In the opening minutes of The Boy and the Heron, director Hayao Miyazaki does something he’s never done before. The soft, rounded character designs that have come to characterize Studio Ghibli’s signature style start to morph and mutate. The shadows around them come alive, as if the grime of war has become sentient. Fire licks the side of the frames as if it will escape. It’s the height of World War II, and 11-year-old Mahito is running through the streets of Tokyo, pushing his way through terrified onlookers toward the burning hospital where his mom is currently trapped.
