“Howl’s Moving Castle,” a 2004 Hayao Miyazaki film, is 119 minutes of pure visual ecstasy. After watching it for the first time, I sat in front of the blank TV screen for a couple minutes, thinking I had just woken up from a dream.

If nothing else, that’s what this film is — a dreamlike romance staked by war and fantasy. Loosely based on Diana Wynne Jones’ 1986 novel, the film tells the story of humble hatmaker Sophie, who is cursed by a witch and joins Howl, a handsome and elusive wizard, in his magical walking castle in hopes of reversing the curse.

All this is set against the backdrop of a war between Sophie’s homeland and a neighboring country. Several magical creatures join Sophie and Howl, including a sentient scarecrow and a fire demon who keeps Howl’s castle running. The film focuses more on the romance between Sophie and Howl than it does the war, unlike its source material, but this choice (in my opinion) fits better with the pastel imagery and innocent, bright-eyed animation style Studio Ghibli is known for.

“Howl’s Moving Castle” follows a “man vs. self” conflict structure, in which the titular character must overcome his fears. Considering the fact that there is both a war going on and a wicked witch casting spells on young women, the choice to make the main antagonist Howl’s own insecurities is a bold one, and it is executed beautifully. What seems evil at first doesn’t seem evil by the end credits. All the character evolutions are seamless, and all events have easily traceable causes.

Furthermore, the soundtrack is one of the most ethereal movie scores ever created. The composer, Joe Hisaishi, has created multiple soundtracks for Studio Ghibli’s other works, but his work for “Howl’s Moving Castle” might be his magnum opus. From whimsical to pensive, joyful to horrifying, Hisaishi reprises the main theme in different ways throughout the film to match the mood of the scene while reminding audiences of what threads the whole story together: love.

I’m a sucker for romance, and Sophie and Howl’s is one for the ages — a love that defies time, war and aging spells. The film includes multiple changes in scenery, each more fantastical than the last, and beautiful character design. Truly, the stage makes the story. Beyond the mise-en-scene, the characters are lovable and complex in different ways, each with an agenda that complements and conflicts with other characters’ to create a fast-paced narrative. My love for “Howl’s Moving Castle” is like Sophie’s love for Howl — magical and timeless.

Hayao Miyazaki’s 1997 film “Princess Mononoke,” with its stunning imagery — par for the course of Miyazaki’s entire filmography — is, in my opinion, one of the best animated movies to ever come out of Studio Ghibli. What makes “Princess Mononoke” special, however, aren’t solely its luscious screencaps and painstaking worldbuilding, but its ambitious mission to cover a variety of societal issues while maintaining a childlike and whimsical visual tone.

The film follows Ashitaka, a young prince cursed by a demon, who embarks on a journey to heal the natural world and free himself from the curse. On his way, he encounters a highly industrialized village, Iron Town, where he meets Lady Eboshi and her workers — women she rescued from brothels and men suffering from leprosy.

Audiences are initially signaled that Lady Eboshi is the antagonist of the film, and when watching “Princess Mononoke” from an environmental lens, she definitely seems to be — after all, she cuts down forests to mine for iron, and the Shinto undertones of the film say that’s a big no-no. In the Shinto religion — Japan’s native belief system — gods called “kami” inhabit all things, such as mountains, forests and animals. Shinto emphasizes harmony between the kami of the natural world and humanity — the main conflict in “Princess Mononoke.”

While Lady Eboshi seems to be disrupting that harmony, she is not the villain. In fact, there is no villain. Lady Eboshi’s kindness to her workers saved their lives, but her village’s iron exports rely on the destruction of nature. There is humanity and there is nature, and while they are in conflict with each other for most of the film, the two are undeniably intertwined — as shown by Princess Mononoke herself, a human girl raised by wolves whom Ashitaka meets on his journey.

My only qualm with this film is that on the first watch, Ashitaka seems like a bland protagonist. The curse placed upon him is supposed to eventually kill him, but he seems mostly apathetic and resigned to it. His lack of loyalty to either nature or humanity comes across as flaky or morally weak, whereas Princess Mononoke’s ferocity makes her a much more apt choice for a protagonist.

However, I eventually realized that the film is not about picking sides. Ashitaka is not, in fact, indifferent to death and destruction. Rather, he knows that there is no life without death, and that all things must exist in harmony and balance.