The Japan Society Review 104
Book, Stage, Film, Arts and Events Review

Issue 104 Volume 19 Number 1 (March 2024)

The first quarter of 2024 has brought to the UK an exciting
array of books, films and events exploring different
aspects of Japan. This new issue of The Japan Society
Review covers six of them thanks to the fantastic writing
our volunteer reviewers.
We open our selection with a review of Abe Naoko’s
new book, The Martyr and the Red Kimono. Following
her successful previous work, ‘Cherry’ Ingram: The
Englishman who Saved Japan’s Blossoms, Abe focuses
now on the life of Polish monk Maximilian Maria Kolbe
examining his connections with Japan through the livesof two individuals, atomic bomb survivor Ozaki Tomei andAsari Masatoshi, a key figure in the historical donations ofcherry trees around the world.
Next, Naomi Pollock’s The Japanese House Since 1945
takes us on a captivating journey through the evolutionof Japanese residential architecture, offering profoundinsights into the cultural, social, and architectural forces
shaping Japan’s domestic landscape.
Written with the insight of an expert on Japaneseorganised crime, investigative journalist Jake Adelsteinpresents The Last Yakuza, a gripping first-hand accountof Japan’s notorious underworld, shedding light on theenigmatic world of the yakuza and its enduring impact on
Japanese society.
In 100 Tales from the Tokyo Ghost Café by Julian
Sedgwick, with illustrations by manga artist Kutsuwada
Chie, readers are transported to the eerie yet captivating
realm of Japanese folklore, where ghosts, spirits, andsupernatural phenomena intertwine with the modern
urban landscape of Tokyo.
On an Endless Road: Ito Noe and the Women
Composers of her Time, by composer Francesca Le Lohé
offers a compelling exploration of the female composers
active in Japan during the life of Ito Noe, a feminist figureof the Meiji era whose story remains untold.
Lastly, we delve into the cinematic realm with Oscar
award winner The Boy and The Heron directed by Miyazaki
Hayao, a masterful animated tale that weaves together
themes of friendship, adventure, and environmental
stewardship with Miyazaki’s trademark storytellingprowess.
Alejandra Armendáriz-Hernández

Contents
1)

The Martyr and the Red Kimono by Abe Naoko

2)

The Japanese House Since 1945 by Naomi Pollock

3)

The Last Yakuza by Jake Adelstein

4)

100 Tales from the Tokyo Ghost Café by Julian
Sedgwick5)

On an Endless Road: Ito Noe and the Women
Composers of her Time by Francesca Le Lohé

6)

The Boy and The Heron directed by Miyazaki Hayao

EditorAlejandra Armendáriz-Hernández
Reviewers
Cameron Bassindale, Laurence Green, Trevor Skingle, Hananircia
Tchinhenha, David Tonge and Shehrazade Zafar-Arif.
Image from The Boy and The Heron.

The Martyr and the Red
Kimonoby Abe Naoko
Chatto & Windus (2022)
ISBN-13: 978-1784744533
Review by Laurence Green
It is the 14th of August, 1941. A Polish monk called
Maximilian Maria Kolbe has just been killed by lethal
injection in Auschwitz, following weeks of starvation.
Many years later - he will be canonised as a saint; hisdeath in the Nazi concentration camp standing as theultimate sacrifice - he gave up his life to save anotherprisoner.
Kolbe’s life and death would go on to have themost striking of reverberations across the world. He had
made his name founding a movement of Catholicism
and running Poland’s largest publishing operation. He
would spend a number of years in Japan, ministeringto the descendants of the “hidden Christians” that
had practised their faith secretly for centuries, awayfrom the prying eyes of the Shogunate. And indeed,
it would be this connection to Japan that would see
his life inspire two Japanese men; Ozaki Tomei - who
was just seventeen when the US dropped an atomic
bomb on his home in Nagasaki, and Asari Masatoshi who worked on a farm in Hokkaido during the war andwas haunted by the inhumane treatment of prisoners
in a nearby camp. What follows is a kind of biography
in triplicate of these three individuals - separate but
interlinked in the most surprising of ways.
The Martyr and the Red Kimono is very muchthe spiritual successor to Abe Naoko’s previous book,‘Cherry’ Ingram: The Englishman who Saved Japan’s
Blossoms, which went on to become a surprise
bestseller in the UK, no doubt spurred on by readers
raised on a diet of Gardeners’ World episodes and theenforced isolation of the pandemic years. The cherry
tree focus is this time interwoven with the thornier
themes of war and religion, resulting in an at-times
complex multi-segmented narrative that flits regularly
between characters and themes, taking in the entiretyof the 20th century as its historical scope.
The book’s opening chapters, which detail
Kolbe’s early life and the significance of his efforts inboth Poland and Japan, are in many ways the mostdifficult going; wrapped up as they are in the twin
efforts of Polish nationalism and Christian evangelism
that would become drivers for Kolbe’s life. Against a
backdrop of rising tensions in Europe, Kolbe’s fiery
2patriotism is portrayed in meticulous detail - andbecomes easier to grasp once cast against the morefamiliar narratives of the beginnings of Second WorldWar.
Here, the pace of the book quickens, and theceaseless momentum with which it proceeds to what
we know must be Kolbe’s inevitable end is portrayedwith a filmic quality that is as gripping as it is emotional.
It is the lives of the two Japanese who were to lookto his life for inspiration, however, where the book’s
real heart truly begins. In Ozaki Tomei, and the horrificdetail with which the loss of his family in the Nagasaki
atomic bombing is detailed - including maps andillustrations - we are in many ways offered the flip side
to the ‘American’ narrative of the bombs so recently
depicted on the big screen in Oppenheimer. Ozaki’s
story is a war story on the most human of scales,
terrible in its bleakness. To his dying day, he would
become a strident, outspoken voice on the horrors of
nuclear war.
We come, then, to the third of the book’s key figures- Asari Masatoshi - who would end up devoting his life
to sending cherry tree saplings around the world aspart of peace efforts; including to America and Poland.
Controversial donations to China and North Korea inthe 1970s and 80s would draw unsettling attention
from the Japanese authorities during the height of theCold War era. As we move toward the present day, Abe
herself becomes central to the narrative, as she tries totrack down the remnants of Asari’s historic cherry tree
donations to Catholic convents in Poland - do any of
Asari’s donations still survive?
It is worth noting that the significance of thetitular ‘red kimono’ is not truly revealed until thevery closing pages of the book - and as striking as its
appearance might be, it stands as only one strand in abook whose various components will appeal variously
to different readers. Is this a pacey military history,
teasing out new angles by which to look at the Second
World War? An eye-opening personal narrative of the
impact of the nuclear bombing on Nagasaki? Or a
deep, contemplative reflection on Catholicism and its
existence in communities as disparate as Poland andJapan? The book is all these things individually - but
also in the sum of its parts, something more - but only
if the reader is willing to put the work in and hold fast
to the connecting narrative.
Ultimately, the winning charm of Abe’s book - as
it was with the Cherry Ingram biography - is the epic
scale of its historical lens, which draws so much of its
power from human subjects that lived through, andIssue 104 Volume 19 Number 1 (March 2024)

were immersed in, the full panoply of change our alltoo fragile world underwent through the 20th century.
Figures like Ozaki and Asari - from humble roots togreat ambitions - feel like indomitable fighters pushingagainst the very fabric of history’s grand narratives of
war and peace; striving ever onward with goals which
are both deeply personal and also tied up with the

The Japanese House
Since 1945
by Naomi Pollock
Thames and Hudson (2023)
ISBN-13: 978-0500343739
Review by David Tonge
In recent years the unique work of Japanese architects
has been explored and memorialised in a seemingly
endless stream of coffee table books. The conversationin these is invariably reduced to the level of a beauty
contest and in providing further evidence of just how“other” Japan is.
Like Instagram they are meant to be flicked
through rather than read.
However, The Japanese House Since 1945 isa large format 400 page book and like its excellent
predecessor Japanese Design Since 1945 is thoroughly
researched by Naomi Pollock and beautifully producedby Thames and Hudson.
Pollock takes us on a journey from the 1940s –Rising from the Rubble, to the 2020s – Pandemic Panic.
Each of these chapters begins with a brief sketch of
the period highlighting key events such as the postwar housing shortage in the 1950s, or the Fukushima
earthquake and tsunami in the early 2020s. By
explaining the economic, social and political context
of these periods she helps us to understand the designof the houses beyond that of the beauty contest.
Where this book is different to others is in Pollock’s
goal to convey what it’s like to live in these houses. To
achieve this, the two most interesting aspects, in myopinion, of this book are firstly the ‘At home’ resident’s
autobiographical descriptions of day-to-day life inthese houses. For example in At Home Tower House,Azuma Rie says:‘When our family moved to Tower House, which was
designed by my father, Takamitsu Azuma, I was stillin elementary school. On the first day, we kept ourshoes on because the floor was not yet finished – it
was just a rough concrete surface. This was unusual
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very idea of humanity. Can a single cherry tree, ten,or a hundred even, make a difference in a world stillripped apart by conflict on a daily basis? The answer isambiguous - but what Abe’s book seems to offer up, isthat it is from the fight itself, the eternal struggle, thatmeaning of some sort can be drawn.§

because Japanese people normally take their shoes off
at home...’ (p. 123)

And secondly the ‘Spotlight’ sections which
describe in detail a specific feature unique to Japanesearchitecture. For example – The Site, Walls and Doorsand Gardens & Courtyards. As we work through theexamples from the 1940s to the 2000s, we can see howthese features have been integrated and adapted as
fashion and howmaterials and design have changed.
For example in The Window Pollock says:‘Another consideration is placement. Western-stylewindows are often situated at eye level for those seatedon chairs. But in Japan, a country with a long-standing
habit of floor-sitting, windows can be located up highas well as down low. Even in rooms with upholstered
furnishings, window positions are calculated to edit
the view without severing the connection to outdoors.’(p. 219)

I found these insights to be a great way ofunderstanding the building constraints and culturalprecedents the architects were trying to navigate
while designing homes for their clients and families.
I’ll be honest I am not in the habit of reading
introductions, but this time I am glad I did as Pollock
puts the reasons (not all happy) the Japanese havebeen able to build such unique houses into context.
She explains that the end of the war in 1945, forreasons we all understand, was a point of reset forJapanese society, architecture, and house building.
From this time a fundamental re-think of what a house
could and should be was both necessary and possible.
In the shadow of Japan’s wartime defeat, westernmodels of contemporary living became desirable.
All aspects of life were reconsidered, such as thepromotion of the nuclear family (parents and children)
rather than the traditional multi-generational family,alongside the separation of eating and sleeping which
had previously taken place in the same room but was
now considered unhygienic.
3

Before that moment, Japanese architects werebeing influenced by European modernism, so by
the time Japan had seen widespread bombing
and devastation of its big cities and new houses
were needed, architects were free to create uniqueexpressions of the Japanese home along modernist
lines. It was a clean slate for the architects against a
sad backdrop for the average Japanese.
Due to Japan’s geographic location, the risk ofearthquakes, and the fires which inevitably follow,
party walls in wooden houses are very rare in Japan.
A fire gap is necessary to separate each house, which
in turn, allows them to be created like an individual
object. In other words, they don’t have to relate,visually or in personality, to the house next door. This
gives the architect a freedom unimaginable in a city
like London. Alongside this visual freedom is the ability
and desire to experiment with materials and formats
which integrate or not with the environment.
On reading this it makes total sense of my own
experiences. On my many nocturnal photographic
excursions around Japan’s cities and big towns, I havealways been fascinated by the freedom Japanesearchitects have to express themselves with little or
no regard for their neighbours. And then, seemingly
overnight pull them down and start again.

What I haven’t mentioned is the more than sixty
incredible houses this book introduces to us.
There are twenty or so that I love! but if I am
forced to pick out a few personal favourites, it would
be the early modernist houses of the 1940s. Such as
the enigmatically named House no.1 (p.32) by Ikebe
Kiyoshi, built in 1948. This is a lovely example of alargely wooden (before the blight of concrete houses)
paired down home, responding to a shortage ofmaterials and a quest for a new way of living post war.
And then I am drawn to the distinctly
contemporary Japanese colour palette of Our House(p. 171) by Hayashi Masako and Hayashi Shoji built in
1978. The red stained walls and wooden eaves of the
deeply pitched roof creates a dramatic space whichfeel at once like a modern and traditional Japanesehome. Add to this the huge sliding shoji-style window
revealing a stunningly peaceful walled garden, I could
move in tomorrow.
If, like me, you spend too much time scrollingthrough Japanese architecture and design feeds on
Instagram, are obsessed with house remodelling
programs on TV or have a professional interest inJapan, you will find this book chronicling Japanesehouse architecture fascinating.
I recommend you buy it and read it, don’t justleave on your coffee table. §The Last Yakuza

an apotheosis with Jake Adelstein’s 2009 book Tokyo
Vice and its adaptation into two TV series in 2022 and2024. However, the subsequent controversy about
the accuracy of Tokyo Vice seems to have becomea talking point which may have, counter-intuitively,
worked in Adelstein’s favour. As Oscar Wilde pointed
out, “There is only one thing in life worse than being
talked about, and that is not being talked about”.
So it is with much anticipation that, into this milieu,
Adelstein’s latest book, The Last Yakuza: A Life in theJapanese Underworld, has been published.
Early on the author makes it clear that the book
is a history of the yakuza disguised as a biography of
an individual called Saigo who is an amalgamation ofnumerous characteristics drawn from various yakuza.
This smoke screen perhaps reflects the opaqueambiguity of life in Japanese society but might leavesome speculating on the blurring of boundaries,
particularly given the abovementioned controversy.
The book begins in an easy-going conversational
style covering Saigo’s background, his youth andupbringing, his parents’ chaotic relationship, his pathby Jake Adelstein
Corsair (2024)
ISBN-13: 978-1472158314
Review by Trevor Skingle
The many yakuza films like Kitano Takeshi’s Outrage
film series (mentioned in the book) along withmany others in this genre alongside yakuza themed
fanzines and video games ensure that there is nolack of coverage of the yakuza organised crime in
the Japanese imagination. There has also been an
increasing popular interest in yakuza in the Westernimagination in the last decades with the popular
Takakura Ken’s occasional toe dipping into the neonoir yakuza “exposés” such as the 1974 film The Yakuza(with the late Robert Mitchum), the 1989 film Black Rain(with Michael Douglas), the 2018 action-thriller The
Outsider, and the under-rated 2019 British-JapaneseTV crime drama Giri/Haji. This crossover of attention to
the yakuza in popular culture seems to have reached
4

Issue 104 Volume 19 Number 1 (March 2024)to becoming a bosozoku motor-cycle gang member,and from there to becoming a yakuza. Along the way
Adelstein delves into quite some detail on the historical
specifics about the yakuza and it’s here where the author’s
knowledge and investigative journalist backgroundas well as his yakuza expertise comes to the fore. This
informs his style of writing as it moves, almost as thougha switch has been flicked, from biographical narrative
into a very knowledgeable, almost academic historicalstyle that leads back into and bolsters the biography.
This suits the book very well with the result that it reads
like a large set of linked newspaper articles. And there
is nothing wrong with that, though, because of theoverall narrative framework, it is not a book that sits wellwith being randomly “dipped into”. There are, however,some stand out chapters that cover areas that yakuza
afficionados may be particularly interested in. A few ofthese really stand out; one in depth chapter examines
yakuza funerals, another yubitsume (finger shortening),
whilst for body art enthusiasts there is another especiallyrevealing chapter on yakuza tattoos. These last two
chapters being the foremost of the identifying factors of
the yakuza in the mind’s eye of most Westerners.
One element that is alluded to but does seem a
bit lacking in detail is an historical exposé of the plightof ethnic Koreans, Chinese, Taiwanese, and burakumin(outcasts) in Japan and the reasons for their involvementwith the yakuza. A little of the historical perspective on
this regarding ethnic Koreans is alluded to, albeit all too
briefly, with a reference to their extreme persecution
because of the blame laid at their door for societal ills
caused as a result of the 1923 Great Kanto Earthquake.
There could have been more information about the mainelements of discrimination that these groups continue
to face in Japan which potentially act as drivers for theiralienation from Japanese society in general and theirconsequent recruitment/enlistment into the yakuza.
The book has its occasional darkly comedic
moments which spring up in the most unexpected

places and situations (no spoilers given here); scenesthat would be well suited to darkly comedic yakuza
movies akin to Kitano Takeshi’s Ryuzo and the Seven
Henchmen.
The book covers the yakuza’s entrenchment
within Japanese society and its involvement with, toname but a few, politicians, the police, businesses andthe entertainment industry alongside the developmentof legitimate business ventures which, like the exposed
strands of a tangled spider’s web spun over many years,is laid bare for all to see. It also contains many ironicclaims about the yakuza’s abstinence from violence andtheir spurious adherence to a code of ethics which on
many occasions are almost immediately followed bydescriptions of extreme violence and plenty of examples
of excessive criminality. Readers will have to make theirown minds up on what they think about these which
may be yet another reflection of societal ambiguity inJapan. What does come across strongly is that however
much they claim to they do not adhere to a specious
code of ethics; Robin Hood and his Merry Men they arenot.
Though there are some useful reference lists, forthose unfamiliar with the Japanese yakuza specific terms
used throughout the book it might have been helpful tohave also included a lexicon of the most pivotal yakuza
related words and their English equivalents. An update
to be included in a future revised edition perhaps?
Saigo’s time in prison and his ill treatment there
does not take into consideration very recent Government
prison reforms. What the yakuza will make of these isanyone’s guess. However, in its conclusions the bookcovers in detail the tighter legal restraints and an aging
population as the causes of the substantial decline in thenumbers of yakuza. The Last Yakuza and its predecessor
Tokyo Vice, are perhaps a timely, illuminating,knowledgeable yet readable historical record of yakuza“culture” and activities in English language.§

100 Tales from the Tokyo
Ghost Café

Sedgwick and Kutsuwada Chie, he embarks on a
harrowing journey into a world of spirits and shadowswith the mission to collect yokai stories. Together, they
explore the twilight realm that lies within the boundsof Fear Mountain, where creatures of myth and legend
lurk in the darkness.
If this isn’t enough of a calling for young horror
fans, what is? Authored by Carnegie Medal For Writing
Nominee Julian Sedgwick and illustrated by award
winning mangaka Kutsuwada Chie, 100 tales from theby Julian Sedgwick
Illustrations by Kutsuwada Chie
Guppy Books (2023)
ISBN-13: 978-1913101886
Review by Hananircia Tchinhenha
The haunting landscape of Japan’s north beckons
a young Akira who yearns for home. With Julian
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5Tokyo Ghost Café is a thrilling adventure that captures
the imagination with evocative writing, tied together by
exciting and well drawn illustrations. This collaboration
was previously seen in the excellent Tsunami Girl. 100
tales from the Tokyo Ghost Café explores the vastnessof Japanese mythology and folklore. From the famous
kappa folk story to the modernised urban legend of
the kuchisake-onna (Slit-mouthed woman). From start
to finish, it is evident that this book is not simply aselection of mythical creatures and folklore stories. 100
tales from the Tokyo Ghost Café is a compelling storyof longing, friendship and bonds.
For young people who admire Japanese culture
and would like to make a start on learning theJapanese language, this book is an excellent starting
point as it contains a variety of Japanese words andphrases as well as a mini-glossary. This high attention
to detail provides an extra layer of authenticity,

showing a clear commitment to providing a rich, indepth storytelling experience whilst ensuring that thereader understands the story. Each character is welldeveloped and engaging, with strong personalities
that drive the plot forward, pulling readers into theaction and keeping them turning the pages long into
the night as I myself did.
Overall, 100 tales from the Tokyo Ghost Café isa riveting and thrilling adventure that will captivate
readers from the very first page. Its blend of traditional
writing and visual elements from the illustrations
create a unique and heartwarming story that draws
the reader in. It is an unforgettable read that is sure
to leave a lasting impression on anyone who picks it
up. Whether you’re a fan of Japanese folklore, horror,
or just a good old-fashioned adventure, 100 tales fromthe Tokyo Ghost Café is a must read that has left mewith no critique and a thirst for more.§

On an Endless Road: Ito
Noe and the Women
Composers of her Time

Meiji era. Komachi and Zaiki dovetailed with eachother masterfully, in full command of the audience
which was some way larger than I had expected. The
sonata flowed into itself, coming to a considered andatmospheric finale.
After the performance, Komachi was joined onstage by Irena Hayter, a professor at the University ofLeeds, and composer Francesca Le Lohé for a Q&A
session about the life and times of Koda. After a musicaleducation in Europe, Koda returned to Japan to debut
a great number of European works, bringing them forthe first time to a Japanese audience. However, as ourpanel told us, Koda was the victim of the sexist Meiji
period, and despite playing and composing evidently
fantastic music was summarily kicked out of her schoolat The Tokyo University of the Arts and victim of ridiculein the press.
The second performance, a composition by
Toyama Michiko, introduced for the first time thedistinct and recognisable overtures of classicalJapanese music. A sharp, shrieking violin reallyengendered the feeling of drama and theatre. Despite
being composed 50 years after Koda Nobu’s sonata, it
sounded at least 200 years older.
After a brief intermission, our panel from thefirst Q&A was joined by Kubota Akiko, to give us more
context on Ito Noe, and why her story matters. Whatwas striking was the sheer adversity faced by Ito in her
lifetime, and the disparagement she suffered from theruling class for the crime of believing that woman andmen are equal and deserve an equal opportunity at
education. The Meiji-era police state which governedby composer Francesca Le
Lohé
with Kubota Akiko (biwa),
Komachi Midori (violin) andZaiki Yura (piano)
Actor’s Church, London (5March 2024)
Review by Cameron Bassindale
On 5 March, London was treated to a Japaneseclassical music performance of the highest calibre. On
an Endless Road: Itō Noe and the Women Composersof her Time is an exploration of the female composers
active in Japan during the life of Ito Noe, a feminist
figure of the Meiji era (1868-1912) whose story remains
to this day criminally under told. Composer Francesca
Le Lohé, with the support of The Japan Foundation
and The Daiwa Anglo-Japanese Foundation, havegone a considerable way to address this, telling astory through various means which certainly left an
impression.
Inside the gorgeous Actor’s Church, Covent
Garden, violinist Komachi Midori and pianist Zaiki Yura
begun proceedings with a sonata from Koda Nobu.
With a light, joyful depth it was not what I expected; itsounded every bit as European as a Schubert or Faulk.
From the start it was clear that the night’s performanceswere going to confound any preconception I might
have had about Japanese classical music of the6

Issue 104 Volume 19 Number 1 (March 2024)

tightly the morality of the time sent officers frequently
to tail Ito, whose outspoken criticism of the patriarchy
she found herself in was enough to ruffle more than afew feathers.
Unperturbed by this spying on her, says Irena
Hayter, Ito once turned to the secret police tailing her
and asked him if he could make use of himself and carry
the diapers for her children. Sadly, our panel explains,in the aftermath and confusion of the 1923 earthquake
the state seized the opportunity and killed Ito and her
her lover, anarchist author Osugi Sakae, whilst the dust
settled on Tokyo. This visceral story, of which only afraction is reproduced here, set the scene for Kubota
Akiko’s biwa performance.
With a screen displaying surtitles, Kubota’s
vocal performance was immediately arresting. Her
undulating tones set with the biwa’s brash melody
were the perfect accompaniment for the story being

told. The refrain, “For the new woman, there is a new
woman’s way” peppered throughout underlined theradically contemporary take on a story a hundred years
old, and an art form far older. As Kubota explained
before the performance, the biwa was always
traditionally a male artform, telling the story of samurai
and valour, so even the act of taking this medium andusing it to tell the story of one of Japan’s most forwardthinking radical felt in many ways counter-cultural.
The performance winds through the life andtimes of Ito, exalting her outspoken radicalism withwhat was clearly a world-class performance from
Kubota. As it came to end, and the audience filteredout into a brisk London evening, I couldn’t help but
feel that the cultural landscape in the UK was being
enriched if only a little by On an Endless Road: Itō Noe
and the Women Composers of her Time.§

The Boy and The Heron
directed by Miyazaki Hayao
released in the UK in 2023
Review by Shehrazade Zafar-Arif

The Boy and The Heron is the latest film directed byMiyazaki Hayao. Released in Japan as How Do You
Live? (Kimitachi wa do ikiru ka), the film might not be,
as previously speculated, Miyazaki’s final film, but it
certainly feels like a swan song and an homage to his
illustrious career and canon of work.
The setting is 1940s wartime Japan and theprotagonist is Mahito (voiced by Santoki Soma in theJapanese version and Luca Padovan in the English dub),
whose mother is killed in an airstrike on a hospital inTokyo. His father (voiced by Kimura Takuya and ChristianBale) remarries Mahito’s mother’s sister, Natsuko(Kimura Yoshino and Gemma Chan) and relocatesthem to her remote, sprawling country estate, whichis staffed by a group of tobacco-obsessed, crone-like‘grannies’. The grieving, unsettled Mahito finds himself
haunted by an eerie talking grey heron (Suda Masaki
and Robert Pattinson) who keeps insisting that his‘presence is requested’. When the pregnant Natsuko
vanishes into the ruins of a mysterious, bricked-up
tower in the woods, Mahito follows the heron into a
strange and fantastical world in search of her.
In many ways, this film feels like a spiritual
successor to Spirited Away, with a troubled young
protagonist who is changed by a rescue mission intoa supernatural world. But while Spirited Away has very
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clear emotional beats and a linear character arc, The
Boy and the Heron’s plot feels more meandering anddisjointed. The first act, which follows Mahito’s arrivalat the estate and his attempts to settle into his newlife, drags on for slightly too long, so that by the time
we get to the action, the scenes in the world within
the tower feel rushed and almost like an afterthought.
Characters like the Parakeet King (Kunimura Jun andDave Bautista) and the tower master (Hiho Shohei andMark Hamill) are introduced late in the film, and key
stakes and elements are crammed, in an expositionheavy manner, into a slightly unwieldy third act,
making the story feel cluttered. The hurried pacing
also means that the ending feels slightly abrupt. The
ambiguities of the story itself are often confusing, andI found I enjoyed the film more when I stopped trying
to make too much sense of it.
7

But perhaps this was the point. This is a story
about grieving, and grief is messy and disjointed,
especially from the perspective of a traumatised young
boy. The film’s often haphazard structure embodies
this ambiguity, as well as the dream-like logic of theworld in the tower, a world that exists outside of space
and time. Unlike the spirit world of Spirited Away,the setting has no clear rules or contained limits andopens itself up to an infinite range of interpretations- we never learn, for instance, the real origins of thestructure that became the tower. This accentuates thestory’s sense of wistful, whimsical beauty, making it
something between a fairy tale and an allegory.
The film’s surrealism is emphasised by its lush,
gorgeous animation. From the nightmarish, fiery
backdrop of war torn Tokyo with its burning sky andblurry figures, to the haunting, eclectic, and vibrantly
coloured landscapes of the world in the tower, every
frame feels like stepping into a watercolour painting.
Hisaishi Joe complements the dreamy visuals
and the tone of the story with a score that is less grandand cinematic than it is melancholic and ponderous.
Particularly within the tower, there is a jarring shift
between the stylistic characteristics and motifs of thedifferent locations, from the misty waterways occupied
by ghostly boats to the busy and overly saturated homeof the giant parrots. The inhabitants of the tower, too,range from the innocent to the grotesque, represented
on one end by the smiling, spirit-like warawara andon the other by the giant, carnivorous parrots, whoare both cartoonish and menacing, their war-like kingcalling to mind the militaristic regimes of the era. In
the middle of this dichotomy are the pelicans, who gofrom antagonistic to pitiful as Mahito learns their story.
But all the creatures of the tower are tragic in their own
ways.
The characters are memorable and larger thanlife, sometimes bombastic and other times touching- but I wish they’d been given more space and time toshine. We get a clear insight into Mahito, our audiencesurrogate, on his journey from apathy to defiance, as
well as into Natsuko, who is torn between her desire
to be his mother and her guilt about not being able tolive up to her sister’s memory. But others, like the firemaiden Himi (voiced by Aimyon and Karen Fukuhara),
the tough-talking fisherwoman Kiriko (Shibasaki Ko
and Florence Pugh), and the mysterious tower master,
fall to the wayside slightly. The highlight for me was thetitular heron, who evolves from a sinister, otherworldly
trickster to a comedic, goblin-like figure, voiced

impressively (and unrecognizably) in the English dub
by Robert Pattinson.
There is an autobiographical lens through which
one can view the film, which sheds light on andreframes its many eccentricities. A lot of the story’s
elements are inspired by Miyazaki’s own childhood,
growing up in wartime Japan with a father who
manufactured fighter planes, as Mahito’s father does.
It feels like a very personal film, one which looks backreflectively while also looking ahead with hope andtrepidation, as though the 82-year-old Miyazaki is
grappling with the end of his career. It’s easy to see
him in the character of the tower master, who seeksa successor to take ownership of the world he’s
created and nurtured. Similarly, the tower world itself,
full of beauty and horror and absurdity, populated
by unusual, inexplicable characters, feels symbolic of
Miyazaki’s filmography.
Fittingly, then, the film is full of nods to Miyazaki’s
other works. The anthropomorphised animals,
trapped in an unnatural world where they’re forced
into violence in order to survive represent the struggle
between man and the natural world seen in Princess
Mononoke and Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind. The
enchanted tower is reminiscent of Laputa in Castle in
the Sky or Howl’s castle in Howl’s Moving Castle. The
film seems meta-textually aware of these parallels,even in its casting - the voice actors for Mahito’s father
Shoichi in the original Japanese, English dub, andeven Spanish dub all previously voiced Howl in Howl’sMoving Castle. For viewers like myself, who grew up
on Studio Ghibli films, it’s strikingly nostalgic and feels
like a triumphant culmination of years of storytelling.
The Boy and the Heron is a film that perhaps
needs to be watched a second time in order to be fully
appreciated, or one that must be allowed to sit in its
audiences’ mind before its potency is realised. Like thenebulous tower world, it explores a number of themes.
Grief is at the heart of it: grief for loss of loved ones,
grief for endings, and grief for the fleeting nature ofimagined worlds.
In many ways, the Japanese title - taken from a1937 children’s book by Yoshino Genzaburo, whichappears in-universe as a gift to Mahito from his mother- more accurately captures the feel of the story thanthe English one does. While The Boy and the Heronemphasises the fantasy adventure elements, How Do
You Live poses a question to the audience, which thefilm seeks to answer.§