You’ve probably heard of Studio Ghibli. Everyone knows Spirited Away or the fluffy existentialism of My Neighbor Totoro. But there is a movie from 1968 that basically acted as the Big Bang for everything we love about modern anime. It’s called Horus Prince of the Sun (or The Great Adventure of Horus, Prince of the Sun), and honestly, it’s a miracle the thing even exists.
It wasn't a hit. Not even close. In fact, it was a total box office disaster that stayed in Japanese theaters for exactly ten days before the studio executives, probably smelling smoke from their burnt wallets, pulled the plug. But without this "failure," the landscape of animation would look completely different today.
The Ghibli DNA Before Ghibli Existed
Here is the thing: Horus Prince of the Sun was the first time Isao Takahata and Hayao Miyazaki really teamed up. At the time, they were just young, idealistic punks working at Toei Animation. Takahata was the director—his first feature, actually—and Miyazaki was a key animator and "scene designer."
They weren't just making a cartoon for kids. They were trying to start a revolution.
Back then, Toei wanted to be the "Disney of the East." They wanted cute talking animals and simple "good vs. evil" stories that wouldn't upset anyone. Takahata and Miyazaki had other plans. They spent three years—way past their eight-month deadline—pouring every ounce of sweat and political idealism into this project.
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They were heavily involved in the labor union at Toei, and you can actually see those socialist vibes in the movie. It’s a story about a village coming together to fight a literal demon, sure, but it’s really about collective action and the psychological weight of trauma.
Why the Animation Still Hits Different
If you watch it today, some parts look a bit dated, but others will straight-up floor you. There’s a scene where Horus fights a giant pike in the water. The way the "camera" moves and the weight of the water—it was decades ahead of its time.
What actually happens in the story?
Basically, a boy named Horus pulls the "Sword of the Sun" out of a rock giant named Mogue. His dying father tells him to go find his people. He ends up in a fishing village threatened by a sorcerer named Grunwald.
But then there’s Hilda.
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If you want to know why this movie matters, look at Hilda. She is arguably the first "complex" female character in anime history. She’s not a princess waiting to be saved. She’s a tragic, tormented girl who is literally torn between her loyalty to the villain and her desire to be human. She has a singing voice that is both beautiful and haunting, and she spends half the movie trying to decide if she should sabotage the village or save it.
She paved the way for characters like Lady Eboshi in Princess Mononoke or Nausicaä.
The Production Nightmare (and Why Toei Hated It)
Toei Animation was not happy. The movie went massively over budget, costing around ¥130 million at a time when that was unheard of. The "democratic" production style—where everyone on the crew had a say in the story—was a nightmare for management.
When it finally came out in July 1968, the studio gave it the bare minimum support. It bombed. Hard.
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Takahata was actually demoted after this. He was essentially told he’d never direct a feature film at Toei again. It’s one of those classic "artist vs. the machine" stories. But the movie didn't stay dead. It became a cult classic among university students and young animators who saw it as proof that animation could be art, not just a product to sell toys.
The Ainu Roots and the Scandinavia Swap
One detail most people miss is that the story is actually based on the folklore of the Ainu, the indigenous people of northern Japan. The original script was based on a puppet play called The Sun Above Chikisani.
However, Toei was worried about the controversy of depicting Ainu people directly, so they made the creators change the setting to a sort of vague, Iron Age Scandinavia. That’s why you have a kid named Horus (a Greek/Egyptian name) in a Viking-ish setting fighting an ice demon. It’s a weird cultural mashup, but it works because the emotions are so raw.
How to Appreciate It Today
Watching Horus Prince of the Sun in 2026 feels like looking at the blueprints for a skyscraper. You see the foundations of the "Ghibli style"—the obsession with nature, the nuanced villains, and the idea that a hero is only as strong as their community.
If you’re a die-hard anime fan, you sort of owe it to yourself to see where the medium grew its teeth. It’s currently available through Discotek Media in North America, and it’s been beautifully restored.
Actionable Next Steps for Fans:
- Watch the Hilda scenes specifically: Pay attention to her internal monologue and her interactions with her "animal companions" (who are actually manifestations of her inner conflict).
- Compare the "Pike Fight" to Laputa: Look at how Miyazaki’s early obsession with dynamic movement and scale in this 1968 film mirrors the opening of Castle in the Sky.
- Research Yasuo Otsuka: He was the animation director and the mentor who kept the project from falling apart when the studio tried to shut it down. His book Cels Covered in Sweat (if you can find a translation) is the definitive account of this era.
The movie might have been a commercial failure, but it proved that animation could handle themes of betrayal, social responsibility, and deep psychological pain. It didn't just move the needle; it broke the scale entirely.