Working as a teacher, I know that each Fall, I will catch a cold or the flu from one of my students. It’s just part of the cycle of the year: the colder, damper weather sets in, the kids get the snuffles but not badly enough that their parents keep them home, and they come in and infect everyone they meet. Sometimes I feel like Invader Zim, surrounding by encroaching germs. This year, I caught both in quick succession, and ended up home sick for two weeks. As often happens when I’m ill, I found myself drawn towards some of my comfort books and movies, rather than anything new or potentially challenging. There would be no Grave of the Fireflies, Watchmen or House of Leaves for me during those two weeks; Mystery Men, Top 10 and Artemis Fowl were more my speed. That’s also why I decided to review My Neighbors the Yamadas as the second in my three picks from director Isao Takahata, even though it was produced after Pom Poko. Both have many comedic elements, but My Neighbors the Yamadas (Hoohokekyo Tonari no Yamada-kun) is an easier movie; gentle, funny and light, with far less cultural baggage. However, as I discovered, it does not hold up as well to repeat viewings, as despite its charm and the love with which it was made, it has some fundamental flaws as a movie.

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Isao Takahata’s Hotaru no Haka (The Grave of the Fireflies, 1988) is a brilliant piece of cinema. Set in Kobe, Japan, in 1945, the film focuses on a brother and sister who are left orphaned and homeless by the American firebombing of the city. It is unflinching in its portrayal of the realities of the war, a harrowing account of what such attacks meant for the ordinary people living in the target area. The children’s innocence and love for each other is no defence against the trials they face: their suffering is very real, their story a classic tragedy. That The Grave of the Fireflies is animated rather than live-action does not distract from its power to move, to provoke thought, to draw tears from the eyes. It is a masterpiece.

An adaptation of Akiyuki Nosaka’s semi-autobiographical novel of the same name, The Grave of the Fireflies pulls none of the punches of the source. The novel is a guilt-ridden apology to Nosaka’s sisters, who died during World War II, as did Nosaka’s adoptive father. Survivor’s guilt and a sense of personal failure combine to make the book difficult to read on an emotional level, and the film, scripted by the director, keeps these themes, making it equally emotional viewing.

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