If I can't find my father a man to kiss and cuddle then I've failed as a son

Been watching the oddly beautiful When The Wind Blows, which juxtaposes humanity at its best alongside the worst we can do to ourselves: "those were the days" opines James of the War years, not knowing his rose-tinted reminiscence is humanity's eulogy, while his wife Hilda's mind is occasionally lost in vivid memories of the past and fanciful flights of fantasy even before the bombs drop.  I can see this in a double bill with Grave of the Fireflies if you're feeling a bit too chipper about the world, the actual holocaust itself is oddly metaphorical as it just seems that things fall apart, and I honestly can't see the like of it being made today as the lack of a Cold War to scare the pants off generations of children and bring home their mortality has caused zombie apocalypses and extinction by bad weather to dominate our fictions, and I get the impression all these scenarios do is distance us from the idea of our own mortality rather than make us face it.