When you love Netflix, as much as we do, it can be a real nuisance when you arrive at work having forgotten to post your viewed Netflix DVD envelopes. You curse your eyes for missing the mail box and hope you remember the envelopes on your way home… but then you forget… again… and the cycle continues.

A vicious cycle.

As brand strategists and developers of environmental design, we thought we might offer Netflix a two pronged reminder and advertising strategy.

1. Remind - The messages on the mail box remind members of the movie they just watched, and inspire possible future rentals a-la when was the last time I watched Casablanca?. The Netflix logo and trade mark red provide another visual cue, reminding them to mail their DVD, reinforcing the “Drop Box” metaphor of traditional video rental establishments.
2. Advertise - Persons who do not yet subscribe to Netflix are reminded of films through reference to different famous film lines. The humorous messages kindle the passerby’s interest in Netflix.

Other famous movie lines Netflix ads might employ:

• Now go away before I taunt you a second time.
• May the force be with you.
• Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!
• I could have been a contender.
• It was Beauty killed the Beast.
• I’ll be back.
• You talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me?

Are we missing any?

I grew up flying the skies with Kiki on her broom, riding the winds with Totoro, taming the Ohmu with Nausicaa, and floating down mine shafts with Sheeta and Pazu. Avid anime watchers may recognize the names of my childhood companions as the masterful creations of aforementioned Hayao Miyazaki. To my delight, the works of this Japanese titan have come to be appreciated by a wider audience outside his motherland. Not only did this start with the international popularity of his newer works such as Princess Mononoke, and Spirited Away, the latter of which won the 2003 Academy Award for Best Animated Feature, but also with his earlier titles being released as DVDs from Disney.

While waiting in line with a friend some two hours before the showing at MOMA, I was star-struck by the sight of Mr. Miyazaki walking with his entourage, only a few feet away. It’s an altogether surreal experience, being in the presence of someone you’ve held in such high regard for a good part of your adolescent and adult life… I wanted to run up to him and give him a huge HUG — thank him for the magic he created that I’d relished as a child…

This magic, alas, becomes a bit excessive in Howl’s Moving Castle. The film is based on a children’s novel by Diana Wynne Jones. It’s a story about the adventures of young Sophie and her encounters with the dashing wizard Howl who lives in (you guessed it) a moving castle. As is characteristic of other Miyazaki films, Howl’s is rendered beautifully — a little lavishly in this case, with dazzling vistas and flashy magic tricks galore. The delivery of the plot feels different from Miyazaki’s usual style, in that the relationships between the main characters and their context seem less fulfilled, even inconsequential at times. The characters seem oddly disconnected from each other and from the events that take place around them, making them a little elusive. I found myself getting impatient when I realized that Howl’s was little more than a self contained love story. (Not that there’s anything wrong with these. I’ve just grown to expect meaningful and more universal/spiritual messages in Miyazaki films.) The pacing was such that 3/4 into the movie, I started wondering when it would be over (which I have NEVER done in any Miyazaki films I’d seen to date), and was taken aback by how the plot resolved itself so abruptly at the very end. (Qualities that seem incongruent with the original novel.)

Although this optical feast had its delightful moments (Billy Crystal’s voice gives life to Calcifer the fire demon and provides a sensible amount of comic relief), in the end it seemed too pretty, too sweet, and too simple to live up to the title of a Miyazaki film. I found myself yearning for the less glitzy splendor of his earlier works; where I didn’t see as much frill but more substance; where the cinematography, score, and script complemented (not competed with) each other; where the characters’ joys and tribulations felt so real that they became my own. Still, I must admit I’d rather have some Miyazaki than none, and hope his decision to retire (which he announced back when he completed Princess Mononoke) stays unfulfilled.