me up more than any caffeine ever could.

I also have to call out the voice cast, both in Japanese and English. Kaguya herself (Aki Asakura in the original) gives this quivering, childlike honesty to even her smallest reactions. Even minor characters, like Lady Sagami or the Bamboo Cutter, come across less as symbols and more as flawed, confused people. This goes a long way toward keeping the film grounded even as its story heads into more cosmic, fable territory.

Tonally, the movie is pretty melancholy. It carries this constant shadow of impermanence, like the characters sense nothing lasting can ever truly be owned or preserved. It’s a meditative vibe, but not a depressing one—more bittersweet. The film ultimately has something real to say about loss and letting go, and the ending pulls no punches. I guarantee you will sit in silence for a minute or two after the credits roll.

All in all, The Tale of The Princess Kaguya is a stunning achievement, artistically and emotionally. It’s not a comfort-food movie, and parts of it seriously try your patience if you’re in the mood for a tight plot or quick payoff. But the way it blends transcendent artwork, emotional honesty, and thoughtful storytelling makes it linger in your mind long after. It may not be my favorite Ghibli, but it is the one that keeps haunting me, for better or worse.