“The Boy and the Heron” Review: Not an “Easy Film”

The Boy and the Heron is as thought-provoking as it is imaginative.

Miyazaki has graced audiences with another return from retirement. Watch out ladies and gents, Jordan has nothing on the never-ending man.

It is almost difficult to classify Studio Ghibli films at this point for how unique they are on an individual basis. However, there is undeniably a distinctly “Ghibli” feeling to their films, a result of a singular guiding theme for the studio’s projects: whimsical imagination expressing genuine reflection on reality. If this interplay of the fantastical expressing contemplation is Ghibli’s thesis, there hasn’t been a film more supportive of the studio’s storytelling philosophies than its most recent. The Boy and the Heron is like other Ghibli films in that it includes the magical creatures symbolizing characters' internal strife, fantasy settings that warp and bend around the viewer's mind, and a staggering lack of exposition made up for by stellar visual storytelling and worldbuilding. However, the film is just as unique in the studio’s lineup for how it differs in pace and tone. More than anything, while watching The Boy and the Heron I felt a deep sense of significance in the film I was watching, as if I was entering the holy ground of Miyazaki’s mind, and the ritual of viewing became an experience that demanded respect and delivered awe. This satisfaction was not in spite of, but because of the film’s emotional ambiguity and notorious complexity that only served to enhance my viewing experience. 

Entering The Boy and the Heron I heard that it was abstract, confusing, or in other words, “not very easy.” After the credits rolled, I can say the film's complexity shows itself in many forms. For one, the film was not easy to make. Originally announced back in 2016, the film was struggling to make consistent progress, partially due to Miyazaki’s age. As a result of the prolonged animation process, over 60 creatives were invited to work on the drawings, much more than what was allowed on previous Ghibli projects. This has the adverse effect of a unique surreality generating in The Boy and the Heron, more so than is already present in the inner machinations of Miyazaki’s mind. Uncharacteristically sharp drawings appear alongside traditional Ghibli compositions and bubbliness for a unique world, even in the fantasy land that is Studio Ghibli. The animation continues to impress in other ways, whether that be through an abundance of detail put into onscreen crowds, the most subtle squash and stretch applied to background character number 30, or the stents into visual surrealism and impressionism. This is Ghibli at its most technically experimental outside of Earwig and the Witch, and I can confidently say Heron is much more deserving of a watch.

Technical mastery leads to artistic ingenuity in ways beyond the visual. The film’s soundtrack is filled with as much life as the tiny WaraWara, who adorably bounce with minute animation. Breathtaking, emotive, and evocative are some of the only words I can use to describe a score that truly amplifies the emotional effect delivered as genuine as it is here. The soundscape of the world’s surroundings fill it with off screen life, contextualizing fantastical elements within at least a semblance of reality. Mahito chomping on now iconic Ghibli animated dinner drives me to insatiable desire. I can practically feel the same lush grass Mahito grazes through, the water a silver Heron uses his wings to slice, and the gentle silence in a world beyond space and time. The Boy and the Heron goes beyond known Ghibli beauty into new territory that, while not an extreme departure from tradition, is just enough to apply genuine evolution to an already magical formula that would have been missed if completely altered. 

While spectacle has always been Ghibli’s specialty, it has never taken priority over meaning and tone. I struggle to say “narrative,” as much like Film Noir, a Ghibli film seems more concerned with the individual’s elicited emotion as implicated by the viewing experience itself. The feeling of a Ghibli film matters just as much, if not more, than if the film even makes sense to the viewer. In fact, Miyazaki himself said he doesn’t understand every detail hidden within the Heron’s croaky voice, the underground’s rapturous sea, or the WaraWara’s incomprehensible language as giggles. Meaning, The Boy and the Heron isn’t an easy film to understand as much as it was to make, and while its narrative cohesion may be fickle, the symbolism and meaning behind its imagery is anything but. A series of metaphors, Mahito’s journey is Miyazaki’s most contemplative and reflective. Many have already drawn parallels between the protagonist and his creator, and this context adds to the films’ thematic meaning, cultural significance, and results in what I find to be one of the most interesting Ghibli protagonists. Subtext is demonstrated through Stoicism in Mahito, a child confronted with the atrocities of war and often demonstrates an emotional complexity far beyond his age. A spoken word holds more impact when the character is silent, and here, Mahito’s voice is deafening. Never did I think I could see emotions simmer behind animated eyes, but Mahito’s 2D glare evoked a similar desperation within this viewer. With this characterization paired with the grand scale of the adventure, the sheer spectacle of the animation, and the careful grace it is all presented with, The Boy and the Heron feels uniquely grandiose, unlike any other movie in a filmography defined by feeling itself. 

With plenty to feel, the film’s patient pace allows the viewer to contemplate on the themes presented through classic Ghibli allegory and imagination. Again, this film is not necessarily driven by narrative as much as it is by vague messaging and tone. The meaning comes from one’s own work of interpreting what the film presents, and with a creator that doesn’t even have complete control over his own ideas, this does make for a film that left some feeling alienated. However, I find this ambiguity to be magical instead of flawed. Miyazaki and Ghibli have never been interested in presenting the easy answer to their films, as it works against their very storytelling philosophy that denies the contemporary notion that films are a puzzle to be definitively “solved.” This doesn’t exempt Ghibli films from necessitating at least some level of cohesion to be at its most emotionally effective and thematically resonant, as even my enjoyment derived from thought provoking imagery necessitates the imagery to actually provoke said thought. Luckily, The Boy and the Heron is the opposite of uninspired, instead being meticulously detailed with enough connective threads and a satisfying ending to allow for a range of equally concrete, meaningful interpretations. 

I hope this analysis doesn’t put an asterisk next to The Boy and the Heron for any reader. “This movie is great if you like being confused, if you understand Miyazaki’s personal life, if yada yada yada…” Miyazaki’s films, and this more than any, feel beyond metrics of quality. Calling a Ghibli movie this dense simply good or bad seems reductive. There’s no conditional terms needing to be met to enjoy a Ghibli film, all except one: open-mindedness. Explore the worlds Miyazaki designed to explore and be explored, not to be analyzed and picked apart for attempts at classical Hollywood cohesion. In other words, approach The Boy and the Heron knowing that it is not an “easy film” in more ways than one.