SaiKano is without a doubt the clearest example of what I tend to refer to as 'emotion shells': little tales shot at the trenches wherein the audience cowers. If it hits you, you're blown away completely. If it misses, you wonder what all the fuss was about.
If it hits, you'll be reading about the relationship between two rather average people who discover love, or at least some hybrid of affection and lust, and then see one of them becoming a literal weapon of destruction, doing what she must do for the sake of the establishment (and for protecting everything she knows) and full well knowing that she, and she alone, is the cause of much suffering.
Moved yet?
What if we throw in the other person, her sweetheart, staying behind in a place to which some war's front line moves ever closer, coping - together with his townsfolk - with the losses in all supplies and living through some rough times, seeing friends die before his eyes, waiting for his loved one to return, only to find that she destroys herself as much as everything else?
Yes, SaiKano really doesn't use anything that hasn't appeared before. What it does, though, after the first bouts of eyebrow-arching about the nonsense of it all has lapsed, is throw it all at you with unforgiving speed, piling up the drama of this broken girl and her waiting beloved and add some very raw and unpolished - and therefore all the more potent - musings about the nature of love and desire before everything rushes to an exultation of the importance of this so very simple desire for a human life amidst the complete breakdown of the system of the world, asking you to decide whether the ending is completely bitter or just might be hopeful.
All is focused on the two main characters: other persons are there really only to add to their outlook on what they want and think is best, offering them experiences and ideas that shape their decisions. The setting is deliberately kept vague, the war in the background kept devoid of detail and the enemy shown only to consist of some ordinary people just as hapless as the main characters. The art itself is kept minimalistic, so as not to detract from the focus on the story and so as to enhance the expressionism of gestures and facial features.
SaiKano can never be said to be enjoyable, being the attack on the gut and the tear ducts it is, but it resonates.
In all, SaiKano hammers away with the brute force, drive and sincerity of what is in essence a very simple story about what it entails to love someone, through pain and suffering and more, humbling all else.
If it misses, you just wonder why you should care about some lunatic story about some relationship by some girl and some guy, the former for some inexplicable reason being drafted into the army to be a super weapon (say what?) and bursting out in tears for no other reason than some ill-conceived attempt at dramatics. All the while, the guy is leading his happy (or not so happy) little life, getting entangled with far too high a frequency in old and new loves while awaiting the return of his girlfriend and becoming nothing but some hormonally driven sap. To top it off, amongst all the soap-opera-style drama, the author just had to play pretend at waxing philosophical, even, apparently having fallen in love with the worst Eva spewed forth, using some vague connection between human desire and the world to end his story.
The main characters themselves never become more than typical pubescent teenagers, gifted with lack of motor skills and a general shy kindness in some attempt to have them be more likable, whereas everyone else is only there to die and add to the drama, or to go around diffusing the wisdom of the street or the word of Scripture for rhyme nor reason and are probably intended to add the veneer of depth. The entire background receives no attention, so that all seems to play out in some vacuum, which is worsened by the lack of graphical detail, meaning that all stays well in cartoon land and is ridiculous before being moving.
The complete lack of anything that can be really found in all this makes that enjoyability at best will remain at the 'it was an easy read' level.
In all, SaiKano is an attempt to have people care about something that is implausible if not impossible, happening to characters too flat to be even remotely become dear to the reader, in a veritable soap opera of epic proportions, all the while believing itself to actually have something to say about human nature.
Compared to the anime, the manga seems to be a bit more subdued. This mainly has to do with the speed: some scenes that became ridiculous in the anime because they were spread out for too long (the 'flight by bike' early on, for instance) are far less so in the manga, as they are resolved more speedily; for the same reason, a bit of the impact of some other scenes (e.g., Chise's deterioration at the end) was lessened in the manga, as it came less as a surprise. The lack of sound also clearly has an effect: that little sound Chise made when in flight and that you in the anime might come to dread (I really, really hated that sound by the end of the anime) is of course absent, while the lack of voices, particularly at around Akemi's death, lessens quite a bit of the raw intensity of the scene.
In my case, SaiKano hit, and thus hit hard. I'll grant that this to a very large extent had to do with it being a perfect metaphor for some real-life issues (Chise was immediately recognisable, though I wish she weren't) going on at the time of watching/reading it.
Then again, this is exactly what the author intended, as his message at the end of the last volume shows: in it, he more or less says to read the manga, to see if you can find anything that is of meaning to you. And if you can't find it, or cannot find it anymore, don't throw the books away, but give them to someone else. Maybe that other can find something again.
Partly because of that message, one particular sense came through to me very strongly: this manga is, for lack of a better word, sincere. And I find that I can respect that, and that I can even, as was the intention, give it to someone else, hoping that that other may find something in it.
That is, if we're looking to induct something that I'd recommend someone read, then yes, I'd recommend SaiKano, if only for this reason.
If I let the critic in myself loose, though, then no, I will not induct it, as all that SaiKano is about and any worth to be found therein is too strongly dependent on whether or not it strikes a chord with the reader. |