‘The Boy and the Heron’ or — An Astonishing Farewell?
After young Mahito Maki loses his mother during the Pacific War his father marries her sister and moves his son out to his new mother’s home in the countryside. While his father works at the local munitions factory Mahito struggles to form a bond with his new parent, although when a mysterious heron seems to take an interest in the traumatised boy we sense this strange connection with the animal world might, somehow, help Mahito begin to process his loss and grief.
It’s a tale that suggests a more “grounded”, naturalistic, possibly even realistic style than the more oneiric approach Miyazaki has adopted since ‘Spirited Away’ (2001) where strict narrative logic takes a back seat to a more dream-like world. And that, initially, appears to be the case as Mahito explores his new home and its woodland surroundings. Yet we start to notice this concrete reality is gradually starting to sporadically buckle, distend, dilate and bulge as though something is either attempting to break through or push out, especially in the form of the heron itself (or like denied grief?) as this is no ordinary bird. It’s not just that it can speak and possesses teeth but that it frequently appears to be on the verge of structural flux, as though an involuntary morphing is being kept at bay or initiated.
When the heron leads Mahito to an abandoned tower all semblance of any recognisable reality is suddenly destroyed as Mahito is plunged down an Alice-like rabbit-hole into a realm that’s strictly the domain of the fantastical and it is here that Miyazaki’s imagination spreads its wings and dynamically bursts into full-powered flight.
And it’s not just the overwhelming flow of remarkable images that Miyazaki and his team create here (he’s always been a master at that) but that this dazzling billowing gush of creativity is combined with a startling clear-eyed maturity tinged with an aching compassion and profundity. This is the work of someone fully aware they’re reaching the end and looking back at not only their own childhood, life and career (the film is filled with references, although never distractingly, to nearly all of his previous work) but also at loss, bereavement, mortality and the inescapable condition of, at some point, inevitably having to say “goodbye”. It’s the human condition conveyed by some of the most striking imagery the guy has ever produced.
Yet this sensitivity and compassion never lapses into sentimentality or crass reassurance as evidenced by the fact that there is always an element of danger and threat to every scenario or character. So sure, there’s beauty and cuteness abounding but sometimes that cuteness can be secretly deadly or fatally vulnerable and it is down to us not to demand that the world should change but to handle the pain.
‘The Boy and the Heron’ is an astonishing piece of work and, for me, easily Miyazaki’s finest, and most complex, film of the last thirty years and the fact he came out of retirement to make it for us is something to be deeply treasured and responded to with immense gratitude. And if this is his last film then it’s a remarkable way to finish a stunning career.
Most importantly you can understand why Miyazaki felt the need to make this movie, to finish like this and on these themes because you can feel the urge in it, the need for release. Like a Birdman struggling within a grey heron or hundreds of parakeets erupting into our reality, this movie was simply surging to come out, and that’s what gives it such deeply touching vitality.
