Learning how to live.
We open on a dark, harrowing image — a young boy racing to save his mother. That boy is Mahito Maki (Luca Padovan), and as the sirens go off and the sky seems to catch on fire, the only thought he can focus on is that his mom is in danger. As he races through the village toward the hospital where she’s staying at, all of the details surrounding him seem to blur like a watercolor painting. The people he passes by are mere flashes of color and light that distract from the path ahead of him. The embers surrounding him flicker and fade away like the lives they take. He barely even feels the heat that’s consuming the town. But when he stops at the hospital and sees it set ablaze, all he can focus on is the flames reflecting in his own eyes.
And just like that, Mahito was alone.
This opening shot is so imperative to The Boy And The Heron because it informs everything that motivates Mahito throughout the film. As his father Shoichi (Christian Bale) remarries and has another child with his wife’s sister, Natsuko (Gemma Chan), he politely asks Mahito to call Natsuko “mother.” Of course, he refuses, because in his heart, he only has one mom. Or rather, had.
As Mahito adjusts to a new life away from the war, he keeps noticing a grey heron (Robert Pattinson) pestering around his estate. At first, the heron taunts Mahito by repeating his name, almost as if he’s mocking him like a parrot. But as Mahito continues to seek him out, the heron claims that his mother is actually alive and needs Mahito’s help.
But how could this be? Mahito saw his mother die in the hospital. Surely the heron is lying. Or is he? Mahito doesn’t know whether to trust the heron or to be wary of him, but regardless, he clings to the hope that his mother may in fact be alive. Only by going on this journey with the heron will Mahito discover if his hope is in vain or not.
This is the 12th film by Japanese animation legend Hayao Miyazaki, who has produced several magical works over the years including My Neighbor Totoro, Kiki’s Delivery Service, Princess Mononoke, Howl’s Moving Castle, and Spirited Away, which won the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature in 2002. All of his works capture the mystery and magic of the worlds they belong to, whether they involve spirits, witches, mermaids, warriors, or dreamers — sometimes all of the above.
The Boy And The Heron is just as magical as his previous films are, from the stunning and captivating animation to the gorgeous and alluring worlds he paints like an artist and his canvas. When Mahito begins his journey, he’s swept away into a strange world filled with brave explorers, spirits, birds, wizards, pyrokinetics, and even murderous cannibal pelicans. No, I’m not exaggerating when I say that, and it’s every bit as bizarre and funny as it sounds.
But it’s not just wonderful, joyful, imaginative, and spellbinding — it’s also incredibly profound and thought-provoking. One of the very best things about this movie is its emotional complexity. While other movies spell out everything you’re supposed to feel and make it so literal and on-the-nose that you can’t miss it, The Boy And The Heron is much more contemplative and open-ended with its art and its messaging. It is not a fast-moving film by any means. In fact, it’s very gradual and spends a lot of time developing this world and the people who inhabit it. Some viewers might be frustrated by this film’s slower pacing. I myself appreciate that the film took its time to invest in its characters and what they’re experiencing because the truth is there’s nothing simple about their emotions. How do you explain to a child that people just die? No, even bigger — how do you explain to a child that dreams die?
When Mahito travels into the realm where his mother is supposably at, part of it is to discover if she is still alive. But another part of it is that he needs to escape from the prison that is his life. He’s tired of being with a father who is always working and never around. He’s tired of living with a mother who isn’t really his mother. And he’s tired of playing second fiddle to a younger brother who isn’t really his brother. For the first act of the movie, he’s caught in a whirlwind of tormented emotions, yet he bottles all of them up and pretends his world isn’t crumbling just because he’s expected to be on his best behavior.
So when Mahito is swept away into a magical new world and all of his troubles seem far away, it makes sense that Mahito gets a little mesmerized by it all. Wouldn’t you be? We may not all have lost a parent, but all of us have felt like Mahito at one point or another, with our emotions screaming inside of us all while we’re expected to bury and silence them. So we go to a place to escape. For some people, it’s in books, while for others, it’s in music. For me and for many others, it’s in the movies.
Going into that escape feels so freeing, but then we face a conundrum — do we remain in the pleasant fantasy, or do we return to the harsh reality? I must admit, I have struggled with this question on numerous occasions. After I graduated high school, I almost always spent my time at the movie theater, immersing myself in countless adventures and the many wonders that they held. But was that good for me? Did I benefit from watching other people’s stories unfold, or was I hindering myself by not experiencing my own?
This question is at the heart of The Boy And The Heron’s conflict, and ultimately, it’s what sets it apart from its peers regardless of whether they’re animated or live-action. I watched this movie back in December, and several months later, it’s still at the forefront of my mind. I don’t know if every single creative decision in the film works for me. I don’t even pretend that I understand most of the film’s dream logic. But what I do know is that the film resonated with me, deeply moved me, and made me think about my own life and the path I want to forge moving ahead. And ultimately, that’s more important.
I have one complaint, and one complaint alone, and that is the film’s title. The Boy And The Heron is as misleading as it is inaccurate, because the emphasis isn’t on Mahito and the grey heron’s relationship. In fact, the grey heron is barely a presence in the movie at all. As eye-catching as it is, calling this movie The Boy And The Heron would be like calling Star Wars “The Farmer And The Droids,” or The Lord Of The Rings “The Wizard And The Eagles.” There’s much more going on in the film than just two characters, and ultimately, the title does a grave disservice to the story Hayao Miyazaki is trying to tell. The weirdest part is the Japanese version already has the perfect title, releasing in theaters as How Do You Live? Sure, it’s not as much an attention-grabber as The Boy And The Heron, but it is more true and relevant to the story. And if American audiences don’t like it, they can get over themselves. They need more lessons in subtlety anyway.
All that is to say that The Boy And The Heron is an incredibly conflicting experience, but it is a very true experience, and that’s what I think audiences need to latch onto more. By the time the movie ended, I thought very deeply about Mahito’s journey, the many tragedies he endured, the exciting new adventures he got to have, and all of the growth he’s experienced along the way. By the end, I’m left facing the same question that Mahito has to answer — do you spend your life living in a fantasy or in reality? When I have a child, I hope I can teach them that you don’t have to choose and that you indeed experience the most of life by embracing both. How do you live? By living.
DAVID DUNN 