Seita and Setsuko

I saw a movie recently, which I am not ever likely to forget.

Unbearably sad, hopelessly uplifting, painfully tragic, quietly moving. It was all of these things, and more. It tells the story of a brother, Seita, and his four-year-old sister, Setsuko, who were orphaned during the second world war in Japan. Together, they faced hunger, malnourishment, sickness, apathy and death from the skies. Through darkness, despair and hardship, their love for each other shines incandescently bright.

I remember a scene where Seita failed in his latest and ever increasingly desperate attempt to provide food for both himself and his sister, and he was so overwhelmed by despair that he broke down emotionally. In a surprising and heartbreaking moment, the role of protector interchanged, and it was Setsuko who tried valiantly to console him.

In the end, they only had each other.

I never imagined a movie can be so powerful and touching. I was moved to tears for half the entire length of the movie. The way Setsuko and Seita were portrayed reminded me so much of Laetitia and I that I cannot help but become emotionally connected with the characters on screen. Memories of the movie were to haunt me for the rest of the week, like phantom touches of a 'ghost in natural colors'. This is the gem hidden in the well, a surprise in a contradiction, a rare movie about death that is so strongly life-reaffirming.

It is a little sad, and just a little strange, that the qualities in ourselves that we, as the human race, admire and venerate are usually only seen in times of great tragedy or hardship: the indefatigable spirit and determination to survive, sacrifice and valour, love that transcends suffering.

Ellen Dissanayake once wrote:

"What is more, in the modern world, as Kaplan has pithily remarked, the interesting is no longer important, and the important is no longer interesting. It seems worth asking whether the confusing and unsatisfying state of art in our world has anything to do with the fact that we no longer care about important things. In our predominatly affluent and hedonistic society survival is no longer paramount for most of us, and spiritual concerns, while perhaps given public lip service, are less and less privately validated. Our experience of the extra-ordinary tends to be an ever-growing involvement with such things as gambling, violent films, and mood-altering drugs. Caring deeply about vital things is out of fashion, and, in cany case, who has the time (or allows the time) to care and to mark one's caring? Human history has demonstrated that people can endure surprising amounts of hardship and suffering - conditions that usually elicit a serious and religious attitude toward life. Whether people are as well equipped to thrive under conditions of unprecedented lesiure, comfort and plenty is a question that is being tested on a large scale in our present circumstances: the answer does not appear to be promising."

The movie is titled 'Grave of the Fireflies'. I've often wondered what defines a very good movie. Lord of the Rings was epic, grand and exhilirating action. The Ring (the original, please) was the only movie that really, really scared me out of my wits. And I cannot remember the last very funny movie I saw. Now, I know what distinguishes a very good movie from the rest: the strength and depth of your emotional response. On that criteria, 'Grave of the Fireflies' is the best movie I have ever seen, period.