It is there, in a cave by a placid lake, that the film performs its cruel magic. We watch the siblings play in the firefly light. We watch Setsuko build a tiny grave for the dead insects. “Why do fireflies have to die so soon?” she asks. Seita doesn’t answer. He is too busy watching his sister starve.
Takahata does not animate his characters like the cutesy mascots we expect from the studio that gave us My Neighbor Totoro (released as a double feature with this film in Japan—imagine that emotional whiplash). He draws them with an aching realism. When Setsuko cries, her face crumples like wet paper. When Seita tries to be brave, his jaw is tight with the terror of a child who knows he is the only shield between his sister and the void. grave of the fireflies roger ebert
At the very end, we see a modern Kobe, neon and chrome, bustling with life. And on a hill overlooking the city, two ghost children sit on a park bench, eating a candy tin that will never be empty. They are not sad. They are simply waiting. Waiting for us to remember what happened to them. Waiting for us to ensure it never happens again. It is there, in a cave by a
I have seen this film three times. I will never watch it again. But I am grateful it exists. It is one of the greatest war films ever made—indeed, one of the greatest films, period. See it once. Bring no children. Bring no snacks. Bring only the knowledge that animation is not a genre, but an art form capable of expressing the deepest registers of human pain. “Why do fireflies have to die so soon
BY ROGER EBERT / April 8, 1988
Roger Ebert’s Rule of thumb: A great film is one that allows you to see the world through another’s eyes. Grave of the Fireflies forces you to see through the eyes of a helpless child. The animation becomes a tool of unbearable intimacy. When Setsuko sucks on a marble and pretends it’s a candy, we don’t see a drawing; we see a child’s imagination cannibalizing itself to survive. When she finally makes a “rice ball” out of mud and clay, eating it with desperate, theatrical delight, the screen blurs. That is the moment you realize you are crying.
There are films that entertain you, films that challenge you, and then there is Grave of the Fireflies . This is not a film that you “like” or “enjoy.” It is a film that you survive . And having survived it, you are never quite the same.