In 1988 Grave of the Fireflies was placed on a double-bill alongside My Neighbor Totoro. Two of the most endearing films ever created- animated of otherwise- were paired alongside one another, more than likely to balance each other out; after being submersed in a pure tale of innocence and delight like Miyazaki's great film, there could be accepted such a bleak, heartbreaking story of survival. And both films, incidentally, were based on true experiences, and while Miyazaki's story wasn't without some sadness in real life (his mother was really sick with TB in the hospital), Akiyuki Nosaka's story is one drenched in the worst horrors imaginable for a child. It's basically about two siblings, an older brother and younger sister, who are left practically orphans in a Japan completely devastated by the constant barrage of bombs falling all around, and with very little hope in sight. This lays the groundwork for their relationship, a bond very fragile and incredibly endearing.<br /><br />Not since Rossellini and De Sica had a filmmaker, in this case Isao Takahata, touched a nerve so deeply etched out in deconstructing the horrors of wartime. By leaving us with these two characters, who piece by piece are stripped of their innocence in just the simple task of fending for themselves in a shelter (they at first stay with an aunt who considers them freeloaders) and scrounging for food any way possible, we're left with nothing else but their struggle, essentially. The backdrop itself almost becomes abstract, something so huge that we don't even know that it's Americans dropping the bombs, as it's already too much to grasp that a child's parent is no longer with them. Like Elie Wiesel's book Night, the backdrop and horror is used to pit these people in an untenable situation, and it can only end, honestly, without compromise.<br /><br />So, indeed, Grave of the Fireflies is bleak as hell, but compelling because it doesn't stray from its path with these characters, and that in many scenes we're connected to them without the overbearing heart-tugs of a common Disney feature (though, ironically, as Ebert points out on an interview with the DVD, the big eyes in most anime is based upon those in early Disney films). The animation is exceptionally refined without being excessive in violence; images are visceral for just what is briefly revealed, without the extraneous shots that one might see in a work not meant in a G-rated film (i.e. when Seita sees her mother, dead and wrapped in bandages with the maggots and bugs crawling all over), and at the same time there's a sense of wonderment as the two children watch the fireflies in the shelter. The voice-work, too, doesn't strain credulity- these sound like, if it were a regular live-action feature, the kids who would play these parts (and, speaking of neo-realism, the two credited for Seita and Setsuko never worked before or again).<br /><br />Most often, the film is heart-rending because of how things build with the situation. It's tragic enough to see the loss of the mother on the son, but then to hide it from the little girl becomes a greater challenge. Each time a layer of emotional defense is peeled back, it becomes harder not to connect strongly with these characters, such as when Seiko casually says she knows her mother is dead as she buries the fireflies and Seita finally cries out for the first time, or when Seita is left broken and humiliated after being beat up by the farmer for stealing food for sick Setsuko. And, finally, there's the last ten or so minutes, which I won't mention here. Suffice to say it's one of those times in movies where the opening of the film- Seiko dying homeless and famished- is explained to a perfect degree by film's end. It's a harrowing experience, and one of the very best animated films.