The Boy and The Heron ★★★★☆
Hayao Miyazaki’s latest and most surreal acid trip of a movie is like being invited to someone’s dream—but that someone insists on narrating every minute of it. It’s beautiful, confusing, and utterly captivating, even if you have no idea what’s going on half the time.
The story kicks off during World War II with Mahito, a grieving 12-year-old, who’s been yanked from fire-bombed Tokyo to the countryside after his mother’s tragic death. But settling into a new home with his father’s newly pregnant second wife (who also happens to be his aunt—yes, it’s as awkward as it sounds) is just the beginning. Mahito soon encounters a creepy, talking heron, who lures him into a bizarre, fantastical world inside a mysterious tower. Here, the rules of reality are optional, and the inhabitants range from giant, knife-wielding parakeets to marshmallowy spirit creatures, making it more “Pan’s Labyrinth” than your typical cozy Ghibli world.
At its heart, The Boy and The Heron is Miyazaki doing what he does best: transforming deep, complex themes into visual poetry. The film wrestles with grief, loss, and the messy process of growing up. Mahito’s journey through this otherworld is his emotional grappling with his mother’s death, wrapped up in Miyazaki’s love for whimsical, mystical storytelling. There’s a definite “coming-of-age via spiritual crisis” vibe, as Mahito is repeatedly tempted to escape reality but ultimately learns to face life’s messier truths. The boy’s quest in this otherworld could be seen as a metaphor for navigating his own fractured sense of family and self—a hallmark of Miyazaki’s introspective filmmaking.
Visually, The Boy and The Heron is peak Miyazaki—every frame is a meticulously crafted work of art. Expect the sort of painterly landscapes and delicate animation that have become synonymous with Studio Ghibli. But where previous films like My Neighbor Totoro offered cozy, pastoral escape, here the fantasy world feels more foreboding, with grotesque creatures and surreal, Bosch-like imagery. You’ll find yourself mesmerized by magical fire-wielding maidens and mystical birds, but don’t get too comfortable—this world can turn bizarrely apocalyptic at any moment.
While Mahito may not have the spunky charm of other Ghibli protagonists, his reserved, grief-stricken persona gives the story an emotional weight. The heron—voiced with delicious menace in the English dub by Robert Pattinson—becomes a strangely charismatic frenemy. Mahito’s journey is helped (and often hindered) by a motley cast of characters, from the fiercely independent Himi to the terrifyingly goofy giant parakeets, who somehow manage to mix horror and slapstick in equal measure.
Ah, pacing—a word that probably gets side-eyed by Miyazaki. The film’s first half gently meanders, building Mahito’s world with deliberate slowness. But once the fantasy kicks in, things go full fever dream, with plotlines so tangled you’ll swear you’ve missed something crucial. The story can feel disjointed at times, as if it’s a collection of mythic vignettes rather than a straightforward narrative. That said, if you can ride the wave of whimsy, it eventually coalesces into a surprisingly poignant finale.
Watching The Boy and The Heron feels like stepping into someone else’s nostalgic reverie—specifically, Miyazaki’s. The film touches on memories of war, loss, and finding one’s place in a world that’s as unpredictable as it is beautiful. It may not hit the emotional highs of Spirited Away or Howl’s Moving Castle, but there’s something deeply personal here, a kind of wistful meditation on living through—and beyond—grief. I walked out of the theater feeling both unsettled and strangely comforted, which, let’s be honest, is classic Ghibli.
This is a film for the dreamers—the ones who don’t mind if their fairy tales get a little weird, a little dark, and maybe even a little nonsensical. Fans of Miyazaki’s earlier works will find plenty to love here, but The Boy and The Heron isn’t going to be for everyone. Younger viewers might struggle with its more abstract elements, but those who stick with it will be rewarded with a visual and emotional journey that lingers long after the credits roll. A perfect four-star ride through the mind of an animation genius, even if you leave with more questions than answers.
