When did American kids movies become so preoccupied with death? When did being a beloved relative in a colorful animated children’s adventure become as much of a death sentence as being a teenager in a “Final Destination” film? Loss and the lessons that come with it are somewhat foundational to a genre that’s still associated with the likes of “Bambi” and — more recently — “The Lion King,” but over the last few years it’s started to feel as if feature-length cartoons have embraced their function as surrogate grieving counselors for young people who need a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down.This is not a complaint: As someone raised on the grief-adjacent “My Neighbor Totoro” (and comforted much later in life by the wisdom and beauty of a film like “Kubo and the Two Strings”), I know that steering children through their worst sadness is
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