Film Name: 怪物之子 / Bakemono no Ko / The Boy and The Beast / バケモノの子
Watching Mamoru Hosoda’s films differs significantly from those of other directors in that the protagonist’s true journey begins only after the film’s plot concludes. Whether it’s the young people in Summer Wars, the distinct paths of survival chosen by Wolf Children’s Ame and Yuki, or the departure of a great father in The Boy and the Beast, the adventures the protagonists experience in these stories become the foundation for their even more remarkable futures. This leaves audiences filled with immense anticipation and boundless imagination about their futures. This subtle nuance is rarely found even in Hayao Miyazaki’s works.
After portraying youthful couples and deeply affectionate siblings, Mamoru Hosoda now focuses his lens on the bond between father and son. This shift may stem from Hosoda’s own childhood experience of lacking paternal love. His portrayal of Ren’s (Kyuta’s) human father—both affectionate and distant—and his depiction of the monster Kumakichi as both father and mentor, reveal his complex yet uncertain understanding of the father figure. This may explain why much of the film’s early sections feel mundane and simple to audiences, yet hold profound significance for Mamoru Hosoda.
What Kumatero teaches Kūta is essentially martial arts, yet what he gives Kūta is the love and companionship most vital to any living being. It is precisely this love transcending species that dissolves Ren’s loneliness and ultimately fills the void within his heart.
Herman Melville’s “Moby Dick” chronicles Captain Ahab’s obsessive pursuit of the white whale that claimed his leg, culminating in their mutual destruction. The film’s interpretation, however, portrays the captain battling a white whale that symbolizes himself. As fellow humans who learned their craft in the realm of monsters, as individuals both consumed by darkness and shadows, Ren couldn’t help but ask, “How can I defeat him (Ichirōhiko)?” The film imagines human loneliness, and the fear, rejection, and vengeance that follow its escape, as a white whale one must conquer oneself, a black hole requiring one’s inner sword to sever. This imagery is profoundly insightful and evocative.
Of course, what filled Kyūta’s inner void was not only Kumiteru’s love, but also that of the human girl Kaede. If Wolf Children tells the story of wolf children raised by humans, then The Boy and the Beast is the story of a human child raised by beasts. Thus, he inevitably faces the challenge of returning to the human world. Unlike his predecessor Hayao Miyazaki, who was adept at portraying child characters, Mamoru Hosoda excels at depicting young adults. A single, still-like scene in the library, accompanied by just a few lines of dialogue, suffices to convey the turbulent emotional collision between two young people. Their ambiguous love at first sight reflects the budding form of another profound love beyond familial bonds. Maple and Ren’s mutual companionship belongs to the future, though the film lacks a single scene of their embracing each other wholeheartedly.
Kyūta’s return to the human world is greatly simplified, far more than just acquiring knowledge. He should have richer stories to tell about his human father, the opposite sex, and society itself. Yet the film’s short runtime simply cannot accommodate these elements, which is a great pity. In truth, Kumano isn’t lonely—two monsters have always accompanied him, and even when he arrives in the human world, he has companions. It’s just that his bohemian lifestyle isn’t embraced or understood by people. The film assigns him numerous apprentices, which actually doesn’t align with his character. Simultaneously, Ichirohiko, who was filled with compassion as a child, raises significant questions about why he becomes so dark as an adult.
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