The Boy and the Heron (2023) is a truly captivating film by Hayao Miyazaki, marking his return from retirement. Despite being a project undertaken later in his career, the film is brimming with boundless imagination, unforgettable characters, and profound themes, proving that Miyazaki’s creative spirit remains as vibrant as ever. It’s an ambitious and deeply moving work that stands as a testament to his storytelling prowess. Probably it’s so powerful because Miyazaki doesn’t need to prove anything. He has nothing to lose.

The narrative begins with a harrowing depiction of war in Tokyo. To escape the devastation, Mahito Maki and his father relocate to the countryside, where the father oversees a new factory. However, the transition is far from smooth. In this rural village, Mahito must grapple with the presence of his father’s new wife, Natsuko, whom he hesitates to call “mother.” This strained relationship sets the stage for much of the emotional depth in the story.

The plot takes a magical turn when Mahito encounters a mysterious heron, linked to an ancient tower nearby. According to Natsuko, the tower once belonged to Mahito’s great-granduncle but has been abandoned for years following a tragic incident—her great-granduncle’s son disappeared inside while reading a book, prompting the tower to be sealed off. Naturally, in classic Miyazaki fashion, Mahito’s curiosity drives him to uncover the secrets of the tower and the heron, propelling him into a fantastical adventure.

As Mahito ventures into the tower, he discovers a portal to an otherworldly realm created by his great-granduncle. Within this realm lies yet another dimension, layered with intrigue and mystery, reminiscent of the enchanting worlds in Spirited Away and My Neighbor Totoro. Yet, The Boy and the Heron explores deeper, darker themes than its predecessors.

Two key ideas anchor the film. First, the tension between the desire to escape war and the complicity in its perpetuation. This is symbolized by Mahito’s father’s factory, which produces windshields for fighter jets, highlighting the paradox of seeking refuge while contributing to conflict. Second, the evolving bond between Mahito and Natsuko is a central emotional thread. Initially, Mahito refuses to accept Natsuko as a maternal figure, calling her by name rather than “mother.”

By the film’s conclusion, the war has ended, and the relationship between Mahito and Natsuko has matured into one of mutual respect and affection. Their return to Tokyo symbolizes a return to stability and normalcy, underscoring the film’s ultimate message of healing and reconciliation.

Miyazaki’s mastery shines in every frame of The Boy and the Heron. The film’s unbounded imagination, coupled with its poignant exploration of human relationships and societal conflicts, cements it as one of the director’s most profound works. Fans of Miyazaki will find themselves transported once again to a world where magic, emotion, and reality seamlessly intertwine. When the master has nothing to lose, he goes all the way. Thanks, Sensei.