Hayao Miyazaki is probably the single most renowned director of animated films. Two of his movies have even earned coveted spots on Sight and Sound’s most recent top 100 — Spirited Away and My Neighbor Totoro, the only animated movies on the list. The now-82-year-old filmmaker founded the prestigious Studio Ghibli with his friend Isao Takahata and not only established a large cultural footprint in Japan, but also brought the world of Japanese animation to the forefront of Western culture, winning the second Academy Award for Best Animated Feature in 2003 for Spirited Away. His work has inspired many to push the medium of animation into new territory. And so when the legendary director announced his return after a near-decade hiatus, there was a lot of anticipation. The wait is now over, as The Boy and the Heron lands in theaters everywhere this week.
In the Pacific Theater during World War II, 12-year-old Mahito (voiced in Japanese by Soma Santoki) loses his mom in a Tokyo hospital fire. One year later, his father (Takuya Kimura) has remarried and moved to the countryside, while Mahito still struggles with the death of his mother. In his family’s new estate, Mahito is told by a gray heron (Masaki Suda) that his mother is still alive. Mahito then follows the heron to the ruins of an old tower, which leads to an alternate world beyond time and death, filled with fantastical creatures including fascist man-eating parakeets.
First and foremost: The visual style and animation of The Boy and the Heron are among the best Studio Ghibli has ever produced. While not as visually distinctive as Takahata’s The Tale of Princess Kaguya, it features a mastery of the style that most people associate with the studio. Complemented by subtle, masterful scoring from legendary composer Joe Hisaishi, the film builds an audiovisual experience that warrants the premium ticket price of IMAX.
But beneath the film’s visual aesthetic you’ll find a very personal tale of grief. Miyazaki uses his 12th feature as a reflection on his life and career, with elements of the auteur’s previous 11 works sprinkled throughout. It’s almost as if he made this one solely for himself. This being likely the most abstract work of Miyazaki’s filmography, it rides at its own pace and therefore might leave some audience members confused. That said, those who are on its wavelength are in for a treat. Heron is at its best when the viewer has the mental building blocks of previous entries to serve as a foundation. Miyazaki seems to use this film as a means of exploring his emotions surrounding the loss of his own mother near the start of his career, and how his life’s work is inspired by her — his filmography serves as an immortalization of his memories of her and his other loved ones.
After the long wait, Miyazaki has delivered a film that is an audiovisual masterpiece with an abstract narrative. It might not resonate with all audience members, and could indeed alienate first-time Ghibli viewers, but it’s open for interpretation to those who want to dig in deeper. Is this the end of Miyzaki’s filmography? That remains to be seen. But whether The Boy and the Heron is a strong finish or a good sign of what’s to come, after 10 years of retirement, Miyazaki has shown he can still make high-quality cinema.
