finding where to critique nearly all the films Hayao Miyazaki has directed is difficult; they are so evidently filled with distinct artistic wonder and fantastical narratives, even if one of those two traits can be powerful enough in its best moments that it overshadows the other. this movie is the height of that in Studio Ghibli's canon, flipping faster and faster through the pages of its novel's base material until tying things up quickly becomes a bit of a lovely mess. in fact, that it is that height is it's best facet, an aesthetic dream still filled with bountiful worth.

so even if the story—sometimes as cluttered as the castle itself is at the film's introduction—very loosely moves through narrative arcs on interpersonal conflicts, war, immaterial love, self-destructive habits, and the magic of being human, it is still candidly strung together. Howl is the studio's most indulgent rendition of all of it, of all they can offer.

its base story of hatter turned (in)voluntary outcast, flipped into fitting in among unknown eccentrics and plot threads, yet flipped again into dedication and genuine care through earnest fate... it's all so much, exactly as any complex story with fuzzy minutiae should be. the foremost arc of Sophie as lead navigator is truly immense, amazing simply for her role being as intricately incalculable as the matters she's up to her knees in. her relatable shifts in perception and actions, along with persistence in deep concern for others makes her this confounding but well-incorporated focal point to an often overlapping story.

and while each side character inhabits the space well around them too—particularly the Turniphead as hanger-on and Calcifer's connective ties—the castle and its creator Howl, a shapeshifting enchanter and parallel to Sophie's odyssey, serves as the real interplay necessary to make this fascinatingly complex. their interplay is minimal, yet after every turn knocked loose from the world around them, they are wildly twisted together, even as the physical form of the castle crumbles.

the symbolism that castle had is slight; multiple entrances as mask-switching is simple but sincere, yet its demise as letting go, in freeing oneself however (in)voluntarily to keep from collapsing in on yourself—in the midst of what can feel like unbearable upheaval—is unforgettable. Sophie's role in that, being herself as interconnected muse from Howl's line of sight, while still dealing with countless doubts and existential concerns of her own, is executed beautifully. it never leans too much on her as a sole savior, or as a perfect solution to a broken person's self-destructive traumas. the story cares as deeply for both of them, as it despises the political maneuvers of destruction they inhabit.

because of that, this film is nothing without their linkage, and how many meanings it paints with imagery for their development both alongside each other and apart. all those around them are benefits, even as they're mostly flat; that lack is both a drag on those lives being less visible, and a plus to highlight the two stars at the film's center. and it truly is not the best prescribed anti-war film, with its ending arc so suddenly clean for how meaningfully complex the rest had been—even if the sentiment in that end is felt well.

it is just so pleasantly murky, an atmospheric thrill with just enough needed pause and wandering to warrant its canonization. the pacing is imperfect, its faults evident, but the spellbinding art direction, liveliness, and subtler themes creeping through are brilliantly executed. the messiness doesn't often distract from the threads tied by dazzling leads, instead adding to how Sophie and Howl's footings are so uncertain for the film's majority. it is an intense, emotionally draining feature, in an impressive balance of bittersweet and manic hope.