The Boy and the Heron (2023): Written and directed by Hayao Miyazaki. Starring: Soma Santoki, Masaki Suda, Aimyon, Yoshino Kimura, Shohei Hino, Ko Shibasaki, and Takuya Kimura. Running Time: 124 minutes.
Rating: 4/4
It would be all too easy to simply list the elements in The Boy and the Heron that mirror parts of other, earler Miyazaki films. Elements abound that will immediately bring careful Miyazaki curators to recall scenes and motifs from Porco Rosso, The Wind Rises, Spirited Away, and Princess Mononoke. There are fluffy and adorable spirit-like creatures, many a bulbous nose, a magical building that seems to hold special properties, a fantasy world adjacent to the "real one" that must be accounted for, and of course a gentle, lilting piano theme by Joe Hisaishi.
But it would be both crass and inaccurate to simply do a surface-level read of the movie as just a rehash of an old man's favorite toys, a placeholder work from someone past his prime and out of ideas. Like Martin Scorsese,- an aging demigod who also treated last year's audiences to something new and boundary-pushing- Miyazaki may be old, and he won't live forever, but he remains one of the absolutely essential artists in the world of cinema.
Elements of Miyazaki's own life and personality have made their way into his films before, most notably in Porco Rosso and The Wind Rises, but he freely admitted that this might be the most "autobiographical" film he's yet made. We start with tragedy, as a young boy named Mahito loses his mother in a terrible fire. It is not clear if this particular fire was the cause of Allied bombing, but this is very much set in World War II, and his father is a wealthy and successful man thanks to his business making parts for fighter planes. As such, he is able to still afford a lifestyle most Japanese can't access anymore, and to protect his son he moves them out into the country. This is in line with Miyazaki's own childhood, where his father's profited from war and his mother passed while he was still a child.
It is immediately apparent that Mahito is deeply traumatized by the death of his mother. There is much in the varied animation of the film to recommend it, but the opening sequences where the world and people shimmer and shift as if in a haze as the fire burns and Mahito tries to rush through the chaos is an instant standout, something that has never been seen in any previous Ghibli film. Images of fire and burning plague him, especially when he sleeps.
As if it wasn't bad enough to be a hurt boy who misses his mother, we learn (more or less along with him) that his aunt, his mother's sister, is to be his father's new bride, and that she is already expecting. Mahito maintains the sort of strict, polite discipline expected of boys in wartime Japan, but there is a distance he projects towards the woman "replacing" his dead mother, a stiffness and coldness in his movements that all too clearly betray the turbulent emotions inside. And this is all established and told masterfully in the film's first half, nearly creating a film on its own, BEFORE the doors to another world are opened and the film kicks into a higher gear.
Ghibli aficianados know that The Boy and the Heron is not a direct translation of the film's original title. The Japanese title, after a book that loosely inspired the film's story, is How Do You Live, a title that is a) far more metal, and b) far less misleading that the alternate European one. One would assume by such a title that said boy and said heron would be more or less co-equal characters, or that their relationship would somehow be central to the plot.
This is not the case. The heron- and while I will not spoil it, there are aspects of this heron that are decidedly not what anyone associates with birds- is very much the starting point for Mahito to be introduced to the alternate dimension/fantasy world where the second half of the movie takes place. Mahito's interactions with the bird are at first antagonistic, but it is soon apparent that this is neither the villain, nor even a primary player in the bigger story that unfolds. After the middle section, the heron is really just another character along for the ride. A strange one, one that helps Mahito adjust to the weird, unknown rules and workings of the quasi-wonderland he enters, but in key moments he doesn't seem to know much more than we do about what's going on.
It is particularly when in the fantasy world that many of the common elements I listed above appear, inevitably drawing comparisons to Miyazaki's other works. But again, this is not a rehash of old, used things. Miyazaki has, as he always somehow manages to do, brought something quite new into existance, the sort of tale that most wouldn't think possible in animated form. It is a story of grief, of trauma, and of the complex ways people seek to grapple with both, be they child or adult. Mahito's aunt/new mother is, at first glance, little more than a plot device to jumpstart the second half- Mahito is not compelled to enter the fantasy world until she disappears and he feels obligated on his father's behalf to find her. However, this view would also be far too shallow, and misses the small, easily-passed-over ways the film shows us how her own pain over the war, losing her sister, and the rejection she feels from her nephew/son-in-law afflict her just as much Mahito's grief affects him.
The original title really is the more appropriate one, by the end. The biggest thematic similarity this has to Miyazaki's other greatest works is a striving to understand how an individual- small, breakable, easily overwhelmed- can find the strength, the courage, the fortitude, to continue even in the face of the greatest pain and adversity. How, indeed, does one live? The answer to this question has, I think, changed at least a little bit for Miyazaki himself over the years, and it will as always been interpreted differently by audiences. But one common thread that has never waivered is that answers and solutions that seem easy, that claim to have a simple answer that wipes away all the dirt and grime and contradiction of humanity, are mere illusions. Being able to live requires, above all else, a willingness to tackle all of what existing entails, both the good and the bad and the in-between. I am reminded of the words of Sheriff Bell in the beginning of No Country For Old Men; "A man has to put his soul at hazard....and say ok. I'll be part of this world."
Word is that Miyazaki is already working on yet another movie. There is no way of knowing how much time he has left, and whether or not this is it as far as the big screen goes. If it is, then this is even more powerful a way to end his body of work than The Wind Rises was, which may for some viewers be a bit too heady and ethereal. The Boy and the Heron is certainly more immediately accessible, and while it may not bowl one over like Princess Mononoke or Spirited Away, the depth and feeling on display is as great and grand as it ever was. Joe Hisaishi, the absolutely essential special sauce to any Miyazaki dish, remains in fine form as well, with a more understated and less dominating work that nonetheless conveys the right power a given scene needs.
This may be it for the Grand Master, or it may not be. Either way, I am immeasurably grateful that, unlike in The Boy and the Heron, we don't have to choose forever between fantasy and reality. When our world is too much- and right now, it is a lot to bear- the worlds of Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli are right there, ready to hold us, comfort us, and let us rest for just a moment before striving back out into battle.
-Noah Franc
