38 years ago, Studio Ghibli pulled off a Barbenheimer with two anime classics

Grave of the Fireflies and My Neighbor Totoro make an unforgettable combo

Double features are a thing of beauty. There’s more to it than watching two movies back to back. Some are unified by theme — try pairing Midsommar (2019) and The Wicker Man (1973), which tackle cult-focused folk horror. Others might have a prolific actor as the connecting link — combine Heat and Casino for a double dose of Robert De Niro in his prime. Perhaps the most commercially lucrative use of the double feature in recent history was Barbie and Oppenheimer, which complement each other by evoking contrasts.

That said, the most unusual and devastating double feature can be found in two Studio Ghibli movies that were released together on April 16, 1988: Isao Takahata’s heartbreaking anti-war movie, Grave of the Fireflies, and Hayao Miyazaki’s comforting slice-of-life My Neighbor Totoro. At the time, they were screened back-to-back in Japanese theaters, and the tonal whiplash was immense. Revisiting the two anime classics 38 years later, the result is the same, but watching Takahata’s film first enriches our understanding of Miyazaki’s Totoro.

Takahata and Miyazaki met while working at Toei and co-founded Studio Ghibli in 1985. With My Neighbor Totoro, Miyazaki explored an intimate tale of two sisters in post-war Japan who encounter benevolent woodland spirits in the countryside. By stark contrast, Takahata tackled the adaptation of Akiyuki Nosaka’s devastating Grave of the Fireflies, a semi-autobiographical short story about the firebombing of Kobe in 1945. Both stories are deeply personal in their own way — while Totoro is about treasuring childhood innocence, Grave illustrates how wars rob childhoods and the dreams that come with them.

Grave of the Fireflies opens on the last stretch of the Pacific War. Siblings Seita and Setsuko move in with their aunt after their mother dies, but young Setsuko is kept in the dark about her death. Seita carries the burden of collecting his mother’s ashes in a small wooden box, keeping it safe in his aunt’s garden. Although Seita gives all his belongings to his aunt to boost the odds of survival, resentment grows amid wartime anxiety and dwindling rations. An air raid forces the siblings to move into an abandoned bomb shelter, where they spend some time catching fireflies in the dark.

The fireflies scene is both pivotal and bittersweet. It is the only instance where the siblings indulge in a magical escape away from the horrors of war. This sense of peace is immediately shattered by the realization that the fireflies have died the morning after, which is also when Seita tells Setsuko about their mother’s death. In hindsight, their conversation about the fireflies the night before cements the fragility of life, where the golden glow of the fireflies mingle with the light of the firebomb embers floating in the air.

Both Seita and Setsuko are going to die by the end of the film, their young lives cut brutally short due to severe malnutrition. Although Takahata’s film doesn’t linger too much on the nightmarish raids in Kobe, Seita and Setsuko’s tragic tale is potent enough to drive the point home. Countless children like Seita and Setsuko meet grisly ends during wartime, their tender dreams as short-lived as the fireflies that come out at night.

This gutwrenching feeling is impossible to shake off once Grave of the Fireflies cuts to its credits. This is where Miyazaki’s My Neighbor Totoro comes in with its love for animism and the act of finding solace in everyday pleasures. Set in 1950s Japan, Totoro centers on sisters Satsuki and Mei, who move into a cozy house in the countryside while their mother stays in the hospital for a long-term illness. What follows is a delicate portrayal of childhood whimsy, as the siblings encounter the large forest spirit Totoro, who takes them on a wonderful journey brimming with hopeful imagination.

Watching Totoro on its own feels healing enough, but following up Grave with Miyazaki’s classic imbues it with new meaning. There’s a somber backdrop to the film’s fantastical premise. Mei and Satsuki's unspoken anxiety over their mother's illness shapes both children, but their father, the mild-mannered Tatsuo, urges them to embrace the beauty of nature and the close-knit community around them. The adults in Totoro are fiercely protective of children, as seen when they band together to save Mei after they think she has fallen into a pond. This is contrasted against the apathetic adults in Grave, who remain unmoved by Seita and Setsuko’s plight even as they waste away near mass grave sites.

Totoro’s post-war setting reiterates the importance of rebuilding what was lost due to man-made conflict. War ravages lives and destroys natural ecosystems, weakening our link to nature (and each other) in the process. Miyazaki’s Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind and Princess Mononoke explore these facets through various lenses, but Totoro leans into childlike wonder and the endless possibilities of a reality where nature spirits come to life. Grave laments the erosion of humanity and mourns the loss of innocent lives, and Totoro affirms it's never too late to tap back into collective empathy and craft a gentler world. The atrocities of yesterday should never be forgotten, but they can teach us what not to do, and remind us of the hefty price to be paid when humankind gives in to its darkest impulses.

The Grave of the Fireflies and My Neighbor Totoro double feature is meant to be an emotional roller-coaster. Although the lingering sentiment is bittersweet, the hope embodied by Totoro is so life-affirming that it’s easy to understand why this pairing works so well. No wonder Totoro, the warm, fluffy woodland creature that fulfills our wildest dreams, has become Studio Ghibli’s mascot.

---

Grave of the Fireflies can be streamed on Netflix. My Neighbor Totoro is available on HBO Max.