Review: The Boy and the Heron

 A strange, beautiful, melancholy study of grief and renewal filtered through a magical lens.

The Boy and the Heron is Hayao Miyazaki’s latest film for Studio Ghibli, the animation team behind classic films such as Princess Mononoke, Spirited Away, Howl’s Moving Castle, and Ponyo. The Boy and the Heron is a strange, beautiful, melancholy film that feels like a study of grief filtered through the intentionally incoherent lens of Alice in Wonderland. The film has nods to prior Studio Ghibli films and connects with the audience through the unique animation style and emotionally evocative storytelling that are hallmarks of Miyazaki’s work. 

A school-aged boy Mahito loses his mother when the hospital where she works catches fire in wartime Tokyo. He sees the flames from a distance and races towards the building but, due to the distance and his young age, he is unable to save her. Mahito’s father, a factory owner, later marries his dead wife’s sister, Natsuko, and moves Mahito to Natsuko’s family’s country estate. Mahito is respectful of his pregnant stepmother but is emotionally distant from her as he navigates his ongoing grief and the strange old mansion in which he must now live. His busy father assures Mahito the local school children will be impressed when he arrives in an automobile (a rare luxury in that era). However, the other schoolboys bully Mahito and beat him severely. This is a tipping point for Mahito’s despondence and he engages in a dramatic act of self-harm to ensure he does not have to return to school. While recuperating at home, Mahito is haunted by a large bird who tells him his mother is still alive and tries to entice him to enter a mysterious, sealed-off tower that stands on the estate. When his stepmother goes missing, he decides to follow the heron into the strange tower in an attempt to unravel the mystery of his mother and her sister. This is where the story makes a dramatic turn into a fantastical quest narrative that harkens back to Chihiro in Spirited Away and Ashitaka in Princess Mononoke. In the course of his quest, he enters a spiritual realm / astral plane where spirits exist in different stages of being. The realm is run by his ancestor, who wants Mahito to remain in the realm but Mahito is concerned with finding his mother and saving his stepmother. 

The film’s emotional reach is anchored by the profoundly thoughtful animation. In an early scene, Mahito ascends the broad outdoor steps to his new home. With each step his knee bends with carefully detailed efforts conveying the physical weight and distance as well as the overwhelming grief that burdens him. The hand-drawn movements are a dramatic change from the sharp, loud, bright, fast visuals that dominate many recent animation blockbusters. As a result, the characters in The Boy and the Heron feel close to us emotionally. 

On the other hand, certain groups in the tale are drawn differently from the lead characters giving them a more fantastical element. The stepmother’s mansion is staffed by a group of older ladies with exaggerated, cartoonish aging features. The schoolboys who attack Mahito are all collectively designed with rounded features that distinguish them from Mahito’s more angular design. Both of these are interesting stylistic choices that sometimes feel a little too overt but also foreshadow the dreamlike state of the boy’s emotions. The visual distinctions continues when Mahito crosses over into the tower’s magical realm. 

The contrasting animation style emphasizes the film’s themes of death, grief, despondence, resilience, and self-determination. Many of Mahito’s encounters in the tower are both dreamlike and nightmarish. In one scene his entire body is gradually covered by a swarm of frogs, in another he is covered by strips of paper, and in another he is overcome by birds. In each situation, the gradual, suffocating accumulation of small obstacles creates an immersive connection to the grief and resilience being symbolized. 

You don’t have to be a Studio Ghibli expert to enjoy The Boy and The Heron. But if you are a fan, you will notice nods to the prior films. Mahito resembles a younger version of Prince Ashitaka from Princess Mononoke and he uses a homemade bow and arrow in his quest. The older women who take care of the estate are reminiscent of the senior center ladies in Ponyo and some have a design similar to Yubaba in Spirited Away. The mystical tower that “straddles worlds” and links to an alternate dimension is a reminder of the magical castle in Howl’s Moving Castle. Mahito’s ally Kiriko in the magical realm reminds us of Haku’s mentorship of Chihiro in Spirited Away. 

If you haven’t seen other Studio Ghibli films, Princess Mononoke and Spirited Away are great introductions, but they are not necessary to enjoy the new story. Despite the gorgeous and thoughtful storytelling, the plot of The Boy and the Heron feels less linear than other Miyazaki films, especially in terms of the various motivations in the tower’s spirit realm. The other main discomfort of the film is its abrupt ending which doesn’t quite wrap up the expansive story in a truly satisfying way. However, that approach is consistent with the themes of the film which reminds us that sadness and loss are intrinsic to life and sometimes you just do your best and then try to move forward, even without a deep revelation or resolution. 

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Nerd Coefficient: 8/10

Highlights

• Gorgeous, emotionally evocative animation
• Interesting design and plot choices
• Powerful themes of death, grief, despondence, compassion, and self-determination.

POSTED BY: Ann Michelle Harris – Multitasking, fiction writing Trekkie currently dreaming of her next beach vacation.

Microreview [film]: Ponyo by Miyazaki Hayao

Innocent child's tale, or meditation on the afterlife?

Miyazaki Hayao is the Lord of Animation, one who has had as wide a cultural impact as Walt Disney himself. His movies feature strong male and female characters, interesting storylines, stunning visuals, and fascinating technologies in ways unrivaled by any other modern animator. But that does not mean that all of his movies are created equal. Miyazaki has made the finest animated works of all time in My Neighbor Totoro and Spirited Away. On the other hand, he’s made some comparative duds (like Howl’s Moving Castle or The Wind Rises, both of which are not bad movies by any stretch of the imagination). I have already talked about some of my favorite Miyazaki movies on Nerds of a Feather. Today, I’d like to introduce the movie I am more conflicted about: Ponyo.

WARNING: The following discussion is spoilerific!

Ponyo tells an innocent love story between a fish-girl, Ponyo (or “Brunhilde” as her father refers to her), and a five-year-old boy, Sōsuke. Sōsuke finds Ponyo trapped in a glass jar on a beach. He frees her from the jar, only to cut himself in the process. In thanks, Ponyo licks his hand, healing his wound and initiating changes that allow her to transform into human shape. Thus begins a friendship, or a pure love story as told through the eyes of a child. Ponyo decides that she wants to become human, and the rest of the movie revolves around the adventures she takes with Sōsuke to make her wish a reality.

The most impressive aspect of this movie is its animation. The art is visually arresting. In fact, Ponyo features perhaps the most gorgeous artistry of any Studio Ghibli movie. Roger Ebert stated this perhaps better than I can in his own review of Ponyo:

"The film opens with a spellbinding, wordless sequence beneath the sea, showing floating jellyfish and scampering bottom-dwellers. The pastels of this scene make Ponyo one of the very rare movies where I want to sit in the front row, to drown in it. This is more than 'artistry.' It is art."

   

Still, in all honesty, I did not like Ponyo much the first time I saw it. The storyline appeared somewhat childish, the narrative and dialogue left important questions unanswered, and the characters acted in head-scratchingly strange ways. Take Sōsuke’s mother. She’s the epitome of a strong woman, one who has little problems taking care of herself, her family, and the community while her husband is away at sea. But whether driving through a tsunami or leaving her five-year-old son at home alone for no apparent reason, she continually chooses to put herself and her child at risk. Every driving scene is particularly cringe-worthy. 

But having a two-year old at home gave me the chance for a second take… then a third… and a fourth… and a fifth… I’m now at least thirty times in. Watching a movie this many times (granted, my attention now wanders more than I care to admit) has given me a different take. I now see quite clearly that Ponyo is much more nuanced and creative than I had originally thought. In addition to being a cute story that is safe for children, it seems likely that Ponyo is Miyazaki’s subtle and veiled meditation on death as he advanced in age.

Take Ponyo's given name, Brunhilde. Some have suggested that Ponyo is a deliberate incantation of the valkyrie Brynhildr, someone who served in some Germanic myths as a harbinger of death. Ponyo herself serves in a similar capacity, bringing a tsunami that wipes out the majority of Sōsuke's village, even reaching the lighthouse where Sōsuke resides. In the wake of that tsunami, Ponyo and Sōsuke may in fact bear witness the passing souls of the now-decimated community. As the two adventurers ride in a toy boat in search of Sōsuke's mother, they run into the whole town in small boats paddling toward the hotel on "the other side." Was this not a reference to crossing the Sanzu River, the Buddhist equivalent to the River Styx? Moreover, later in the film, Ponyo and Sōsuke approach a tunnel that Ponyo obviously does not want to enter. Going into it causes her to revert to her fish form and to fall asleep. Was this tunnel one that leads to the afterlife? Finally some of the people they meet on the other side act in ways that suggest they might no longer be alive (the grannies, for instance!).

I remain conflicted about Ponyo, even after my thirtieth take. On the one hand, it is a cute and innocent story of love shared between two five-year-old children. In this context, it is a great family movie and something my own two-year-old son can watch over and over and over again. On a much deeper and implicit level, however, it may also be Miyazaki's extended musings about life, death, and the promise of what's to come...

The Math

Baseline Assessment: 6/10

Bonuses: +2 for the meticulous, hand-drawn artistry, which remains so much better than the current trend toward CGI.

Penalties: -1 for leaving so many questions unanswered; -1 for Sōsuke's mom and her death wish.

Multiple Views Bonus: +1 for making me think so much more deeply about this film than I had ever intended.

Nerd Coefficient: 7/10 "An enjoyable experience, but not without its flaws"

Why Princess Mononoke is Better than Jemmy Thought

I will preface this by stating that I am a big Miyazaki Hayao fan like Jemmy, but don't feel like I have his expertise in the field despite taking a class on Japanese Animation at The University of Texas back in the day.  I don't feel the need to produce a new plot summary as I doubt I would be able to craft one as elegant and complete as Jemmy did here.

My top five Miyazki films are My Neighbor Totoro, Princess Mononoke, Nausicaa in the Valley of the Wind, Spirited Away, and Ponyo.

I will start by saying that I fully agree that Miyazaki created a beautiful world in Princess Mononoke, but I will take that a step farther and say that I think this may be the most beautiful animated movie of our generation.  The color palate that Miyazaki uses throughout this film is so rich and deep in a way that CGI has yet to capture.   According to the Disney site (who owns the U.S. rights to Studio Ghibli films), Miyazaki saw the redraw of over 80,000 cells and the attention to detail shows.  To me the sheer beauty of this film distinguish it from almost all other animated movies.

I must also concur that the complexity of characters is a huge strength of Mononoke, but disagree that San being one-dimensional was a flaw.  As Jemmy stated, both Ashitaka and Eboshi are two very complex and fantastic characters.  I have never enjoyed a movie that lives in the gray as much as Mononoke.  No character is truly good and no character is truly evil.  To me it speaks to a changing world and examines the positive and negative that are associated with that.  As to San, I personally feel that the fact that she is one dimensional and has an internal struggle that she doesn't realize, makes her more believable.  She was raised by wolves and now has the world that she once new and loved challenged to its core.  Her animal like reaction to what is thrust at her, in my opinion, adds to the movie and adds an element of realism to this fantastical tale.


I will concede that Mononoke is not as subtle as Nausicaa, but I have no issue with this.  To me this is merely the context of when the movies were made.  A lot changed between 1984 and 1997 and Miyazaki was able to overtly state his message in a way that may not have been accepted in 1984.

Princess Mononoke remains that film that I use as a gateway to Miyazaki with friends (unless it is fellow parents of children like myself as it is quite violent) and has a very special spot in my heart.  My only criticism with the film is the fact that I couldn't get over Minnie Driver's British accent in the U.S. dub.  Stick with the original audio.

Objective Quality: 9/10.

Bonuses: +1 for its sheer beauty.  +1 for its strong female characters.

Penalties: -1 for Minnie Driver in the U.S. dub. -1 for its over-the-top violence which limits its audience.

Nerd Coefficient: 9/10  "very high quality/standout in its category"

[See an explanation of our non-inflated scores here]

Microreview [film]: Spirited Away by Miyazaki Hayao

The Meat

Spirited Away, by famous Japanese animator Miyazaki Hayao, is a fantastic feature-length film that focuses a sullen, willful, and spoiled 10-year old girl named Chihiro. The story opens with her in the back seat of her father's car, moping while they are moving to a new town. On the way, her father gets lost in a dark forest, and winds up at the gate of what appears to be an old amusement park, abandoned after Japan's bubble era. Although apparently abandoned, as evening falls, some of the food shops appear to open, and Chihiro's family find that they are lined with exotic, tasty delights. Chihiro's parents pig out on the food, scaring their young daughter, who just wants to leave. Within moments, Chihiro's gluttonous parents literally turn into pigs. Making matters worse, as twilight sets in, Chihiro finds the way back to home blocked by a vast lake. 

As night sets in, a boy named Haku appears as Chihiro's guide, and leads her to a towering bathhouse. Haku informs Chihiro that to survive in this new world and to save her parents, she first has to work. Haku thus sends Chihiro to Kamaji, an intriguing, bearded eight-limbed creature who works in the boiler room deep in the innards of the boathouse. After seeing Chihiro's guts firsthand, Kamaji tells Chihiro that she must make it to the top of the bathhouse and demand a job from the proprietor and sorceress, Yubaba. From this point on, Chihiro ventures in to the bathhouse, only to get a first glimpse into a wondrous new world. In the process, her name is stolen by Yubaba; she is renamed Sen. And Chihiro/Sen begins a magical and extraordinary adventure to save her parents and to find a way back home.  

Yubaba and Chihiro

Chihiro is different from the heroic figures that populate some of Miyazaki's and many other animated films. In her spoiled and sullen way, Chihiro is a unique antihero. To save her parents, this antihero engages in a number of what a willful 10-year old girl might be consider Herculean tasks: exploring an old bathhouse; demanding a job from the proprietor; cleaning dirty baths; helping her friends; and riding the train alone. These seemingly ordinary acts are imbued with a magical quality, and allow Chihiro to guide the viewer through a world teeming with endless imagination. The adventures she has, the friends she makes, and the love she experiences ironically make this willful 10-year old at times feel much more adult than her own parents.  

True to form, Miyazaki's also creates a subtle and layered antagonist, one who is not exactly the poster girl for evil. Yubaba is a complex character. Although overbearing, intimidating, and driven almost wholly by greed, Yubaba has a softer side that she reveals sporadically throughout the movie. Whether  by her motherly softness, her praise for Chihiro, or through the occasional soft-hearted decision, Yubaba defies the simple caricature of evil incarnate. Yubaba's twin sister, Zeniba, is equally complex. She would not hesitate to kill to protect her magical properties, but at the same time she is kind-hearted and more than willing to take care of Kaonashi (No Face). The movie thus effectively blurs the lines between good and evil, presenting at times more realistic picture of life.

Miyazaki also uses Spirited Away as a vehicle to promote an environmentalist message in a surprisingly effective manner. After joining the bathhouse, Chihiro's first client is Okutaresama, a river god whose body had absorbed all the putrid sludge, stinking junk, and discarded objects that people threw in over the years. In this funny and delightful scene, Chihiro finds herself helping the river god discard all the junk it accumulated over the years. And Haku, her love interest, also has a an eco-unfriendly back story. Perhaps because these messages are told in a subtle manner (through side stories), the environmentalist critique in Spirited Away is more powerful than any other Miyazaki movie since his early masterpiece, Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind.

Spirited Away shows off Miyazaki's boundless imagination, enthusiasm, and endless creativity, both in its animation and in its overall story line. The animation stands apart from most other animated movies (especially Disney) because it is hand drawn with a degree of care that is rarely found in feature-length films. And the design is equally beautiful. I have never seen in one movie so many different types of plants, monsters, gods, and other beings.

In the end, Spirited Away weaves a simple fairy tail of a young girl trying to save her family and return home. In doing so, it tells, in a surprisingly effective way, straightforward messages of the harmful nature of greed, the negative human environmental impact, the difficulties of growing up, and the importance of believing in yourself. Although not my personal favorite Studio Ghibli film (that honor goes to Porco Rosso), Spirited Away deserves lavish praise as Miyazaki Hayao's best, most complete movie. It never fails to put a smile on my face or a laugh to my day. This film is fit and fun for any age, from young child to adult. Run, don't walk, to your nearest computer to download or buy this movie. Spirited Away is without a doubt the finest animated film ever made.

The Math

No Nerd Coefficient necessary. This movie rocks on all accounts.

Total Score: 10/10 "Mind-blowing, Life-changing, Best. Animated. Movie. Evar!"

Snack Pairing: Lay's Pepsi-Chicken Flavored Potato Chips

Lay's Pepsi-Chicken Flavored Potato Chips (USA/China)

Yes, you read that correctly: "Pepsi-Chicken" flavor. And as it happens, it's not as random as you might think--cola is used in China to caramelize soy-flavored chicken wings (in neighboring Korea it's often used as a "secret" ingredient in kalbi marinades). I haven't actually tried this snack, but was told it's "like barbeque flavor but with this sickly sweet, chemical aftertaste." Epic win for globalization.

Pairs with: Princess Mononoke, A.I. Artificial Intelligence or any other bit of nerdery that starts off carbonated only to devolve into a flat, sugary mess.

Why Princess Mononoke Isn't as Good as You Think

The Meat

Mononoke Hime (Princess Mononoke) is perhaps the most popular Miyazaki Hayao movie in the English-speaking world. This is not surprising. Princess Mononoke is an action-packed fantasy, one set against the stage of a clash between man and nature, progress and superstition, trust and betrayal. Princess Mononoke has been so popular in the English-speaking world that, as of April 2013, it will be adapted to the stage in London's New Diorama Theatre. For more information on the stage play adaptation, click here.

But why the popularity? Princess Mononoke is a good movie. But it is by no means great. It would not even make my list of Miyazaki Hayao's top 5 movies (his five best are, in no particular order, Spirited Away, My Neighbor Totoro, Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, Porco Rosso, and Raputa: Castle in the Sky. Check out our review of Porco Rosso). Nor is it his best movie on humanity's conflict and trials within an unforgiving, wild, and uncaring natural world. I'll touch more on this below.

Again, let me stress that I do like the movie. After all, Miyazaki does a lot right. First, he constructs a beautiful and engaging world, creates interesting and complex characters, and tells a fine tale of adventure. This is a truly visually inventive film, one that has had an impact far beyond the world of animated movies. Moreover, the main character, Ashitaka, is perhaps the most complex main character in any Miyazaki film. Ashitaka was an Emishi tribesman (a real historical people from northeastern Japan) and a descendant of the royal family, destined to lead his tribe. At the movie's outset, Ashitaka protected his tribe from a rampaging cursed god (tatari-gami), killing the boar-god before it left his village in ruins. But this fight left Ashitaka cursed.

Ashitaka's cursed arm

The curse took both a spiritual and a physical toll on Ashitaka. To find out the nature of the curse and, hopefully, to discover a cure, Ashitaka was forced to abandon his topknot, his homeland, his tribe, and his claim to tribal leadership (did he leave voluntarily or was he, the cursed man, exiled?). Ashitaka traveled to the southwest, the direction from which the cursed boar-god had come, to learn more. At the same time, his curse exacted a fierce physical toll, leaving him in obvious physical pain. 

Ultimately, he finds his answers by wandering into a war waged between humans and nature, which I will not spoil for you. This is not his war, and he doesn't belong on either side of the conflict. Ashitaka is thus a man with no place: his curse forced him to leave his village and his old life, and at the same time, he has no place in this new life, dominated by a conflict between man and nature. 

Ashitaka lookin' cool on Yakkuru

Just as a war is being waged within his own body as the curse spreads, a war between the human town of Tataraba and the true wild (the kind that scared Henry David Thoreau out of his breeches) is threatening the natural world itself, threatening to change it into something tame. This is a story of a human war to tame nature. In the process, something magical and fearsome is lost. 

Lady Eboshi is another complex and fantastic character. The head of the town Tataraba, Eboshi is the cause of the war to tame nature. She is a compassionate character towards her human subjects, and is especially nice toward the women, the lepers, and the infirm in the town. In fact, her help and support keeps the lepers alive and cared for. But Eboshi is merciless in the pursuit of her utopian world, a world where man no longer has to fear nature. She would not hesitate to sacrifice her men, her friends, or even herself in the pursuit of this ideal. Strong ideals might lead to a human paradise, but at the expense of something much grander. 

Lady Eboshi

Despite the excellent cast of characters, Princess Mononoke feels overly preachy. Granted, it is not an overtly environmentalist movie, even though Miyazaki is making definite claims of humans taming nature and molding it to their own ends. The trope of man vs. nature is dealt with in a subtle way, where both sides are fighting for their share of the emerging order. But Miyazaki deals with this trope and the complexities of good vs. evil in a much more subtle manner in Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind. Nausicaa combines a wondrous and dangerous world with a complex story of kingdoms at war, lust for power, fears of and desires for weapons of mass destruction, and a slowly regenerating natural world. Nausicaa encapsulates so much of the human experience that it would be remiss to call it anything other than a masterpiece. Princess Mononoke, however, while good as a standalone movie, feels tame in comparison. Mononoke could never reach the heights of Nausicaa.  

Further, the woman named San (who the locals call Princess Mononoke) is too one-dimensional a character. Although human, she lived with the wolf-god clan and fought for the side of the wild, un-tame nature. Perhaps the true irony of Princess Mononoke is the fact that San, a human, could not recognize that she bridged two worlds. The story might have been more effective had she more overtly realized a conflict raging in herself between her love for wild nature and her desire to be a human. But perhaps that would be too perfect a story...

The Math

Objective Quality: 7/10.

Bonuses: +1 for a gorgeous world. +1 for the best main character I've seen in any animated film.

Penalties: -1 for being overly preachy. -1 for a one-dimensional female lead character.

Nerd Coefficient: 7/10  "An enjoyable experience, but not without its flaws"

[See an explanation of our non-inflated scores here]