Film review: Grave of the Fireflies

Grave of the Fireflies by Angelii-D at Deviant Art. Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License

Aaron Metha explores a poignant animated film about war and the loss of innocence

‘…by most accounts, there are no periods in history that have been free from war,” writes Dr. Robert Simpson. This sobering truth echoes throughout Grave of the Fireflies, a haunting animated film that strips away the romanticism of war and reveals its devastating toll on the innocent.

War is a globally accepted evil that, for as long as anyone living can remember, has been reported on to the point of our desensitisation. Media concern for the actions of wartime governments fails to acknowledge the greatest consequence of war which is civilian suffering, pain, grief and loss. Grave of the Fireflies explores one of the most specific, harrowing accounts of the Pacific War, during World War II, based on a semi-autobiographical story of the same name. It examines a unique wartime culture and government that differs significantly from the West.

Although the director, Isao Takahata, assures us that the film was not intended as an anti-war film, the interpretation is undeniable. It’s what lands it on countless lists of the best animated movies of all time and is considered Takahata’s magnum opus as a director.

The film follows a 14-year-old boy, Seita, and his 5-year-old younger sister Setsuko, children of a Navy Captain in the closing of the Pacific War. It begins with the firebombing of their city, Kobe, Japan with innocent paths destroyed by crashing rubble. Seita carries his sister away and narrowly escapes the chaotic scene, later finding his mother critically injured at a nearby school. The film explores responsibility at depth and is a modern take on war cinema.

Takahata describes Seita as a “unique wartime ninth grader.” Seita’s more modern traits, his independence, refusal to accept mistreatment and defiance, reflect the mindset of a child from the 1980s. This helps prevent audiences from feeling an inferiority complex toward Seita. They might otherwise see him as unrealistically responsible and unrelatable which could make the story less relevant to modern viewers. However, Seita is not so rebellious; he remains a believer in the war and respects authority. Takahata’s portrayal also raises the question of whether Seita can control his own fate.

Pus and blood stain their mother’s bandages and the gruesome image of sprawling maggots across her skin confirm her death. Seita keeps this from his sister, so she doesn’t get upset. He gives her a tin of fruit drops, a luxury, to distract her from the scene.

They move in with an aunt, who convinces them to sell their mother’s kimonos for rice. Setsuko, very young and unaware, is saddened and confused. Seita’s academy and workplace have been destroyed, so he and Setsuko spend their days playing. The aunt sees their playfulness as laziness and she doesn’t hesitate to criticise them. Her disapproval seeps through the film quietly dispersed among peaceful, heartwarming scenes, casting a shadow over their fleeting moments of joy.

In the darkness of an abandoned shelter, the children catch fireflies on their first night

Emperor Hirohito was regarded as a divine and sacred figure, as Japanese emperors traditionally were. This belief system shaped the national mindset during the war and manifested in total loyalty and self sacrifice. Academies were converted into national schools to raise ‘children of the emperor’, who would fight in gyokusai (sacrificial battles). Workers, such as the aunt’s family, would contribute tirelessly towards the war and uniquely, Japan did not face a single revolt for the harsh conditions imposed on its people. These cultural attitudes, along with the eventual outcome, are reasons why the war is such a taboo subject in Japan with no national museums, no widespread public discussion, and no clear start, end or even name for the war.

When Seita and Setsuko return home from playing, their aunt berates them for their lack of contribution, especially coming from a ‘military family’, that receives privileges like free food. The audience is reminded that they are orphans, their mother died in front of Seita’s eyes, their father hasn’t been heard from in many weeks. With Seita’s academy destroyed, so no school to attend or work to do, it becomes clear the aunt’s view of them as selfish is unfair. Infact, the children are victims of the war and lack the means to support themselves.

The film doesn’t shy away from a Japanese perspective of the war. The aunt represents the values of the Empire and is a polarising figure between western and eastern audiences. A native Japanese audience may connect more deeply with the cultural context. The stains of blind honour remain thick and create a sympathetic view of the aunt, a resolute, hardworking citizen and a mother whose warmth may have grown cold in hardship. Her words and actions seem cruel, but they come from a wartime culture that has nothing but the highest expectations of its citizens, disregarding the consequences.

Seita and his sister quietly leave to live in an abandoned bomb shelter. On their first night, they catch fireflies and release them inside. The children’s eyes glisten with wonder as they watch the lights flicker around them. They sleep in an almost prelapsarian peace. The next morning, the fireflies lie dead. Setsuko stumbles about, picking them up to bury them. She reveals that their aunt told her of their mother’s death against Seita’s wishes. He cannot protect her from the brutal reality of war.

Seita watches his sister gather pebbles, believing they are rice as hunger overtakes her mind

Food grows scarce, and Seita faces a difficult choice. Does he return to his aunt, or stay and try to provide food for them both? He chooses the latter, this military boy now forced to steal from a nearby rice paddy. Desperation weighs heavily on him as he fights to keep his sister alive. He has lost his honour and hope, crushed by news of Japan’s surrender and the likely death of his father. The situation grows dire as Setsuko falls ill from malnutrition. Seita finally returns to the shelter with food. Setsuko lies there, a breathing corpse, her joyful spirit reduced to a cracked voice. Still her innocence remains. Seita watches her stagger weakly as she hallucinates, gathering rocks she calls steamed rice and soy pulp. He pulls a marble from her mouth, which she mistakes for a fruit drop. As he hurriedly begins to prepare food, she collapses and dies.

Covered in dirt, Seita travels back to the town carrying Setsuko’s corpse. Her stomach is covered in bloody rashes, her ribcage visible and her cheeks sucked in. He ignores horrid stares as he gets charcoal to cremate her remains. Fireflies surround the flames, as the day progresses into night. He drops her ashes, and a crumpled picture of their father into her empty can of fruit drops.

Seita is withering away, facing the same fate as his sister. He sits in the torn remains of his smart uniform in a train station, surrounded by others just like him. Passers-by look at them with contempt. There is no sympathy for those who suffer the worst, only disgust. A western audience is likely to blame this tragedy on the aunt, the farmer, the civilians, every selfish person who utterly mistreats these suffering children. However, a Japanese audience is likely to condemn Seita for his stubbornness and refusal to return to their aunt.

Either way, audiences search for an individual to blame, neglecting the very war that forced these circumstances upon them. Aspirations of conquest to become the strongest nation in the world result in devastating consequences, down to the smallest level as portrayed in this story. It is not by an oppressor or an enemy force, but the country that is absolutely committed to war itself, pushing its own people into extremes beyond imagination.

An underlying difference between interpretations is whether Seita is to blame for his sister’s death. Yet the audience is ultimately left with Setsuko’s question: “Why do fireflies have to die so soon?” This question remains unanswered and open to interpretation, perhaps reflecting the fragility of life, innocence lost, and the devastating impact of war on the young.

You can check out the trailer here ↓