Hayao Miyazaki’s The Boy and the Heron easily ranks among Studio Ghibli’s best works thanks to its striking animation, thought-provoking and complex themes, and unique take on grief.
Overall Score: 10/10
Image: Studio Ghibli
When you think of legendary filmmakers, who comes to mind? In the West, names like Alfred Hitchcock, Stanley Kubrick, Martin Scorsese, and Steven Spielberg are the most likely to pop up. Meanwhile, figures like Akira Kurosawa and Ang Lee are often cited in the East. Despite the geological differences in their countries of origin, however, these filmmakers share one thing in common: They either have or continue to primarily — if not exclusively — work within the realm of live-action cinema.
Then you have Hayao Miyazaki. A co-founder of Studio Ghibli, Miyazaki has only worked in animation and, for decades, has continued to consistently wow audiences with critically acclaimed movies like My Neighbor Totoro, Princess Mononoke, and Spirited Away. I mean, the man truly is talented. Each of his films is beautiful-looking and endlessly thematically rich and complex, and time and again, he proves that animation is just as good a medium as live-action. In short, Miyazaki isn’t just a terrific filmmaker. He’s among the finest and most brilliant ones of our time.
And now, with The Boy and the Heron, Miyazaki has come out of retirement to deliver what can and should be considered yet another masterpiece. Set during World War II, the film is about a young boy named Mahito Maki who, following his mother’s death, journeys into a fantastical world parallel to his own. While there, he comes across several new allies and foes, forms bonds and relationships with some of them, and, in the process, embarks on a journey of healing, self-discovery, and personal growth.
If you think that sounds like a lot, you’re not wrong. Despite the narrative strength of many of its predecessors, The Boy and the Heron easily ranks as one of Ghibli and Miyazaki’s most ambitious and complex movies. Its story is epic in scale, and its themes are seemingly infinite in number. And yet, it also manages to stay grounded in realistic, relatable, and deeply personal human drama. Of course, for Miyazaki, achieving a feat like this is no real challenge. But as with his other works, once you watch The Boy and the Heron, you’ll see that, even all these years later, the animation master continues to go above and beyond.
The first and most prominent of the many themes present in The Boy and the Heron is grief. However, it’s worth noting that its handling of this particular theme is unique. While other films may often choose to show us the lingering emotional pain experienced by their characters, The Boy and the Heron takes more of a fantastical and subtly psychological approach. It explores the idea of using fantasy to escape from one’s own harsh reality. Unable to cope with the loss of his mother, Mahito finds himself swept up into a fantastical parallel world. There, things are different from what he calls home. Animals talk and live like humans, nature is seemingly the dominant force of the realm, and war (although not violence) is practically non-existent.
However, as Miyazaki suggests, one ultimately can’t and shouldn’t rely on fantasy to solve loss and the pain that follows it. Doing so in the short term may provide some level of healing, but in the long run, only harm will ensue. Thus, the essential question lies in The Boy and the Heron’s Japanese title: “How Do You Live?” Those who grieve may initially experience immense emotional suffering, but with time, they must find ways to move on. And as Mahito does in the film, one can often achieve this by embracing reality. We see him gradually come to terms with his mother’s passing, and we see him gradually learn to accept his maternal aunt as her replacement. And while, yes, what Mahito does is difficult, it’s only after going through all this that he has the strength to let go and continue living.
The Boy and the Heron also deals with legacy and succession. See, the parallel fantasy world in the film was created and overseen by a character named Granduncle (one of Mahito’s ancestors), who seeks a successor to continue his work. During their first encounter, Granduncle implores Mahito to take his place, giving him a selection of toy blocks to add to an existing toy tower. Furthermore, Granduncle explains that Mahito can use any block of his choice and that the fantasy world, through the tower, can be shaped in any manner he likes.
Now, some people may only take all of this at face value. But if you ask me, there’s a deeper, hidden meaning to be found. Essentially, everything that occurs with Granduncle, the toy tower, and the toy blocks represents the handing down of Japan’s post-war legacy to the younger generations of its population. Initially, Mahito notes that the blocks are filled with malice. This reflects Japan and the state of its reputation at the time. Both were filled with and tainted by instances of evil and violence. And though Mahito ultimately refuses Granduncle’s request, the fact that he’s given the choice of reshaping this world reflects Miyazaki’s hope that Japan’s children will be able to improve upon the things and legacies left behind by older generations and collectively forge a better path forward.
Aside from all that, Miyazaki’s The Boy and the Heron also explores numerous other themes. For instance, it covers things like the cycle and inevitability of life and death, overpopulation, and even the dangers of playing God. All these, however, are merely my interpretations of what I think the movie has to say. Others, meanwhile, may walk away from it with different sets of impressions entirely. But as with all of Miyazaki’s other works, that’s where the true beauty of The Boy and the Heron lies. The film and its contents can be interpreted in many ways depending on one’s experiences and feelings about specific topics and issues.
Lastly, I’d like to briefly say that the animation featured throughout this movie is striking and beautiful. On top of that, everything on-screen is accompanied by Joe Hisaishi’s fantastic and surprisingly minimalistic — but still highly impactful — score. Both these elements, of course, work quite well on their own. However, when put together, they result in an end product that’s simultaneously gorgeous, unforgettable, and utterly mesmerizing.
Anyway, that’s my take on The Boy and the Heron. Whether or not this is Miyazaki’s best film — which is still, I think, Princess Mononoke — is certainly up for debate, but it’s nevertheless one of his most complex and ambitious works in years. It should go without saying that this is a must-see for Ghibli and Miyazaki fans, so if you haven’t already, do catch it in theaters while you still can!
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