The Boy and the Heron

At that time, young Mahito was living in Tokyo, which had not yet given up his usual life. The children would wake up in cozy homes, escort their parents to work and go to school. The road ran through residential and commercial districts — campaign newspaper offices, hardware stores, half-empty stores, pharmacies and underground brothels. Almost all of them were built from wood.

The city looked like a huge forest that shook off the leaves, either for the amusement of itself or for the coming night. One day, the wind brought a spark into this straw sheaf. The flame spread like a mad dog through the streets, rushing from one house to another, and, with a wild buzz, shrunk to the hospital cinder. Somewhere, among smoldering walls and melted glass, Mahito's mom took refuge in ashes.

Hayao Miyazaki meets his main character at the same point from which two single brothers began their journey three decades ago towards “Grave of the Fireflies”. A difficult but in its own way happy childhood was destroyed in the fires of war; only hardships, many faces of death and guilt for the transgressions of adults loomed ahead.

As director of an aircraft factory, Mahito's father was at the forefront of an angry country and fueled its malice. In the planes assembled by his subordinates, kamikazes pierced the clouds to leave a blazing blot on the enemy ship and a bleeding cut on Japan's body. Metal became a weapon, and lives flowed through the fingers, increasing collective pain.

A year after the fire, Mahito was taken to the countryside. The still bustling city, the incessant bombardment and the fragments of former life were left behind, but not the bitterness of loss. It was all the more painful for the main character that his father not only got a new plant under management, but also found love.

When he moved, Mahito found himself in a sealed environment that exists beyond space and time. World War II had moved to the periphery; now only my father reminded me of it, returning from work in the night, and the food was scarce. The world has shrunk to a tiny estate and the forest that surrounds it — an environment that once again relies on wood, but unlike Tokyo, which is covered with green leaves.

In the picture “The Boy and the Heron” Japan appears to be a deeply provincial state, woven from paper and logs with rare glimpses of metal. Taking into account the atrocities that the Japanese sowed on the eve and during World War II, they committed another crime: they put the whole country on a paper boat and pushed it to open fire.

On the contrary, the village, which was supposed to distract the main character with fresh air and new acquaintances, inflamed the painful past. After all, many years ago, Mahito's mother grew up in this estate, and her father's new lover was her younger sister. Although the boy does not care about the contradictory nature of this union, memories of his mother are dotted throughout the district.

Wherever he goes, whoever he talks to, everything reminds him of loss. Even the screams of a huge heron that keeps the fish from the pond at bay resemble the coveted “Mom!” The environment is pressing so much that Mahito begins to have nightmares. The flame raging in the night burns his face and inevitably consumes the closest person.

The main character is caught between the ambitions of the older generation and reality. A multimillion nation has come to believe in its own exclusivity and has given itself permission to commit war crimes, genocide and neglect in human life. All this was designed not only for the comfort of Japanese adults, but also for the benefit of their children.

Mahito soon notices that the annoying heron is not nonsense, but speaks quite meaningfully. In addition, its gaping beak shows large teeth, as if another creature was hiding under its feathers. This discovery triggers a series of events that lead the main character into a world full of strange creatures and magic. Like outright nonsense, in which humanity, which does not want to grow up, has been splashing around for thousands of years.

The universe in which the main character finds himself is a ridge of tiny islands. Once upon a time, majestic pelicans realized that there were too few fish in local waters, and they sent small flocks to all directions of the world for the sake of future chicks. For days they reached for the horizon: some sank into the sea from exhaustion, some starved to death right in the sky.

The most resilient came back, but during the journey they saw nothing but sea blue, leisurely clouds and a silhouette of despair. This news spread throughout all islands, and on one was born a primitive state of militant parrots that believe in their exclusivity, worship the emperor and feed on other birds.

Basically, Mahito fell into a miniature version of his native Japan. This avian imperialism is full of rage, self-sacrifice, and a frenzied thirst for domination over pristine order. A grotesque nation dreams of prosperity, and for the sake of a full stomach it will gut its own kind simply because it is the simplest solution.

Mahito is witnessing what Japan would do without its borders. Sooner or later, militarism and limited natural resources would create internal segregation that would feed compatriots. The authorities' insatiable appetite sought to fail from the very beginning, and the rejection of morality only accelerated the decay.

But this mutilated world also wants to live. We just need to figure out who can lead him into a brighter future. And Mahito, who lost his childhood and mother early, is perfect for this role, as he is maimed enough by other people's decisions to take responsibility for them. However, this does not suit Hayao Miyazaki, who believes that children should not pay for their parents' misconduct.