Grave of the Fireflies

Looking at my animated selections in this blog (Toy Story 2 and Whisper of the Heart), it should be readily apparent that I am most attracted to anime and CG films that tell realistic rather than fantastical stories, albeit even as they utilize the strongest aspects of their exaggerated style to construct that sense of realism. It is little surprise, then, that I find myself most affected and emotionally devastated by Isao Takahata’s Grave of the Fireflies (1988), as this film showcases all the hope, the pride, the desperation, and the immorality of survival in the firebombed ruins of Kobe, Japan.

As families are torn apart, so are our protagonists, young Seita and his little sister Setsuko, stripped of their immediate family as firebombing ravages their town. As Seita shields his sister they turn to their extended family, seeking shelter with their aunt. Yet Seita is defiant in his refusal to sacrifice much of their freedom to aid his similarly displaced and hungry relatives. Rather than submit to his aunt’s harsh but fundamentally sound criticisms, Seita internalizes his pride and he and Setsuko steal off to fend for themselves.

Much of this film concerns familial responsibility and examines the repercussions when that responsibility falls beneath the indifferent eyes of society and nature, which is also caught up in simple survival. Most of this film concerns Seita’s attempts to feed his sister, to prove his capabilities at adulthood. Without revealing anything more than superficial plot, it’s little wonder that he fails to consider the longevity of such efforts. More vitally, this film is a token to the desperation that haunted any survivor, and Takahata thankfully refuses to placate his audience or his film with artificial intrigue.

Everything follows matter-of-factly, but the film still allows for small poetic moments, and their grandeur is strengthened by their limited appearance. There are few films that express the wonder of being alive as succinctly and intelligently as this one. To my eye, there are few images in all of cinema more powerful than the bookends, which simultaneously express melancholy and the most extreme devotion between siblings. Beautifully orchestrated with lilting images of the fireflires and music, these scenes expose the fragility that is behind all lived experience in wartimes and they possess a sort of raw power that is unbearably affecting.

Grave of the Fireflies: 10/10