HOW DO YOU LIVE?

RAHM JETHANI - Writer, 3rd Year, English

Worth the wait.

SPOILERS FOR THE BOY AND THE HERON / KIMITACHI WA DOU IKIRU KA!

After watching Hayao Miyazaki’s latest movie, The Boy and the Heron, I initially felt a bit disappointed. I had expected a somewhat fleshed out story, with more focus being on character development over the fantastical spectacle one knows to expect in a Ghibli movie. But most importantly, I also wanted to understand the depth of the philosophical questions I knew Miyazaki would insert into this movie (as he has done with all his other ones). While there were interesting characters, it felt as though their arcs were dropped very early on in favor of the aforementioned spectacle. Both plot threads and supernatural elements seemed to come and go in a much more sporadic fashion than Miyazaki’s prior movies. And, I could not pinpoint any depth that was unique to this film in particular. My disappointment was made worse by the fact that the first third of the movie handled its characterization and fantasy aspects much more concretely than the rest of the film, which incorrectly set my standards for the experience that the whole movie had to offer. However, due to my almost holistic enjoyment of Miyazaki’s films, I was troubled with my initial impressions, and I questioned both my thoughts of The Boy and the Heron, as well as its substance without comparison to other Ghibli classics. After reevaluating the film though, I gained a much deeper appreciation and love for The Boy and the Heron which helped it capture the magic Hayao Miyazaki’s work has always had on me. Furthermore, I realized that any meaningful analysis on this movie and its main character practically forces one to contend with the question (and the infinitely better Japanese movie title): how do you live?

Mahito Maki, the protagonist of The Boy and the Heron, starts off as a self-destructive boy who is unable to get over his mother’s death. He only acts as polite as he needs to around his father and foster mother, and his actions communicate grief, impassivity, and a self-imposed isolation. My favorite piece of Mahito’s early characterization is his immediate attempt to distance himself from the boys at his new school by getting into a fight, followed by his self-inflicted injury afterwards to get out of school. The lack of dialogue in this section highlights his mental condition well, which was likely the goal the filmmakers had in directing these scenes in this way. It is also noteworthy that in these early parts of the film, Mahito only initiates conversations about things he wants, a stark contrast to other child protagonists of Miyazaki’s films. He possesses no humor or desire to entertain others’ whims. He is truly alone, and at this point in the movie, it would be inaccurate to say that he truly lives rather than just surviving.

The early sections of this film enhance character drama through abstract setpieces. Moments like Mahito’s dream of running through fire and resurfacing from water, the various appearances of the Gray Heron, the frogs crawling over Mahito’s body and face, and the construction of his mother melting all lend themselves to a sense of uneasiness and dread. Not knowing many of the rules of a world’s magic is very unlike Miyazaki’s other films, but in the case of The Boy and the Heron, this obscurity actually highlights the focus of these moments, that being on the feelings created rather than the insight they provide about the world’s rules. Many moments within the film also follow this format of abstraction highlighting feelings, so to that end, I won’t discuss them unless they are relevant (but they are universally fantastic).

Mahito’s journey into the other world marks the point where his arc begins to feel forgotten, but the experiences he goes through and the characters he interacts with in this alternate world serve to indirectly show his growth. For example, Mahito’s interactions with the alternate Kiriko almost immediately begin with him having to help her, such as with rowing the boat or cutting up the giant fish. After being so self-absorbed until this point, Mahito’s change of becoming a bit more sociable represents itself metaphorically through his bandage coming off and his scar being shown. In other words, he is still hurt and still healing, but he is able to let himself be more open through the actions he takes with others.

Mahito’s interaction with the dying pelican, which in my personal interpretation represents the world, questions the state of loss present throughout the movie. Mahito’s anger at the pelican for attacking the warawara and the pelican’s own remark that the world would not allow the pelicans to change are both ideas that shed light upon a conflicting concept: a victim feels death and loss personally, whereas the world impassively continues on. The choice of having the pelican communicate this to Mahito doubly presents the chance for the audience to feel pity for this dying bird who had no choice, a state which Mahito himself struggles to find during their conversation. Finally, due to the bird’s death, Mahito is not able to gain peace through overcoming its philosophy, which suggests that in order to find that kind of solace, Mahito would be required to look inwards rather than blaming the world for its immemorial ways.

After entering the Delivery Room with the help of Himi, Mahito’s characterization is at its most unclear point. While his whole journey started because Natusko went missing, he doesn’t seemingly feel any attachment to her except through proxy as his father’s new wife. This is even something mentioned by the older Kiriko, which Mahito makes a point to ignore. His impersonal feelings towards Natsuko even make themselves clear when he first tries to wake her up, as shown through his formal speech and Natsuko’s identity as just his dad’s wife in his mind. And, when speaking to her this way, Mahito’s words have no effect on Natsuko, instead just harmfully agitating the magic of the stone. Only when Mahito realizes and vocalizes his love for Natsuko as a true mother figure does she wake up. While there is no obvious development towards Mahito’s revelation, which is one critique I still have with this film considering its importance, the revelatory moment is represented beautifully through Mahito’s struggle against the storm of paper, and through Himi’s aid (considering that she is another version of his birth mother, thereby metaphorically helping him come to terms with his new mother). Another aspect of this scene which I found to be interesting is the location of the Delivery Room itself, as Natsuko was not apparently in the late stages of pregnancy yet. Therefore, the Delivery Room itself seems to be metaphorical, perhaps hinting that it is a place of rebirth. The symbolism of birth and rebirth is also present within the existence of the warawara, so its presence here seems intentional, too.

Near the end of the film, Mahito receives another piece of fantastic characterization, when the Great Uncle asks Mahito to take over his role of balancing the worlds. If one is to interpret Mahito’s scar metaphorically, then Mahito’s mention of it communicates the large extent of his growth throughout the film. He says his scar makes him imperfect and therefore unable to create perfect worlds, to which the Great Uncle agrees. This could represent Mahito’s acceptance of his pain, and the acknowledgment that his grief will continue to affect his life. But, Mahito also mentions the roles Himi, Natsuko, and the Gray Heron all played in being his friends, and helping him remember how it feels to want to live. I believe that this is how Hayao Miyazaki answers the question of ‘how do you live?’: by maturely accepting the life you have, and by maintaining the positive company of friends and family, you are able to find peace and truly live. This belief that Mahito comes to understand shapes his growth after the events of the film, too, as shown through the quick scene of his family moving back to Tokyo two years later. I love the small detail of Mahito not wearing his hat anymore, now showing more of his face to his family and to the world.

While I have my complaints on certain aspects of The Boy and the Heron, I have found myself becoming more and more attached to its style and presentation of themes as time continues to pass. While The Boy and the Heron doesn’t have the most unique message, its use of abstraction, thoughtful characterization, one of Joe Hisaishi’s best soundtracks, and Studio Ghibli’s trademark brand of magic have merged to create a poignant work of art that stands tall amongst the best of Hayao Miyazaki’s work.