Snoozefest

100-man no Inochi no Ue ni Ore wa Tatteiru has the bare minimum amount of effort required to produce an anime and boasts a horrible production value. It somehow remains mundane even when characters are flying across the screen. The entire cast is composed of stock personalities that aren't effective elements of the environment. The atrocious pacing relies on ill-timed few seconds long flashbacks, and there are no stakes whatsoever in this supposed life or death game. Boring in every sense of the word, and easily one of the worst full-length shows released this year.

A failure of a sports anime, arguably a failure in general. The overt message of this show is oddly overdramatized, and the lazy delivery lacks pattern or nuance. The first couple of arcs are rushed through with numerous montages, as the characters tag along with a severely tone-deaf script. Relationships in sports anime require a sense of camaraderie or even positive reinforcement in the form of rivalries, whereas the conflicts here are constantly bizarre and comically overserious. Internal disputes overshadow actual matches, which are also unengaging because of speed-running. I feel that it's misdirecting its energy, forcefully progressing through development three times over in a single episode. Even after cutting off irregular melodrama, my negative impression of their priorities didn't subside. Character models were very disproportionate, and editing during rallies broke immersion. In-match choreography was appalling, particularly the dire absence of in-between animation. 2.43 Seiin HS Boys Volleyball Team is a second-rate sports drama with third-rate characters. Producing something this unremarkable is a skill.

Sangatsu no Lion has a firm grasp on emotional awareness. The anime rushes the viewers with a melange of realism, and steadily piles on excellent depth. Whether or not you relate to the main character or simply understand him, the terrific character writing triggers a response by analyzing depression past the surface. The show's undeviating approach to examining despair is what captivated me as a viewer. Shaft concocts a visual feast full of gorgeous techniques, but I'd argue that it overexpresses a few times. I would have preferred it to take a step back from the cluster of metaphors here and there. The second cour is where detailed Shogi tactics become predominant, and I think that takes away from the original tone of the anime. Not only because it's difficult to follow, but because it overwhelms the emotional themes. These are minor criticisms in the grand scheme of things and don't really harm our experience of watching Rei become a pragmatic professional Shogi player.

Even more visceral than season 1, Sangatsu no Lion season 2 captivates us as it captures Rei's emotive characterization with utmost delicacy. This season depicts the influence that humans have on one another, and how the slightest act of solidarity can incite a metanoia-like change in someone. Sangatsu no Lion's sensuous demeanor is almost ethereal, and Shaft's visual splendor coordinates a grandiose delivery of unbidden emotion. Optimism is the recurring motif in this series; it insists we savor every second of our existence. Emotional evolution resets every lifetime, we are therefore fated to undergo trial and error. Sangatsu no Lion is a beguiling series.

Inferior to its already mediocre previous season in every way. The entire quintuplets setup abuses flashbacks, and their individual archetypes bring absolutely nothing new to the table. Harem anime aren't greater than the sum of their characters, although when the cast is one-note, you're only left with disappointing romance. Initially, the breakneck pacing hinted at an anime original ending, but they plan on farming every last cent with a sequel. All of the contrived arcs are blown far out of proportion, to the point of immaturity being a major plot device. The issue here is the characters not being written in resemblance to people, only broad outlines of underdeveloped emotion. Season two is a sloppy mess between soulless directing, convenient events, and socially illiterate. comedy.

Solid production and visual direction is arguably this adaptation's strongest point, with quite a few elements ultimately straying from the mark. The script has a technical issue, where it's obvious which parts of the source material have been considerably watered down. There are quite a few gimmicks, whether it's hasty or generally the tensity of scenes. Expository dialogue is borderline abused in the first half, too many topics are seemingly tackled in the light novel's introductory volume. Messy storytelling mechanics are apparent from clumsy explanations, particularly the sci-fi concepts like contrived explanations about the sensory systems and brain manipulation. Shin hearing supposed voices are somewhat supernatural, so it's meshing a lot of sub-genres. I expected an elaborate revelation that never comes to fruition, dialogue written around previously known or assumed notions is insufferable to sit through, repetitive while paraphrased.

Stagnant pacing and a focus on nostalgia over creating memorable characters is one way to look at it. Lena's presence on the screen is solely a sympathetic measure meant to provoke viewers. I admit that transitions switching from daily life for intentional dramatic contrast works incredibly well, sometimes overused at certain points, but the director's control is undeniable. The battles are incomprehensible, often relying on suspension of disbelief. CGI action sequences are a mixed bag, pros being camerawork and movement, cons are colors and horrible sound design. Luckily, the animation quality holds up, and Sawano's score is fitting for the hyperactive atmosphere. Skillful direction can only elevate self-aware writing, and 86 tends to get lost in its own lore.

It dives into the middle of a socio-political morass and still manages to avoid any significant overtones. Surface-level discourse in this setting is far too contemplative for most viewers, especially since it has very few attractions. Character designs reveal half of the upcoming conflict, and the rest is predictably obvious given the script acts more clever than it actually is. Jean Otus is praised under the spotlight, yet his reply to this overwhelming attention is lighting a cigarette, an overused visual cue. He boasts little purpose in his actions, no persona for a lead controlling the entire narrative. There are glimpses of subtle visual language, such as Jean quietly nodding to Nino in recognition, which I wish was capitalized on in place of shallow scheming. Consequently, most of the cast is quite one-note, unable to support the lack of tension. Jean is almost as bored as the leader of their prosperous nation, and even in the midst of a potential coup d'état, government officials play trivial mind games behind closed doors.

The animation is minimal, to say the least, apparent from steady close-ups above the hip and off-screen action. Budgeting must be poor if gunshots can't be animated, certainly not an aesthetic choice. Art direction and background designs, however, show considerable effort. Muted color schemes in different European locations do wonders for the particular appearance Natsume aims towards. ACCA: 13-ku Kansatsu-ka is ultimately comfortable with itself, even if not as thought-provoking as it initially seems. It coordinates its subject well enough to become an operative viewpoint on civil unrest.

Ahiru no Sora's premise is more or less a recycled underdog story. A ragtag group of talented guys with big aspirations that are passionate about the sport. While the story was average, at times it exhibited admirable emotional weight. I noticed potential in creating character depth and they had plenty of time. The show's largest downfall is the dreadful production. The basketball matches are animated at about 1 frame every 3 seconds. In a sports anime like Ahiru no sora, the only appeal is the matches. The lighting, editing, nearly every visual component was shockingly terrible. In 3 months, I could draw more frames than this show had over the span of fifty episodes.

People die when they are killed.

This is highly original stuff, employing surreal comedy and references galore for a genuine experience. Despite the often circular logic, it's undeniably entertaining, be it for humor or sheer idiocy, really a bit of both. Akiba Meido Sensou's weekly consistency is praiseworthy, mainly its conflict arrangement, even if the episodic conclusions and comedic devices are heavily dependent on reused climactic hyperviolence. The unadulterated gore, guns blazing, bodies stacking, almost a Western in Akiba. It's a rush if nothing else, although the idea of maids in a turf war is only as novel as the tagline suggests, particularly in this case, where the brutality merely juxtaposes our presumptions about maids, and beyond that, the writing develops camaraderie, but not a legitimate basis for continuous gang-like discourse. An absence of establishing the tenets of this alternate subculture forces some segments to drag on, still, it's impressive that P.A. Works retains a standard of quality for their originals. Production values can be a little shoddy at times, and the art direction isn't always sharp, but there's a noteworthy effort to breathe life into these lunatic maids.

Aku no Hana triggers an immense amount of secondhand anxiety from the viewer, and the only word to describe this feeling is refreshing. The characters are connected to threads of fate that symbolize a strange combination of eroticism and stigma. Finding similarities in our differences is an exclusive trait to our species, and codependency is a conscious addiction. The mental fortitude needed to comprehend that you are entitled to absolutely nothing is lunatic territory. Quick thrills and shame hide rooted insecurities as you feel more alive than ever before. This show's rotoscoping technique captures the smallest of quirks in human movement while the haunting soundtrack amplifies tension. Nagahama's sharply directed psychosexual narrative chronicles a narcissist's self-seclusion. Aku no Hana is cynically perverted and searches for salvation in being ordinary.

Beyond Akudama Drive's bombastic action and flashy colors, the outcomes of their predicaments feel unrewarding. While the fight choreography can be creative, it doesn't quite achieve anything aside from characters pummeling each other with weightless fists. Flaunted violence, as opposed to shown as a necessary circumstance, downplays the urgency of their situation. Even so, the first half of the show is hyperbolic, and watching characters wreak havoc is simple fun. The latter half is a cluster of ambiguous forced theming, which is a ridiculous contrast. They begin to introduce social unrest and civil wars, proving their inability to write functional settings. Refraining from poorly explained federal politics would have been in the show's best interest, or sticking entirely to post-war Japan. The production on this was generally better than most of the shows released this year, so Pierrot's animators definitely have untapped potential. Akudama Drive won't leave you bored, but you're not necessarily entertained either. Just left thinking what could have been.

Mari Okada's inherent knack for the melodramatic surprisingly assumes a lesser role than usual, and instead, she opts for a thought experiment of sorts, choosing to exhaust all of her previous ideas around pure coming-of-age thematics. maboroshi is immersed in itself, willingly sifting through fluctuating narrative focus, completely engrossed in the microcosm of identity, or rather, the search for it. I'm fond of Okada's scope in this film, and while it's not her strongest piece of individual character writing (that would be her directorial debut), this breathes new optimism into values humanity has always held in high regard. The excitement of growth and the broadening of one's horizons are predominant in the assertive nature of the screenplay. I would argue the film's greatest strength is firmly retaining its frenetic survivalist tendencies throughout its runtime, particularly because the leads rarely cave into the despair of circumstance. The cast is diverse; some are beyond eccentric, crafting a holistic angle on the tumultuous fantastical disaster that the quiet industrial town is faced with.

maboroshi's structure is slightly unorthodox, and the plot slowly answers certain questions at unlikely times, maybe even slipping past an unattentive viewer. It's an interesting mechanic because practically nothing is left unrevealed, albeit the bits of context may boast differing levels of clarity, yet nonetheless, there is indeed an explanation for the mental turmoil stirred by supernatural phenomena. I found the themes of divine punishment to be a clever contrast to the film also posing realistic justifications, and both sides may be mere sophistry disguising the irreversible illusion of time. The viewer's inability to discern the legitimate relationship between the steel factory and the film's ultimate premise is part of the intended goal, as we're aware of the cause and effects but not quite the tangible connection. This approach to abstract leitmotifs is far from Okada's style; on the contrary, she's literal about interpersonal struggles. Whereas this film is much more reserved for the greater part of the first two acts, underpinning a portrait of collective solitude while simultaneously redefining the term.

From what I understand, unlike her prior works that precariously explore similar areas of insecurity, maboroshi is significantly more personal. There is a sense of intimacy that she applies to the script, their blank stares, and the roaring intensity of suffocating in open space. Okada's 2018 autobiography, From Truant to Anime Screenwriter, describes herself as a truant, a common case of severe social isolation and depression. The novel's overarching message details her attachment to the past, giving form to her anxiety during a period of expected exuberance. One could argue that translating these raw emotions sways the narrative unevenly, and it's difficult to not agree with that observation because multiple instances of spontaneity disconnect the viewer with what I would argue are deliberately uncomfortable moments. It wouldn't be too far-fetched to hold the emotional immaturity against the rest of the resolution; however, the visual storytelling operates with honest splendor. The integration of relatively simple mindsets supersedes the cryptic setting.

Mappa's production values aren't necessarily the most noteworthy element; more so, the staff has managed to build impressive technical qualities. The quality of character acting in crucial segments is high, exhibiting micromovements and subtlety to highlight minor glances and moods. Both movement and freeform character animation are often present, characterizing the idiosyncracies of realism. It's weaker in the layout department, and some of the CG environments aren't blended as well as I would have liked, not to mention that I find the locations underused as a whole. Generally speaking, the audiovisual storytelling capitalizes on color consistency rather than background detail, and it coordinates scenes around the mild urbanization of the town. The audio has solid use of non-diegetic sound with varying levels of effectiveness in the score, although the incorporation of 90s tracks was a great choice. I was pleasantly surprised by the powerful performance from Miyuki Nakajima in the theme, an excellent showcase of vocalization and relevant lyrics. Mari Okada dissipates the idea of self in maboroshi, vying for a purposeful reflection on living in and for the moment.

This ensemble harem works surprisingly well.

Anohana doesn't understand what genre it falls in. The show focuses on a traumatic tragedy in the lives of the characters and struggles to connect the past with the present. The romance was it's undoing because infusing ill-timed romantic tension during melodramatic scenes doesn’t prove to be very effective. Either making it more of a focal point or not having it at all may have slightly improved my opinion. Visually the anime looks alright due to fairly high production values. Okada’s writing falls short more than once, and it's what you call lazy drama that takes advantage of grating character traits. Anohana trades character depth for yawning drama that runs around in circles. I'm not sure how this made anyone cry.

The cast has ample amounts of personality, posing various internal conflicts for Ashito's growth as a team player. Aoashi's premise forms a stable support system for the plot, often seen in older sports stories more so than in modern entries in the genre. The series is less about pure football but about the varying success of playmaking styles that must be combined for a complete team. Starting from the middle is better than building from the ground up, at least for Aoashi's attention to athletic intelligence and field IQ. Production values are pretty mediocre, mixing in tons of static shots among the longer possession sequences. Extremely average, fairly entertaining.

Purely from the perspective of its dramatic direction, Ao no Orchestra takes a slightly different angle toward the school/music genres, not necessarily new, but marginally more introspective compared to the mass availability of a ragtag club of introverts becoming friends. This makes a beeline for the same area of emotional climaxes, but it's worth complimenting certain dynamics that are extrapolated across themes and characters. Unfortunately, that's more or less the end of the standout aspects of this adaptation's narrative writing, not to mention that it looks extremely plain and the character acting leaves much to be desired. Musical sequences boast some accurate and generally fitting melodies, however, the sparse frames and limited metaphorical imagery don't quite sell the scene. Animation and visual design are poor across the board, and without the violin inserts, production-wise it's a mess. Opening track is rather fitting and sonically appealing, while the ending is fine I suppose.

Appare-Ranman reminded me of Hanna Barbera cartoons from back in the day. It's just wacky fun and embraces simplicity. This show doesn't offer anything new, but it does stick to the basics well. It balances drama and action while developing the characters. The aesthetic direction coupled with good fight choreography, allows Appare-Ranman to stand out a little among the sea of mediocrity in 2020.

Deviating from the princess story schematic is dictated by the conclusion and more overtly, the final message. It allows an arbitrary creative process given the central focus remains on the princess to some extent, and Katabuchi exploits this imaginatively. His supremely specific control over the film's fundamental pace is remarkable, but more impressively, the narrative mimics a standstill at the forefront of its momentum. I'm sure most viewers would agree that Arete Hime is generally slow, although whether or not that's advantageous is also at their discretion. I find it immensely necessary as a counterpart to the sequence of events that suddenly transpire in Arete's life, much of which is uncharacteristic of her dull routine of being trapped in a tower. The intermittent excitement shouldn't make us lose sight of her uneventful childhood, subjected to merely dreaming about the outside, and the measured rhythm forces the audience into a subconscious frustration akin to Arete's youth withering away, thus questioning the film's chronological development through accepted indifference.

The framing of Arete Hime is candidly built around independence, and its freeform feminism prioritizes the freedom to choose rather than externally imposing supremacy. Adapted from Diana Coles's 1983 fantasy novella The Clever Princess, Katabuchi alters a great deal of the insinuated perspectives to wholly target Arete's individualism, an appropriate approach for a display of equal standards and respect for intelligence. He uses an intriguing method of circumstantial cause and effect, much of which rightfully has no sense of allotted runtime. This complements the historical period, an era very different from our own, and significantly more culture-centric. Arete as a character is largely subdued, possessing no defining traits that would make her presence the storytelling's driving factor. Contrarily, often the plot is influencing her to lengths she could never imagine, mostly through subtle changes in her attitude. The quiet loneliness present in the screenplay is uncharacteristic for children's films, and as a viewer, I must commend Katabuchi's sheer skill in traversing demographics by capitalizing on what's usually considered low-budget.

In theory, panning a camera is arguably the least dynamic technique that exists, partially because of its massively common usage, but also due to the obvious limitation in consistently engaging the audience. This idea is entirely reversed here, and I'd go further to say it benefits from long-winded movements lingering on a specific moment in different intervals, seamlessly maneuvering around certain scenes in enclosed spaces. Experimenting with angles atop a height and composing a shot through blocking create numerous point-of-view variants in a fixed location. The muted colors amongst picturesque visual design are gorgeous for the painterly artistic choices, paired with a light classical score or silence is the inherent antidramatic effect Arete Hime aims for. A reflective outlook that unhurriedly allows daily life to occur, naturally blossoming symbolism in a less-than-glamorous form of heroism. It implores us to never take freedom for granted, not only empowering women but all those who dare to dream.

It had a few good jokes.

By far the best fictional sports story I've come across in any medium. Joe's immense character development is directly linked to his unrivaled passion for the sport. His relationship with other boxers transcends the ring; their common goals collide with gloves where the only language spoken is punches and the blood on the canvas. Formerly a wandering orphan, he went through all the trials and tribulations necessary to finally become a professional boxer. His ultimate rival Rikishi Tooru is a fantastic supporting character. They're both fated to cross paths, and this intense rivalry proves to be exactly what they both need to grow, not only as boxers but as humans. This influential series is relentless in displaying the importance of finding a purpose in life, one you can pursue forever. Ashita no Joe isn't about boxing, it's a sophisticated and heart-wrenching character study of a man who happened to be a boxer.

A passion so blindingly bright, roaring flames are ablaze in the ring, even if it's just for a moment. And then, all that remains is pure white ash.

I’m shocked this could de-escalate from episode 1 by this much. My original opinion about this was, surprisingly good animation and the setting looks like it could have an interesting history behind it. Little did I know, all my first impressions would slap me in the face. Animation downgrades. Characters went off-model. Fight scenes became freeze frames and black screens, they look like they’re lagging when they jump in episode 12. The pacing was horrendous. Every time I clicked a new episode past episode 4, I wondered if I accidentally skipped an episode. So much information is skipped or rather it doesn’t even exist. Plot points jump from place to place. This is a 12-episode anime, so there's no reason to have a filler episode.

We have former villains who are defeated, and right after a time jump, their personalities flip completely. Random organizations dropping in out of nowhere. There's no real plot in this show. Only the first and last episodes deal with the story, the middle is a little training, a millimeter of character development, and piles upon piles of shit. That “my little lady” catchphrase with random timing made this show 10 times worse. Goodbye Assassins Pride. I lost my pride as an anime fan watching this, and along with it some of my dignity.

Baccano's achronological format is no easy feat to pull off, but even more difficult to perfect. Nevertheless, the show does come close with its non-linear narrative applying congruency to seemingly unrelated events. The key to this style of writing is precise organization while clearly marking time jumps. Inattention while watching may confuse viewers, therefore, it's crucial that parallel timelines connect through similar reiterated transitions. Even so, I'd argue it slightly under-uses the technique, and watching weekly as a seasonal would be maximum entertainment. In due course, the story derails from diversionary tactics to solely focus on delivering reveals. This can be credited to the still ongoing light novel, and the staff closing possibilities for a sequel. Deciphering a series of mysteries is only as satisfying as the shocking final revelation, and Baccano could have built itself around a bit more deception.

The chemistry in the cast is exhilarating, and following their escapades can be exhausting fun. Connecting supposed interpersonal affairs relies on distinctive characters taking it upon themselves to drive the story to an intersection. Voice acting and audio mixing are of utmost importance to assemble an atmosphere fitting a transcontinental adventure. The heavy jazz-infused soundtrack depicts America's prohibition era with outstanding accuracy. I'd criticize the art quality, which noticeably falters, although the animation has aged well. Baccano is dramatic and ambitious, an elaborate investigation of causality and determinism. It's a unique venture into western forms of storytelling, a highly original puzzle of suspense.

Check series note.

Gorgeous on a technical scale and delicate with its delivery. The short boasts a phenomenal sound design and shot composition capitalizing on the lack of dialogue. A poetic flow to the sequence of events assists in personifying serenity with the character(s). A man confronts other versions of himself, possibly from life past and future, and he seemingly comes to terms with leaving certain convictions behind. There's a bewitching subtlety to the gradual change of expressions on his face throughout the runtime. Valley of White Birds is undoubtedly left for interpretation in more ways than one, but it warrants a watch if only for its visual direction alone.

A dialogue-driven supernatural harem that distinguishes itself with exquisite visual direction. It heavily relies on the chemistry between its characters, and their witty dialogue as well as delivery. The anime creatively evolves harem standards with style. Obsessive attention to facial expressions and in every angle imaginable. Shinbou’s directing quirks remind me of Hamasaki at times. Repetitive frame patterns emphasize the tension of scenes, and it works surprisingly well in a harem anime. Each character arc is fundamentally different from the last, and all the characters are quite likable. A stellar cast of voice actors with incredible delivery that only compliments what this anime already is. Fast-paced and entertaining; the start of Shaft’s claim to fame. There’s very little to criticize here, maybe a bit overly sexual at times. However, it isn’t something that degrades innovative ideas.

The Raitai Tournament arc is clearly a lead-up to Baki's ultimate showdown against his father. This season establishes Baki's overwhelming strength and showcases how lethal his father still is. The rest of the participants are cannon fodder and aren't much of a threat. Although, Yujiro's final fight was against one of the more creative opponents this series has to offer. Animation was pretty consistent, but this season felt like a final fight promotion for the most part.

Top-notch CGI animation from Studio Orange, which is what put them on the map in the first place, although still inferior to Houseki no Kuni. Beastars explores human emotion and incorporates the instinctual behavior of animals. The writing has a shifty grasp of what exactly has teenagers conflicted alongside how this can relate to anthropomorphic animals that still hold their ancestral genes. The show understands the human ego and the id, the perspectives of fear and being feared, and the innate feelings of predator and prey. We see their carnal roots influence their social lives, but that's undermined by romantic angst. The romance functions as a forced catalyst for the plot. A love triangle, where a carnivore is involved with herbivores, his own instincts, and emotions that are hard to discern. I commend what Beastars attempts, not the way it attempts it.

Season two makes it obvious that they've closed the chapter in terms of anime adaptations. The finale was underwhelming, to say the least, although it's not because Legoshi's ideology has shifted. His training ultimately amounted to nothing except a few philosophical realizations. Justifying an individual's grounds for a certain alternate action needs stakes, especially a satisfying climax to ease tension. Riz is an honest antagonist and admits to his delusions leading to eventual acceptance. Legoshi sacrifices rationale to further widen the depth of his morals. All of the thematic mumbo jumbo implodes at some point, setting the verdict between contradictory and cop-out. Apart from boss battles, this season's mystery struggles with psychological components because of unstable direction. The preconceived standards of their universe set a tone of injustice originally, but now only a few characters carry a massive weight, which should be attributed to worldbuilding. Production is as consistent as it's ever been, even though I have to criticize how much split screening is used per episode since it destroys our sense of distance. Slice of life was Beastars at its peak, as it's now breaking social boundaries only to lose control with its cause.

Sagisu's score is wasted.

Black Clover embraces rinse and repeat, redundantly predictable in every major arc. Admittedly, it doesn't relax into trivial drama often, but being actively mediocre isn't far off. The writing confines itself within tropes while expanding on irritable personalities in the cast. Antagonists are very cartoony, exaggerating artificial motives, and mana only becomes relevant for convenience. Assigning percentages on characters to forcefully control power scaling is a lazy effort. Their societal principles are apparently merit-based, which is ignored to emphasize social standing. Comedy is arguably horrendous, with constant usage of corny verbal tics or physical gags. The animation quality has more dips than the stock market, boasting unfinished art and static storyboarding. At its peak, Black Clover has a decent amount of foreshadowing and action. Although not nearly enough to distinguish it as entertaining.

Bleach's dilemma is inherently self-sabotage, and unfortunately, it's quite literally incapable of matching the delirium of its first large action arc. Some of the tropes are undeniably outdated, yet the largest hindrance to its engagement with the viewer is willful negligence towards anything not directly related to the story's final vision. The writing establishes this fact very early, making it obvious that Ichigo aside, secondary characters or former plot devices become hollow -- no pun intended -- symbols of collective friendship. It's certainly possible that the adaptation tampers with the series as a whole, given the absurdly-long filler segments, diminishing the momentum of increasingly stronger opposition. Nevertheless, as the odds grow, so do the massive power-ups that happen to boost Ichigo just enough for another round of battles, which pose no real threat to his life. Barring the unspoken retconning of actual resurrection, no physical damage proves to be ultimately fatal, and therefore, tension or stakes do not exist. It's a clear case of lackluster focus, particularly when the general group of antagonists consists of ambiguous personalities, creating an inconsequential climax to determine when exactly the situation will demand inevitable victory using redundant methods poorly structured around solely one character's benefit.

Contrary to the premature impression of an assorted cast, they're surprisingly the next significant detriment to Bleach's consistency. Far too abruptly large, and more importantly, hardly relevant beyond the scope of their influence on Ichigo's training. In hindsight, much of these new additions to the cast are merely a means of power explanation, such that we overlook flexible scaling of various superior abilities appearing without rhyme or reason. Luckily, there aren't many visible plot holes, rather just loose ends, some of which can be answered through falsifiable logic, while others are unintentionally left to our imagination. The comedic timing drastically improves over time, often amusing when it's not physical gags, and the dialogue itself is usually not irritatingly extended. Except for Ichigo's last name, having been used as a statement of concern, relief, and every other grammatical mechanic available. Pierrot's production values are nothing out of the ordinary, inconsistent efforts during most combat sequences. However, once the animation shifts in quality, the choreography alongside grim tracks are rightfully dramatic in the right direction. Supporting the claim to nostalgia, a distinctive style in its approach to design and slight minimalism in exposition can't be entirely scoffed at. If nothing else, the premise has unabashed clarity.

The final arc has very little to offer, and in fact, the Quincy lore should have been incorporated earlier in the story. There seem to be quite a few new characters who are likely going to end up as cardboard fodder soon enough, and the new antagonists having the ability to steal Bankai is a ridiculous power-scaling hack to level the playing field against opponents who could likely resolve the conflict in half the time. The inherent animosity that is suggested to exist between this secret organization and Soul Society only slightly benefits from the directing, and Kazuhiro Yamada on photography adequately sells the grim atmosphere. Ichigo's tendency to barge into the center of conflict still being a plot device doesn't leave a positive impression, not to mention Kubo doesn't care enough to actually alter sorely anticipated dramatic checkpoints. The pace was on the quicker side (even with unnecessary recaps), but I think it's compensated for some obvious storytelling dependencies that Kubo has shown over the course of Bleach. I've never taken the series for poor at incorporating flashbacks, however, there were a few instances this season that counters my notion with pointless recollections, in an appalling pink at that.

Pierrot's animation is very inconsistent; the visual direction mid-combat is poor, but the impact and the few frames leading up to that are composited better. Production holds up at face value, whereas the reality is generally stiff character animation in non-combat scenes, and the constant blue lighting gets a little old after you've seen it in two different settings. The shot composition falters quite a bit, but the combat choreography is well-directed, barring using explosions to block certain cuts. Midway into the season, episodes are pretty clearly underanimated and the vile storyboarding chopped concurrent fights into a few frames of speed line action. Sagisu's score is great outside of the remixed tracks, usually fitting the scenes, however, it always strikes me as a waste to use some of these tracks on Bleach of all things. Also, it'd be better off playing just the forgettable opening track over an empty screen given the visuals are incredibly plain. Sawano's arrangement on the ending track and the vocals are considerably better, can't say the same for the imagery. The addition of title/end cards is a nice touch though.

Shinichi Ishizuka's jazz-themed manga series genuinely loves music and the emotional production of it. Jazz as a genre is just pure soul with roots in blues and characterized by swing, which no other discipline can mimic because jazz can also be undisciplined. Blue Giant's adaptation for the big screen translates the passion well, and actually hearing music helps. The lead character, Dai Miyamoto, is a former high school basketball player turned saxophone player. As a self-trained musician, his theoretical understanding is lacking, which he compensates for with an uncontrollable devotion to honing his skills. It's Dai that holds the writing together in its highs and lows, consistently remaining a symbol of unchanging motivation to be the best. Whether or not that's in his near future isn't important, although we do fast forward to a documentary being filmed with people he's interacted with in the past. They all admit to being floored by his intensity, personifying his music as sheer confidence and a loud demand for attention. Ishizuka isn't interested in the fundamentals or details of the artform and instead writes about a climb to the top using instinct and expression. 

There are equal upsides and downsides to the narrative structure, and the latter is mainly a case of being by-the-book dramatically. It's completely predictable, which leads to Blue Giant becoming less and less about stakes and more so about electric displays of jam sessions and performances. Prioritizing music in action isn't the worst creative choice if the writing isn't quite supportive of textured character writing. However, the story does still offer modest philosophies about living for a dream and devoting your all to the hardest part of success, practice. The trio—Dai, Shunji, and Yukinori—practice like hell. Their dynamic gives us slight light-hearted banter but also loosely experiments with talent, beginner's hard work, and unadulterated passion. It's difficult to fully immerse oneself in the literary mechanics Ishizuka uses to accumulate tension, especially if the viewer is familiar with the tenets of the medium. The same applies to me, although I'd argue a calculated process of hitting familiar high notes and giving the audience an uplifting feel-good rush is all a movie really needs to be a good time, which this is. An underdog journey of amateurs improvising what they lack in experience to the pinnacle of Japanese jazz venues.

Hiromi Uehara's score is phenomenal, committing to the originality of the pieces Yukinori writes for the band while simultaneously being inspired by the many jazz pioneers referenced here and there. A lot of the tracks are based on John Coltrane's later discography as well as new wave jazz. Uehara assembled more than 30 elite musicians to compose the soundtrack, beautifully reflecting the hearts of the instruments. There are numerous solos during the trio's performances, and we'll hear the drums or piano going off in their own world, dishing out joyous grooves to overwhelm the senses. The music accompanies an interesting visual arsenal from Studio NUT, and this is where I became slightly divided on animation effectiveness. Complex 2D sequences are nigh-impossible to pull off nowadays in a production time crunch, so studios will resort to CG models. The evolution of 3D integration over the years has been impressive, yet still, the reduced framerate and noticeable stiffness become an awkward moment when editing between close-ups and expressionless flailing. In the long run, it's up to the viewer to decide their stance on the visual product, which also has many standout cuts. 

The best scenes in Blue Giant sort of melt into the atmosphere, showing us nebulous keyframes blending into the audio. Director Yuzuru Tachikawa employs smears that we typically see in his work in TV animation. The film is shot almost entirely in blue, at least when it's establishing any particular location, and switches to gold when we're absorbed by Dai's powerful timbre. Satoru Hirayanagi's art direction is a remarkable aspect of the film's visual storytelling and language, including but not limited to constant glimmers or glints on the instruments, and subtle things like dented cymbals sell the satisfaction of a great performance. At the height of enlivening the animation, the rotoscoped character acting and attention to fingerwork all accumulate to a rush of freeform, often abstract transformative movement. This adaptation has integrity; even in its weaker elements, there is discernible effort to maximize the sound design's giant impact. Dai has a highly likeable personality that one wants to closely follow, and larger-than-life evocative feelings exist in his saxophone. Like jazz, Blue Giant is comfortable in its expression of freedom. 

A qualitative representation of artistic endeavors definitely doesn't rely on visual integrity because its central focus is on art itself which is as impressive as it's shown to be. We're inclined to believe that the specified skills are indeed a talent, but having a creative vision undoubtedly provokes superior interest. Blue Period harnesses supposed passion yet turns the ambiguous concept into a rigid one, and inspiration itself becomes entirely dependent on Yaguchi's goals. His realizations shouldn't overhaul ideologies that quickly, at least not in the time frame of twelve episodes. Luck plays a larger role than any supporting character, although it's only an irritating factor of development due to the rapid improvement we see. A single season is ultimately unable to scale exponential growth, removing the appeal of a career in the arts from its thematic arsenal.

Self-expression is heavily emphasized, discovery in attempting wildly new things. The mental health area of the show is slightly better suited for its cast, slowly but surely exploring certain anxieties. I'd personally argue against it being an effective display of intervention in one another's affairs, not to discredit the aim of characterizing different personalities or approaches to individualizing oneself in the discipline. Even in ignorance towards constructive learning, appreciation for imagination is rekindled constantly. Offscreen progress seems to be its downfall, comfortable in the tedium of waiting too long before misfiring the climax. Aesthetic risks aren't a vital element of respectable production; jarring frames aside, the directing never really collapses. Had it taken the route against commercial profit, offsetting derivative metaphors or viewer disbelief would come easily. Severely lacks a cumulative effect, a holistic effort to form something greater than the sum of its parts.

Its ambition is impressive, shot like a music video with the theme of hazy memories. There isn't much regarding the story, outside of what's implied in the final scene. Bobby seeks freedom, eager to become independent before his high school career is over. Unsure of his pursuits and tethered to his motorbike, the film's typical adolescent sentimentality is viewed through a dreamy lens. Obvious from the nostalgic rock and insistent romanticism towards a direction headed seemingly nowhere. Visual language is strong, as it experiments with pencil line art and the concept of music montages which are non-narrative in nature. Bobby ni Kubittake is a bit artsy, a bit hip, evidently a product of the times.

Endeavor fight > Overhaul fight

Season 5 is genuinely horrendous from multiple standpoints, particularly story direction. You could miss multiple episodes and not fall behind due to the amount of recapping and retelling. This series is slightly intriguing when it's not centered around UA's quirky students; no pun intended. Quality takes drastic dips at times, progressively bland and stagnant. Deku's development is quite possibly the most exploited element of this series; there's too much lore for its own good. Low-effort interactions, you can tell it intentionally drags on with filler dialogue. Loads of padding, nothing of importance happens.

Uniformly terrible visually and narratively, employing the cheapest gaming gimmicks and dramatic elements that tread tropey territory with no sense of personal flair. Underdog stories work when there's a bit more realism to the situation, and this doesn't do enough to point in that direction, instead, there are a bunch of ambiguous references to seeing the future as a skill. It's inoffensive, but there's nothing of entertainment value, simply failing at spotlighting any of the genres that are mixed. The gameplay is pure dated CGI as well, and the graphics don't show any of the in-game mechanics so we're unexposed to the main point of the series.

A misguided coming-of-age drama that misses the opportune moment for a climax.

The wholesome fantasy and adoption crossover succeeds in a few areas but fails early on in others, namely proof of concept. I wouldn't be surprised if a viewer chose to drop this after the premiere; in fact, even I was on the fence about how successful this could be moving forward. The primary goal is of course Angeline reuniting with her father, yet the circumstances preventing this meeting are so obligatory that framing it as some kind of hilarity of life seriously gets tiring after the first couple of times. I'm not a fan of the tonal coin flip they've been working with, where sometimes Angeline getting caught up in adventurer shenanigans is silly, and other times her father's perspective is considerably more nostalgic and dejected. It's obvious his daughter feels the same way, but there's inconsistency in what the established subgenre here is, not that it can't be both, although only if it can succeed in every department. However, the slice-of-life sentiments were effective, regularly using wistful elements of longing and memories. The emotional writing ends up meeting somewhere in the middle and isn't dependent on a circular chase of gags that block her reunion. Opening and ending tracks are both very forgettable and hardly have noteworthy visuals; the former sounds like something you'd hear in a CG Berserk adaptation. At times, a delicate exhortation of duty and sacrifice is unfortunately not the only theme of the series.

Oddly amusing when the gags aren't repeated thousands of times. The archetypal dynamics are experimented with often, and the amensiac tagline is consistently present. Mappa's second-rate production values are nothing to scoff at either compared to the garbage being produced every season by most of the other studios. Generally, a fine sports drama with solid components that would warrant a sequel.

The edge is strong with this one, and it chooses to take a ton of shortcuts so we can get to the revenge shenanigans sooner rather than later. In some sense, they're doing the viewer a favor, namely the ones watching for wish fulfillment. For the rest of us, there isn't much offered in the way of entertainment, and fights aren't even choreographed outside of randomized poses. I find the integration of video game mechanics into non-isekai fantasy worlds extremely cheap, forcing so much lore-building to be limited to distinctly differentiable skills that fall into a black-and-white spectrum of human value. Weak plot devices diminish the character-driven energy of a story, inviting stereotypes and predictability, one such example being the caricatures of evil in Boushoku no Berserk. The initial domineering wealthy preying on the less fortunate, and soon a slight semblance of more substantial antagonists that have an overarching motive are more or less devoid of mapped-out plot points. Visual quality is poor, SFX is a bit strange for a sword colliding with flesh, and legitimate animation is generally sparse. Opening and ending tracks are satisfied with just existing; the visuals are terrible though. The latest black swordsman is named after pencil lead.

The fact that this is an ad is painfully obvious. Flimsy production and each character arc was simply mediocre. A forgettable watch.

For a setting enclosed by a body of water, Bubble remains remarkably dry throughout the better part of its runtime. Unexplained precipitation of bubbles has left the city in shambles, a post-apocalyptic rendition of The Little Mermaid. The original fairy tale is a striking allegory of sacrifice, but this film quickly enters banal territory under Tetsurou Araki's guidance. Parkour is a high-octane sport with a difficult learning curve, and the anti-gravitational forces in present-day Tokyo elevate the competitive edge. Various teams competing for resources in survival matches are exciting in name, yet the reality here is unaffected by the outside world. It's supposedly illegal to trespass the closed-off ground zero, much less partake in dangerous activities. The screenplay centers the worldbuilding exclusively inside Tokyo's bubble, thus adjusting its focus away from gaping inconsistencies and external influences holding more presence than context. Not even the synchronous choreography compensates for the underwhelming framing of climactic rewards that merely threaten to become engaging.

WIT's production is a mishmash of expressively detailed close-ups and slightly less impressive color coordination. It's undoubtedly stylish, not necessarily a testament to legitimate quality. Bubble is a clear example of the current direction of commercial animation, sterile and overdone gradients. Despite that, the audiovisual merit massively hastens the eclipse of the film's narrative value, dependent on the lead's specific traumatic memory. His ability to hear ethereal music from a dilapidated tower bolsters the thin dramatic conflict that dabbles in some tactless foreshadowing of romantic tension. Araki chooses modern punk culture over thematic statements, evident in the shallow dialogue and inherent conceptual confusion. It's not intentionally cryptic nor committed to expansive science-fiction, almost as introverted as the protagonist. Speculatively answering our questions, hardly permeating the surface of its own bubble.

Exceptional directing from Otomo, and the short film itself looks gorgeous. He makes use of camera techniques that have been drowned out in the current industry, overtaken by popular slider panning overkill nowadays. The opening scene is a lateral tracking shot from a distance, establishes one direct visual focus and an efficient time-lapse of the characters in the same setting. It quickly shifts narrative weight to emotional stakes as they're adults now, amplifying melancholy with the detailed compositing. A touch of romance, a bit of Edo architectural showcase, aesthetically pleasing in its entirety. Nostalgia and burning sorrow are brilliantly realized; Hi no Youjin follows a fool's errand.

5 Cm per Second is likely targeted towards middle schoolers, who are the only audience that may find emotional value in the film. Shinkai's writing regurgitates age-old sentimental cliches, while the direction is completely lifeless. There's a whole lot of train shots, stargazing, and monologing but nothing in terms of substance or character depth. Each separate arc arrives at poorly dramatized conclusions, with the last one being a lazy montage of pseudo-depression. It's blatantly obvious that it was designed to make some hormonal teenager cry. 5 Cm per Second is a waste of Shinkai's aesthetic talents, and its final act buries the film among the other disappointing melodramas that should impress no one.

It broodingly uses guilt as the prime driving mechanism for its achingly human narrative. Casshern, an invincible cyborg, seeks redemption after committing crimes against both humans and robots alike. His memories are lost, so he treks desolate wastelands in pursuit of morally correct convictions. A former force of mass destruction, his resolve to save lives at the cost of others is a recurring thematic subject throughout the series. The creative choices in the visual direction accentuate impact and speed through stylized violence, particularly prioritizing agility. Bleached-out grim colors create gorgeous desolate backdrops and elegant character designs. This reboot's overt message frames Casshern as a metaphor for death, an imperative element of appreciating life. Casshern Sins' patient introspection is almost hypnotic whilst it discovers bliss in condemning one's right to live. Do not fear death, but you mustn't forget its existence.

Straightforward fable-like storytelling is somewhat of an outdated technique, a style that modern filmmaking has altered. The metaphors in this film are very charming, especially the healing effect of music and the importance of practice. Gauche receives unsolicited advice from wild animals in the vicinity of his home but doesn't realize he's being helped, initially at least. Being shown the exact issue is probably the greatest form of support a developing musician like him could benefit from. These minute rhythmic adjustments coalesce into something more than the sum of their parts, classical harmonies that please all ears. I'd argue the film has aged incredibly well, a fantastic production during its release, and a scenic aesthetic nowadays. It goes without saying Takahata's future works outshine Cello Hiki no Gauche, but it's an endearing debut feature for the studio and director.

Chihayafuru's vibrant fanaticism towards karuta often compensates for the game's entertainment limits. Competitive karuta requires extremely high-level agility in addition to memorization skills, making the professional scene mostly player-focused. The show is thorough with its characterization, and everything takes a backseat to the determined passion for becoming the best. Playing not only to win but because you enjoy the process, which can triumph over tunnel-vision talent. The cast's personal growth is paced well from different levels of ability, and I assume their goals will converge at some point in the future. The animation noticeably slips up a few times, however, the visual metaphors are stunning when the production peaks. Chihayafuru's largest setback is consistently being original, given the nature of the game. Karuta's rules are set in stone, and refining techniques can only go so far. Season one already displays some redundancy, so I look forward to seeing what direction they go from here.

The physical ruin of age, inability to compete due to deterioration of innate game sense. In an athletic environment, that's a natural hierarchal change to stabilize the playing field, and the only other way of toppling skill gaps requires overwhelming talent. Suo and Wakamiya, the current meijin and queen, surprisingly don't rely on physical prowess as much as one would think, but that undeniably creates captivating matchups. The idea of premeditated precision excites viewers, and this season's challengers happen to be competitors past their prime. Clinging to threads of resilient ambition, an obligation to the sport proving hunger triumphs over youthful energy.

The entire cast is supplemented by personalized identity, as each arc targets some form of understated dysphoria. Certain characters lose faith in their experience, others have their dominance tested, particularly Mashima is subjected to more candid realizations about his purpose in improving or competing at all. Setting aside a slight imbalance between hand blurs instead of slow motion, general animation effectively uses visual analogies to depict mental states, although CG leaves remain a tad tacky. Season three emphasizes a brand new area of self-respect for the series, a dramatic rise, an inevitable fall.

Grotesque disfigurations, psychologically degrading, quite possibly cult cinema. Hiroshi Harada failed to secure funding for this horrid folktale, thus spending 5 yrs along with all his life's savings to produce the film. He walks a fine line between auteur of his craft and mishandling graphic violence. I'm accounting for the massive workload required, and I ultimately can't imagine value past the surface-level body horror. Setting aside your personal morals, it could have attempted to be far less disturbing while provoking significantly more insight. Midori, an orphan, is stripped of dependency, abused out of her childhood. The themes are undoubtedly present, but it overreaches into eventual acceptance, hardly shocking, just oddly assembled. I interpreted it as a form of Stockholm Syndrome, offset by the whimsical tone in the dialogue. Midori's tormented behavior, experiencing momentary happiness, unable to achieve freedom is a bleak yet fascinating vision. If executed well, I envision uncompromising exploitation of innocence, grim until the final second. Animated attention was predominantly given to gruesome contortionism depictions, with the rest of the film being a montage of paintings, art direction too unrefined for necessary imagery. Shoujo Tsubaki misrepresents emptiness, cynical for the sake of it, an ambiguous spiral of peculiarity.

Children's films are meant to be light-hearted, engaging for a feel-good experience, reflecting excitement. Then again, that's not what makes them great, but the underlying messages which appeal to older audiences. An ample mix between the two creates family movies, obviously considering the media will limit its level of honesty. Masami Hata's rendition of a classic fable showcases a stark reality in a way only animation can. Chirin, a young lamb, unable to comprehend the food chain, fueled by revenge, he's determined to shift the hierarchy. After venturing past the wooden fences guarding his world, why is he subjected to be defenseless by evolution? Chirin walks a solitary path from the beginning; one could predict where it's heading, although I'd like to believe most viewers were in ever-so-slight denial. Colorless backdrops, playful melodies, it's a production with effort. Admittedly, some parts of the storytelling haven't aged well, as dialogue transitions come off as abrupt sometimes but harmless towards the ideology. Chirin no Suzu follows a lamb's commensal relationship with a wolf, at some point becoming mutual respect, a statement against Earth's natural order, a gentle coming of age film.

Oversimplified politics and fails to understand the concept of a revolution

It's baffling how little occurs over the span of nearly 90 minutes, and the lifeless presentation of its trivial substance buried the rest of the film. The script here severely lacks tact, a responsive manner in approaching situations. Dialogue consists of reactionary expressions over teenage insecurities, impinging the dynamic between both leads. Romance is disguised as a barely relevant element for much of the runtime, which should have been the case through to the end. It's a banal representation of coincidental slice-of-life cliches, an especially dull reiteration as well. Neither subplots demand enough attention to remain engaging, largely aimless.

I'd say the shabby directing ruined my impression; poor execution on multiple fronts such as editing and coordinating scene transitions. Jumps in time only work when that interaction holds little long-term value, clearly not the case between Cherry and Smile. The origin of their relationship is founded on loosely connected segments of small talk, a fog of uncertain sentiments. A wild chase for a lost music record is the original conflict, an uninspired premise that apparently has viewers claiming it's based around realism. I assure you, the dire absence of narrative control present is not a conscious aesthetic choice.

Speaking of aesthetics, the background art is tasteless and static at that, a questionable decision, considering the lack of standout animation. Storyboarding peaks in one active sequence early on, with minimal movement everywhere else. Visual direction and sound design are somewhat commendable, although the latter is underused. Cider no You ni Kotoba ga Wakiagaru dabbles in nostalgia without enough satisfying or rewarding subtext.

Tezuka's image of Cleopatra is erratically sensual and wild, impressively targeting a specific part of ancient Egyptian culture while ultimately ignoring significant politics. The most enthralling aspect of its production is, in fact, the loose direction. Egyptian erotica is already out there as a subject of dramatization, but weaving meta dialogue and intelligent satire is next level. The entirety of the film almost ignores the original purpose of three humans subconsciously traveling back in time. It becomes irrelevant, which in turn creates historical freedom by subtracting characters from the picture. This may initially not sound as clever as I'm describing it, although if we quickly imagine all these personalities overlapping during a historical retelling, the potential issues reveal themselves. Technical achievements, however, are the greatest showcase here. In comparison to the first entry of the trilogy, animation fluidity has improved by leaps and bounds. The entire parade sequence is phenomenally designed, featuring every imaginable visual style, incorporating cameos from Astro Boy and Roman art references to no end. Cleopatra is exploitative cinema, a tale of manipulation by a troubled beauty.

Incredibly immersive, the entire enclosed spatial feel relies on a techno-dystopian overcast signified by the somber use of darkness. The dingy lighting is constantly shifting due to fluctuating lumen levels, contrasting the natural brightness of the outside world. This difference comprehensively develops a shaded underground civilization because artificial light is unreliably uneven, and diffusing the glow of bulbs or lanterns across a wide area inevitably weakens the candescent output. Director Toshihisa Yokoshima combines cel-shaded 3DCG with the subtle movements of 2D animation, exhibiting mastery of motion mechanics. It's widely known that CGI generally boasts a less believable series of incremental human-like gestures, not a deterrent here whatsoever. The animators have compensated for their inability to show expressions since everyone is wearing a weighty mobility suit protecting them from the aboveground dangers. Namely fiery ash ready to melt flesh, a post-apocalyptic survival narrowly avoiding extinction. Creative visual language such as creating outlines in the soot deposits on their helmets parallel emotions, allowing the audience to keenly search for other hints in the frame that substitute for dialogue disconnected from a face, which would dictate our impression had it been used.

Fuyu and Aki vow to travel outside and bask in the glory of creatures of times past, but unbeknownst to them, Earth is in ruins. Aki has the opportunity to discover another reality after a brief time skip when she joins a salvaging team hoping to describe the image of an actual sky to Fuyu. The thematic diversity ranges from optimism underscored by a sense of denial and the legitimate basis for their hesitation, evoking unease when the percussion tracks creep. Aesthetics supplement all of these atmospheres or moods, inky art complementing the grainy backgrounds. Rendering is phenomenal, with colored compositing for distinction, possibly representing specific symbolic imagery rooted in ambiguity, despite the film's final intentions. Cocolors emerges as a flexible metaphor for curiosity, your experience will always vary.

The borderline theatrical political discourse in Code Geass produces a mildly engaging mashup of hypocrisy and deceit. Lelouch is just as conceited as his enemies, if not more. However, it's difficult not to root for him after seeing his commanding presence on the screen. The writing can come off as ridiculous, and while it requires you to suspend your disbelief, it's definitely not thoughtless. It's an epic tale of revenge and ambition; a war waged against a nation's racist and oppressive ideals. I commend the show's devotion to the moral responsibility of revenge and undying pride under the weight of casualties dedicated to a cause. Code Geass is a game of 4D chess gone far and beyond and whatever comes after.

Pierrot's production values for insignificant projects are oddly decent, although the metric for measuring quality is obviously very different in the context of TV shorts. There's also a slight possibility that I'm deluded from consuming the lower end of this season. Cool Doji Danshi isn't remotely funny, but it's almost exemplary in inoffensively forming the same deadpan gag until it's no longer meant for humor, which I doubt is its intention, yet is the result of literal comedy. Finding amusement in everyday life is an easy feat when the shtick has variety, and in this case, the reused cute and cool vibe it's going for has minimal appeal outside of the four viewers who are infatuated with anime males. The art direction is relaxed, exhibiting a forgettable textbook aesthetic, and you'd miss the character animation if you blinked. Middling comedy about the reason homeschooling exists.

Good buddy cop idea held back by lack of budget.

A hyper film that radiates youthful energy, and while its narrative doesn't try anything new, it delivers Ghibli's tested emotional themes. The familial drama between the two leads influences their budding romantic feelings. It's set during a period of emotional growth for the high schoolers, and the endearing mood saves it from mediocrity.

Over the top action and sometimes stupid fun. The animation is incredible, bundled with an astounding soundtrack. Along the way, Watanabe doesn’t forget about character development. This has rightfully earned a spot among the greats and has undoubtedly stood the test of time. The setting is anywhere in the galaxy. These bounty hunters catch galactic criminals for a living. We have high-speed chases, religious cults, illegal drugs, mafia, train fights. Cowboy Bebop has it all. This anime oozes with style and flair and will always be cool. It’s a genre itself.

A film about biological warfare? Sounds a lot like Covid. The film is a solid side story to the original series. Spontaneous action sequences break out in tons of conveniently isolated locations; the perfect setting for no holds barred hand-to-hand combat. The gang initially separates to work on this case worth a whopping 300 million Woolongs. However, due to unforeseen circumstances, this job requires a collaborative effort. The film’s antagonist is one of the best in the Cowboy Bebop series. An introspective and introverted villain who has lost faith in humanity. Lots of themes related to modern society. For the most part, great production throughout, Spike is still as badass as ever. See you, Space Cowboy.

The series follows a former potter turned assassin and his daring escapades as a member of the Chinese mafia. Freeman is unmatched at what he does and after every mission, he reflexively mourns his victims by shedding tears of regret. The quality of the OVA hardly improves every episode and there are numerous production issues. The series harms itself by having monotone themes that are often underwhelming, purely sex and murder. It's just out-of-place nudity and graphic violence with superficial substance. The OVA still warrants a watch if you're interested in cel animation or older anime in general.

The Cyberpunk universe is vast, a metropolis of complex technology, and Edgerunners isn't exactly friendly to newcomers. It's not particularly hard to follow, not at all; in fact, it's so simple that after the story is over and done with, one can't help but wonder what all the technical jargon amounts to. The network of cybertechnology that's mass-produced in Night City needs far more context to become an appealing asset for worldbuilding, and as it stands, the script had no interest in legitimate exposition. I can't say I'm a fan of the approach, although the environmental storytelling visualizes the urban setting well while introducing potential conflicts, thus benefiting the episode limitation. Nonetheless, having more time wouldn't improve the writing by association, as it's already committed to being a series of quotable lines with complete disregard for the original thematic lessons we learned in the first half. Needless to say, there's nothing joyous about a neglected dystopia, but the overly heroic dialogue describing empty motivation doesn't sell the scene more often than not. Our lead (David) is stagnant as a character even though it may not seem that way, and his logic gravely contradicts too many of the narrative's previously held notions. At a certain point, the adaptation is overly eager to become a cultural statement about lofty goals than technocratic criticism.

Imaishi's direction is naturally exaggerated, exhibiting cartoonish gore and explosive action. It's a scattershot collection of neon colors, sometimes pretty, other times too bright and uncoordinated for comfort. Despite the overdone grading, the scheme is fitting for the location, and the city is amusingly crass. The opening song is a bizarre choice, although the tracks from Cyberpunk 2077 are appropriately used even if occasionally ill-timed. The vulgar humor, the careless nudity, nothing is normal. Trigger's capabilities typically excel in action, reaffirmed in Edgerunners, given the simplistic character animation/art, but explosively storyboarded violence and chases. The studio poses a necessary question, are you not entertained? I suppose I am, yet it's disappointing all the same when one considers where the plot falls through, and when the climax began to feel so flat. The political angle that's taken is extremely questionable, albeit the psychological aspect of humanoid robotics is a topic always worth discussing. It's relatively obvious this is meant to almost purely advertise the video game, which I thought it did in stride, minus the hip lingo. A mirage of solitude; it's not so wrong to survive for another's dream.

Modern-day China, like any other major country, suffers from severe social and economic hardships. More importantly, citizens value themselves as disposable; their lives are a ruthless repetition of every man for himself. Liu Jian's control of the script, capitalizing on the essence of dark comedy, makes the most of social commentary with more cultural references than you can count. The cast is entirely people complaining about their miserable livelihoods, lack of ambition, but the unpredictable wild goose chase for a million yuan leaves no room for grief. It's not very tightly written, and there are multiple setbacks in the technical department. Despite the budgeting mishaps, the film's message is transparent, more so intimately violent and raw. Characters don't receive significant changes in their facial expressions, sure you could call it a lack of animation, yet it's undeniably part of the comedy. Da Shijie is an exciting game of who done it; Liu Jian finds humor in the frustration of greed.

Ballet is dignified, a performance of elegance and class surpassed by seemingly no other discipline. Dance Dance Danseur understands this poise and exposes it through characters enthralled by the very essence of distinct impressionism. The show absorbs its source material, often at face value, but it's inherently a tottering rotation of melodrama and artistic ecstasy. For a decent section of the initial half, the standard take on preconceived notions of masculinity was exaggerated severely, but after Junpei has accepted his passion for the expressionist art form, the narrative takes a steep turn towards intermingling idealized talent, mental pitfalls, and romantic drama. Unfortunately, the latter takes heavy precedence in decisive moments to an excessive degree without the leeway of having enough episodes to convince the viewer of such strong swaying feelings. However, when it's not contained by overarching plot devices, the individualized attention to purely charismatic dance is choreographed impressively. The differing perceptions of storytelling through leaps across a room are deceptively genuine.

Mappa's art direction here is notable for its softer colors, although it falters outside of ballet studios, and the character designs are appealingly accurate, barring the distracting semi-circles in the cast's pupils. The weight of the animation is counterbalanced well alongside key and backlighting, typically exhibiting this in performative visual imagery enhanced by classical piano. Dance Dance Danseur's finale establishes a clear contrast between non-ballet and slice of life sequences, where the difference in story quality is larger than it should be. For every breathtaking instance of subtlety, there is also an overdramatized obstacle spoiling the candid appearance. It gradually capitalizes on the dynamics between the cast, specifically the three leads and their emotional attachments. Even in the most muddled stretches of domestic drama, they are framed with justified anxieties, dragging the focus back to artistry. Under all the squandered potential, there are glimpses of a seductive gaze.

Effective comedic methods through the use of facial expressions and intricate setups

Darwin’s Game functions well as a mobile game battle royale. It’s comparable to Btooom or can be considered a more refined version of Ousama game. The first half of the anime followed the standard setup for a battle royale. MC gets pushed into a death game and they immediately use the element of shock and surprise. The second half of the anime is a significant improvement because it redirects its focus to give us substance behind the inner workings of this grand scheme of a game. Initially, the psychological tag was foolish, but they’ve shown that we can expect substantial strategies from our main character. I have to commend the exceptional sound design throughout the season. Excellent precision and timing with the music during the fights. The animation was surprisingly solid, and there weren’t that many shortcuts. I’ve heard that the studio was understaffed, considering that the animation was good. Overall, Darwin’s Game was an entertaining watch, although it’s far from perfect. Character development was lackluster for everyone aside from Kaname. Lots of stuff they can improve on if this were to get a second season.

Multi-generational perspectives are a solid foundation to fall back on when a slower narrative needs to anchor its textures of life to something of substance, and Deaimon uses this mechanic in moderation. Its other metaphoric technique entails traditional Japanese sweets, their relation to seasons, or the meaning behind the origin of their name. The combination of the two fails miserably, which isn't quite noticeable until we're past the point of introductory material and well into the thick of it all, where the sweets are merely a proxy for lessons on handling emotional baggage. I found them undermined by the story's tendency to rely on confections as checkpoints for blocks of dialogue summarizing historical context without creating a larger relationship with the leads, particularly Itsuka, the source of central trauma. Outside of the location-based conflicts and references to the family shop, the show offers very little in the name of healing, generally confined to frequent episodic segments of secondary characters troubled by trivial issues.

There is still a bit of merit in its style, mainly Nagomu's role in steering internal friction toward a positive message, although this is typically the tail end of an overused joke about someone giving him the cold shoulder. The cast has a few slightly engaging personalities that contrast against Nagomu's demeanor, and during these moments, one can see an uplifting force of energy, but again, it doesn't circulate that sensation for long. Instead, the recurring silly coincidences accumulate into lazy situations missing an element of tension. The directing is uniformly laid-back, and the animation is fairly limited, yet not enough to significantly hinder its visual ability as the premise befits a simpler look. Deaimon struggles to find a balance between the child-like sense of humor and personal hurdles, soon becoming too superfluous to retain its initial grace.

It's a creative idea that allows for occasional profound psychological analyses. However, as I suspected, the characters became increasingly dull. Lack of appeal in their personalities created a mostly flat atmosphere. Character development is sometimes not a necessary component, and this is not one of those times. I expected the arbiters to develop over time as they learned from their mistakes. I expected exploration of other settings in their world. The final episode is the best episode this anime has to offer. Even if it's just for a few minutes, it incites emotion and it's the only time we see the characters having depth. It's certainly not a "bad" anime, but Madhouse's production can only uphold for so long. I'd call only two of the arcs "psychological", the rest fails to be thrilling. The opening song is extremely popular and rightfully so.

Decadence's early plot twist sent the show into a downward spiral of nonsensical plot devices and unexplained world mechanics. It's an underwhelming anime that fails to conform to standard sci-fi basics, and the direction it headed in leads to unnecessary convolution. The show had a lot of untapped potential, such as the population control concept. All of the ideas are either spoon-fed to us or aren't explored with nearly enough effort. The whimsical main character, awful worldbuilding, and decline in animation quality negatively add to the incoherent series composition. A crash course from the start.

Yuasa's uncensored Devilman represents everything wrong with humanity and why we're beyond saving.

Redundant ecchi humor and lousy action scenes. The only compliment I can give to Super HxEros goes to its opening song.

The drama that keeps on giving.

Dorohedoro is largely dependent on the variety of unique personalities in the cast. It has a consistently exuberant environment and relies on heavy comedic violence. The plot revolves around systematic mystery solving and entertains with unpredictable events. It’s like a crossover between a horror flick and looney tunes. Mappa’s CG is quite fluid, and the fights are well-choreographed. Impressively detailed background art and 5 different appropriate EDs. The average quality and overall reputation of CGI can improve through works like this. Dorohedoro doesn’t come without issues though; there are whole episodes dedicated to goofy shenanigans. It’s of course mildly fun, but primarily irrelevant to what is already a single cour. Then again, it’s part of the vibe. That is Dorohedoro.

An underdeveloped romance featuring one-dimensional characters and inconsistent tonal direction. The melodrama is more trivial than the intended heartwarming feeling it's obviously going for, as the leads are completely vapid. Setting aside the cliched encounter, much of the noteworthy moments of their relationship stem from a strange use of force. Not fetishizing isn't nearly enough to create competent writing, where interactions should be genuinely candid. Ideally, the boys are at ease in each other's presence, although there's little nuance supporting this notion. The horribly flat background art does no justice to the watercolor aesthetic, and at times, smooth visual direction. I like the slender designs, as well as the stylish paneling technique, even if it's arguably a shortcut. Production has a few peaks in the art department but remains underwhelming in sound design. The only real compliment I can give here is its ambition, which far outpaces Umibe no Etranger, the newer BL film. Doukyuusei is an unsatisfying balance between self-discovery and ridiculous farce.

An unhealthy, strangely stagnant, sometimes obsessive outlook on the budding of romantic tendencies. It lacks sensitivity, the subtlety needed to disguise half-digested stereotypes and their accompanying dry sentiments. Each separate story has at least one instance of characters being manipulative, unapologetically bordering unethical numerous times. Understated pedophilic marketing doesn't change the fact, abhorrent since its advertised summary promotes inclusive attraction. Personal freedom doesn't entail abnormal behavior, and it doesn't take itself seriously enough to function as provocative drama. It heavily panders, usually towards queer social standards, and remains dreadfully dull. I suppose it's a passable idea, various generational perspectives in anthology format hopelessly strangled by aimless controversy in an attempt to break boundaries. Production is downright lifeless, sterile backgrounds, flat dimensions. Dounika Naru Hibi is reprehensible in certain areas, squandering a direct concept with awkward cutoffs and caricatures of real people.

Some parts are enjoyable, although the animation shortcuts and repetitive style severely downgrade the concept.