We’re finally bringing back Princess Mononoke in IMAX

Luca Fontana

27.1.2026

Translation: Katherine Martin

On 6 February, Princess Mononoke is coming to German-speaking Switzerland for the first time ever. Remastered for IMAX, the film’s set to hit the big screen in the crisp, hard-hitting way it deserves. With this in mind, it feels like the perfect opportunity to examine a cinematic work that has no easy answers.

When you first watch Princess Mononoke, you think you can easily slot it into one category. It initially feels like a nature film. Then maybe a fairytale with an environmental twist. Forest versus industry, deities versus weapons, tradition versus progress. One of those stories where it eventually becomes clear who the good guys are.

The film, however, defies this very expectation from the outset. And oh, what a job it does of it.

Following a successful screening in Geneva last year, Princess Mononoke will finally hit theatres in German-speaking Switzerland on 6 February. Not only that, but it’ll be screened for the first time in 4K IMAX, in the original language, with German subtitles.

This exclusive preview has been made possible thanks to a collaboration between Digitec Galaxus, The Ones We Love, Frenetic Film and Pathé Switzerland. Here, you can get tickets for screenings in:

• Spreitenbach
• Westside in Bern
• Mall of Switzerland in Ebikon

The previews will be held on 6, 7 and 8 February. There’s bound to be an additional screening with German dubbing, but we don’t yet know when.

Now, I didn’t just write this article as a pre-sale reminder. It’s also a love letter – and a closer examination of one of Hayao Miyazaki’s great films. What’s more, it’s part of a series of IMAX screenings we’re planning to use to spotlight cinematic classics in the future. If you want to stay up to date on the series, you can follow my author profile at the bottom of the page.

Okay, I’m through with the announcements. So, sit back, stick on some of Joe Hisaishi’s unforgettable music in the background and accept my invitation to delve into this piece.

Caution: spoilers ahead.

The curse we pass on

Curses. Magic. Forces that come from within, not outside of ourselves. Ever since humans started telling stories, they’ve been telling stories about things that endure. Things that don’t disappear just because you’ve looked away. Anger that simmers for too long. Fear that solidifies. Wounds that, instead of healing, continue to impact us – quietly, tenaciously and relentlessly.

In Japanese mythology, these stories aren’t merely fantasy. They’re images. Attempts to render the invisible as tangible. Take hate, for example. Hate isn’t a just a quick emotional flare-up – it’s a feeling that comes and goes. A condition similar to a toxic force that burrows its way in, grows, poisons relationships, deforms landscapes and eventually destroys entire worlds.

The longer hatred is allowed to endure, the stronger it becomes. And the harder it is to ever get rid of it.

Hatred. Is that what Princess Mononoke’s all about? After all, this is exactly where the story begins. In a mythical Japan, on the threshold between nature-oriented society and the beginning of industrialisation. A world characterised by Shinto – the «way of the gods» – a philosophy stating that mountains, forests and animals are inhabited by so-called kami (linked page in German). These are divine spirit beings that live with the world, suffer and can be hurt.

At the centre, however, is Ashitaka, a young prince who’s forced to leave his village after killing a demon and being cursed in the process. After the incident, his arm’s filled with a power that gives him superhuman strength. But that same power’s slowly eating him away from the inside. A sign the hatred that spawned the demon won’t simply disappear if it’s defeated by brute force alone.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

In his search for the source of this hatred, Ashitaka finds himself in a conflict that defies any simple interpretation.

On the one hand, there’s the forest, populated by kami in the form of wolves, wild boars and the enigmatic forest spirit, fighting for their survival. On the other, there are the people of Iron Town, led by Lady Eboshi. They’re clearing the forest to extract iron so that they can protect a community that’d otherwise have no place in the world. In between stands San, the so-called wolf girl, caught between worlds, full of rage, full of pain – and ready to die for the forest.

Ashitaka isn’t on any of these sides. He’s fighting neither for the forest against the people, nor for the people against the forest. His own goal is different – and almost presumptuously simple: to find out whether there’s a way for everyone to go on living without destroying each other.

Responsibility, not salvation

Ashitaka isn’t the kind of hero we’re familiar with from classic adventure stories. There’s nothing he wants to conquer, prove or set right. He doesn’t have an inner flaw to overcome in order to defeat evil in the end. And the thing that drives him isn’t ambition. It’s responsibility. Which is precisely why he almost seems old-fashioned at first.

You see, Ashitaka knows that he’ll probably die. The curse in his arm isn’t a dramaturgical countdown that spurs him on to great deeds. Instead, it’s a permanent reminder of how close violence and loss of control are. Every time he fights, he senses how easy it would be to give in to this power. How seductive it is. How efficient and final.

The decision he’s forced to make again and again isn’t a heroic pose – it’s a commitment not to act out of hatred. Or revenge. Or the need to get back at someone, even if you’ve been wronged before. Ashitaka only intervenes as a last resort, and even then, as little as possible. He knows what would happen if he took things a step too far.

He already carries those consequences within himself.

This is exactly why he’s caught between all fronts. Humans are suspicious of him because he understands the forest. Gods consider him a stranger because he’s a human being. San sees him as a provocation because of his refusal to take sides. But Ashitaka isn’t a mediator with solutions. He’s a mirror. One that reveals how hardened everyone already is – and how terribly wrong everything threatens to go, even if both sides feel that what they’re doing is right.

«To see with eyes unclouded by hate»

The parallels with today’s society, poisoned by conflict and an uncompromising debate culture that refuses to tolerate mutual understanding, are as obvious as they are painful. Ashitaka’s desire for peace is also ridiculed, dismissed and misunderstood. In a world that’s learned that violence works, he seems almost naïve. But this is precisely where Princess Mononoke’s real message lies:

«To see with eyes unclouded by hate.»

To see with eyes unclouded by hate. What might that mean? I pondered that question for a long time. Does it mean not feeling anger? Not suffering? Not drawing boundaries? Hmm. Unlikely. That’d be too simple. And almost impossible. I think it’s more about not making your own pain the yardstick for everything else. Not taking every blow as a free pass to hit back. And not immediately turning every injustice into an identity.

If you ask me, seeing with eyes unclouded by hate also means listening to the person who’s harmed you. Not to agree with them, but to understand why they believe they’re right. To me, it means stopping for breath at the moment when everything’s crying out to toughen up. And it means asking yourself whether your next step will really protect you or only add fuel to the fire.

To see with eyes unclouded by hate means (and I’m pretty sure of this now) not poisoning yourself. Which brings us back to hatred as a toxic state that brings nothing but destruction.

Why this film’s still relevant

Ashitaka recognised all of this long ago. He sees that the forest is dying, but still recognises the humans’ fear. He sees human violence, but recognises the pain of the gods. Seeing the cycle of hate, he decides against sticking to the most convenient truth, instead adhering to the most difficult one: that several truths can exist side by side without one of them having to be extinguished.

With that, Princess Mononoke forces us to endure those inner perspectives. It takes away our comfortable indignation. It refuses to simply label other beliefs, reminding us that clarity comes not from being right, but in choosing not to be guided by hate.

Maybe that’s exactly why Princess Mononoke still resonates so much today. After all, it’d be so lovely if we could all «see with eyes unclouded by hate».

Luca Fontana

Senior Editor

Luca.Fontana@digitecgalaxus.ch

I write about technology as if it were cinema, and about films as if they were real life. Between bits and blockbusters, I’m after stories that move people, not just generate clicks. And yes – sometimes I listen to film scores louder than I probably should.

Follow

---

Movies and series

Follow topics and stay updated on your areas of interest

Follow topic

---

Background information

Interesting facts about products, behind-the-scenes looks at manufacturers and deep-dives on interesting people.

Show all

These articles might also interest you