Cinema, from its earliest days, was never merely a tool for entertainment. It became a medium for reflecting human suffering, recounting tragedies, and recording memories that official histories sometimes overlook. Among the many narratives brought to life on the silver screen, films that depict the bombing of innocent civilians and the killing of noncombatants hold a special place. These works are valuable not only for their harrowing imagery and sweeping devastation but for their human perspective, serving as a mirror to the silenced victims of war.
These films often center not on those with guns or in military ranks, but on mothers, children, the elderly, and ordinary citizens who are suddenly engulfed by the fire of attacks.
Among them, one of the most harrowing films in cinematic history is Grave of the Fireflies, directed by Japanese filmmaker Isao Takahata, a co-founder of Studio Ghibli. It’s an animation with a deceptively childlike exterior, yet it unfolds with profound and devastating pain. It tells the story of two children—a teenage boy and his younger sister—struggling to survive after the bombing of Kobe at the end of World War II. The film not only realistically reconstructs the destruction of the city but also portrays the silence and indifference of a society that abandons its survivors. More than an anti-war film, it is a passionate elegy for a generation lost in the shadow of war.
Moving away from East Asia, there are brilliant examples in Middle Eastern cinema as well. Waltz with Bashir, directed by Israeli filmmaker Ari Folman, is a documentary-style animation that, through a surreal and psychologically fragmented narrative based on the forgotten memories of a former soldier, recounts the massacre of civilians in the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps in Lebanon. Folman, through a nightmarish journey, chases erased memories until he reaches a painful truth: that he and many of his comrades either remained silent in the face of civilian bombings or became part of the machinery of violence themselves. The film addresses not only the brutality of the Israeli military but also the psychological destruction of soldiers who lost their humanity amid war.
In Iranian cinema, From Karkheh to Rhein by Ebrahim Hatamikia—though produced within the framework of “Sacred Defense” cinema—takes a human and non-ideological look at the suffering of civilians affected by chemical bombings. The main character, a war veteran, is sent to Germany for treatment after surviving a chemical attack. But what has suffered most is not his body, but his psyche and memories; the sound of sirens, the screams of the wounded, the faces of burned children—all continue to haunt him. The film painfully explores the long-term effects of bombing not just on the human body, but on memory, identity, and family relationships.
For Sama, a bold and deeply personal documentary by Syrian filmmaker Waad al-Kateab, emerges from the heart of besieged Aleppo. It is the story of a mother who, in the midst of relentless bombings, picks up her camera to document the dark days and the spirit of resistance—for her young daughter. The film captures real moments of hospital bombings, the cries of helpless newborns, and the vacant stares of children who cannot understand why their home was destroyed. It is not a reconstruction of the past, but a vivid and ongoing account of a present in which the victims are still alive—or still falling. For Sama stands as a raw and immediate testimony to the unrelenting violence against unarmed civilians.
In Israeli cinema, Lebanon, directed by Samuel Maoz, offers another internal reckoning with the military’s role in bombing and killing. The film is told entirely from inside a tank, where four young soldiers carry out a mission in the midst of the Lebanon War—a mission they barely understand. The viewer’s vision is restricted to the tank’s narrow lens, through which we witness bombings, civilian deaths, and the moral disintegration of the soldiers. This visual confinement becomes a metaphor for the ethical entrapment of soldiers ensnared in the machinery of war. Without slogans or preaching, the film strikes directly at the human conscience.
Palestinian documentary cinema has also produced enduring works on this subject. Five Broken Cameras, directed by Emad Burnat and Guy Davidi, tells the story of peaceful resistance in a Palestinian village under Israeli occupation and bombing, through the lens of a local farmer. Each of the five cameras used during the film is eventually destroyed, yet another one takes its place—just like the spirit of a people who continue to stand, even under bullets and bombs.
