Studio Ghibli‘s newest feature presentation, “Kimitachi wa Dō Ikiru ka” (lit.: “How Do You Live?;” Eng. Title: “The Boy and the Heron“) is an animated period fantasy directed by Hayao Miyazaki (“Kaze Tachinu;” Eng. Title: “The Wind Rises,” 2013), whose return to feature filmmaking more than a decade later marks his break from retirement. Soma Santoki (“Cube,” 2021) voices Mahito Maki, the schoolgoing protagonist of the film who loses his mother, Hisako, in a hospital fire. His father, Shoichi (Takuya Kimura; “Mugen no jūnin;” Eng. Title: “Blade of the Immortal,” 2017), remarries Natsuko (Yoshino Kimura; “Blindness,” 2008). Forced to evacuate the cityside due to the war, Mahito, Shoichi, and the now-pregnant Natsuko relocate to their ancestral property in the countryside.

Mahito, experiencing whiplash from being uprooted both emotionally and physically from his previously idyllic life, stays distant from his stepmother—whom he still addresses as his aunt—but any attempt to acclimatize in his new environment is consistently interrupted by the presence of a grey heron who takes a keen interest in—and continues to stalk and harass—him. The heron (Masaki Suda; “Uchiage Hanabi, Shita kara Miru ka? Yoko kara Miru ka?;” Eng. Title: “Fireworks,” 2017), it turns out, can talk and lures his subject of interest to a broken-down mansion after Natsuko goes missing. Transported to a strange sea world, Mahito must find Natsuko before time runs out and he’s caught by a swarm of power—and human—hungry anthropomorphic parakeets.

The fact that the narrative of “The Boy and the Heron” plays with the rules of fantasy isn’t new for its director; Miyazaki’s strong understanding of worldbuilding makes the sea world simultaneously wondrous, terrifying, and alive. Led by Ghibli regular Joe Hisaishi’s (“Kaguya-hime no Monogatari;” Eng. Title: “The Tale of the Princess Kaguya,” 2014) sweeping compositions for its soundtrack, every frame of the director’s latest evokes boundless beauty. Its seven-year-long production process—owing to the pandemic and workflow-related delays—feels steep, but the visually stunning finished film more than justifies how its makers chose to create it; according to its studio’s co-founder Toshio Suzuki, it was a process “without a deadline,” and “cost more than the production of [any other Japanese film] ever made.”

Unlike the light touch of the director’s previous fantastical endeavors in “Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi” (Eng. Title: “Spirited Away,” 2002) and “Gake no Ue no Ponyo” (Eng. Title: “Ponyo,” 2009), “The Boy and the Heron” is a considerably darker film. Mahito’s entire existence is uprooted before he’s able to process the loss of his parent, and his inability to let go is what forms a lot of its thematic undertone, echoing the almost dogged stubbornness of the man we’ll only call The Tower Master (Shōhei Hino; “Emperor,” 2013) for now. Not that there aren’t any moments or visual depictions of levity; the Warawara—essentially cute sentient white blobs that form the Japanese version of the storks-fly-down-and-give-you-babies fable—are adorable enough to make even the stone-hearted weep. (That, and every bird in “the real world” categorically poops everywhere; on coats, on people, on window sills, you name it).

Miyazaki goes all out here, though—to the point that the filmmaking can sometimes feel a bit esoteric—which is part of the charm instead of a crutch. There’s a palpably personal story at play that, while accessible to children, isn’t the kind of typical fare made for kids, even for Ghibli. The introduction of the grey heron is deeply unsettling, and both hearing and watching the bird speak in a sinister, gruff tone, but possibly the most significant threats in the narrative of “The Boy and the Heron” come from the anthropomorphic man-eating parakeet kingdom, whose power-hungry ruler and his subjects are still viewed in a sympathetic light. Their decisions come mainly from the determination to survive in a world alien to them in the best way possible.

Played with an air of authority, Jun Kunimura (“Midway,” 2019) is excellent despite his character’s relatively small presence in the film’s runtime, but, like with a lot of the film’s characters surrounding its key players—and there are a lot—everyone has their place and time. No character’s existence in the movie is for the sake of existing. Singer-songwriter Aimyon, who plays Lady Himi, is very good and is supported by her character’s fiery determination and vocal chemistry with Santoki—with whom she shares the most space as a voice actor. Probably the most memorable turn comes from Suda, who is astonishingly good as the grey heron, a slimy, often uncomfortable personality who often reluctantly ends up doing the right thing in the course of the film.

The biggest problem of “The Boy and the Heron” is not really a problem—it has more to do with your expectations before viewing the film. The existential undercurrent of the film echoes “The Wind Rises,” while its violent tinge is less surreal, more visceral, a la “Mononoke-hime” (Eng. Title: “Princess Mononoke,” 1999). If you walk in blind, the international English title, as opposed to the original Japanese “How Do You Live?” gives off the vibe of a fun fantasy that could involve the boy and the heron going on an adventure together. While that’s not entirely false, a rewatch could massively help you refocus on the reality of its narrative’s text as opposed to how the film feels to you the first time—if you were looking for something more lighthearted.

(Now, whether its English title had anything to do with “The Boy and the Heron” topping the box-office charts in cinemas across the United States and Canada, one can’t say, but this writer can only hope it revitalizes Studio Ghibli and encourages the company—and, more importantly, Miyazaki himself—to make more 2D hand-drawn works of art).

“The Boy and the Heron” is a stunning return to form for both Studio Ghibli and its co-founder Hayao Miyazaki. While its director’s trademarks of high-fantasy and visual artistry, coupled with Hisaishi’s stunning soundtrack, shine, it is his deeply personal touch and unflinching determination to explore the darkest crevices of loss, the inability to let go and the painful road to acceptance that make it his towering achievement. Masterfully written, gorgeously animated, and emotionally rousing, Miyazaki has made another film for the ages you need to see on a cinema screen to believe. Highly recommended.