The history of animation that I’ve written about in these introductions can be more accurately described as the history of American animation. Which, sure, is humongous and revolutionary, but sticking to the States leaves out the first full-length animated film (1917′s El Apóstol, courtesy of Argentina) and the oldest surviving animated film (1926′s The Adventures of Prince Achmed, courtesy of Germany), as well as all the European predecessors to modern cartoons like the phenakistiscope or the zoetrope. But even that expansion limits us to the West, and although night has fallen on Over the Garden Wall, it’s time to look to the rising sun.

World War I shaped every aspect of global politics in the 20th century, and Japan was no exception. The Imperial Navy, already battle-tested in the Russo-Japanese War, developed into an unmatched force in the East whose influence lingered well after the Great War’s conclusion in 1918. A small part of that legacy was shaped by a boy born during the war, around the same time Max Fleischer developed his rotoscope. This boy, Katsuji, was fascinated with flight from a young age, and in another era, this might have led to a wonderful career in nonviolent aviation. Instead, the company Katsuji created in adulthood manufactured parts for the Zero warplane, which infamously attacked Pearl Harbor and launched the United States into World War II.

But this isn’t the story of how war turned a beautiful dream of flight into something twisted. It’s about how peace allowed a beautiful dream of flight to flourish into one of the greatest legacies in the history of animation. Because while 1941 might have ended with Katsuji Miyazaki’s creation leaving devastation in its wake, the year began with the birth of his second son.

Hayao Miyazaki was an artist from a young age, excelling early with detailed depictions of fantastical air machines but needing practice when it came to drawing people (spoiler alert, the practice paid off). He worked for cartoon giant Toei Animation out of college, where he met his lifelong partner in animation, Isao Takahata, and his lifelong partner in marriage, Akemi Ōta. He left Toei in 1971, but continued working with Takahata for a variety of studios, one of which allowed him to direct his first movie: The Castle of Cagliostro, a Lupin III movie that to this day proves that Miyazaki never needed the original characters or outstanding animation quality with which he’d become synonymous to produce an outstanding film. You don’t need to know a single thing about Lupin III to appreciate The Castle of Cagliostro, which I know because I didn’t know a single thing about Lupin III when I had my mind blown by The Castle of Cagliostro.

Still, Miyazaki had ideas of his own, one of which he developed into a monthly manga about a warrior princess with heavy environmentalist themes. In 1984, he worked with Takahata (alongside a composer Takahata found named Mamoru Fujisawa, better known by his stage name Joe Hisaishi) to adapt this comic, Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, into a feature film. Something was clearly clicking, because the animators launched their own company with Hisaishi as an iconic collaborator: Studio Ghibli, named after a term for a hot desert wind that happened to also be the name of a WWII-era warplane.

The wind rose, and Studio Ghibli’s output soon became the stuff of legend: Miyazaki in particular has yet to make a film that isn’t spectacular. My personal favorite is Castle in the Sky, followed closely by that other movie about a warrior princess with heavy environmental themes, Princess Mononoke. But when it comes to influences on Over the Garden Wall, and particularly The Ringing of the Bell, it’s hard to see the story of characters lost in a strange world full of deception, with big-headed witches and hyper-specific rules for dealing with evil spirits, without thinking about the first Miyazaki movie I ever saw, back when I was young enough to be a little annoyed that I had to read subtitles: 2001′s instant classic, the startlingly magnificent Spirited Away.

“I’m glad you have a plan.”



As befits a Miyazaki Episode, breathtaking opening shots of nature ease us into The Ringing of the Bell, aided by a quiet piano to set a mood that’s somber, but not miserable. It might be a little generic for rain to accompany sadness, but despite our circumstances this isn’t Sad Rain: it’s a sign that life goes on, and the wandering continues through impediments great and small.

Wirt and Greg are back on the road, but now their roles from Schooltown Follies are reversed: this time Greg’s asking Wirt about his plan, and Wirt’s the one revealing he doesn’t have one. Sure, he doesn’t reveal it to Greg until the end of the episode, but it’s clear to us that he doesn’t know what to do. His irritation with Greg starts to swell up, but recedes for the moment as the Woodsman finally returns to straight-up tell us how the series is going to end.

The power of hope becomes the central topic of Over the Garden Wall in its second half, and despite his raving delivery, the Woodsman concretely warns the boys that losing hope is how the Beast can claim them. Unfortunately he’s still a terrible communicator, and the lingering idea that he might be the Beast is still in our heroes’ heads, so Wirt kicks himself loose and they escape, setting off the cleverest trick in The Ringing of the Bell: after gradually growing over the course of the series, Wirt is finally competent.



Everything goes as about as well as it can in this episode. Wirt’s idea to stay in the cabin leads to him lifting a curse from a new friend. His plan to escape Auntie Whispers by helping out with chores is solid, given the information available, and while Greg and Jason Funderburker are instrumental to the greater victory over the spirit—Jason by gulping down the hypnotic bell and Greg by figuring out how to use it—Wirt’s the only one smart enough to apply this strategy to its fullest. It’s a shame Greg’s never gonna see that magical tiger, but Lorna is freed thanks to Wirt’s superior command, and the fact that it’s a command is especially relevant because the bulk of Wirt’s heroic actions to this point have been commands he’s followed rather than given. As Greg says, Wirt saves the day twice. And if we count the day before, when his bassooning kept them on the ferry and he cut himself and Greg loose from Adelaide’s thread, that’s four heroic acts in the last 48 hours.

Moreover, this is the second consecutive episode where Wirt sings a duet, providing another glimpse of hope in his life as he does chores with Lorna. Considering we precede The Ringing of the Bell with two episodes where his feelings for Sara are brought up, I appreciate the realism of this new crush: it seems mutual, but both of these kids are awkward and nothing comes of it. It isn’t treated like a huge deal, because crushes flit up and diminish all the time in your teens, and we just move on after a pleasant but fleeting connection is made. By all accounts, Wirt has a pretty good day here.

But that’s the thing about depression, whether clinical or situational: it diminishes your sense of accomplishment and amplifies the bad. It’s brilliant that this episode makes Wirt the hero, because if even this can’t stop him from losing hope, perhaps nothing will. Hitting him with obstacle after obstacle might wear him down, but the bigger story only works if he’s his own obstacle. Auntie Whispers inadvertently taints his victory by warning him about Adelaide an episode too late, bringing him right back to Beatrice’s lies. He connects with Lorna, but their meeting is brief, leaving him on the road once more. In a healthier headspace he’d be able to find strength in his positive developments, but instead we set the stage for Babes in the Wood, where he truly gives up.

Speaking of Babes in the Wood, Greg solidifies himself here as a force for hope, believing with gusto that Wirt has a plan and encouraging him even after learning that he doesn’t. Greg has already forgiven Beatrice to the point where he takes as a given that they should wait for her, and when Wirt totally ignores his aside about how they shouldn’t enter the old cabin, he’s still game to follow along. And as mentioned, he’s key to the victory Wirt accomplishes: this is the third episode in a row where Greg has an idea to help folks out that Wirt ends up achieving, and their partnership only makes Wirt’s increasing annoyance harder to watch.

As is standard, Greg is also hilarious, particularly when it comes to his reaction to the eerie black turtles that caused their very first conflict with Beatrice’s dog (although “You can run and you can hide!” is perhaps his most delightful line). He pulls off the episode’s most difficult maneuver by finding humor in the act of plainly explaining a joke; Lorna being bad and Auntie Whispers being good is funny in the same way seeing the black turtles is funny, but in both cases, Greg goes for the more traditional meaning of “funny” and it works.

There’s plenty of humor in this episode to go around, though. Wirt gets some laughs of his own, and as humorous as Greg is, the delivery of the night belongs to Elijah Wood’s flabbergasted reaction to Lorna casually noting that Auntie Whispers isn’t a blood relative. But despite the comedy and the melancholy that follows, more than anything else this is a horror episode.

There are perhaps scarier elements of the series than Auntie Whispers even in this episode: Lorna’s horrific cursed form is certainly frightening. But I’d bet real money that if this had come out when I was a kid, Auntie Whispers would fuel the majority of my Over the Garden Wall-related nightmares. Visually, her inhuman proportions, jagged black teeth, and distorted pie-eyed pupils are bad enough; Patrick McHale based her appearance off an owl-like old man in a 19th century illustration, but there’s a distinct Yubaba/Zeniba feel to her in the same way Lorna’s evil spirit reminds me of No Face at his hungriest. Still, it’s Tim Curry, following John Cleese’s role as an established British ham voicing an old magical woman, that makes Auntie Whispers truly frightening. (Although, yeah, the name also helps, what an excellent campfire story witch name.)

Cleese goes full Cleese for Endicott and Adelaide, but Curry’s performance is chillingly subdued, and that tone is critical to the horror: an over-the-top delivery has its time in place, but it’s so much scarier to hear her matter-of-factly establish that unwelcome guests will be devoured alive. This attitude stems from having genuinely good intentions and speaking to Lorna’s actions instead of her own, but that calmness is just plain terrifying when we think of her as the devourer (an image that isn’t helped when she devours a turtle alive). The accompanying piano only enhances her uncannily serene approach to sorting the bones of past victims and forcing Lorna to clean the house. It’s honestly effective enough that it still makes me uncomfortable on rewatch, when her true motives are known.

And of course, the Beast returns, solidifying our fourth-to-last episode as a mirror to our fourth, Songs of the Dark Lantern (both feature the Woodsman conversing with the Beast, both feature Wirt singing a song and saving a friend, both feature Beatrice getting left out, and both occur during rainfall). This time we see the Beast during the day, despite him being a creature lurking in shadow: not even the sun can protect us from his influence, which fits perfectly with Wirt’s bright accomplishments not helping his growing despair.

The Beast remains a menacing figure, but we again see him as a manipulator instead of a one-dimensional looming threat. He reminds us for the second time that the Woodsman’s daughter’s life is on the line, but this time does so with a cruel hypothetical question that falsely associates a lack of willingness to help capture two innocent kids with a lack of care for another child’s soul. The Woodsman, to his credit, doesn’t seem to buy it, but still sees no other alternative as the Beast tells another lie: that the only possible path is surrender.

It’s strange to think that we’re already wrapping up after just seven episodes of this miniseries. But as we build to the final confrontation with the Beast, we get a couple of lasts: this is is the last episode featuring a traditional encounter-of-the-day where the boys meet new characters together, and the last episode that ends with Wirt and Greg wandering the woods together. Because if we’re really aiming for despair, we have to go for the things we take as a given: namely, that these brothers are going to stick together.

Where have we come, and where shall we end?