French poet and philosopher Paul Valéry’s 1920 poem “Le Cimetière marin” (Eng.: The Graveyard of the Sea”) is a rumination of its writer’s life, the ambitions he couldn’t live up to, and the existential crisis that has plagued him through the years. The poem ends with a sense of acceptance and love for the cyclical nature of life itself. It isn’t surprising, then, that the title of Hayao Miyazaki‘s (“Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi;” Eng. Title: “Spirited Away,” 2001) apparent swan song “Kaze Tachinu” (Eng. Title: “The Wind Rises”) is a nod to the first of Valéry’s last three stanzas, considering how closely the film aligns with it overall, both emotionally and philosophically.

The text itself makes its inspirations crystal clear. The following words by Valéry open the film in the form of a quote: “Le vent se lève!… Il faut tenter de vivre!” (Eng.: “The wind is rising!… We must try to live!”). One could argue Miyazaki’s real inspiration was Japanese writer Tatsuo Hori’s novel, which shares the same name as—and loosely borrows a single plot thread for—the film. But what really brings the poetry’s influence on the movie’s narrative is how the words also introduce another primary yet invisible character: the wind. The connections aren’t just superficial; “The Wind Rises” feels almost in love with the poet’s existentialism and how it echoes the journey of real-life aircraft designer Jiro Horikoshi, his dreams, disillusionment, and the inevitable road to acceptance.

Here’s the catch: “The Wind Rises” is not a biopic; it’s a heavily fictionalized retelling of Horikoshi’s coming-of-age and adult life. Packed with cinematic surrealism and visual poetry, not unlike the Malickian trademark of whimsical, spiritual, and philosophical introspection, Miyazaki’s latest isn’t your everyday inspirational true story—it’s a journey of the internal conflict between ambition and consequence. It also feels like a spiritual successor to Isao Takahata’s animated drama “Hotaru no Haka” (Eng.: “Grave of the Fireflies,” 1988) in its pointed denunciation of war, except here, Miyazaki puts us in the mind of someone having an internal dilemma over his creations used for war instead of freedom and human advancement.

The jaw-dropping animation only enhances the immersion and—combined with the sound design—allows viewers to deeply feel what Jiro feels. Dream sequences in which he ends up having recurrent conversations with his idol—here, an exaggerated fictionalized persona of the real-life Italian aeronautical engineer and aircraft designer Giovanni Batista Caproni—and the fleeting moments he gets to share with his love interest Nahoko across the decades that pass by within the narrative are among the most memorable moments in “The Wind Rises.” Ghibli regular Joe Hisaishi’s honey-dipped soundtrack only adds a gorgeous texture to an already rich technical and storytelling marvel.

Filmmaker and actor Hideaki Anno (“Cutie Honey,” 2004), who voices Jiro’s adult self, invokes a sense of quiet, contemplative calm in his performance—which hits harder the more melancholic he gets towards its final act. His vocal chemistry with Miori Takimoto as Nahoko (“Higanjima: Escape from Vampire Island,” 2009) is splendid, especially considering the wide range she can reach even in the film’s more restrained moments. Their work forms the emotional cornerstone of “The Wind Rises,” and while there are a host of equally talented voice actors—including the wildly theatrical Nomura Mansai, who’s a hoot and a half as Caproni—holding their own, Anno and Takimoto are its heart.

Performances can only serve to be a portion of the broader picture, and “The Wind Rises” is fortunately the perfect sum of each of its specific, lovingly crafted aspects. Made with love and held up by a fantastic narrative—if languorously paced and demanding of your patience—Miyazaki’s Swan Song is an impressive cinematic achievement and a poignant insight into the eternal internal struggle between an artist’s ambitious creations and their possible impact on the world. Highly recommended.