Why Grave of the Fireflies Is More Relevant Than Ever

Have you ever lived a life?

Have you ever felt the wind lap against your face? Have you ever seen a sky as blue as seas? Have you held your coat over your head running through rain showers?

Have you ever seen a firefly?

I have. I remember heat waves in late August nights, sifting through grass in the backyard. Hundreds of fireflies floated like lanterns in the dank air, evading capture by clumsy hands. It was easier to sink into the boundless green, scooping up fireflies hidden between blades of grass. Then, glowing like a heartbeat, I’d watch them fly far away.

Grave of the Fireflies unfolds the pleasures of these simple memories like a delicate flower in bloom, painted in a rosy watercolor pink.

It becomes difficult to write about the beauty of its blossoms in the face of prejudice. Some dismiss the animation medium as incapable of portraying emotional depth. Others find themselves unwilling to overcome the barrier of Japanese subtitles. But above all, many refuse to listen to its supposed “anti-American messaging.”

Grave of the Fireflies is a sad story. Yet, the greatest tragedy of all is the unwillingness to listen to it. If more did, they’d find that the story transcends all but experience.