The TV Addict 

Back when I was writing my Top 15 Bleakest Film Endings list, I scanned the internet for similar lists, and I found one film kept on coming up: Isao Takahata’s GRAVE OF THE FIREFLIES. After trying to track down the movie for some time, I was excited to finally find it at the great rental store Film Fest DVD in Toronto. So last night I sat myself down, curious to see why the film was not only so highly regarded by critics and fans, but why it was considered so bleak. The premise about two children trying to survive in World War II Japan sounded sad, but it couldn’t be that bad, right?

It destroyed me.

I don’t say things like that lightly. I’m usually not prone to over-praise or hyperbole, but there’s frankly no other way to describe what that film did to me. It just emotionally obliterated me. What’s interesting – and rare – is that it did so on both ends of the emotional spectrum. The film features some of the most graceful and beautiful moments I’ve seen in a film, and yet also some of the most emotionally devastating. It’ll hurt. Bad.

In a sense you’re prepared for what happens throughout the film because it’s more or less revealed within the first five minutes. That’ll be your first mistake though. You’ll think you’re prepared for it. You’re not. The worst part was when “it” happens, I was sad, but I was hanging in there. I thought I was going to be moderately okay. I was wrong. It’s when shortly after a montage sequence began, that I could feel my heart being literally twisted the way you wring a wet towel to remove the water from it.

In fact, that seems an apt comparison given that – and I’m perhaps going on a limb here by admitting this – I cried. I’m not talking like slight sniffles, moist eyes with the occasional wee little drop escaping down your cheek, which you then quickly wipe away so nobody sees. No, I was full-on crying. Hell, just remembering the scene is getting my misty-eyed again as I write this. Mock me if you will, but I can honestly say that I have never in my entire time as a movie buff ever been reduced to such an emotional wreck by a film. Needless to say I was glad my roommate wasn’t home because he probably would have thought a loved one had just died.

What I’m failing to mention here is that – of course – it’s a phenomenal film. Ebert rates it as one of the best anti-war films he’s ever seen, and I’m inclined to agree (throwing it right up there with PATHS OF GLORY, ALL’S QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT, and NO MAN’S LAND). It’s also a deep enough film that it can be read as a regular family drama, a war-time drama, a morality tale, a Greek tragedy, and even a very cutting critique of Japan’s involvement in World War II.

Those readings/approaches of the film might very well go through your head as you’re watching. But the thing is though, by the time you reach the end, the only thing you’ll feel the film stimulating is your heart. And your tear ducts. And a desperate need for tissues.