Written by Andreas Babiolakis

Warning: The following review is of a film that is part of TIFF 2023 and may contain spoilers for The Boy and the Heron. Reader discretion is advised.

At long last, Hayao Miyazaki — indisputably the greatest director in animation history — has returned with what was promoted as his swan song (and yet the success of said film has led to many pleading with the imaginative auteur to make another feature at any cost). The Boy and the Heron’s only flaw is that its original name — How Do You Live? (which it is still titled in Japanese) — is the most fitting title for this film because of how much it explores morality and spirit. Otherwise, the wait was well worth it. Not only is Miyazaki back, but he is operating in peak form. What is astonishing about the Japanese great is that his films all carry their own personal traits yet they all feel exclusively like Miyazaki. You can pull separate elements of The Boy and the Heron and liken them to other Studio Ghibli releases, but all of these parts are still intrinsically those of The Boy and the Heron. This latest feature is mature and bloody like Princess Mononoke, but the latter doesn’t possess the whimsical nature of the former. The Boy and the Heron is also silly, but in no way is it as childlike as My Neighbour Totoro despite the common ground. Spirited Away is endless with its creativity, but it stands alone while The Boy and the Heron boasts a more surreal tone as opposed to fantastical. You know what to expect from Miyazaki, but his films all stand tall on their own two feet. Even at eighty-two, he’s still got it. He knows how to make motion pictures that matter.

The titular boy is Mahito, and he loses his mother in a hospital fire during the Pacific War. We cut to some time afterward and find that his father has taken to his late wife’s younger sister., Natsuko While Mahito doesn’t feel comfortable with this shift, not once is he a painful brat throughout the entire film. He has accepted that life isn’t fair and just keeps on existing through it. They move to Natsuko’s estate full of old maids and nature, but Mahito doesn’t settle here or in the local community at all. He is instantly stalked by a grey heron who casts a hideous glare towards him; he proceeds to taunt and provoke Mahito throughout the first act of the film. Like many other Miyazaki films, The Boy and the Heron leads us towards a hidden world through a portal in our own reality. It doesn’t leap right in like Spirited Away does. It takes its time because Miyazaki knows that this latest trek needs preparation.

Without overly spoiling what awaits viewers, this new world is one where birth and life meet death, nature meets ruin, and reality meets a metaphysical realm. This isn’t explicitly the afterlife but you can definitely state that it is if it makes you feel comfortable. This “place” is connected enough to the real world as we know it that any alterations here affect what goes on on Earth. This is where the idea of the original title — named after the Genzaburo Yoshino novel (but very little correlation) — comes into play. What choices do we make while we are alive? Can we live with ourselves with what we do? What world are we leaving for those that come after us? It’s tough to call The Boy and the Heron explicitly a family film considering it does get quite grim and graphic, but Miyazaki does tell important lessons for any viewer: all of our decisions matter and will greatly shape the world to come. It’s sad to think that Miyazaki came out of retirement because he felt the need for the world to hear this message (considering the state of all things), but I also cannot unthink this. He’s lived a wonderful life. He wants to make sure things will be okay in the years to come. If we can’t listen to the nurturing words of Miyazaki, then all hope is lost.

The Boy and the Heron left me crying multiple times. Having lost my mother earlier this year, I instantly identified with the void that Mahito experiences throughout the picture. He’s not angry, sad, or able to move on. He feels nothing. Even when he hurts himself, he has lost the sensation of what pain is. I couldn’t empathize more. While Mahito transcends into a new reality, he is revitalized by what it means to live while on the search for both his deceased mother and her now-missing sister. This quest is massive in scale, but Miyazaki still injects as much hilarity as he can; I sadly cannot share my favourite line to not spoil it, but I cried a third time — this time from laughing so hard — over a certain “budgie” remark that Miyazaki gets away with in a film as dark as this one. It’s tough to call The Boy and the Heron the funniest Miyazaki film, but it certainly comes close if it isn’t. At the same time, it is also incredibly mature with some images as nightmarish as those that are dreamlike that follow. If Miyazaki is going to dive into our psyche, then he is going as far down as he possibly can. Despite how surreal The Boy and the Heron gets, it is still a highly conscious affair (as opposed to subconscious). With all of its qualities, this film will shatter your heart, lift your spirits, and melt your brain all at the same time. If there is one property I can compare The Boy and the Heron to, it is the classic Nintendo game The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time with the embodiment of both youthfulness and the harsh, sinister horrors of reality in fantastical form.

Most people identify Miyazaki with the director’s ability to sweep us away from our own reality, and The Boy and the Heron most certainly doesn’t disappoint. Its two-hour run time speeds by you without a second to stop, leaving its satirical characterizations of characters, Dali-esque fragmentation of time and space, and jaw-dropping artistry feeling like a fever dream. Like Mahito, you too will wonder if you experienced this film or not. The good news is, yes, you did. The Boy and the Heron is real. It is here. It is to be loved. It will take your breath away. As far as I can remember, many opening night films at the Toronto International Film Festival haven’t really felt worthy of that opportunity. That curse has come to a close here. As long as I have been going to TIFF, there hasn’t been a better film to kick off the festival than The Boy and the Heron: a magnificent achievement in animation and spiritual awakening. If Hayao Miyazaki were to make another film, it would be tricky to follow this return (but I clearly have faith in him).

Should this be his final farewell, I thank you, Hayao Miyazaki, for giving us one final important lesson. Thank you for helping me feel connected with my mom again, even if for a brief moment. Thank you for everything that you have done and for showing us how animation should be tended to. Thank you for taking young audiences seriously whilst inviting adults into a magical world time and time again. In an industry full of greed and sterility, thank you for showing us heart and love prevail. Thank you for The Boy and the Heron, as it will leave me aware of my decisions and impact.

Just, thank you, Hayao Miyazaki.

Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Toronto Metropolitan University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.