There's a remarkable moment when, after Seita and Setsuko have moved to the shelter, we see a group of youths playing outside. We only realize that this is occurring years, decades later, when one of them runs out of shot screaming about ghosts. It's another reminder that these grotesque experiences have seeped away to the back of the global conscience, and all that remains are a couple relics here and there that mean nothing to nobody.

It happens again, just as the end credits approach, when the ghosts of the siblings are sitting on a hillside overlooking a sprawling, modern cityscape.

Scorsese tried a similar trick with Gangs Of New York, but even with added Bono and mutton-chops he couldn't pull off this kinda resonance.

A fella like The Duke just don't have the vocabulary for to do Grave Of The Fireflies an ounce of motherfucking justice. It's a profound piece of work, a film alive with humanity. It's kinda like Jimmy T. Murakami's masterful 1986 animated feature, When The Wind Blows, which concerned the heartbreaking experiences of two elderly folks post-Nuculear fallout. The right there is another animated number deserving the highest of accolades, but still doesn't top Grave Of The Fireflies.

Grave Of The Fireflies has more compassion in a frame than a thousand live-action pics in their entirety. It's a motherfucking masterpiece, a profoundly haunting experience. I can say not one more damn thing than that right there.

Thanks folks

The Duke resides at Mondo Irlando

Read A Fairy Story - One With Lots Of Fuck-Words.