Hello folks, and welcome back to Wrong Every Time. Today I’m thrilled to announce that we’ll be stomping our way through Hayao Miyazaki’s latest allegedly final feature, last year’s How Do You Live?, released abroad as The Boy and the Heron. Though its original title refers to a 1937 novel by Genzaburō Yoshino, it is apparently not a direct adaptation, and that’s frankly all I want to know about it. The film’s own promotion was limited to a single, ambiguous image of a man decked in a bird-like costume, implying both extraordinary confidence on Studio Ghibli’s part, and also an apparent desire for audiences to enter the film with no meaningful preconceptions.

That’s an easy enough request for me to fulfill; new Miyazaki films are rare events, and I count myself lucky that I’ve been able to admire this last act of his illustrious career in real time. From animating feats of fancy in Toei’s early films like Puss ‘n Boots and The Flying Phantom Ship, Miyazaki went on to spearhead some of the greatest TV productions of the ‘70s and ‘80s, before forming Studio Ghibli and becoming anime’s premier international ambassador. His remarkable catalog needs no introduction, and recent works like The Wind Rises demonstrate he’s still as passionate and determined to express a personal truth of artistry as ever. Let’s see what The Boy and the Heron has to offer!

The Boy and the Heron

We open with an air raid siren rousing the people of the city from their beds. Based on the architecture, it seems we’re back in the closing days of World War II again. The specter of the war looms over decades of anime, offering a vision of human hubris and its consequences that no child of that era is likely to forget. Miyazaki’s works often center on the ambiguous allure of progress, encapsulated through the simultaneous wonder and terror at technological innovation characterizing works like Castle in the Sky and Princess Mononoke. These reflections have often been cloaked in metaphor or transposed across time, but as he’s reached the last stage of his career, he’s come to embrace visions of the war itself, as in this and The Wind Rises. It’s a common thread among aging artists – any sort of pretense disguising their preoccupations is discarded, so as to better, more authentically examine the fundamental questions of their lives

Lovely burning effect as ashes fall beyond this boy’s window

The character acting is of course extraordinary, and we swiftly jump to a movement-into-depth staircase climb, an effect Miyazaki has favored ever since Chihiro was drawn through the garden in Spirited Away

The hospital is on fire, with this boy’s mother still inside. Him hastily pulling on his clothes is so tactile it feels almost rotoscoped, but that’s simply the caliber of key animation you tend to get in late Miyazaki films. Animating for a Miyazaki film is like acting in a Scorsese film – the masters only have so many works left in them, so most folks will drop anything for the chance to contribute

Oh man, this animation as we take to the streets is gorgeous, and very much not in keeping with Miyazaki’s general character design work. It feels ragged yet realistic in a way that reminds me of Shinya Ohira, and given how frequently he’s tapped for Miyazaki films, I’m guessing it is indeed him

His animation is profoundly expressive in its variations of form, merging unusually realistic character designs with a fluidity of movement that echoes the felt experience of a frantic moment of crisis. His contributions to Rainbow Fireflies still play in my mind all the time

It’s frankly a bit unusual to see an animator push this far outside Miyazaki’s usual paradigm – he’s normally very particular about correcting the works of others to match his style. Perhaps he’s actually softening that stance a bit, inviting more artists in for his final works

Gorgeous landscapes as we learn that our lead and his father left Tokyo after his mother’s death

Visions of mid- and post-war Japan are always fascinating, a nation charging towards modernity while still defined by ancient traditions and aesthetics. The country’s isolationist policy meant the years following its opening to the world were defined by hundred of years of history living in awkward cohabitation

The boy’s name is Mahito. His father’s new wife is Natsuko

Wonderfully weighted animation, with the animators clearly delighting in articulating how the weight of Mahito and this luggage impact the frame of this buggy. Among his many fascinations, Miyazaki’s features will always celebrate the mechanical wonder of planes, trains, and automobiles

His mentor Yasuo Otsuka actually first came to love drawing by sketching the trains and various military vehicles he witnessed in his youth. A fascination with how locomotives physically draw and express power is a natural companion to animation, which demands understanding just how bones and muscles work, so as to better capture the intricacies of bodies in motion

They stop for a line of new recruits heading off to war. These are the lean final days of the war, and there are simply no more young men left to send; Japan’s ongoing fortunes are clear in this motley assembly

It’s an image so specific it feels like it must have been recalled from personal memory. Young artists often strive for universality, to tell “the story that will touch everyone,” but many eventually come to accept that the specificity of their perspective and experience is all they can truly offer others, and that such specificity can actually, paradoxically make a work feel more universal in its own way

They arrive at Mahito’s new home, with a heron already perched on the roof

Mahito’s father works at a “brand new factory,” a sign of modernity intruding on this beautiful rural landscape

God these backgrounds are gorgeous. Miyazaki’s works are just so lush and vibrant

The heron flies right past Mahito as they walk the halls of his massive new home

More Miyazaki staples – another slow walk into depth down this ominous corridor, and then a gaggle of old ladies who all more or less adhere to his style of drawing witches, most famously in Spirited Away

Apparently Mahito’s father is named Shoichi

Their apologies for fussing over the luggage prove another opportunity for playful animation flourishes. Elderly faces have so much texture to them, so many expressive wrinkles, and the animators are clearly having a fine time playing with them

These variations in character design ethos are so funny. Some of these ladies’ heads are the same size as Mahito’s torso

The ladies are delighted by Shoichi’s gifts of canned meats and sugar, another reflection of wartime scarcity

Mahito’s own new home abuts the larger estate. Lovely effect of trees reflected on glass as Mahito glances out the window. These sorts of feats of transparency are at least one direct benefit of Miyazaki working in the digital age

So much of anime is preoccupied with either the preservation or death of the old age that I almost feel a sort of secondhand nostalgia for these various older days, whether it’s premodern Japan or pre-80s Tokyo, as venerated in the works of both Takahata (Pom Poko) and Oshii (Patlabor)

The pattern on Mahito’s bed evokes the look of the heron’s eye, seemingly implying sleep might be a gateway between their worlds

In his dreams, he’s still running to save his mother. Gorgeous flame animation here, calling to mind the wonders of Kizumonogatari

Powerful character acting as Mahito wakes, his expression shifting from confusion at his location to sorrow at once again having failed to save his mother

Mahito walks outside, heading down a small path that leads to a gateway and a pond beyond. Shades of Spirited Away here as well, alongside Howl’s Moving Castle and Princess Mononoke. The gateway feels like a portal to another world – one of those sacred Old Places in the world, where reality is fluid, and you could easily slip into another place and time. Miyazaki’s films don’t possess a consistent shared mythology (thank god), but they do respect certain conventions of how fantasy might brush against reality

The heron flies away at his approach, directing him towards a tower hidden in the trees

God, I will miss these films. Miyazaki has inspired millions of artists, but there’s still no one who makes stories quite like him

Mahito is called back home by Natsuko, but chooses to continue towards the tower. Another trend in Miyazaki films – the protagonist who has been either physically (Princess Monoke) or emotionally (Spirited Away) distanced from their current life, and thus chooses to pursue a fantastical calling

As in Spirited Away, the passage into this new world requires traversing a tunnel, this time in the form of an old drainage path

The old ladies call him back, at which point he realizes the feathers he was following have disappeared

The tower was built by a relative of the family, a highly intelligent man who apparently lost his mind, and one day disappeared, leaving only a half-read book behind

Though he heads up to his bedroom, Mahito’s anxieties keep him from actually falling asleep, and he waits at the top of the stairs until his father returns. He is haunted by his mother every night, and every day fears the loss of his father as well – a fear that’s not even irrational, given the fact that his father works in a factory supporting the war effort, a natural target for bombings

Mahito clearly also feels bitterness towards his father for how swiftly he’s apparently forgotten Mahito’s mother. His father’s attempts to cheer him up and reestablish a sense of normalcy only parse to Mahito as a betrayal of their old life

The local boys reject and squabble with Mahito, and he ends up hitting himself with a rock in order to make his rejection look all the more severe

Love the playful contortions of his father’s vehicle as he races home. After all these years, Miyazaki’s vehicles still snort and stretch like Lupin’s car in Cagliostro

After his father storms out, the heron swoops right into his room, crowing for Mahito to save him

That damn heron shits on his windowsill and then heads off to swallow a fish

Mahito quietly dresses and leaves as his guardian sleeps, taking a wooden kendo blade with him. Sleep is once again portrayed as a sort of portal or dividing line; these two worlds are supposed to be kept apart, but dreams can carry us between them as surely as that mysterious tower

The heron dive-bombs him! Mahito takes a swing! His wooden blade is broken in half!

Always nice to see Miyazaki’s classic expressive hair, with Mahito’s hair billowing up like a dog’s fur as he gets annoyed. Even in his more grounded features, Miyazaki understands that animation is an art of expression, not recreation. Seeking photorealism is a pointless squandering of animation’s limitless expressive potential, as useless a priority as seeking infinite graphical fidelity in videogames

The heron claims it will guide Mahito to his mother

“She is waiting for you to rescue her.” The heron offers a common, alluring promise: the return to a lost certainty, the ease and comfort of childhood

Wonderfully creepy imagery as the fish of the river all rise in chorus, calling on Mahito to join them

Natsuko seems to understand whatever is happening here, and fires an arrow to ward off the heron. Her design and role in the story echoes another Miyazaki staple – the world-weary older woman, who has come to understand her role as a guardian in a chaotic universe. Princess Mononoke’s Lady Eboshi is probably the most famous example, but you can see shades of it in Porco Rosso’s Madame Gina, or even the person Sophie is becoming in Howl’s Moving Castle

Another lovely visual flourish as Mahito emerges from a deep sleep, conveyed as him drifting upwards through water, which eventually parts and dribbles off the sides of his bed

Shoichi proudly boasts of his “300 yen donation” to the school, a real sign of the times

The line between fantasy and reality continues to be blurred in ominous ways. Mahito finds the kendo blade returned to the hall closet, but when he picks it up to examine it, it again crumbles into pieces

A stark contrast of traditional scenery and mechanical violence as we see a line of carts carrying fighter cockpits up to the estate

The beauty of these cockpits is immediately contrasted against the austerity their intrusion has created, as Mahito and the old women complain about their lousy food and the scarcity of tobacco

Confined to bed due to morning sickness, Natsuko has retreated to an elegantly appointed yet seemingly decaying bedroom chamber, a fading icon of past glory

Mahito tenses as Natsuko touches her hand to his injury – an emphatically motherly gesture, here applied to his painful symbol of rebellion against this new normal

Mahito arms himself for his next encounter with the heron, trading stolen cigarettes for lessons in sharpening his pocket knife

Mahito being so averse to entering this world of fantasy is an interesting break from Miyazaki tradition. His heroes are normally eager to step beyond their mundane lives, but the death of Mahito’s mother and this heron’s call to rejoin her has made him deeply suspicious, stolen his youthful curiosity

Employing his freshly sharpened knife, Mahito then constructs a bamboo bow

It’s a strange thing recognizing flourishes of body language from across Miyazaki’s work, like this crouched stance Mahito employs as he scurries forward with bow in hand. Most directors are not so hands-on as to ensure unity of body language across an entire catalog of films, but Miyazaki is famous for personally correcting a ridiculous number of cuts on his films, to the point where outstanding animators he works with are often less clearly discernible, because their signature flourishes are subsumed into Miyazaki’s standard animation vocabulary. Granted, there are major exceptions, like the fire sequence we keep returning to

I recall Otsuka speaking of Miyazaki essentially transformed after becoming a director, shifting from a freewheeling animator to an overbearing perfectionist

This whole sequence also embodies another Miyazaki staple: the joy of crafting something with your own hands. There’s a reason his films are so full of bakers and artisans and engineers

Accidentally knocking over a pile of books, Mahito discovers a text titled “How Do You Live?” that was left to him by his mother

Apparently the book was one of Miyazaki’s favorites as a child. I’ll have to read it myself!

He is interrupted by the old ladies calling for Natsuko, who has apparently disappeared into the forest

Once again, a portal in the underbrush signifies Mahito’s traversal into the world of nature and magic

He finds paved stones in the underbrush, the sign of a former path. They lead him back to the tower, where the lights turn on as if to greet him

Spirited Away is the most obvious prior touchstone for this story so far, both in terms of this constant portal imagery and ominous calls to a fantastical world, as well as the story seemingly being a vehicle for the protagonist to grow beyond their childhood perspective through gaining responsibility and learning consequences in that other world

The old lady accompanying Mahito states that “only those of your bloodline can hear the master’s voice.”

Interesting that this old lady actually crosses the threshold with him. Having the “familiar” role be played by an actual elderly human seems like a nod towards Miyazaki’s own age and shifting perspective

The heron indeed brings him to a woman shaped like his mother, but she melts into goo at his touch. Another very Miyazaki touch – the forest god in Mononoke underwent a similar process of melting into sap-like mush, and Howl would experience a similar degradation when he overused his magic. I wonder why this particular image of precious loved ones melting into liquid became so deeply affixed in Miyazaki’s mind?

Mahito’s arrow pierces the heron’s beak, revealing the weird little man hiding within

Pure playful joy of animation as this gremlin man flaps his wings, briefly levitates, and then slams back into the ground

“I command you to take me to Natsuko.” “Okay, but I wouldn’t go if I were you.” Another echo of Spirited Away – Mahito came to this tower seeking an impossible fantasy (his mother’s return), but is now committed merely to preserving a mundane future (Natsuko’s health)

A man high above commands the heron to be his guide. This is presumably Mahito’s disappeared uncle

Descending onto an overcast beach, Mahito spies a gorgeous sight in the distance: an endless line of diverse ships, all sailing together along the horizon. This is a variation on another recurring Miyazaki image, the pilgrimage of planes heading towards the afterlife, employed in both Porco Rosso and The Wind Rises

With The Wind Rises, it seems Miyazaki attempted to make it his “final film” by making it his most personal and realistic, the actual human story that most deeply resonated with him. With this film, he’s going in a very different direction, embracing fantasy so as to create a work that sits in conversation with his entire history as a filmmaker. This is the privilege of the industrious master; he has created such a rich catalog of stories that he can now draw gracefully from all of them, elevating this film through the ways it resonates with or diverges from his prior works

This is the way of most great art, of course – in order for your work to stretch beyond the characters and signifiers that specific work establishes, it must draw on an accepted common vocabulary of prior art, using the full complexity of other works as foundation and scaffolding. This is also why great art is often impenetrable to people who don’t really engage with art beyond pop culture; great art generally expects a certain level of artistic literacy necessary to parse and interpret its references. Art can only say so much if it is forever assuming its audience is a blank slate that must be guided forward from first principles

A golden gate stands proudly between humble stone walls, leading to a stone outcropping. Wonderful dream imagery

The gate inscription reads “All those who seek my knowledge shall die”

The pelicans push Mahito through the gate, chanting “let’s go eat.” On the water, a woman guiding a small skiff says “oh no, someone opened the gate to the graveyard” and turns towards him

Love these sorts of fantastical passageways – the stone wall is only a few feet high, but the birds are nonetheless forced to flee through the gate specifically, the only true passage into the graveyard

“Move, or the buried will wake.” Now that’s ominous

The woman creates a warding circle around them, then instructs Mahito to walk backwards towards her ship without turning his back on the stone. Ooh, I love this sort of stuff – the arcane, inscrutable specifics of Old Magic, which demands hard-learned rules of engagement to avoid disaster. Magic should be fantastical and beyond our understanding, not just another form of math

The woman instructs Mahito to push as they fight the tide, Mahito getting soaked in the process. A form of rebirth

Curiously, the woman has a scar that precisely matches Mahito’s

“My name is Mahito.” “Meaning ‘sincere one.’ That would explain why you reek of death.”

“Those are just phantoms. This world is filled with the dead.” As expected, the parade of sails in the distance is the procession of the dead. Mahito has tumbled into a world that prior Miyazaki films only momentarily brushed against, in search of a woman stranded between life and death

Also shades of Ponyo in this world consumed by water, and of course that brilliant train ride from Spirited Away, which I can guess was itself inspired by Night on the Galactic Railroad. This sort of dreamlike fantasy is one of my favorite things about anime, and about the Japanese literature that has inspired it

They are joined by men of black water rowing silently, who our guide explains are likely buyers for her catch, since “they can’t kill anything.” Again, loving all the strange, inexplicable customs of this realm

Oh my god, look at these goofy little marshmallow guys! Miyazaki is always generous when it comes to weird little guys

This film feels like a breath of fresh air in this era where audiences frequently demand fantasy gets tied down and fully explained, like a butterfly gassed and pinned to a board. I want fantasy worlds that ignite my own imagination, that feel larger than my capacity for understanding! Lately, it seems anime audiences want the exact opposite: isekai are largely designed for audiences that want the world to be more parsable than our own, and thus stick to the harshly defined contours of videogame logic. And fans have the audacity to call that good worldbuilding, rather than the death of the fantastic

But enough grumbling, here come those goofy little guys again

Love how they all gasp in unison as our guide begins to carve the fish

In spite of the fantastical circumstances, Miyazaki’s veneration of honest labor again comes through clearly as they clean and cook this fish

“Just don’t touch the dolls.” Mahito is guarded in his sleep by dolls carved and painted to evoke the elderly guardians of the real-world estate

“I put them there so they would protect you,” she says with no further explanation. Again, appreciate the confidence of this world’s construction – she lives here, she wouldn’t bother explaining things that are second nature to her

The woman’s name is Kiriko, and she’s seemingly an alternate form of one of Mahito’s elderly protectors. Her home embodies the ornate generosity of all Ghibli features, absolutely stuffed with small trinkets presenting a snapshot of life in this world

Gorgeous moment as the clouds part and the moon strikes the trees rising over Kiriko’s home. This will be an easy film to revisit

The little guys inflate themselves so they can float! Will wonders never cease

Kiriko explains that they’re “going off to be born”

The pelicans attack the floating creatures, but are warded off by the fires of a woman named “Lady Himi”

Alone at night, Mahito quietly apologizes to the grannies. He is on his journey now, coming to understand his place in the world, and thus also appreciate all the efforts those around him have made to guide and protect him

I imagine this film might be a bit confusing without much grounding in Miyazaki’s work. He’s reached the point where he doesn’t have to fully explicate everything, confident his audience will understand a lightly signposted emotional journey

A wounded pelican has landed by the outhouse, and begs Mahito for death. He claims he did not choose this life – that he was brought to this “hell” to consume the warawara, the little floating guys

They tried long ago to escape, but it always ended the same. And “now our newborns are forgetting how to fly.” Shades of Princess Mononoke’s desperate boars, who chose violent rebellion while they still had their dignity over a slow decline into mindless beasts

“This sea is cursed,” he swears as he dies

By teatime, the heron has joined their makeshift family

“The tower master did tell you to be his guide.” Whatever this world is, it seems it is all contained within the tower, all a product of the same consciousness

More lovely compositions as Kiriko and the warawara send our questers on their way

Back at home, one of the grannies informs Shoichi that the tower actually fell from the sky, just before the Meiji Restoration

I like how we actually watch this woman’s mannerisms as she relates this story to Shoichi. The nature of storytelling itself is definitely one of The Boy and the Heron’s various concerns; we’re pulling back a level from something like Castle in the Sky, to include the teller of the story themselves as a key character. Another appropriate choice for a lifelong storyteller attempting to find the right final project

“From what I heard, Natsuko’s clever granduncle had it built.” Shoichi’s counter also emphasizes how stories are fluid, as reflective of the teller as they are of the base material being spun into drama. A pragmatic man of technology offers a far more grounded explanation for the tower

The grannies insist that the tower’s core was actually left untouched for thirty years, at which point Natsuko’s granduncle discovered it and built the tower to contain it

They also say that Mihato’s mother Hisako disappeared as a child for a year, returning looking the same as the day she’d left. So presumably there actually is a fragment of Hisako hidden in the dream world

Hah, love this varied assortment of supplies Shoichi gathers as he preps for his tower trip, including a sword and various maps. He’s not too proud to be careful, even if the story he’s received is pure fantasy

Ooh, and a gorgeous composition as we return to Mihato and the heron. Such lush colors for this forest, alongside bugs and other creatures dancing in several different layers of the composition, creating a magnificent sense of depth

They arrive at the blacksmith’s home. The heron explains that the pelicans and parakeets were actually brought here by the master, and they multiplied. Invasive predators are a problem even in this world of fantasy, a very Miyazaki concern

Wonderful character acting for the heron as it pretends to be in distress in order to distract the parakeets. This film is also a celebration of the fundamentals, the sort of anthropomorphized character acting that was such a key component of the original Toei Doga films

Also like this cut where the heron speeds along a stone wall and then slams his foot into an outcropping, with the camera panning alongside him and then cutting short, so that the audience feels the collision as well

More man-sized parakeets greet Mihato as he enters the structure. The film continues to delight in the body language of these birds

Mahito is almost eaten by the parakeets, but is saved by the fire princess Himi. I wonder if she is the fragment of Hisako left in this world

Remarkable fire animation again, which always seems like an absolute marvel to me. Animated forms are largely defined by their outlines, but this fire is conveyed purely through variations in shades of red and yellow, a much more difficult way to create a sense of continuous movement. Yet it looks so effortless in motion

“Natsuko? My little sister?” Yep, that answers that

At last removed from the fire, it’s clear that Himi’s dress echoes that of Hisako when she disappeared. The heron wasn’t exactly lying about Mahito’s mother, but he wasn’t telling the truth either

More gorgeous scenery as Himi leads Mahito outside. It feels almost silly to describe the effect of this film, as the film itself is such a clear and moving statement of purpose. Miyazaki has the privilege of telling his stories in their most idealized form; as David Lynch said, “people want me to talk about my films, but the films are the talking”

Himi acknowledges that the tower has the ability to connect many worlds

The two sit down for bread and jam. Wouldn’t be a Miyazaki film without some luscious-looking food

“It tastes exactly like the bread my mother used to make.” Oh, is that so

I like how completely the architecture has shifted for this new act, with the two now navigating what appear to be ancient Greek or Roman ruins. Miyazaki has always loved Mediterranean architecture

“What are these doors?” “Be quiet please, you’ll mess me up.” Again appreciating the confidence of this story’s fantastical worldbuilding, Miyazaki sure at this point that he need not explain these doors all lead to alternate worlds

Of course, to what degree you choose to explicate things is always going to be a compromise. Audiences who can’t parse your hints will feel alienated, while audiences who see your hints as blaring signposts will feel infantilized. No story is for every potential viewer, because every viewer brings their own unique background and expectations to the work, and the actual experience of art is a conversation between artist and audience

This is also why our impressions of art tend to change over time. If your feelings on art don’t change over twenty years, it means you haven’t changed in twenty years, which is generally not a good thing

Himi says Natsuko doesn’t want to leave, and is going to have her baby here

“Mahito’s turned into a little budgie!” The intersection of these worlds is delightful

This film’s freewheeling structure also sorta reminds me of Castle in the Sky, which was similarly constructed more as a series of rambling vignettes than one central conflict. Miyazaki showing us as many of his fantasies as possible before he retires

“Don’t touch the stone if you can. It’s not happy about us being here.” Vague rules of conduct that only the locals could begin to parse. Miyazaki fantasy is generally framed much like the Fey Realm or lands of spirits, where touching or agreeing with anything might incur terrible consequences. I love magic that is truly wild like this

Mahito moves forward into the delivery room, passing beyond this dream of his mother as an adolescent to reunite with Natsuko, the future of his family. Though he came here seeking a return to childhood certainty, he is now ready to move forward

Natsuko tries to reject him in order to save him, but her tone softens as he shifts from calling her “Natsuko” to acknowledging her as “Mother”

Himi entreats her sister to return as well. Another common thread for Miyazaki – fantasy can be enchanting, but we must eventually return to the real world, as painful as it may be

I feel like the Princess Mononoke-Spirited Away era is when Miyazaki’s mature philosophy came through most clearly, and this film definitely feels like a companion piece to them specifically

The curtain literally closes as Himi collapses. The self-conscious focus on the framing of stories feels new, though – more reflective of Miyazaki’s final years, echoing the nostalgic ambiguity of The Wind Rises

Lovely flourishes of character acting from the parakeets, who transition gracefully from bird-like mannerisms to human gestures. Miyazaki’s always liked a big goofy crowd of characters, whether it’s the policemen of Sherlock Hound or the ruffians of Porco Rosso

Upon waking, Mahito is at last confronted by the master of the tower

A trembling stack of blocks embodies the fragility of this world, which the master states will only last one more day

A world that follows its own fantastical logic, a realm that truly inspires our imaginations, rather than flatters our ability to compartmentalize and make mundane. Stories like this are precious, all the more so because general audiences tend to prefer the concrete and discernable. I’m glad great fantasists like Miyazaki are still able to bring such visions to life

The master takes Mahito to the source of his power, the stone that fell from the heavens

He asks Mahito to be his successor, saying the successor must come from his bloodline. Of course, Mahito must return to the mundane world, must grow alongside his new family

“Those blocks look like gravestones. I can sense their malice.”

Awakening from this interview, Mahito finds the parakeets hard at work preparing to cook him up

He is saved by the heron!

Our glimpses of this parakeet society are as silly as they are beautiful. Love how the struts above this massive causeway are lined with anti-perching spikes, so even the parakeets don’t end up pooping on each other

The heron explains that the parakeets have gained so much power due to Mahito and Himi breaking the taboo of entering the delivery room. This world adheres to its own fanciful logic, even if all the rules are not clearly discernible

Shades of Puss ‘n Boots and Cagliostro in this final, destructive tower climb. The king of the parakeets even kinda looks like Cagliostro himself

“We must protect this world ourselves, or it will perish.” I appreciate the complexity of these parakeets’ perspective and culture. Them weeping at the beauty of the master’s domain really emphasizes what a careless overseer he has been

At last, the master acknowledges he must let Mahito go. As Mahito approaches, the parakeet king lurks in his shadow

All of our key players come together for the final meeting with the master. Everyone who has a stake in the future of this world, all of its potential future keepers. Beneath them, the ground shifts and reveals its substance, the raw building blocks of this fantastical plane. There is no artifice here – this is the throne of the world itself

“You can build your own tower. A kingdom that is free from malice.” It is clear that at this point in his life, the character that Miyazaki most relates to is the old master. Sitting in the ambiguous ruins of the empire he hoped to create, desperate to find a proper successor, but at this point accepting that whatever the future brings will be unknown and strange to him. Perpetually reassembling the same set of blocks, hoping for some new form of inspiration, but coming to understand that his time is passing

“Create a world of bounty, peace, and beauty.” All that he can ask of the next generation of creators

And of course, Miyazaki acknowledges the cowardice of retreating from the ugliness of the real world to a world of fantasies, a world where everything is within your control. The master speaks with bitterness of the world Mahito seeks to return to, saying it will soon be consumed by flames. But better to strive for a bright tomorrow in our own world than to rule a world no larger than what we ourselves can conceive

The parakeet king attempts to stack the stones himself, but is impatient, and ultimately destroys them. He could not dream beyond the confines of this place, as the master could, even if the master ultimately rejected the necessary inspiration of the real world

Thus the world collapses at last, and our players return through their separate doors to their own worlds

And Done

Oh, that was wonderful! Such a far-reaching retrospective on Miyazaki’s whole career, and such a mature reflection on what he sought, what he accomplished, and what he must leave to the next generation. The film danced elegantly on the level of personal reflection and metaphor, but that second layer of intent never got in the way of the outright fantasy of this new world, this latest marvelous bauble Miyazaki wished to share with us. It is clear that Miyazaki is still full of wonder and curiosity, still eager to share his particular vision of humanity, nature, and the spaces in between with all of us. It is equally clear that he is coming to accept his own age, to understand that the tower he built cannot last forever, and that his greatest task now is to inspire others to create with similar confidence and purpose, to construct a world of “bounty, peace, and beauty.” Miyazaki is one of the greatest storytellers of any era, and if this is his final gift to us, I will savor it gladly.

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