Insights & Art

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Tag: Society

The Collapse of Tradition


Animation produces emotional effects not by reproducing reality, but by heightening and simplifying it.
                                                                                          – Roger Ebert

Roger Ebert famously hailed Grave of the Fireflies (Hotaru no Haka) as one of the greatest anti-war films ever created. Since its initial release this animated classic, directed by Isao Takahata, has been associated with the dangers of militarism and the dehumanising effects of war. As Takahata and author Akiyuki Nosaka were both victims of American firebombings, there are certainly elements of pacifism which underscore the duration of the film. However it seems the real battlefield is the Japanese home front, and it is these rules and expectations which Seita and Setsuko have to navigate. The war is arguably just a trigger to explore the self-inflicted cannibalisation of Japanese society and the disintegration of ie.

Throughout many interviews Takahata has maintained that the target audience was the younger generation of the 1980s, and this film was often used as an educational video within schooling institutions. Importantly, this was also the first generation that the horrors of WWII were just figments of the past and not actual lived experiences. The importance of this shift in the public consciousness and why Takahata so outwardly addresses the youth in the film will be explained further on.

The audience is abruptly thrown into a narrative where Japan is at war, neither the enemy or the cause of this conflict is discussed. It is as if Takahata is suggesting that such details are irrelevant compared to the fact this simply forces Japanese society to change and adapt to such circumstances. Takahata does not portray the Americans as the antagonist and the Japanese as helpless casualties of foreign aggression; as most traditional anti-war films would. Paradoxically it seems it is the Japanese who are both the oppressors and the victims. The ideals of uchi and soto are dismantled as the traditional markers of Japanese identity and tribalism are abandoned in the name of self-preservation.

This is immediately highlighted in the introduction of the film, the suffering of Seita and other orphans are contrasted to the rest of Japanese society. Their decrepit statute and stationary positions accentuate the fanatic (and interestingly directionless) movement of their fellow Japanese. As if an entire generation and their memory was discarded when Japan rose to the economic powerhouse it was in the 1980s.


However, the most obvious scene of social criticism appears near the end of the film when three Japanese girls return to their wealthy home, excitedly exclaiming “It’s so good to be home… It hasn’t changed a bit.” Whilst initially it can be seen as an optimistic comment about the future of Japan, that fact it immediately follows after the passing of Setsuko paints these adolescents as callous and ignorant.

It is clear that from their western attire and their association with western technology (phonograph) that these girls are supposed to be the representations of the Japanese youth in 1980s; opulent and painfully oblivious. The proximity of the house to the caves that Seita and Setsuko lived in, is a metaphor that underneath the economic boom of the decade lie the painful memories of loss and defeat. It is not the Allied soldiers who are presented as indifferent to the suffering of the Japanese, but rather the Japanese themselves.


In a very eye opening interview Takahata states that one of his original goals was to ‘depict the boy as a contemporary boy, rather than a boy in that time.’ It is with this new found knowledge that one must address the film and see Seita’s actions as not just as personal decisions but rather a mirroring of the ideals and values held by the Japanese youth of the 1980s.

In one of the opening scenes of the film, Seita carries Setsuko upon his back trying to find his way to the bomb shelter. However, during this journey, Seita pauses and the camera spends an usually long time lingering upon a bucket, ladder and pool; tools used to fight fires. Torn between giri and ninjo, Seita chooses to flee towards safely. Almost immediately afterwards, as if an act of divine retribution, the houses around him explode into an uncontrollable blaze of fire and the skies immediately darken. Symbolically, it would seem the reason why the city of Kobe fell to the fire was not because of the American bombings, but rather an embrace of kojinshugi over ie.


Seita’s fire brigade uniform, iconic of Japan’s fashion during WWII serves not only to connect him towards the school attire of his modern day contemporaries, but also as a constant reminder of his failure to fill his obligation. Throughout the film as Seita becomes ever more removed from ie and the community, his uniform begins to disintegrate off his body. Yet in death, Seita’s uniform is restored, serving as an ominous warning that he (and the audience) will never be able to shake off their responsibilities to the nation, invoking some of the more fatalistic elements of Bushido.

Noting how consumerism has weakened the pillars of Japanese tradition, Takahata continues his criticism by stating ‘[Seita] doesn’t bear with hardships. When the aunt threatens him by saying “Let’s have our meals separately” he is relieved’… As a result, his life becomes harder. Such is the feelings held by today’s kids.’

The consequences of isolation is juxtaposed to the prior scene of surprising optimism as Seita rummages through his destroyed home and symbolically bathes in water spouting from a burst pipe. In a traditional anti-war film, this scene of returning to a destroyed community would have been a moment of intense emotional pain, yet Seita seems almost unreactive to the destroyed infrastructure. Seita and Setsuko may have lost their mother but they were still on good terms with their auntie, and thus the family unit survived: Japanese society was still adhering to its traditions, even after experiencing such causalities.


The question must be asked, why Takahata was so intensely focused on having his film connect with the Japanese youth of the baburu keiki. The 1970s and 80s, falls into what sociologist Osawa Masachi terms as ‘kyoko no jidai’ or roughly translated as the ‘age of fiction’, a period marked by a public shift on tradition. Whilst the 1960s and 70s (or riso no jidai; ‘age of idealism) aimed to change society from within established perimeters. The period of Kyoko no jidai, fuelled by an explosion of capitalism combined with the radicalisation of leftist politics saw a desire to reimagine society completely, without adherence to past traditions. It is from within this context of cultural change from which Grave of the Fireflies emerges.

“… But [the youth’s] often nihilistic attitude combined with an aggressive materialism stand in distinctive contrast to their parent’s values.”
                                                                                         – Susan Napier

(Nakanishi, 2003)

The post war years of 1979 to 1993 saw a steep rise in crime rates of juveniles, simultaneously followed by a dramatic increase in juvenile arrests. And it this troubled generation of Japanese delinquents which was the target audience of Grave of the Fireflies. The desire to rein the youth is expressed in Takahata’s comments; “Just like today’s junior high students, a 14-years old looks unemotional or grumpy.” Such comments leave very little room when it comes to addressing the objective of this film.

This is not to say that Grave of the Fireflies completely neglects to condemn war , but instead that its main focus is a close inspection on the Japanese character in times of trial. One of the most powerful scenes condemning militarism occurs after the fire bombings have ended and both Seita and Setsuko were able to escape (not with the rest of society at the shelters but rather to a sewer reminiscent of their eventual ‘ukiyo’). A hellish montage of soldiers and civilians dying is followed by a lone male feverishly screaming “Long Live the Emperor”. Situated amongst the backdrop of a burning building; his overly zealous rhetoric is the fan which fuels the self-immolation of Japanese society.


However, in the scene above, one could just as easily interpreted it as an anti-war message or as a cautionary warning against Japanese society being swept up by the tides of far right politics. Tellingly, both Seita and Setsuko die after WWII concludes, during a period where Americans had ‘officially’ become an ally, and peace had technically been reinstated. One must question if Grave of the Fireflies is at its core an anti-war film, as it spends so much time addressing the consequences of social decisions and not exploring the horrors of international war.

This criticism of the Japanese youth is reflected in two highly emotional scenes where both Seita and Setsuko break the fourth wall and communicate directly to the audience. In the scene directly after Seita and Setsuko’s last encounter with the fireflies and the pleasant idylls of nature, Seita walks outside the cave to see Setsuko crouching in the dirt. Setsuko starts crying as she begins to bury the fireflies and in a highly emotional moment asks “Why do fireflies have to die so soon?” It is important to not only note her words but the manner in which this dialogue is conveyed. The linear narrative of the story is broken and the camera shifts to a point of view shot of Setsuko’s teary face; positioning the audience as the recipient of her question.


Analysing the exact definition of what fireflies symbolise in this piece of work is rather difficult as they cover such a large myriad of ideas. But by immediately injecting flashbacks of Seita’s and Setsuko’s mother being thrown into a ditch, combined with the previous mention that ‘[a kamikaze plane] looks like a firefly.’ I believe that Setsuko’s question forces audience to confront why they have forgotten the memories of the fallen victims, relegating their sacrifices to pointless events along the spectrum of Japanese history. Did their suffering have any meaning and if not, then why not?

This is reinforced by the following scene, which is arguably one of the most manipulative within the entire film. A wave of intrusive Japanese children carelessly trespass on the caves that Seita and Setsuko lived in. After such a powerfully emotional scene just moments prior, the audience cannot but see their ignorance as anything but problematic. Regarding the previous example of the Japanese girls returning to their house, it is highly telling that Takahata constantly uses ignorant children as the symbol of those untouched by war.

Arguably the cause of Seita and Setsuko’s demise isn’t the war as apart from the opening scenes of the film, the audience is never again shown the graphic consequences of conflict. Likewise, Takahata portrays Japanese society as still intact after its surrender at the concluding moments of the film. In the scenes when Seita tries to buy charcoal for his sister’s funeral, there is an unusual amount of sunlight present and the farmer seems oddly optimistic, noticeably different to the feelings of the Seita and the audience. As someone who previously advised Seita to return to his auntie, this farmer stands as the ideological opposite to Seita, someone who did not abandon his station, even during turmoil. Life as a Japanese farmer and as a cog in the Japanese system continues, even in the face of defeat.

Likewise, Seita’s compliance in the selling of his mother’s kimonos is also used as a metaphor for the self-cannibalisation of Japan from within. In complete disregard for his mother’s memory and filial piety, Seita trades in a symbol of Japanese femininity and motherhood for instant gratification. The camera then pans to the ghost of Seita covering his ears and horrified by this ultimately pointless decision, as the children die anyway, and paradoxically due to a lack of parental care. This act is symbolic because it marks the start of the pair’s divorce from any forms of familial relationship, their relationship with their auntie rapidly decays afterwards: Seita’s pride and Setsuko’s willingness to follow her brother have made them orphans both literally and spiritually.

The final scene of this film however is arguably the most insightful look into the intentions of Takahata’s when directing this film. Having failed to receive proper Buddhist or Shinto burial rites, both Seita and Setsuko return as spirits, they’re marginalised on the outskirts of the city; disconnected to the wealth of the city. As Setsuko lays her head on her brother’s lap and the main theme begins to crescendo, Seita breaks the fourth wall and gives the audience an accusatory stare.


Slowly the camera pans upwards, and the fireflies; symbols of the kamikaze pilots, Seita’s mother and other countless forgotten Japanese victims are drowned out by the overwhelming lights of Kobe. As audiences, it is not hard to see this futuristic city as the stark contrast to the poverty and suffering of those caught in WWII. Once again the question is asked whether or not the stories of the older generation have been forgotten, and if so then why? Nosaka’s words captures this sense of tension and discomfort with the rapidly changing Japan; “… High-rise buildings and super-highways were once just futuristic dreams… [I] cannot help but see them amidst sunlit ruins,” echoing a real fear that Japan will forget its past.

Perhaps the most conclusive proof regarding the stance of Grave of the Fireflies is found in Takahata’s continued insistence that “[The film] is not at all an anti-war anime and contains no such message.” Whilst Takahata and Nosaka’s played large roles in shaping what this film eventually became, it is fair that audiences should have the right to interpret this film however they wish. Nor does this essay wish to diminish Roger Ebert’s remarks that this film “involves war, the results of war and two victims of war.”

However, to insist that the film Grave of the Fireflies was created with a strict anti-war theme at its heart is rather dubious. I see this film as an attempt to bridge the generational gap between those who experienced and those untouched by Japan’s darkest days. Grave of the Fireflies doesn’t so much push an anti-war message but rather one cautioning against the abandonment of communal values. The fact that this story starts and ends with the death of the protagonist suggest that bloodshed, like the defeat of Japan in 1945, is unchangeable. Yet it is how a culture remembers their past which demonstrates what direction they will take in the future.

Seedy Phallus Interpretations.


Account for the different interpretations and impact of phallic symbolism within Greek society reflected by ancient Greek mythology and rituals. 

The phallus was a reoccurring symbol through ancient Greek society with its interpretations used to support a patriarchal society validated by Greek mythology. The phallus evolved from being just a sexual reproductive organ into a symbol of sovereignty, a weapon and a tool to preserve the foundations of a society. A man’s genital also became a reflection upon the individual, supposedly highlighting his status, birth and whether he was civilized or a savage. Finally a man’s phallus became regarded as an agricultural tool and a symbol of fertility. These representations of the phallus are reinforced by the Greeks myths which were a fundamental element to the construction of the ancient Greek society. The significance of the phallus created a civilization based upon phallocracy- a cultural system symoblised by the power of the phallus.

The constant repetition of the phallus throughout Greek culture was a constant reminder of the male dominance of society. It was written within Greek mythology that the image or carving of a phallus could be used to shield against the “evil eye” from hypnotizing an individual. That belief system slowly turned the phallus from just another male limb to a symbol “intended to bring good luck to the beholder.”[1] The fact the phallus was present and linked to most aspect of Greek society acknowledges the importance of it as a symbol (Image 1.) Statues of Hermes with an erect phallus were used as markers of territory between states and to ward away evil spirits and omens. Statues and artworks of phallus were so common that “buildings were surrounded by phallic pillars”[2] and “[Athena] was studded with statues of Gods with their phallus exposed.”[3] The overwhelming presence of the phallus within the public sphere reinforced the fact women were second class citizens and that Greek culture was one which heavily favoured men. Voodoos with erect genitals found near graves and tombstones reveals that the phallus was also involved in black magic rituals and witchcraft. The dolls were a visual representation of a man’s foe, and it attempted to channel hostile spirits recently deceased to “cripple the most significant limb”[4] of the intended target, their genitals.

A man’s phallus was also frequently portrayed as a weapon within Greek art, conveying the strength and authority of manhood. The major Greek gods are often portrayed aiming their designated weapons towards the crotch of their sexual targets. Zeus brandished a thunderbolt or a scepter, Poseidon, his trident; and Hermes, his caduceus towards their victims (Image 2.) The phallus and its associations with masculinity are echoed in the mythology of Uranus and Cronus. The sky and earth are not separated until Uranus who locks Gaea in a “perpetual sexual embrace”[5] has his genitals removed. The castration also signifies Uranus’ fall from grace and importance within Greek mythology as his son Cronus steps up and fills his position of authority. Without his genitals Uranus cannot lead his family, the castration was more than just a physical act; it implied that he had lost the “essence of a man’s being.”[6] The symbolism of the phallus extends further than just a sexual organ; it stands as a characteristic necessary to rule.

The deeply embed sexual tension in ancient Greek culture was due to the sexual restriction of women and their complete lack of voice, symbolised by the myths of the Amazon women. The Amazon warriors were defeated by Attic hero Theseus, suggesting that democracy could only thrive if society kept “women’s sexuality properly in check.”[7] The Athenian warriors re often depicted stabbing their weapons into the breast of the Amazon warriors particularly near a nipple. This was done to dramatise the warrior’s “assault on their femininity”[8] and to suggest the sexual conquest of men over women. (Image 3) It was feared “any concession to women would lead to the collapse of social order built by men” thus the repetition and significance of the phallus within Greece society was meant to maintain social order.

A man’s phallus was eventually transformed a general representation of the individual and the shape and size of the genitals were supposed to be a direct reflection on the male carrier. Aristophanes describes the perfect man to be equipped with a “small prick” similarly Aristotle states a smaller penis is more fertile since the seed has to shoot a shorter distance.[9] A large, circumcised penis was a mark of barbarism and savagery; male foreigners are often depicted with larger genitals in Greek artwork and pottery. This is seen in the God; Priapus, whose constant erection was a sign of his uncontrollable lust and large of social etiquette. Fathered by Dionysus or Hermes and born to Aphrodite, this Asiatic God was cursed by Hera to be impotent and ugly highlighted in his satirically large erection. Thus distancing himself from the other noble and more “respectable” Olympian gods in mythology. (Image 4) For a Greek culture which was heavily built upon notions of logic, knowledge and reason, large unsuppressed erections were a sign of a man’s inner primitive nature and something to be shunned by society. In general large sex organs were “considered coarse and ugly and were banished to the domains of abstraction”[10] and rejected by Greek men as redundant and aesthetically repulsive. (Image 5)

Like the Satyrs, Priapus was often mocked in mythology, both were driven by uncontrollable sexual urges however neither could successfully have sexual intercourse. Priapus was disturbed by a donkey whilst trying to rape Lotis and Satyrs fail to have to sex with maenads. Despite the abundance of sexual activity the major male Gods engage in, “the consumption of the rapes and any visible sexual excitement were never shown.”[11] Once again the belief that an erect phallus was a mark of a barbarian, meant gods pursuing their sexual targets are often portrayed just in the pursuit and not actually engaging in sex (Image 6.)

The phallus was also depicted as “the primary source of life”[12] and an agricultural tool necessary for the “harvest” for the next generation. This notion is once again reflected in the Greek mythology of Uranus’ castration. Cronus’ weapon of choice for this act was either a sickle or a scythe,[13] both tools traditionally reserved for the reaping and gathering of crops. This has resulted in slang terms for sexual intercourse such as “to plough” and semen being the seed. The blood from Uranus’ severed phallus created the violent female spirits named the Erinyes and Giants, beings of “enormous strength and violence” whilst the semen and foam created Aphrodite.[14] There is a concerted effort to push male independence and dominance within the reproduction process, males like Uranus can infringe on a major element of female identity; child birth. This belief is reflected in the birth of Athena and the birth of Dionysus, where Zeus performs both the male and female duties in child birth; sexual intercourse and the delivery of the child. The phallus within Greek mythology challenges the significance of “mother earth,” the notion that females are the most essential aspect in the creation of a new generation. To further this point, Hera jealous at Zeus’ abilities to fulfill the role of both sexes, attempts to have a child without a male partner. The result was a crippled Hephaestus who was shortly abandoned by his mother for his disfiguration and rejected from living within Olympia. From a time in history when the male role in “reproduction was not recognized” by Greek culture. Greek mythology tried to reinforce the notion that the phallus was the primary requirement in the continuation of the human species. In general the stories of the Greek gods reflect the “tensions between the sexes” and the disjointed family unit during ancient Greek society. The mythology fundamental to the establishment of Greek culture looks only to acknowledge the importance of the phallus, thus transforming it beyond just another organ.

It is clear that to maintain a strong patriarchal society, the role of women had to be restricted and their sense of identity infringed upon, the Greek mythology serve as a justification for the dominance of men in a public and private sphere. The phallus stood for many different symbols, all of which empowered man and justified their reign within society. From being a good luck charm to a sign to ward off evil, the reoccurring phallus within Greek culture was an attempt by men to preserve the phallocracy. The phallus was also portrayed as a weapon; embed with physical power and in Uranus’ case, a necessity to rule and lead your family. Apart from that a man’s genitals has also evolved to represent an agricultural product, essential in the prolongation of the human species. The Greek mythology serves as a reflection of the culture and as a tool to maintain the pillars of a male dominated society. The phallus, the limb that separates the sexes begins to adopt many associations with power, fertility and strength legitimizing the patriarchy.


[1] Skiiner, B. M., Sexuality in Greek and Roman Culture (2005), Oxford, UK., Blackwell Publishing Ltd., p. 194.

[2] Keuls, C. Eva., The Reign of the Phallus (1985), N.Y., Harper & Row, Publishers., p. 6.

[3] Ibid., p.2.

[4] Ibid., p.78.

[5] Powell, B. B., Classical Myth (2009), N. Y., Pearson Education., p. 84.

[6] Keuls, C. Eva., The Reign of the Phallus (1985), N.Y., Harper & Row, Publishers., pp. 78.

[7] Skiiner, B. M., Sexuality in Greek and Roman Culture (2005), Oxford, UK., Blackwell Publishing Ltd., p. 38.

[8] Keuls, C. Eva., The Reign of the Phallus (1985), N.Y., Harper & Row, Publishers., pp. 4.

[9] Ibid., p.68.

[10] Ibid.

[11] Ibid., p. 50.

[12] Ibid., p.60.

[13] Powell, B. B., Classical Myth (2009), N. Y., Pearson Education., p. 84.

[14] Ibid., p. 85.