eptember 21st, 1945. That was the night I died.” Once he’s passed away, Seita’s (Tsutomu Tatsumi) ghostly spirit joins his little sister Setsuko (Ayano Shiraishi) for a train ride into the afterlife, which segues to a flashback (curiously, this opening scene is the best sequence of the entire picture, boasting an artistry and a feeling that is never again duplicated). Countless people run through the streets as they hastily make their way to firehouse shelters, including Seita and Setsuko, who make a few last-minute preparations before they head out to join their mother. As if a timely harbinger of the unexpected, indirect dangers to come, enemy aircraft drop fiery munitions that set alight the houses on their street, causing a panic. In the confusion, numerous people fall to the ground and are trampled; but Seita, with his sister perched on his back, manages to find their way to a shore.

“We’re safe here. Don’t worry.” As the siblings rest for a moment, black rain begins to fall. And as they steadily journey toward an elementary school to reunite with their mom, they begin to see the destruction and mental costs of warfare around them – from ruined landscapes where familiar buildings used to stand, to crowds of survivors who lament over dead and injured loved ones, to people commenting on the specific damages of the weaponry used against them. And, perhaps shockingly, this is the aftermath of the two atomic bombs, whose dropping and explosions and immediate radiation predicaments are entirely absent.

As “Grave of the Fireflies” chronicles the story of an unfortunate duo as they contend with the hellishness of World War II, it ultimately reveals the haunting narrative of how the bulk of the citizenry (certainly the common people) experienced and dealt with such horrors. It may be personalized to this ordinary brother and sister, but it works as a morbid example of how so many perished or coped, struggling with a lack of guidance and resources. By using this specific twosome as a window for the audience, it allows for an older character to partially comprehend the atrocities, and then relate minimal elements to a younger mind who can’t possibly understand, and who handles grief and loss differently; additionally, when they move in with an aunt, the elder woman presents the notion of emotional distance, uninformed of the most pertinent information, more concerned with preserving societal standards and routines. It’s not just an opportunity to exhibit how the Japanese endured (here, with an uncommon kindness and generosity toward each other – an optimism at the start that soon fades), but it’s also an anti-war cautionary tale, illustrating the gruesomeness and ghoulishness of sustained aerial bombardment (interestingly, not specifically a nuclear holocaust, but rather the general effects of war). “We don’t have a house to go back to.”

Fascinatingly, the perspective is neutral, uninterested in proclaiming heroes versus villains, or right versus wrong. Instead, it’s a straightforward account, with regular families dealing with the constant air raids, the annihilation of familiar places, and the diminishment (and government rationing) of supplies (such as white rice, which becomes a rare commodity). Even the intermittent – and heartbreaking – daydreams of happier times are universal dalliances. Of course, Seita (practically a child himself) being forced to singlehandedly care for his continually crying sister is a more distinct hardship – one that would be a tremendous burden (and responsibility) even without an ongoing war (and one whose decisions would spur varying reactions from international audiences). “Where am I supposed to get food!”

As the picture nears its anticipated climax, grief and despair and loss intensify; even Seita’s attempts to cheer up his sister dwindle (early sequences lend to concepts from “Life is Beautiful”). The colossal dourness in which armed conflict smothers the lives of average people has no remedy here; any semblance of normalcy unwaveringly declines. Orchestral music nicely supplements the woes, but even the serene finale isn’t enough to set this film apart from the many other features that dwell on this subject. It’s a dark, depressing, occasionally beautiful experiment in telling an important story, but it doesn’t do so in an indelible manner; it’s historic, tragic, and sad, yet far from unforgettable.

– Mike Massie