A boy tries to keep his family alive in the weeks before the bomb falls on Hiroshima, and the film treats his hunger and exhaustion as seriously as any tragedy. The atomic blast itself hits like nothing else on film, not stylized, not distant, just the immediate obliteration of everything and everyone he knows. What makes it unbearable is that it doesn't end there; it shows you what comes after, the slow burn of radiation sickness and desperation in a city turned to ash, told through the eyes of a kid who has to keep moving because his mother and brother still need him.
In Hiroshima, summer 1945, Gen navigates hunger and hardship alongside his family. His father works himself thin, his mother carries a child while suffering from malnutrition, and Gen himself takes on adult responsibilities to keep everyone afloat. The war feels distant here, a rumor whispered between ration lines and survival. Gen finds moments of boyish joy where he can, but the weight of his family's struggle presses constant. Then, on a single morning in August, everything shatters. A flash of light erases the city Gen has always known, leaving behind only ash and confusion. What follows is a raw, unflinching portrait of a child trying to comprehend the incomprehensible while searching for his family in the rubble. This is not a distant historical document. It's an intimate look at how ordinary people endure when the world ends. The film refuses to look away from suffering, but it also finds something fierce and unbreakable in Gen himself, a child determined to survive and protect those he loves in a landscape that no longer makes sense.