Latest news with #'sMovingCastle
NZ Herald
20-07-2025
- General
- NZ Herald
One man and his tower that's a monument to Chen Tianming's determination to live where and how he wants
He climbed lightly up the ladders, past the fifth-floor reading nook and the sixth-floor open-air tearoom. From the ninth floor, he surveyed the sturdy, standardised apartment buildings in the distance where his neighbours live. 'They say the house is shabby, that it could be blown down by wind at any time,' he said — an observation that did not seem altogether far-fetched when I visited him last month. 'But the advantage is that it's conspicuous, a bit eye-catching. People admire it,' he added. 'Other people spend millions, and no one goes to look at their houses.' Chen's house is so unusual that it has lured gawkers and even tourists to his rural corner of Guizhou province, in southwestern China. It evokes a Dr Seuss drawing, or the Burrow in Harry Potter. Many people on Chinese social media have compared it to Howl's Moving Castle. Chen Tianming's house after dark, in Xingyi, China. Photo / Andrea Verdelli, the New York Times To the casual observer, the house may be a mere spectacle, a Frankensteinian oddity. To Chen, it is a monument to his determination to live where — and how — he wants, in defiance of the local government, gossiping neighbours and seemingly even common sense. He began modifying his family home in 2018, when the authorities in the city of Xingyi ordered his village demolished to make way for a resort they planned to build. Chen's parents, farmers who had built the house in the 1980s, thought that the money that officials were offering as compensation for the move was too low and refused to leave. When bulldozers began razing their pomegranate trees anyway, Chen rushed home from Hangzhou, the eastern city where he had been working as a package courier. Along with his brother, Chen Tianliang, he started adding a third floor. At first, the motivation was in part practical: Compensation payment was determined by square footage, and if the house had more floors, they would be entitled to more money. They visited a second-hand building materials market and bought old utility poles and red composite boards — cheaper than the black ones — and hammered, screwed and notched them together into floorboards, walls and supporting columns. Then, Chen, who had long had an amateur interest in architecture, wondered what it would be like to add a fourth floor. His brother and parents thought there was no need, so Chen did it alone. Then, he wondered about a fifth. And a sixth. Chen Tianming looks at his phone in an upper floor bedroom of his house in Xingyi, China. Photo / Andrea Verdelli, the New York Times 'I just suddenly wanted to challenge myself,' he said. 'And every time I completed my own small task or dream, it felt meaningful.' He was also fuelled by resentment towards the Government, which kept serving him with demolition orders and sending officials to pressure his family. By that point, their house was virtually the only one left in the vicinity; his neighbours had all moved into the new apartment buildings about 5km away. (Local officials have maintained to Chinese media that the building is illegal.) Mass expropriations of land, at times by force, have been a widespread phenomenon in China for decades amid the country's modernisation push. The homes of those who do manage to hold out are sometimes called 'nail houses', for how they protrude like nails after the area around them has been cleared. Still, few stick out quite like Chen's. A former mathematics major who dropped out of university because he felt that higher education was pointless, Chen spent years bouncing between cities, working as a calligraphy salesperson, insurance agent, and courier. But he yearned for a more pastoral lifestyle, he said. When he returned to the village in 2018 to help his parents fend off the developers, he decided to stay. 'I don't want my home to become a city. I feel like a guardian of the village,' he said, over noodles with homegrown vegetables that his mother had stir-fried on their traditional brick stove. Distant high-rise residences and colourful lights hanging from one of the floors of Chen Tianming's house, at dusk. Photo / Andrea Verdelli, the New York Times In recent years, the threat of demolition has become less immediate. Chen filed a lawsuit against the local government and the developers, which is still pending. In any case, the proposed resort project stalled after the local government ran out of money. (Guizhou, one of China's poorest and most indebted provinces, is littered with extravagant, unfinished tourism projects.) But Chen has continued building. The house is now a constantly evolving display of his interests and hobbies. On the first floor, Chen hung calligraphy from artists he befriended in Hangzhou. On the fifth, he keeps a pile of faded books, mostly about history, philosophy and psychology. The sixth floor has potted plants and a plank of wood suspended from the ceiling with ropes, like a swing, to hold a mortar and pestle and a teakettle. On the eighth, a gift from an art student who once visited him: a lamp, with the shade made of tiny photographs of his house from different angles. With each floor that he added, he moved his bedroom up, too: 'That's what makes it fun'. His parents and brother sleep on the ground floor and rarely make the vertiginous ascent. Each morning, he inspects the house from top to bottom. To reinforce the fourth and fifth floors, he hauled wooden columns up through the windows with pulleys. He added the buckets of water throughout the house after a storm blew out a fifth-floor wall. Eventually, he tore down most of the walls on the lower floors, so that wind could pass straight through the structure. 'There's a law of increasing entropy,' Chen said. 'This house, if I didn't care for it, would naturally collapse in two years at most.' He added: 'But as long as I'm still standing, it will be too'. Maintenance costs more time than money, he said. He estimated that he had spent a little more than US$20,000 ($33,500) on building materials. He has also spent about US$4000 on lawyers. His family has been, if not enthusiastic about, at least resigned to Chen's whims. His parents are accustomed to curious visitors, at least a few every weekend. His brother came up with the idea of illuminating the house at night with lanterns. Chen Tianming's mother watches TV on the first floor of their house in Xingyi, China. Photo / Andrea Verdelli, the New York Times They have all united against their fellow villagers, who they say accuse them of being nuisances, or greedy. 'Now we just don't go over there,' said Tianliang, Chen's brother. 'There's no need to listen to what they say about us.' In town, some residents said exactly what the Chens predicted they would: that the house would collapse any day; that they were troublemakers. (The local government erected a sign near the house warning of safety hazards.) But others expressed admiration for Chen's creativity. Zhu Zhiyuan, an employee at a local supermarket, said he had been drawn in when passing by on his scooter and had ventured closer for a better look. Still, he had not dared get too close. 'There are people who say it's illegal,' he said. Then he added: 'But if they tore it down, that would be a bit of a shame'. This article originally appeared in The New York Times. Written by: Vivian Wang Photographs by: Andrea Verdelli ©2025 THE NEW YORK TIMES
The Sun
30-04-2025
- Entertainment
- The Sun
Flying castles, powerful themes
FOR many, Howl's Moving Castle might feel like a nostalgic comfort rewatch that wraps itself around the soul like a warm patchwork quilt. But for someone encountering it for the very first time, it can feel a bit like stumbling into a fantasy fairground with zero warning. Within minutes, flying castles, cursed hats, sparkly heart-thieving fire demons and bird-people appear and that is just scratching the surface. Despite the swirling whirlwind of characters, magic and metaphors, this is the kind of film that just works. It leaves newcomers enchanted and longtime fans reassured that yes, Hayao Miyazaki is still unmatched in crafting magical mayhem that makes emotional sense, even if the plot occasionally does not. Plot wanders, but so does the castle Narrative structure in Howl's Moving Castle is less of a straight line and more of a magical staircase that may or may not lead to a door on a chicken leg. The film often swerves into strange territory with little explanation, but these detours feel more intentional than incoherent, like a creative choice, not a mistake. At times, characters make baffling decisions, entire subplots wander off and never return and motivations appear as if summoned by a spell. And yet, everything is soaked in so much heart and beauty that none of it really matters. The confusion becomes part of the charm. In a world where castles walk and love can literally break curses, strict logic was never really the order of the day. Visuals worthy of a thousand screencaps Rewatch or not, the animation is what truly justifies this rerun. The titular castle, an impossibly elaborate pile of metal, pipes, smoke, legs and magic, is one of animated film history's most iconic set pieces. Every frame of this movie looks like it belongs in an art museum and the richly painted backdrops are as detailed and whimsical as a fever dream rendered in watercolour. The skies glow with sunset hues, battle scenes burn with surreal intensity and cosy kitchens radiate a sense of lived-in warmth. It is a rare feat: a film that dazzles on the big screen almost two decades after its release and still makes modern CGI look like it is trying a little too hard. Themes that are feather-like, then hit like a bomb Beneath the magic, there is muscle. Howl's Moving Castle weaves in themes of war, ageing, identity and compassion, all without ever breaking its whimsical tone. Miyazaki's anti-war sentiment is not shouted so much as threaded through the visuals, with imagery that evokes real-world destruction paired against moments of serenity and softness. The result is subtle but stirring. It is easy to enjoy the film as a whimsical fantasy, but those who choose to look deeper will find layers of political commentary and philosophical questions about choice, cowardice and change. There is a pointed critique of militarism and power structures, wrapped in enchanted rings and animated scarecrows. It is a magic trick of storytelling, making something profound feel digestible, even delightful. Not your typical fairy tale leads At its heart, this is a story of transformation: Not just physical, but emotional. The leads are refreshingly unconventional: a young woman who finds agency only after being cursed with old age and a wizard whose confidence is mostly hair-deep. Their dynamic is equal parts awkward, heartfelt and unexpectedly tender. And while romance does play a part, it never overshadows the film's larger journey of self-discovery. In true Miyazaki fashion, there is no singular villain or clear moral binary. Characters grow, falter and learn and even those who seem antagonistic are eventually revealed to be more than their curses or titles. Glorious rerun worth a fresh ticket While this rerun might draw crowds of devoted Ghibli veterans, it is a gift to first-timers. Despite its age, Howl's Moving Castle feels timeless, visually spectacular, emotionally resonant and gloriously weird. It is the kind of movie that can feel like a mess on paper but somehow sings in motion. Miyazaki's style may not appeal to those who prefer tight, plot-driven stories with clean resolutions. But for those willing to float through its dreamlike logic, the reward is rich in artistry, empathy and imagination. Whether it is the viewer's first time or their fifteenth, this return to cinemas is a reminder: Studio Ghibli does not just make movies, they make worlds. Howl's Moving Castle is not a film that answers all its questions. In fact, it might leave audiences with more questions than they started with. But that is part of the magic. It invites curiosity, awe and perhaps a little bit of head-scratching and it does so with hand-drawn grace and emotional intelligence. It is a rerun worth watching, not just for nostalgia, but because it still has something new to say or at the very least, something beautiful to show. DIRECTOR: Hayao Miyazaki CAST: Takuya Kimura, Chieko Baisho, Tatsuya Gashuin, Ryunosuke Kamiki, Akihiro Miwa E-VALUE: 8/10 PLOT: 8/10 ACTING: 9/10
