While the Second World War rages, the teenage Mahito, haunted by his mother’s tragic death, is
relocated from Tokyo to the serene rural home of his new stepmother Natsuko, a woman who bears a
striking resemblance to the boy’s mother. As he tries to adjust, this strange new world grows even
stranger following the appearance of a persistent gray heron, who perplexes and bedevils Mahito,
dubbing him the “long-awaited one.”
(Source: Letterboxd)
img820(https://files.catbox.moe/ndaxy1.jpg) I can count on my fingers the number of directors I still have expectations from in this industry. Anime movies have been lacking on creativity, especially ever since [Kimi no Na Wa](https://anilist.co/anime/21519/Kimi-no-Na-wa/) came out, and it looks like everyone has tried to do their own fantasy movie with subpar writing and bland characters. I'm thinking about directors like [Yasuhiro Yoshiura](https://anilist.co/staff/101072/Yasuhiro-Yoshiura) or [Keiichi Hara](https://anilist.co/staff/104680/Keiichi-Hara), hell even [Mamoru Hosoda](https://anilist.co/staff/100067/Mamoru-Hosoda) suffered from it, they all hugely disappointed me with their latest movies. I really feel like there's an after "Your Name" that's even affecting the one and only [Makoto Shinkai](https://anilist.co/staff/96117/Makoto-Shinkai), who used to be so creative back in his earlier works, knowing exactly what he could do well like writing subtle romances without the need to add in an extra fantasy setting and gimmicky tropes like time travels. It doesn't look really good for the future of anime movies, and yet, I still cling to the very few remaining directors that are still pushing the medium in the right direction to me. Hayao Miyazaki is of course one of them. It has been 10 years since we were graced with Kaze Tachinu, an attempt from the director's part to tackle more mature themes than usual by doing a fictionalized biopic on Jiro Horikoshi (voiced by the one and only Hideaki Anno!), that mainly serves as a reflection on the real-world implications of pursuing one's dream, the ethical choices faced by creators, and the bittersweet nature of ambition in the face of adversity. While this one kept Ghibli's trademark spirit, we could already feel a more down to earth, less enthusiastic Miyazaki direction, and this movie clearly marked his evolution to a somewhat wiser man. So it's no surprise that 10 years later, with the release of "How Do You Live?", marketed as his final movie, we get to delve deeper into these themes and even more into Miyazaki, himself, as a person. webm(https://files.catbox.moe/4db2g5.webm) I find myself sitting in the same seat, at the same movie theater I went a decade ago, and i'm about to witness what could be one of the last anime movie as we know them. One of the last pieces in a -maybe- soon to be extinct medium. As per usual, the creative work of Hayao Miyazaki is trenscending. In a sea of bland digital anime, the hand-drawn animations and hand-painted backgrounds, judiciously integrated in modern digital processing along with the use of 3D as well, already sets the bar pretty high visually. It's a Ghibli movie alright, with everything that comes with it. In that regard, it's not especially surprising, but it's not a bad thing anyway. During the whole two hours of the movie, we get to contemplate a range of sceneries, from idyllic pastoral landscapes to huge dreamlike plains, it feels just like home. The pure, unparalleled *soul* of a Miyazaki masterpiece resonates from it. I was so relieved to see that he still knew how to perfectly transition from an initial, pragmatic setting to a fantastical one. This one does it really well, letting us time to connect with the characters at a human level and relate to them in certain ways, before seamlessly merging it to the fantasy world where we hunt giant fishes, and where a pelican-like specie can't go on living without eating little creatures called the Warawaras, that may remind you of the Kodamas from Mononoke Hime. But outside of its beautiful visual front is one of the most meaningful movie of the studio and probably the most personal for Miyazaki. webm(https://files.catbox.moe/orddxx.webm) "Kimitachi wa Dou Ikiru ka" peels back the layers of our complex human nature, and feels almost autobiographical from Miyazaki's point of view. Knowing that it is, *[probably](https://www.theverge.com/2023/9/8/23864856/studio-ghibli-hayao-miyazaki-retirement-postponed-yet-again)*, his last movie, it makes sense for him to bring his viewer with an actual sense of closure, kind of like a goodbye letter filled with hope from him to today's youth and next generations. Letting go of the past, of dreams and memories, asking us a simple question: How do **you** live ? How in a world plagued by the horrors of war, dominated by anti-environmentalism, with technological progress driving humans more and more apart, do you live ? Do you keep the gears turning, and repeat the errors of the past, or do you try to *build your own tower*, and surpass all of that on to a better path ? webm(https://files.catbox.moe/26q18s.webm)
img(https://criterion-production.s3.amazonaws.com/WSwNpQO6Sw943dILMFwaHObShxp142.jpg) I've always had a special feeling towards [Miyazaki's](https://anilist.co/staff/96870/Hayao-Miyazaki) films and, more broadly, Studio Ghibli films. Having discovered them at a very young age, it's like coming back to a classic; they have something comforting about them. Being an animation enthusiast, I was already aware of the production of a new film by the master of Japanese animation based on the novel of the same name written by [Genzaburô Yoshino](https://anilist.co/staff/136846/Genzaburou-Yoshino). I was already somewhat interested in his life at the time, and just by seeing the title of the film, I began to grasp where Miyazaki wanted to take us. And I wasn't disappointed. Miyazaki had already tackled themes that were more than complex to depict in an animated film, such as war, love, and environmental stewardship, among others. In his last film released a decade earlier, "[Kaze Tachinu](https://anilist.co/anime/16662/Kaze-Tachinu/)", he attempted to explore much more mature themes than usual. It is only natural, then, that he continues down this path, especially for the release of a film that is marketed as his swan song. img(https://www.thisiscolossal.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/miyazaki-heron.gif) Once seated in front of the screen, we find ourselves, as usual for a Ghibli film, in a world teeming with details. In a world where most studios embrace digital methods, Miyazaki, as always true to himself, predominantly employs analog techniques, which lend their charm to the films he creates, and 'How Do You Live?' is not an exception. The film takes its time, giving attention to seemingly unimportant details, and we marvel at the facial expressions of the characters, which, as always, are depicted with great richness. The world depicted is neither good nor bad, this nuanced tone present in every film by the director is taken to the extreme in this movie where there is no real antagonist or hero. Only Mahito, who tries to live in the way he chooses and to accept the death of his mother." As is often the case in Miyazaki's films, we find the strong female character embodied by [Kiriko](https://anilist.co/character/314614/Kiriko), but more broadly, it's the maternal figure that is constantly brought to our attention throughout the film. [Mahito](https://anilist.co/character/310139/Mahito-Maki) seeks this maternal figure and the love he has lost in each of the female personalities we encounter. I can't help but draw a parallel between the main character and Miyazaki himself. img(https://www.thisiscolossal.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/miyazaki-heron-3.gif) But 'How Do You Live?' is above all a film depicting the profound nature of humanity and prompts reflection on how we live and perceive the world. From Miyazaki's perspective, the film is almost autobiographical and is certainly the one where he shares his most personal thoughts. Hayao Miyazaki poses a simple question to us here: How do you live? Carrying a message of hope for today's youth. What kind of world will you build? An unstable tower or a tower with strong foundations where peace and harmony reigns. __How do you want to live as a human being?__ __How do you live?__ img(https://jolstatic.fr/www/captures/6928/1/164761.jpeg)
~~~__[SPOILERS AHEAD]__~~~ As soon as the credits rolled, half the audience stood up and left the venue in confusion. Among the reactions, some said they understood nothing of Miyazaki's vision; some parents were uncomfortable with some of the scenes their children had seen; others said they had almost fallen asleep in the middle of the film. *Kimitachi wa dō ikiru ka* has the virtue of being a clear counterpoint to Miyazaki's previous productions. Like *Kaze tachinu*, it feels like a conclusion, but the approach is markedly different, deeply personal and riddled with remorse, something that permeates every frame. Rejecting the surgically constructed sentimentality that might have been his style, Miyazaki offers a more hermetic narrative. A number of critics have pointed out that the film could easily be divided into two very different parts, the first showing Mahito's inner dilemma before the plot turns into a fairy tale in the second half. It seems to me that such a division completely misses the intertextuality that Miyazaki's team has carefully constructed. From the very first minutes, the film encapsulates Miyazaki's career, building an aesthetic bridge between his early work and *Kaze tachinu*: the realistic sobriety of the drawings in the introduction contrasts with the cartoonish design of the tanks. These are reminiscent of Miyazaki's old designs found in *Zassō nōto* and *Doromamire no tora*. Mahito's initial muteness, petrified by his grief, allows the film to progress through his image. ~~~img520(https://i.gyazo.com/1a3ee0f279ecb491e4453ef851e68885.png)~~~ Natsuko's mansion is a fantastic layering of corridors, gardens and living rooms, creating an imaginary geography. Unlike previous productions, where it is easy to picture the world in which the characters exist, *Kimitachi wa dō ikiru ka* is deliberately confusing. The architecture shifts constantly, from a luxurious main entrance to more intimate passageways, from dusty chambers to Western-style furnished rooms. This eclecticism feeds Mahito's hallucinations, whose fever distorts his vision of reality. His nightmares mingle with the idyllic setting of the mansion: this is where the film reveals its intention. In one dream scene, Mahito goes out to hunt the grey heron, but is soon paralysed as legions of fish and frogs surround his body, threatening to suffocate him. At the last moment, a bow-armed Natsuko, flanked by her army of grandmothers, arrives to scare off the animals and save Mahito, who falls unconscious. This scene serves both to cement the film's transition to magical realism, which lasts until the end, and to play with the imagery of *Mononoke hime*: the animals mimic the eerie strangeness of nature, while Natsuko takes on the features of Lady Eboshi. In fact, *Kimitachi wa dō ikiru ka* is full of references: the buildings have an intricate architecture reminiscent of *The Castle of Cagliostro*, Lady Himi's world resembles that of *Arrietty*, while the domestic scenes use the same grammar as those in *Howl's Moving Castle*. However, there are noticeable differences. The setting is infused with western influences and lighting design reminiscent of 1980s anime production. The tall pines that rise into the sky as Mahito arrives in the world below contrast with the stillness of the sea. On the horizon is a fleet of different boats, modern regattas rubbing shoulders with older vessels. Clouds dominate the sky, great masses of grey and gold, bathed in the light of an invisible sun. This atmosphere, a fallen and mythologised world, is reminiscent of the American romanticism found in the work of Clark Ashton Smith. The great-uncle's antechamber is very reminiscent of Moebius' work, with very geometric lines and layouts: it is no coincidence that the world below is held together by stackable geometric blocks. In a way, Miyazaki and his team are clarifying the spirit that has run through all their films for decades. ~~~img520(https://kagi.com/proxy/ce83qho9qb891.jpg?c=MHaoEHf4JA4T1dYEo1CR0YDpWCFrNLrjE_7Rp42grFeBopBDT2B8RfpQ-NsP39Q7DAI2yFOgghJwpje_-7Y3YtQFCDCiubW2YprcsSMmOw_vRIA8rmnNJVAzYVte7YUW_p2W5g1PvTNE29cA4uskauPH24I1Mvh5sXcjA_G9UeHb9THp7Kp0OJQKr6Kh_aPT)~~~ The entire iconography of the magical world of *Kimitachi wa dō ikiru ka* borrows from Moebius's *Celestial Venice*, while also drawing on the Moebius-inspired aesthetics of *Kaze no tani no Nausicaä* and *Tenkū no shiro*. From this perspective, the film is never divided into two distinct parts: it is a single meditation on an entire cultural production. *Kimitachi wa dō ikiru ka* is like a long hallucination or an improvised story – for Miyazaki's grandson – using imaginary material as a convenient framework to tell Mahito's story, just as Koperu in the novel of the same name uses his diary to explore his place in the world and how he can live in it. To a degree, Miyazaki takes on the role of both the great-uncle and Mahito, answering to himself and acknowledging his heritage while letting it soar. Although the plot presented in the first few minutes may lead the viewer to believe that the film will focus on the relationship between Mahito and Natsuko, and the pain he may feel at seeing his father quickly moving closer to his sister-in-law who is taking on maternal responsibilities, this is not the case. Nor is the issue of war and nationalism explicitly addressed. In fact, while *Kimitachi wa dō ikiru ka* avoids the familiar devices of Japanese dramatic cinema, it does present some elements of an answer, through Mahito's journey into the world below. The relationship between Mahito and Natsuko is initially cold, despite his determination to save her. They meet again when Mahito enters the labour chamber, breaking a prohibition and inviting the *kegare* into a sacred space. Natsuko's isolation and the many charms decorating the room evoke the traditional cultural habits of *satogaeri shussan*, imposing a *shintō* and Buddhist matrix on the film. This scene, which exorcises the mourning of the mother, also serves to reintroduce death and corruption into the film's discourse. ~~~img520(https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BZjNkY2VlNDUtOGQyNS00ZjQ0LWEyMjktZGIzMGZkNWYzNjg2XkEyXkFqcGdeQXNvbG5vbXM@._V1_.jpg)~~~ Some time later, Mahito points out that the great-uncle's blocks are not made of wood, but of tombstone, and are therefore surrounded by *kegare*. This revelation prompts the great-uncle to seek out the pure ones, so that Mahito can continue his work without being haunted by the spectre of corruption. With this interpretive key, we can associate the world below and the *wakawaka* cycle as using the memories of the dead to perpetuate the living and give the world above a reason to live. More specifically, Miyazaki may be addressing the way in which the heroism of imperial soldiers leads to senseless nationalism and cultural sterility, thus confessing his own tragedy – being the son of an industrial bourgeois and growing up with war as a cultural imaginary. How can he who likes to draw machines of death, and identifies himself with the great-uncle, look Mahito in the eye? Miyazaki's deconstruction of mythology is also expressed in the portrayal of Lady Himi. Her design is typical of Miyazaki's young heroines, and has been since Clarisse in *The Castle of Cagliostro*. As much as Miyazaki can be credited with having strong female characters in his stories, her appearance and behaviour reflect a different idea of *yamato nadeshiko* and may have fuelled the paedophile fantasies of several generations of viewers. *Kimitachi wa dō ikiru ka* appears as a kind of atonement for this mistake: Lady Himi behaves like the classic heroine of a Miyazaki film, but she cannot join Mahito in the world above. Or rather, she is merely an invention of his mind and must return to her true form – the protagonist's real mother – to die in the flames of the fire, shattering the fantasy of Miyazaki's typical young girl. Instead, the film highlights other female characters whose gender expression may be at odds with the director's habits. Kiriko takes on an androgynous appearance in the world below, while Natsuko's eyes in the delivery room blaze with an anger not expected in a Ghibli film, something that the animation and colour palette help to underline as Miyazaki's touch fades into the other graphic styles. Similarly, the soundtrack is more discreet and understated, less iconic, as if Hisaishi is also disappearing with Miyazaki. ~~~img520(https://media.vogue.fr/photos/64f99c75439b2bb5f30048a3/4:3/w_1152,h_864,c_limit/3499465.jpg-r_1920_1080-f_jpg-q_x-xxyxx.jpg)~~~ *Kimitachi wa dō ikiru ka* is perhaps an expression of guilt and frustration at being presented as the progressive voice of Japan, when Miyazaki is only one – necessarily imperfect – expression of it.The film always seems to resist a singular interpretation, forcing an intersection of viewpoints, references and influences. The destruction of the magic stone – which, incidentally, fell to earth during the Meiji Restoration – is a way of shattering the fantasised coherence of Miyazaki's monolithic filmography. In a slightly cruel turn, Miyazaki seems to delight in drawing parallels between the audience and the parakeets that devour the characters without understanding their complexity. The birds consume what is offered to them, perhaps out of necessity, as in the case of the pelicans, but often without thinking, simply following their leaders. They are content to gobble, justifying their actions by the force of circumstances or the transgression of prohibitions. Could this be a foreshadowing of the public's scepticism towards *Kimitachi wa dō ikiru ka*, which only wants a conventional film that fits in the rest of Miyazaki's repertoire? It seems to me, then, that the film is a sententious statement about how his films should be received: the interpretation is left to the viewer, who has to draw out for himself what is virtuous and good in the film and its universe. Miyazaki's work is above all a collective dialogue, choral and moving. It is permeated by uncertainty, regret and dreams. For decades, certain characters and scenes have become protective charms and role models. All this is good in moderation. In the twilight of his life, Miyazaki suggests thinking about a future in which he will no longer be there, swept away by life and his own work. This is not a tragedy, but an open door to another world, where other artists create their own universes. It is no coincidence that the film ends abruptly with the mention of a return to Tokyo. Natsuko is dressed in Western clothes, and the credits scroll over a blue background. The future is coming. So, how do you live?
How do you live? img220(https://cdn.vox-cdn.com/thumbor/rdgyF4SQuC4gPV23wZjohfyNrLM=/0x0:1920x1038/1200x800/filters:focal(807x366:1113x672)/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_image/image/72943395/HERON_img_7.0.jpeg) The english release for this movie had it titled “The Boy and the Heron” but I believe the original title “How do you live?” fits the movie much more. The movie is heavily semi-autobiographical, as it is inspired by Miyazaki’s childhood (endured the firebombing of Japan during World War II and his father owned an aircraft manufacturing company). img220(https://pyxis.nymag.com/v1/imgs/32f/a78/0e50d77f30f017b38fdfcf16e60feca769-boy-and-heron-12-8.rhorizontal.w700.jpg) The film is packed to the brim with themes, very abstract and surreal. There are many ways you can look at it but in my opinion it is ultimately about death, grief and dealing with loss. The movie is about Mahito coming to terms with his mothers death and his new life. He has a hard time adjusting to his new life. He got bullied at school for being wealthy and his father partaking in the war effort. As a result he hits himself in the head with a rock and bleeds out so he can stay home. Eventually the Heron takes his new mom into the fantasy world and Mahito goes in there to save her in which the tone of the movie changes completely. The way the fantasy world was presented felt much more like ‘escapism’ rather than a joyful playful world. The world is seemingly parallel to the normal world. There are lots of characters and references that connect between both worlds. Most importantly, Mahito meets his mother, the one who he has been missing griefing for so long, Himi, here. However there exists lots of malice in this world- The pelicans eating the warawaras and the whole situation with the parakeets and their murderous intent. Then comes in the Great Uncle and his building blocks. The blocks are there to keep the balance and order of the world and he asks Mahito to be his successor, continue building the blocks of the world, maintaining the order of the world to fit his choosing. He could get rid of all the bad in the world if he wanted to and live a perfect life. But after his experiences throughout the story, he ultimately refused. We can’t live with the fantasies of those we lost forever, we must move on and live our current life to the fullest. Going through the bad is what makes life worth living. img220(https://a.storyblok.com/f/178900/1920x1038/50648a061e/the-boy-and-the-heron-7.png) And of course, the movie is fantastic visually, its a ghibli movie. The movie is fantastically rich which came off as both a good and bad thing. One of the more negative results of this is the movie can just come off too hard to understand. There are lots of things that could have gone more in depth such as the feelings of Mahitos' new mom adjusting to this new life also. In the delivery room scene she yells at Mahito telling she hates him and such. Now I believe this is because she was dealing with many hardships and this fantasy world felt as an escape for her, but seeing Mahito reminded her of the normal world. This scene is not very clear and is just one of the many questions that leaves viewers puzzled. Not going into her struggles makes it harder to connect with this scene. A proper story shouldn’t be spoon fed to the viewers but often this movie felt very unclear in its final destination. The introduction of events one after another without proper explanation made for a very disjointed viewing experience. Overall, How do you live? is a great movie with a good message but didn’t have the best plot structure and could have spent more time delving into the mind of some characters more.
Let me just get the preamble out of the way: I'm not a Ghibli superfan. I like a lot of their movies, but I don't think Miyazaki is infallible. I also had literally no idea what to expect from this movie going into it, not even the setting. All I knew was the title and what the main character looked like, so it's not that the movie didn't live up to my expectations or anything like that. Let me also say that me being negative in this review doesn't mean I completely hate it. It has a lot going for it. The animation is absolutely stellar, as is always the case with Ghibli. The music is phenomenal and fits the film perfectly. The opening scene is an 11/10 masterpiece that had me thinking I was about to watch the greatest movie of all time. Even the movie's first act had me intrigued by what was coming next, although I do think it dragged on too long. If I'm being honest with myself, the idea behind this movie was amazing. There's enough drama inherent in the setup of Mahito losing his mother in a fire; add onto that that his father then married his aunt, his mother's younger sister, and you've got some serious intrigue. And this is what the first half of _The Boy and the Heron_ does: builds up this tension between Mahito--the quiet, curious, sneaky boy protagonist who is polite to a fault, gets into fights, and who is hiding a deep, unimaginable grief over his mother's death--and Natsuko--his aunt who is now his mother and who is pregnant with his younger sibling. Being a Ghibli movie, though, the fantastic and the supernatural are to be expected. And so it's not necessarily surprising when the titular heron begins to talk to Mahito and call him to the mysterious, off-limits tower. It's not really surprising when he is pulled into another world and meets a younger version of his mother and his great-granduncle, who was said to have disappeared decades ago. And it's not even surprising when this movie takes a shit on itself and transitions to a save-the-dimensional-balance plotline because every serious movie nowadays seems to love jacking themselves off with magical quantum physics. People will say that I and others who didn't like this film 'didn't really understand it,' and while I'm not claiming I've figured out the plot, it doesn't take a genius to get what Miyazaki was going for. It's a story about grief, love, and life, and dealing with all of these things in reality. How do we make a world free of malice when that world is controlled by Imperial Fascists hell-bent on taking it over? How do we move forward after we lose somebody? How do we let go of our own fears and reservations to do so? The themes and ideas that the movie is trying to convey are all there, and honestly, I think they are really interesting. The problem is that the execution is absolute dog water. Even though I said I liked the first half of the film (and I did), it has its problems. One that bothered me in particular is that nothing is explained. Why does Mahito hit himself in the head with a rock? Why does Natsuko go to the tower? Why is the heron not actually a heron? (This, by the way, is to say nothing of the fever-dream, whiplash inducing second half where things just happen like a slideshow with the characters acting more like staples holding the pages of the script together than the people the story is about). Some people will say you can infer the answers to most of the questions, some people will say it doesn't matter. Personally, there wasn't enough there to get me engaged. But I am almost positive that the details like that wouldn't have mattered had the movie not suffered from its biggest problem, and that is a complete lack of emotion and feeling. Other than the first few scenes that show Mahito and his reaction to his mother's death, this film is completely empty. Character development is on a speedrun: Mahito goes from not liking Natsuko to wanting to save her to treating her as his mother to being at peace with everything without a single line of acknowledgement that his feelings are changing. This dude has the personality of a 2x4, and maybe that would be okay if I could understand why he acted in the ways that he did, but I can't. His feelings are never given the spotlight, and whatever moments of revelation he has regarding Natsuko and his mother are either offscreened or glossed over. The same goes for Natsuko and Himi (and even Kiriko and the Heron). These people aren't characters. They're hollow caricatures who are going through the motions of a heavy and resonant story without the weight to make their feelings real to the audience (or at the very least, to me). Case in point: Mahito and Himi spend 10 minutes together before they are kidnapped by the parakeets. They are then reunited near the end of the film and they cry as they hug. "I thought I lost you," says Himi. Christ almighty, what the fuck are we doing here? In what world do these two have this kind of relationship? Is it because they are mother and son, and the tower somehow connects those feelings through time and space? SAY THAT THEN!! But I have a sneaking suspicion that that's not the case and the folks at Ghibli thought "yep, this is good." I say this because the same thing happens in Princess Mononoke, where Ashitaka and San fall in love despite having spent five minutes with each other and doing nothing but getting their asses kicked by Irontown. This fixation on going through the motions of a story whether or not the characters are developed enough for it to make sense drives me up the fucking wall. If the audience (once again, me in this case) can't empathize with or at the very least understand what the characters on screen are feeling, why should we care about them? Never mind that plot details aren't explained, or that the ending is atrocious, or that the world building makes no sense; the real issue I have with _The Boy and the Heron_ is that it glosses over the journey in favour of the end goal. "But cosmicturtle0, how can you say that when the movie is LITERALLY about a journey!?" Because I only saw Mahito and friends moving through the world; nowhere did I feel them moving closer to an emotional resolution, until it was giftwrapped and shoved out the door at the end. I am 99% sure there is a good movie here. It just isn't the one that I saw.
Went for another Ghibli experience. What did I get? Absolutely this. What's the problem you may ask? This was literally the whole Ghibli Experience. The history was undoubtedly fascinating and intriging, but I think that there were too much of typical Ghibli "quirks" going on. It felt like the director couldn't focus on one particular motif to keep the movie in. I get that war drama of main character, similar to _Hotaru no Haka_, but as I said eariler, even the tragedy of this reality wasn't properly expressed, as in above. Next we have some kind of peaceful interlude, in which the relationship with new "mother" is shown. Of course, typical for the Ghibli drama, there is a lot of onirism going on. I want to keep this review spoiler free, so I won't go into details of their link. What comes next is _Spirited away_ on LSD. There is similar things and motives used, but the eariness of events is very noticeable. Of course this wouldn't be a proper Ghibli film without higher ideas and this is expressed in form of the Lord of the tower. I think that his storyline was very interesting and there were much things to unfold. Unfortunately you get very little of screen time dedicated for the history of why the aforementioned tower has appeared and what purpose it serves. And why the parrots? I understand that it was meant to be a reference to Nazi Germany (maybe the design of flags has to do something with this impression, but the parrots are said to refer to fans and contributors of the creator, wanting more and more), or some kind of Monarchy but it was very earie to watch. Nevertheless very entertaining. Not to mention cute warawara, floating like balloons or pelicans forced to extinguish still unborn lives. Sounds creepy - right? Well, it was and not only in this aspect (the Heron was also a very memorable character, but I think that his story and personality was explained quite good) And yeah - for a moment when Kiriko is on screen, I felt like reading The Old Man and the Sea once again. I liked the time loop aspect of Himi character and it is such a shame that we didn't get more of her talking to the main character throughout the film. As I said previously - it feels like all of Ghibli films combined and compressed into one. End result? A lot of different plots with too little time for them to properly develop. Of course the main plots have come to an end, but a lot of things were left unexplained (even when the secondary threads could greatly benefit from this - like the rules and duties of Lord of the Tower). In the end you get Ghibli experience nearly from all previous films, compressed into one with distinctive unhingment of events. Too much in too little time in my opinion. Unfortunetaly I got strong feeling of unfulfillment at the end of the movie. *Please remember that this review is highly subjective and personal*
How do you live? Miyazaki desperately seeks an answer to this question as he makes it again to the author of the original book, in which the film is titled in Japanese (“Kimitachi wa dou ikiru ka?”; “How do you live?”). The octogenarian and multi-award winning director demonstrates his non-response with an exposure of his self on screen for over 120 minutes; that is, a conscious work on his personas as an artist, as a father, as a human being and, above all, as an idealist. There is no clear answer: the film is an amalgamation of a life filled with uninterrupted attempts to seek beauty in the corruption of reality, the real world. At times, the film features countless self references: it's as if Miyazaki knew he was making a... Miyazaki film. The director presents the public with an intertwining of ideas and audiovisual archetypes that marked his work in an apparently disconnected way, such as several clippings of his expressions as an artist. The tropes are all here: the fantasy environment full of fantastic beings; surrealist, dreamlike envinronments; the contemplation of ideals of beauty and purity; a deep relationship with nature and the female figure; however, there is no focus on any of these aspects. It is not the ode to nature of Princess Mononoke or the tragic (and romantic) contemplation of an artist's relationship with his craft of The Wind Rises. All the aforementioned aspects come together, congested as in a synthesis, so to speak. Miyazaki exclaims the various virtues that would give some meaning to the human condition, which he himself believed in for some time. The self-insertion of his personality into certain characters in the film also denotes the self-reflective nature of “Kimitachi wa dou ikiru ka?”; It's a dialogue by the author with yourself, with his various "selves". Miyazaki is Mahito, the boy who loses his mother at a young age and needs to learn to live without a mother figure, he is also this same boy who grows up in a Japan devastated by war and destruction. Mahito also takes on the role of representing Miyazaki's relationship with his son, Goro: an ideal successor to his father's legacy who never lived up to his selfish expectations. Miyazaki, in this sense, projected himself in the figure of “Ooji”, an old man who sought throughout his long life to establish a perfect, ideal world within his studio. The old man, aware of his finitude, has his desire for a world along his lines rejected by Mahito, which is enough to represent a destruction of the heredity of that ideal. But isn't it ironic that parental relationships of a blood and biological nature (above all, material, real) are sought for the continuity of this perfection of the artist's abstract (and unique) ideal world? Perhaps this is the conformity achieved by Miyazaki: Mahito leaves his old world, in ruins, collapsing. The artist, Ooji, dies with his art. Ultimately, Miyazaki's non-response demonstrates a man aware of his legacy, but also aware of an entire world outside his idealistic mind. People will move on, forget, and follow their own paths: his romanticized idea of perfection will thrive and perish within his work. And although I believe this conclusion brings dissatisfaction to Miyazaki himself, it is conveyed in a sober, if not conforming, way. The conclusion of the plot is short, to the point. As if all the brilliance of a life was like the passing of a second. Tomorrow, immutably, everyone will move on. If there is still any illusion regarding eternity and perfection, let it be for a small moment, while we visit the worlds within his work; there, in fact, we will be inside his ideal world, where in fact all aspects follow Miyazaki's whims to the millimeter. It is within his work that, reluctantly, Miyazaki finds his immortality, while the weight of reality becomes as fleeting as it is necessary.
# Uma produção ímpar, como as outras de Miyazaki, marcando talvez o fim de uma era da forma nostálgica e igualmente ambiciosa como sempre foi; __O Menino e a Garça (2023)__ é mais uma produção fantástica do Estúdio Ghibli. Dirigido por Hayao Miyazaki (do qual expressou ser sua última produção), o filme acompanha uma trajetória similar e igualmente categórica como foram suas outras produções (__O Castelo Animado, Princesa Mononoke, A Viagem de Chihiro, Meu Amigo Totoro...__). Situado na Segunda Guerra Mundial, o filme acompanha Mahito, que tenta se estabelecer em uma nova cidade enquanto lida com o luto da perda de sua mãe. Em sua nova casa, Mahito é atraído por uma garça até uma torre que o leva á um mundo fantasioso, e lá ele passa por uma jornada onde ele reavalia sua relação com luto, família, mundo e responsabilidades. Em questões de produção, senti que o filme trazia um aspecto diferente dos outros filmes de Miyazaki que até então admirava bastante; a consistência do traço. O traço dos filmes de Miyazaki é eficientemente constante. Digo eficientemente pois, apesar de serem design's "simples" eles ainda agregam e casam de maneira extraordinária com a construção de mundo e com o visual dos filmes, sendo simplórios na sua maneira de desenhar enquanto não abrem mão de articular de maneira bem feita as emoções dos personagens. Em momentos de impacto, pode-se observar uma espécie de "quebra" desse padrão. Linhas mais grossas, mais finas; sombreamento á parte... As ocasiões em que se ocorre a mudança no traço não degradam de forma alguma o desenvolvimento e o visual do filme; pelo contrário. Pra mim, foi muito satisfatório ver como permitiram aos animadores colocarem mais de sua própria identidade dentro de um filme tão importante como o suposto último filme de Miyazaki; e eles o fizeram com maestria! Fluídez e sentimentos convertidos em linhas e curvas de uma coleção de desenhos fortes e sólidos aliados com a clássica trilha sonora orquestral das produções do estúdio Ghibli serviram bem tanto para enfatizar as cenas de tristeza, de raiva, e de humor, de forma que se pudesse sentir o impacto de cada momento. E, apesar de ser um muito agradável longa-metragem, sinto que o mundo fantasioso presente no filme, apesar de tão bem construído como foram os anteriores orquestrados por Miyazaki, oferecia pouca (senão nenhuma) contextualização para com sua ideia, seu sentido e seu significado. Por um lado, isso dá ao direito ao espectador de obter sua própria interpretação acerca do filme, mas por outro, para aqueles que não estão previamente acostumados com a forma como os fatos são apresentados nos outros filmes de Miyazaki, podem sair bem confusos da sala de cinema. > Pra mim, O Menino e a Garça é sobre aceitar a imperfeição, a mudança - e seguir em frente apesar disso. Se trata sobre aceitar você mesmo e o mundo como você vive e você mesmo de forma coletiva; ambos com suas imperfeições, feiuras e defeitos.
Is there a single artist on the face of the earth more tortured by their own legacy than Hayao Miyazaki? You'd think he wouldn't have much to complain about. This is a man who's spent his life creating some of the most enduring works of art of the modern era. From Nausicaa to Totoro to Mononoke to Spirited Away to Ponyo, Miyazaki's filmography has enriched our world with timeless masterpieces that have redefined what animated storytelling is capable of and still stand as the high-water-mark of this art form decades later. He's jumpstarted the imaginations of countless impressionable children, made adults rediscover their own joy of creation, crossed language and cultural divides to unite people all over the world in their shared love of the worlds he's built and the people he's placed within them. He isn't just a great artist; he's _the_ great artist, a once-in-a-generation master who's name and works will be remembered and revered long after he's gone. Anyone would kill for a life like that. And yet. For all the joy Miyazaki's movies have given the world, it's impossible to ignore the sense of _anguish_ that has pervaded his work lately. The Miyazaki who appears in his movies today is not a man facing his twilight years with the grace and contentment of a life fully lived. No, his late-stage work feels wracked with torment at the effect he's had on the world, scared and resentful and grappling with what he's actually leaving behind now that his time is ticking to a close. For god's sake, The Wind Rises has him comparing his own artistic drive to the man who engineered Japan's warplanes in WW2, casting a life spent on creation as the source of untold destruction. And somehow, even _that_ isn't as self-critical as The Boy and the Heron, a sprawling, surreal fever dream of a movie wherein Miyazaki condemns his artistic legacy to the ashes of history and suggests we may well be better off forgetting he ever existed in the first place. I realize some may find it pretentious to focus so much on the creator when talking about a movie or TV show. Death of the Author exists for a reason, there's only so much outside factors should influence your opinion of the work itself, all of that I agree with. But this movie in particular practically _demands_ to be read in context of Miyazaki's life and work. The whole thing practically feels like a remix of Ghibli's greatest hits at points, the building blocks of his storytelling sensibilities repurposed and smashed back together. Like The Wind Rises and Grave of the Fireflies, it's about the horrors of World War 2: the protagonist Mahito loses his mother in a bombing run. His father remarries his wife's sister and takes them to live in a countryside villa straight out of Arrietty or Totoro. He's then Spirited Away to a magical otherworld in search of his stepmother after she goes missing, with a dreamlike surrealist tone reminiscent of Howl or Earthsea. There's even a focus on sea imagery like Ponyo and a scene with little puffball spirits that wouldn't feel out of place in Princess Mononoke. If you've watched a single Ghibli film before, you will feel its echoes rippling through this one. But these are not gentle references or nostalgic callbacks, oh no. The world Mahito is drawn into is explicitly a world of death and entropy. The first place he visits is the door to a towering graveyard. Gentle spirits are ripped from the sky by carnivorous birds. The sea bulges and ripples like it's constantly on the verge on overflowing and swallowing the land whole. This isn't just an amalgamation of all Miyazaki's work; this is the corruption and degradation of his attempts to build something beautiful. The closest comparison I can make, oddly, is Dark Souls 3, a work that feels like a creator's legacy crashing in on itself, themes and aesthetics and concepts smashing together in some kind of apocalyptic spiral as the worlds they were born from are stretched past their breaking point. This world is dying, dying, dying, and as we find out near the film's end, only one man's stubborn refusal has kept the proverbial First Flame's embers flickering as long as they have. But soon, even that will be snuffed out as well, and this exhausted carcass of a landscape will finally slip back into the darkness. What's most striking about this portrayal, though, is how explicitly The Boy and the Heron condemns Miyazaki in the approaching apocalypse. Spoiling as little as possible, we come to understand that the reason this world is so off-balance is because of its creator's attempts to fill it with joy and whimsy. But all his efforts turned sour, his creations that should've been sparks of imagination instead turned carnivorous and insatiable, ravaging the land with unquenchable hunger sparked by his own innate malice. The creator of this world, in other words, the man who just wanted to make something beautiful, only ended up creating nightmares poisoned by his own inner darkness. He wanted to give his gifts to the world, and all those gifts have done is lay waste to it. And now all he can do is fiddle away as the Titanic goes under, hoping that someone better than him- someone untainted by the world's darkness- can create something better from the scraps he leaves behind. It's a _nihilistically_ dark self-portrait from Miyazaki, to the point it's almost comical. Like, you're telling me My Neighbor Totoro is a poison you unleashed upon our world? Sure, grandpa. But the film argues that point with such raw agony it kind of makes you believe it. As typically gorgeous and jaw-dropping as the animation is, the whole film feels drowned in stillness and sorrow, even before we reach the mystical otherworld. Mahito's big introduction to his new house is almost completely devoid of music, long stretches of time going by without so much as a line of dialogue to alleviate the crippling dread. So many of the early scenes portray his grief and rage not through dialogue or action, but the silent, subtle changes to his numb expression. This world is already so steeped in darkness, the movie seems to argue, that trying to create anything out of these poisoned building blocks will inevitably cause nothing but misery. Even when the titular heron shows up, there's no fanfare, no sense of discovery or whimsy at the reveal of something magical intruding upon the normal world like you'd get in other Ghibli movies. Mahito just confronts it as if he'd known it was there all along, as if this mystical otherworld is just one of the many diseases that make our world such a hell to live in, so intimately familiar and intrusive it's more akin to a tumor we can never fully carve from our souls. If it seems like I'm talking a lot about the themes without discussing the actual story, well, there's a reason; it's kind of a mess. Once Mahito fully crosses the threshold into the otherworld, The Boy and the Heron very quickly devolves into Miyazaki's loosest, most surreal narrative yet. It operates on heavy dream logic, floating from one set piece to the next, introducing new concepts and characters seemingly out of nowhere, not paying much heed to how any of these parts would form any sort of whole. And that's fine in concept; this world is very clearly designed as an outlet for Miyazaki's angst more than a piece of credible worldbuilding. But at times it feels the narrative is swimming haphazardly amidst that current, bobbing in and out of focus as it struggles to maintain a clear line of thought. By the time the movie's over, it feels like more than one thread was dropped somewhere along the way. What was the Parrot King's deal and why did he only show up at the very end? What exactly turned Mahito around on his stepmother? Why is there no thematic resolution for his overbearing dad and what he might represent? At its worst, it reminds me of what a mess Howl's Moving Castle was, and that's not an experience I'd ever like to repeat, thank you very much. But maybe asking for coherency is beside the point. This is, after all, a catalogue of its creator's psyche first and foremost. And if there's one thing The Boy and the Heron makes clear, it's that Miyazaki has in no way come to terms with the demons that drive him, even after pouring so many of them into this project. It's art therapy taken to its furthest possible extreme, an outpouring of grief and anxiety and despair and hope spilling like paint across canvas in an effort to purge the darkness within. I can't claim to know what's in Miyazaki's head, why he feels so disillusioned with his legacy, what the exact point was for each and every symbol. But if nothing else, I can tell this is exactly the movie he wanted to make, warts and all. It's a staggering, lumpy, uncomfortable mess of a thing, but it's raw and honest in a way that's impossible to tear your eyes away from. If this is Miyazaki's farewell to the life he's leaving behind, I can only hope his next work will bring him the joy he seeks in whatever time he has left.