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“From the distant north, beyond the frozen sea… They came, bringing with them the black clouds of war.”

As the struggles between English and Danes grew worse each passing year, calls for peace had diminished, and death became commonplace. In the wake of these restless times were Vikings; violent raiders who reaped the spoils of war and marched to the beat of their drum. Brutal, merciless and unfeeling, they pillaged whoever they pleased and left only wreckage behind them. And raised by the band who murdered his father is Thorfinn, a young boy driven by hatred, longing to cut down the one responsible and avenge his ... past.

This is the tale of Vinland Saga, a sprawling epic penned by Makoto Yukimura that thrusts you into a world drenched in bloody violence and battle-hungry warriors. At least, that is what the manga first introduces readers to. Whereas the anime, produced by Wit Studio with director Shuuhei Yabuta at the helm, decides to take a different approach with the saga by telling its narrative chronologically. Aside from a short battle sequence, viewers aren’t subjected with carnage outright, but a calm and tranquil village on the coast of Iceland untouched by the remnants of war. In doing so, it trades the fast-paced feel of its original story for a more methodical slow burn that fortunately retains enough intrigue and uneasiness to keep it from becoming a tedious watch.

Such a change carries significant implications for the remainder of its runtime, altering the show’s focus in such a way that brings more light to the world at large. Yukimura is often praised for his passion of technical realism as displayed in his previous work Planetes. Vinland Saga is no different, taking inspiration from Nordic tales that combine elements of culture, family and overarching philosophy into an engrossing plot. Here these features are given slightly more consideration, with early episodes providing a greater representation of the lifestyles embodied in this realistic setting. The nameless faces we encounter, though unimportant to the story at large do feel like real people, with their own goals, families and livelihoods. This level of realism is also found through various anime-only scenes later in the series, that both maintain the steady pace of the show between key events and help in conveying an appropriate air of verisimilitude for its interpretation of the saga at large.

With a more methodical approach comes a better understanding of Vinland Saga’s characters initially. Some may be inclined to point out how this comes at the cost of cast members losing some degree of subtlety, feeling forced in the process. But what is important to note is that characters early on lay the foundation for the development of our protagonist. Thorfinn is easily impressionable and holds a curious eye from those he admires, most notably his father who he learned the concepts of honour and courage from. His actions when his morals are tested, and more importantly Thorfinn’s reactions aim to give viewers a clearer look at the bigger picture – a story of personal and global discovery. It is more than happy to let viewers dwell on the tender moments and melancholic scenery before the story inevitably shifts gears. As a child, Thorfinn sat at the feet of the great explorer Leif Erickson, captivated by his thrilling tales and in turn longed for adventure of his own. However, those youthful fantasies are soon shattered in a raid that leaves the boy craving revenge on the band’s leader, Askeladd.

Vinland Saga thrives off the dichotomy between Thorfinn and Askeladd. A child’s innocence ruined with only vengeance left in its place, and a man that epitomizes what any Viking would want in a leader: strong, intelligent, calculated and charismatic. One wears his deadened heart on his sleeve, unfazed by the “comrades” around him and content with watching the world burn, while the other holds a silver tongue and laid-back demeanour, masking his desire for influence by any means necessary. Thorfinn is willing to take part in whatever atrocities asked of him if it means bringing him closer to killing his commander, even though he’s just a pawn in the greater game Askeladd is playing. Their relationship is one that walks on thin ice, giving each of their interactions a hint of uncertainty. Not only is it hard to predict how the plot will progress and subsequently where it'll take this band of misfits, but also how Thorfinn will be able to achieve his revenge, if at all.

Consistent characterization is arguably the show's greatest strength, as within a story so epic in scope lies a profound study of character archetypes. The source material knows that historical stories often require authentic characters and the adaptation does not forget this. Vikings are neither vicious by nature nor are they depicted as idealized figures of legend, just men hardened through tough lives with dreams of making a fortune. The raids are done less out of malice but rather from the need to survive in a landscape where winters are long and resources are scarce. These warriors are humanized to an extent that prompts questions on the nature of war and those who voluntarily take part in such. The world and its inhabitants are considered for with a more holistic perspective than what anime normally offers, delivering on its rare setting that warrants a mature audience. There have been criticisms lobbied at the anime regarding some of the exaggerated feats of power and use of clichés as if it were a shounen story, which I find ironic given the manga was originally published as a shounen before being moved to a seinen magazine. Being a relatively faithful adaptation, the anime incorporates these parts but gradually grounds them into the plot, convincingly enough to where it slowly but surely no longer requires as much suspension of disbelief from the viewer.

While Vinland Saga is rich in depth and subtext, it is still a story steeped in action and combat. Unfortunately, this is where the anime suffers most. It’s worth pointing out that this show does have its merits visually; art director Yusuke Takeda and his staff at studio BAMBOO boast some astounding digital background art that capture the gravity in times of mourning and sorrow. The voice acting performances – Thorfinn’s especially – are excellent in bringing the struggles and emotions to life. Character designs by Takahiko Abiru do well to imitate Yukimura’s artwork – albeit not with such excellent attention to detail or graphic displays of savagery, but still quite serviceable enough for a TV anime. There’s this myth that Vinland Saga is among the likes of Berserk, Kingdom and Vagabond as manga considered impossible to adapt. This is hyperbole, as apart from Vagabond’s aesthetic, these can all be realistically recreated in anime depending mostly on the staff, budget and scheduling. Fixating on atrocious efforts in the last decade only soils the standards that fandoms will have for future attempts. Thankfully, this adaptation is generally effective in transforming the majority of the manga’s illustrations and panel compositions to animated form... Expect for one key aspect: the action.

The battles in Vinland Saga look about as disorderly as the computer-generated ocean that our cast frequently sail over. Of course, that isn’t the say that water is the only thing that is CG: the boats are always CG, the foot soldiers often turn CG, the entire environment in long-shots end up being CG, and all these examples of CG integration look especially jarring. It’s reminiscent of Shuuhei Yabuta’s work overseeing the 3D animation on Attack on Titan Season 3 Part 2, with short yet often noticeable faults. The direction overall is still an improvement over his last directorial effort on Inuyashiki, even holding flashes of excellence as the different animation styles, models and digital effects merge into great action sequences. But these moments are few and far between a multitude of scenes looking as though they were haphazardly worked on and do not coalesce well in comparison.

Even the more experimental cinematography such as first-person perspective shots that appear great in concept pale in contrast to other anime that pulled off the same technique far better in the same year (Mob Psycho anyone?). By the time it finishes airing, there will be those eager to shower this series with immense praise for the art and animation, whilst forgetting to mention the inconsistent nature of its visuals. It’s tumultuous. There are great screenshots you can take of the anime at its most expressive and colourful – most of which are found away from the action. Likewise, there are short clips that highlight the visual blandness and worse portions that barely look as though they belong to the same season. The action still holds tension and weight when watching, but half the time you are probably better off glossing over them.

These action scenes do gradually improve over the season, even if simply by not being as ambitious as before. However, there still lies various issues within the script that are worth mentioning, if only for their lasting effect on the project. Earlier I pointed out the importance of historical accuracy in Vinland Saga that pervades every corner of its setting. For the most part, the anime remains accurate in its portrayal of 11th century Northern Europe. But the screenplay is where most of its discrepancies exist. The staff in charge of writing such altered sections from the source material that acknowledge proper cultures, only to have such be overwritten for what I can only surmise as for the sake of localization. This furthermore muddles the various languages that characters are meant to speak throughout the story. There were never complaints about the manga including morsels of lore into the plot, and all these changes do is needlessly break immersion and consistency. This dialogue is also laden with telling the viewer actions that are clearly shown seconds beforehand. These could easily be brushed aside as nitpicking, but when these instances happen time and time again, it’s no longer a nitpick; it’s a recurring problem.

But nevertheless, these problems do little to take away from the overall experience that makes Vinland Saga such a special piece of fiction in the realm of manga and now anime. While the premise does tell a tale of revenge, there is a balance ever-present. It rides a line which avoids getting too heady for its own good, but at the same time follows a linear path that realizes its potential to be intellectually stimulating. Drawing you in with its copious amounts of violence, before peeling back the layers to reveal something truly meaningful. Look beyond the strokes of bloodshed from mere pawns and see what caused these acts to occur. Vinland Saga casts a mirror over this time in history, on both famous figures and those forgotten overtime and simply asks us to think over what is shown. Consider if Thorfinn really has any enemies to justify his pursuit for vengeance. Ponder over the musings of a priest that fall on the deaf ears of most Vikings. And imagine if there were a land somewhere, far from slavery and the flames of war.

Of all the clashing ideals of love, war and pacifism at play, the most fascinating comes from Prince Canute. Hard to fathom at first, being introduced as timid and weak, even drawn with a bishounen appearance. His inexperience in times of conflict and inability to function without his servant make him wholly unfit to rule over anyone, as demonstrated once held hostage by Askeladd. Every man is a slave to something: Thorfinn to his anger, Askeladd to the past, Thorkell to the battlefield and Canute to his own comfort. But it is once he loses the person closest to him when the shackles around him are broken. His preconceived notions about the world are shattered, leading to a startling epiphany where he is born anew as the strong leader history remembers. Canute’s ambition to spite God and create a utopia on Earth is chilling to watch develop, with heavy piano music accompanied that while ill-suited for the setting, hits all the emotional beats. His motivations not only serve as a compelling transformation of his character, but bring into question basic tenets of love and freedom with an intriguing yet complex theological framework. If the Vikings represent a struggle of maintaining independence, Canute's arc symbolises the first steps toward a nation state, where freedom is forcibly exchanged for stability – and the Prince is more than willing to cut his father down to achieve that dream.

‘Every action has a consequence.’

Behind the brutality and political scheming lies this constant message. They are felt by each character and echoed through the narrative. In part, this is what makes Vinland Saga such an unpredictable journey. Thorfinn’s past catches up to him and tries to sway him from the existence he chose after seeing his father slain with his own eyes. Askeladd’s craftiness and quick decision-making for years has brought him to serve under Canute as his right-hand man. And the Prince’s circumstances caused by the King’s order has resulted in the emergence of his greatest threat to the crown. From the beginning, the series has prepared its stage for an inevitable impasse, with each piece carefully positioned for their own personal growth. But despite all the planning and deliberation possible, the world may decide to deal you a different hand. The nature of the world is unflinching, with unexpected endings sometimes being peaceful, tragic and even undeserved, for better or for worse. After everything being built up to this moment, we are given more questions than answers, and left in shambles, unsure of what awaits these characters in the saga’s next entry. The prologue concludes. Such is life, and such is history.

- - - - - - -

For years, Vinland Saga has been proclaimed as a must-read classic manga, and here the anime does it justice. It’s a powerful tale with well-defined, palpable characters all living in a harsh yet beautifully captured world brought to life by rich colours, stellar landscapes and a varied selection of melodies that help convey a specific tone. Presenting the narrative in a different medium where it does falter on occasion, but essentially stays true to the heart of Vinland Saga, even providing original content that compliment the core material with a strong directorial voice and impressive execution. Some may be concerned for where the series can go after such an ending. But let me assure you that Vinland Saga knows what kind of story it’s telling, and it is nothing short of remarkable.

Imagine, if you will, a moment of bliss. The dazzling array of lights illuminating the hall, radiating along the stage. Glimmering golden flakes floating down from above like snow upon two girls pouring their hearts out in the performance of their lives. Their eyes are transfixed on the spectacle of it all as the narrator bellows that “it would go down in the history of Mars as the miraculous seven minutes”. This is the moment that Carole & Tuesday wished to define itself by. A celebration of music and the power it holds consummated in seven special minutes.

But behind these seven minutes is the journey ... that set it all in motion.

Carole & Tuesday is a tale steeped in the past, now set in the gleaming terraformed future of Mars. The story of rags-to-riches between a pair of talented women: Tuesday, who sneaks away from her wealthy sheltered lifestyle and takes a train to the big city, and Carol, an ex-refugee and orphan constantly looking for work with no clear direction in her life. In their world, music has been studied, dissected and repackaged to perfection through the use of artificial intelligence; the popular human artists now acting as merely fronts for the artistry. They both feel isolated and melancholy, needing some way to express it. In this, the two have a fateful encounter as Carol plays piano atop a bridge. She hums along to the music, but Tuesday insists she can hear the meaning of her song despite the lack of words. Carole and Tuesday, two musicians from radically different socioeconomic backgrounds, are able to understand each from through their music.

Considering the nature of this series being centred around music, the anime puts a lot of attention towards the music incorporated within the show. Carole & Tuesday holds some clear similarities with other works by director Shinichiro Watanabe; not only does he use a variety of diverse character designs and art styles, but here he employs different genres of music and artists to coincide with the Western accessibility of the show in general. Flying Lotus, Alison Wonderland and Denzel Curry and just some of the names associated with this project. Most importantly, the music acts as a natural means for development between the two leads. When the two begin playing together, the flaws in their sessions are apparent: they aren’t in tune with each other, Tuesday is a step behind Carole and both continually have to restart the song. The session is a work in progress, but once they start finding their rhythm, it’s as if their souls have slowly begun to intertwine. Their unity, passion and emotional release creates a world of their own, free from the gloomy feeling around them.

The worldbuilding details constantly echo the technology-driven culture of today, giving it a sense of believability amidst the more fantastical elements. Instagram, Google and YouTube are all featured in some way during the duo’s attempt to break into the music industry, before eventually entering a talent competition that parodies the likes of The Voice and American Idol. This is where the most diverse musical genres of the series are showcased, from a profane barbershop quartet number to an operatic hip hop hybrid piece that really shows the range of musical styles present in the show. While the pacing is slowed down significantly for this purpose, it also introduces an antagonist to the pair in Angela, a model turned singer on her own journey that acts as a clear juxtaposition with Carole and Tuesday. Unlike the lead duo, Angela embraces the influence of artificial intelligence and is pushed as the industry’s next big star, however her struggles are as real as the two protagonists. Angela as a former child star carries her own share of baggage whilst being used as a puppet of the industry and given no creative control over her art. But she is passionate about her career and has to work tirelessly in order to stay relevant. She provides an insight into what can happen when business takes priority over pleasure.

All of the contrasting styles and motivations serve as foils to the stripped-down singer-songwriter ability of the titular duo, representing the traditional side of music with warmth and authenticity that cannot be replicated. At least, that is what the intention was with each of their performances. But the series only achieves this in theory. Their opponents in the talent show seek to treat music as a commodity first and foremost in contrast to Carole and Tuesday, who want to deliver a more intimate experience with their songs as down-to-earth musicians. Except that the music they play seems counter-intuitive, coming across as the kind of melodramatic pop that would not be difficult to find nowadays. It might not be surprising to see how the judges love the pair whose music you would expect to find in every talent show in the last decade, but consider how the series is trying to, in a sense, rehabilitate music, with some of the most generic pop tunes of our time. Lyrically the song also come across poorly, with the melodies and rhythm having to compensate for instances of laundry being used as a metaphor for example. The song writing here speaks volumes about Tuesday’s lack of life experience to draw from, yet they are still showered with overwhelming praise after each and every one of their performances.

As the series continues, there’s a concerning lack of character development going forward for a character-driven show such as Carole & Tuesday. The characterization starts off strong with establishing the differences in both leads, before the script changes to emphasize the commonalities between them and more nuance is added to their actions. However, their bond as a whole feels unnatural, as they become such close friends after a short amount of time and their bond is never challenged going forward. Chemistry between main characters, especially in dramas, tends to grow little by little through each of their interactions with each other. Because of this, viewers are able to see their relationship develop gradually for themselves, thus coming across more naturally. This does not happen with Carole and Tuesday. Instead the two are shown to be great off the get-go, putting on good to excellent performances together that garner high praise from well-known artists. There is hardly a struggle they face that is shown in their journey. Add to that how predictable and light-hearted the tone of the series is, Carole and Tuesday feel more like avatars than their own characters for the remainder of the show.

From the offset Carole & Tuesday, despite its shortcomings as a music drama, was based around the two leads coming together and making a name for themselves in the music industry. But after the talent show, the narrative begins to shed more of a light on their backgrounds: Carole’s friends who are refugees and, more importantly, Tuesday’s family ties to politics. This is where the story transitions from the tale of two women chasing their passions in an age of AI-produced music to an allegory of current-day American politics that takes itself seriously. Politics in an anime is not an inherent issue and make no mistake, Carole & Tuesday wanted to be a socially conscious series from the beginning. But the sudden change in plot and focus causes most of the key events that occur to feel forced and inorganic, not to mention even more predictable than before. The execution is clumsy at best and incompetent at worst; it imitates the United States’ immigration policy yet holds a childlike perception of the debate that would only lead to more dissention. The show portrays it as simply a societal bad mood without any further nuance to the discussion, to where the audience is never told why Earth has refugees coming to Mars in the first place. The story becomes so concerned with being a social commentary on the world today that it does not bother to justify the political actions that happen within the story.

And regardless of how much the story has shifted, the anime continues to revolve around Carole and Tuesday. The two musicians who at first strived to be a success in the music scene have had their journey side-tracked by the overt political agenda that, coincidentally, renders their previous journey obsolete. The AI-produced music that initially acted as a commentary on how pop music panders to the trends of today instead of creating something “meaningful” is tossed aside. The sub-plots unresolved from the talent show remains unresolved. Instead the series takes the overly-idealistic route that coming together and singing an inspirational song has the power to change the world, with music’s power lying in the ability to make one's own voice heard. Only a vague solution to the real-world crisis the show intended to reflect. There’s an air of cynicism to the series that feels crafted out of naivete, which is certainly odd when Shinichiro Watanabe’s name is at the helm of the project. For an esteemed director as himself, it feels as if he was phoning it in here, not overly concerned with how the show ended up looking. Obviously, external factors like scheduling and budget play a larger part than ever trying to gauge effort from a director, but comparing Carole & Tuesday to his previous work (Cowboy Bebop, Samurai Champloo, Space Dandy, etc.) should highlight how underwhelming this most recent project is.

Carole & Tuesday was ultimately a tale in two parts: the first enamoured in the original journey of its two protagonists, their pursuit of passion acting as a love letter to the art of music. While meandering in parts and feeling a tad bloated, it’s hard to deny the show had a genuine love of the craft on display. But its second half was burdened with misguided ambition, aiming to encompass every angle of drama the series holds without regard for their impact on the writing as a whole. Unwilling to commit on its initial story and core values, we can only imagine what could have been a true moment of bliss.

Ecchi has garnered somewhat of a bad reputation over the years. For those unaware, the term ‘ecchi’ is used among anime fans as a way to describe shows with sexual overtones. Unlike hentai, which is explicit pornographic material, ecchi is meant to be simply erotic and is part of why the anime community views such in a negative light. Because of the nature of the anime industry, erotic content and sexual themes are more likely to be prioritized in production over the possible literary merits of a show. This line of thinking permeates across other genres, leading to an abundance of fanservice – usually unnecessary ... sexual content with the purpose of pleasing the audience – being inserted and used for enticing viewers to watch further. This has led many to criticize the concepts of ecchi and fanservice in general, believing its presence indicates a lack of maturity for the anime using them, as well as their intended audiences. But in response to these kinds of claims I would like to pose a question for everyone reading this:

Is ecchi/fanservice inherently bad?

Making cynical comments about a lewd act in a series may not be unfounded, but are they fair critiques on the show in question? For example, if a series implements sexuality of some sort as one of its core themes, is it then a flaw for the show to sexualise in any way? Can it even be called fanservice if it is, in fact, a necessary part of the story? If fanservice is merely a way of “giving fans what they want to see”, can it include content that isn’t erotic? To answer the original question, one would also have to account for the multiple queries I’ve brought up and more. Personally speaking, while deliberate audience arousal can easily be abused by a creative staff, if ecchi and fanservice in this context just means having characters exploited for their sex appeal, then my answer is no. Ecchi is not simply bad and to call every ecchi anime bad inherently is to dismiss specific plots and themes from the chance of ever being recognized as great pieces of art. Execution and intention are what separates pandering works from the more purposeful ecchi anime, and when it comes to purpose in ecchi, there might be none bolder than the anime known as Prison School.

Based on the popular manga written and illustrated by Akira Hiramoto, the premise follows five young boys who are the only men enrolled at Hachimitsu Academy, one of the strictest all-girls schools in Tokyo. With over 1,000 female students to only five males, the academy looks to be a paradise harem for the group. But those unhappy with the admission of boys to their prestigious school quickly make their intentions clear as the five are sentenced to a prison on the campus grounds when caught peeking in the girl’s baths. If the plot sounded preposterous just then, the magic of Prison School is already in effect.

Much of the acclaim for the manga of Prison School lied in its ability to tell an extremely entertaining story over a long period of time. As a raunchy slapstick-comedy series with enough ecchi to make one’s dick explode, the manga delivered on an enjoyable comic coupled with erotic content and comedy to match. As a manga adaptation, the anime nails on this appeal while also making excellent use of the different medium; trimming whatever fat that could be found in the source material and, as a result, leaving the show with incredibly fast pacing that manages to build on the humour throughout. It rarely lingers on any one specific joke, instead offering various quips and gags in an almost rapid-fire form, building on each scene and making the situations that much more hilarious. In doing so, the comedy hardly gets exhausting as it continuously morphs into something bigger, better, and often with a purpose that directly relates back to the plot.

Typically when referring to ecchi anime, the plot is frowned upon as in a genre laden with tropes designed to put fanservice at the forefront, storylines are more likely to be used as mere backdrops for the “real plot” to take place. This in turn can lead to all kinds of issues: stilted dialogue, contrived comedy, characters lacking verisimilitude, etc. The way Prison School avoids this is masterful – for a show with sleazy shots at every corner, it never falls victim to the numerous problems that plague other ecchi anime. The entire concept of ecchi is clearly absurd and the narrative is very aware of that fact. Rather than lazily pointing out the absurdities on screen like some of its contemporaries have, Prison School opts to revel in it, crafting an outlandish setting and hysterical characters that effectively sweeps viewers into that wacky world; where what would be mundane events are blown out of proportion to make for some genuinely intriguing and laugh-out-loud moments. The humour works because of how it merges the bizarre, visceral and unexpected nature of these situations to a degree that people can’t help but burst out laughing. There can be a sense of repetition felt in these instances, as every joke involves some element of sex humour. The series makes no apologies for its several close-up crotch shots and overall crudeness. However, the ecchi scenes never simply pander to the viewers. Instead they are worked into the series with attention to detail and constantly progress the story, with subsequent character actions and motives driving the narrative to its conclusion.

The cast of Prison School are surprisingly strong given the genres the anime belongs to. Even though the series does have a lead protagonist in the form of Kiyoshi, the show gives adequate focus on all five of the male students as they all share a similar level of importance to the plot. They all have their role to play in the grand scheme of things and overtime build distinct personalities from one another. Because the anime centres around five characters instead of one, all ecchi scenes are divided amongst them, helping to ensure none of the main characters are left out across the duration of the anime. Their female prison captors are also fleshed out as more than their exploitative camera angles and fetishized characteristics would ever imply and do receive noteworthy development, providing a separate dynamic to the five male prisoners and their numerous attempts to escape. Every character is highly exaggerated in their behaviour, yet they all ironically fit with the internal consistency and overall atmosphere of the show. It also demonstrates a unique and amusing way of pitting the men and women against one another that remains one of the most memorable instances of such happening in an anime.

While the series is primarily an ecchi comedy, underlying the veneer of crass humour and lewd anime scenes is an almost inspiring story of friendship and male bonding. As Prison School progresses, we find all five boys subjected to mental and physical abuse on multiple occasions, all in the hopes that they would break and get themselves expelled. This fear of expulsion constantly looms over the main characters, so much so that these moments genuinely carry a sense of tension to them. The way these scenes are approached gives way to just how big are the sacrifices these characters are making. Despite being titillating on the surface, Prison School quickly becomes a battle of wits between inmates and captives within the prison-break subgenre. It’s high-stakes and high-intensity. Thrilling as it is funny, possessing all the standard conventions of a prison tale whilst keeping unpredictable for the majority of its 12 episodes. By embracing the madness of a story where people deliberately shit their pants and have sticks shoved up asses, the anime manages to captivate and draw viewers in with their ridiculous premise and very real stakes. But most importantly, it makes for the audience to rally behind these main characters through all their struggles: their mistreatment, their treachery, the trickery, the forgiveness and eventually, them emerging victorious.

As a manga notorious for Hiramoto’s hyper-stylized designs and artwork, the anime captures the charm in those images without ever getting lost in motion. J.C Staff was the studio in charge of adapting the source material and they largely succeed in moving the manga’s material to the world of animation. Granted, the animation used is never the highlight of the series, only maintaining a sense of fluidity with little compromise to the general attention of detail on the visuals. But visually speaking the anime is impressive, with expressions, backgrounds and colour palette that are distinct from any other series the studio has worked on. There’s also a surprisingly good amount of cinematography and directing present that deserves recognition. The way Tsutomu Mizushima is able to ramp up the tension and hilarity with simple cuts and blocks may not be subtle but is wholly effective in making the experience that much more enjoyable. However, there is a considerably poor use of lens flare hilariously coined by fans as the “blinding white light of censorship” that covers nearly half the screen whenever a heavy dose of ecchi appears. Thankfully there is an uncensored version available for those unfazed by the show’s sexual scenes.

Not only does the art direction do the manga justice, the sound direction and voice acting truly brings the manga’s story to life. The sound effects act as a core component for most of the comedy and are utilized extremely well consistently throughout the show. They can get repetitive as they are essentially a part of every joke and jest in the anime, but if anything, they are more likely to elevate the humour as a whole. The voice acting however, I would argue never grows old as for the 12-episode series, viewers are left craving for more of these characters and their performances. All the voice acting here was tremendous and on-point, with the actors for Kiyoshi, Gakuto and Hana being the standouts. They clearly made the most of their roles and manage to fit each crazy persona like a glove. The soundtrack was composed by Kotaro Nakagawa, who has also been responsible for the music behind Planetes and Code Geass. Although the tunes here are nowhere near as memorable as the latter anime, they do capitalize on the sheer intensity of scenes whenever played. For a comedy series like this one, that is crucial in making the show such a fun time.

Rarely do we come across a show like Prison School that blends the likes of comedy and ecchi together so seamlessly. Ecchi comedy have been prevalent in anime for a long time and that is not likely to change anytime soon, but hardly any of them feel worth the time investment. More often than not, an ecchi will feature a bland, unrelatable protagonist who is either indifferent or completely avoids the harem created for him, alongside ecchi scenes that tend to come off shallow, adding nothing to the quality of the series. But Prison School is different. In a world when boys actions are often driven by sex, all five of the main characters are more than their one-dimensional counterparts and hold legitimate reason behind their actions: they have penises. Prison School is truly a man’s show, as where it succeeds outweighs all of its flaws, making for one of the best ecchi and comedy anime in recent memory. It’s hilarious, it’s absurd, and it’s brilliant.

"21st September, 1945… That was the night I died."

Grave of the Fireflies begins as a young man stands in uniform unfazed, looking back on the moment he died. Slouched against a pole in tattered clothes, starving in silence while dozens of people pass by. One person in an act of pity places food beside him, but it’s too late. Lacking the will to even eat, his frail body collapses among other starved corpses nearby. An empty tin can found on his person is tossed by a field outside as if it were trash. Yet from the second it lands, fireflies materialize from the ground and ... cast a blazing glow that brightens the field. A young girl rises to her feet, confused at the sight of her brother lying prone on the floor. She’s startled, until suddenly a hand rests on her shoulder. Standing beside her, he greets his sister with a smile before handing her a tin can now full of treats, and together they walk aboard an empty train. Free from hunger and pain as they saunter off to the next life.

'The fireflies rose, burned ever so brightly, before slowly returning to darkness.'

This scene sets the soul-crushing tone for what to expect over the course of the film. Grim and unflinching in its portrayal of the privations of war and their effect on the most innocent of victims: children. Grave of the Fireflies follows the struggles that siblings Seita and Setsuko face through this hellish time as their former livelihoods are wiped out in an air raid. As a result, both are forced to endure and continue living in a nation crumbling from warfare and famine. Their journey is intertwined with the lives of many different people, all directly impacted by the war and all trying to cope with the struggle. A welcoming aunt at first turns resentful guardian. A farmer who shows compassion to the two but can only feed himself. A doctor concerned with diagnosing problems, yet never tries to cure them. There are no heroes present here, just a story about survival. Except here the outcome was given from the start – they don’t.

From the minute the firebombing starts, viewers already have a clear enough sense of how this story plays out. With their home left in ruins and ripped away from their mother, what’s left is a tale of two kids still clinging onto one another alone in an uncharitable world, fending for themselves as best they can. But without a hopeful ending, it’s more akin to watching a slow death play out than otherwise. Director Isao Takahata makes these opening scenes count. In such a short span of time, he places the audience in a position where emotional attachment with the main characters feel genuinely crafted. We’re instantly drawn to Setsuko’s abundant wonder and childlike innocence, and likewise support Seita as he must transform into the parental figure his sister will need. We realise how food scarcity and a general lack of resources impacts them both above all others. And naturally, we can only feel sorry for the two. Their circumstance and untimely demise lie out of their control as both are reduced to mere numbers tallied to the body count their country holds.

For a film that illustrates a tragedy not suitable for most children, Grave of the Fireflies’ greatest strength lies in the fact that it exists as an animated feature. There are several instances where gratuitous images are lingered on, never shying away from the bleakness of these scenes. So brutal, that had the film been made as a live-action, could easily have crossed the line from harrowing to simply unbearable for most. In this, Grave of the Fireflies showcases the power of animation, where the most grotesque scenes are offset with accompanied visuals that are beautiful, evocative and aesthetically pleasing. Graphic displays of burned bodies and malnourished children never come off sadistic, but certainly leave their mark on the viewer. It’s a movie that whilst easily stands out from the typical Ghibli picture, arguably could not have been produced by any other studio. Breath-taking landscapes, delightful character designs and a keen attention to detail are lucid across its runtime, constantly emphasizing the smaller moments just as much as the larger ones. It takes a special group on staff to pour so much effort into each scene, having managed to hold up over 30 years since its release. They did a remarkable job, especially when realizing this was being produced alongside Ghibli’s other feature film at the time, My Neighbor Totoro. Both impressive in their production, but ironically have conflicting views on innocence; where Totoro celebrates the blossoming times of childhood, here those wonders are short-lived; slowly crushed under the weight our leads are burdened with.

A brief overview of the synopsis would give the impression that Grave of the Fireflies is first and foremost an anti-war film, depicting the harsh nature and consequences of conflict for the audience to bear witness to. Takahata actively denied this notion, saying he intended the film as a glimpse into lives affected from society failing to protect its own people. Originally published in 1967 as a semi-autobiographical work, author Akiyuki Nosaka wrote Grave of the Fireflies as an apology. Having lived in Japan during World War II, he lost his home and father to the firebombing of Kobe, losing his sister Keiko to starvation soon afterward. The guilt and remorse Nosaka felt compelled him to write this story as a double-suicide, using Seita’s death as a way of atonement for his actions. Understanding the source material better puts the film’s overall message into context. Despite key events clearly coinciding with WWII, the film never places blame to either side of the war, nor is the enemy ever recognized as American.

War is not the focus, only the backdrop here; simply serving the characters a situation to create conflict. Instead the story is concerned exploring the war at hand on a more personal level, and as a result uncovers pride as a reoccurring pattern within the plot. Pride fuels the war that took away their mother, drives the children to live on their own away from their unpleasant guardian, steers Setsuko to a premature death before leaving Seita to his own downfall, suffering alone on the brink of death. The film pays close attention to these moments, viewing them from the perspective of Seita’s ghost. It detaches viewers from the story momentarily, so that we may capture a glimpse of how he reflects on those actions. Sometimes even recoiling in fear, knowing the consequences about to unfold from his doing. In this, Grave of the Fireflies laments how someone’s pride can lead to the destruction of others and themselves.

The film strives to tug at each of our heartstrings, numerous times for what both children must go through, while also lending some commentary on Japan’s fervent sense of nationalism during those times; critical of one’s pride and dignity to dangerous extents. Crafted by a master hand, it’s a movie that knows what it wishes to be and sets out to achieve that. However, in reality this does not always come true. It’s obvious to see why fans enjoy Grave of the Fireflies to the extent they do: it succeeded in eliciting strong emotions that few others probably ever had. But to talk about a film aspiring for such a personal experience, I feel the need to explain mine.

- - - - - - -

Grave of the Fireflies was a sad, depressing film, even on the sheer surface. Witnessing the two leads placed in a terrible predicament alone put me in a sad, state of mind. The pair are extremely easy to feel sorry for, especially knowing how their story ends from the start. I cried. Tears welled up watching the final sequence, Setsuko and her belongings being cremated out in the open. Feeling the pain her brother must’ve gone through. Those feelings were real and knowing that events like this happen in the world today didn’t help me. It was the first time I could remember crying from a movie, leaving me devastated as the credits rolled. The fireflies had risen, burned the brightest they possibly could have, before returning to darkness, leaving me there as well. That was the first time I watched Grave of the Fireflies.

The second time I watched Grave of the Fireflies, it had once again surprised me, but for reasons that were perplexing. It was still very sad and depressing, but ultimately left me feeling unsatisfied with the experience. Nothing in the film had changed, in fact I still remembered most of the key events that happened along with when they would take place. However this time the film lacked my investment and the sentiments I once had for each of those moments was no longer there. Rewatching the film even years later highlighted certain aspects that I had initially glossed over, not having already been acquainted with the story and characters. The hand that once tugged my heartstring no longer caught me by surprise, and the beats this film played to was a tune I had become familiar with. This was Grave of the Fireflies’ biggest weakness. For a film that enlightens more on a second viewing, loses what made it so special in the first place.

Looking at the film with a critical eye will surely find themes of morality at play but will also find them presented in ways visibly forced and heavy-handed. In a world where two children are just trying to survive in a country torn by war, there are so many instances shown in the film that could have saved both from their terrible ends. But the story will always take the worst option every single time to reach its miserable end, to the point where it’s no longer natural watching this play out. The film continuously tries to milk tears from the audience with a tragedy that constantly makes the worst decisions for its characters. It’s akin to piling tragic event on top of tragic event until we’re left with a mountain of depression, while my reaction moves from genuine sympathy to frustration and disappointment. We as viewers look at this film from the same perspective as Seita’s ghost, and while this does emphasize the meaning behind these moments, it essentially removes part of the deep emotion gained from the experience, causing the repetitive nature of these events to feel counterproductive. We see the storyline in full, from establishing its grieving tone to forcing Seita and Setsuko into the film’s personal martyrs. Their deaths, for our pity.

Regardless of how closely the narrative revolves around these two characters, neither of the pair hold much intrigue outside of being victims. Child characters don’t need a tale of heroism for audiences to get invested in them, but the only attributes Seita and Setsuko have to garner one’s investment is that they’re children who exist as casualties. Seita does possess a few qualities worth mentioning; he holds a strong impression of idealism for his father and while he’s away fighting in the war, Seita bears the responsibility for caring over his younger sister. Except that arduous task is put on a brother that appears as immature as his younger sibling. To Seita, taking care of Setsuko means to play with her all the time and keep her happy, no matter how cruel the world around her can be. His actions are foolish and the film does punish him over them, however I still find his mindset somewhat contrived given the circumstances. Despite how much Seita wants to take care of her sister, he refuses to find work and has no interest helping anyone besides himself and Setsuko. He is stubborn to the bone: even when their health deteriorates and is told to swallow his pride, he refuses to help himself or her sister in a meaningful way. The main reason why most fans overlook this is because of how both feel like authentic children, unaware of the dangers in the world. The animation also helps with this, capturing the nuances and mannerisms one would expect from children. But remember that Seita is supposed to be a 14-year-old boy in the 1940’s, a time where he would be considered an adult capable of working for a living. He’s relatable to us because of how we would view someone of that age but comes across incompetent for someone from his time.

These issues stuck out like a sore thumb on second viewing, partly due to how simplistic the film feels in its presentation. Grave of the Fireflies is often seen as the Ghibli feature to break away from the conventional family-friendly films the studio has produced, and while it does deliver on an unflinching war film not suitable for all ages, it also just so happens to lack the whimsical spirit that gave those other films such striking personality. Takahata has his strengths, from his interest in realistic imagery to his sense of social responsibility as a director, yet here his style feels neutered to a point where little personality can be found in the directing. He’s not Miyazaki, but the film appears contempt in what it wants to achieve, never aiming for more than the core emotional attachment felt though the script. Each scene is carefully calculated, but never ambitious in their purpose. Even the cheerful moments only balance out the hell Seita and Setsuko are in, never acting as driving components for either character. The music also does little to help the experience move along, rarely ever effective in smoothing out transitions or amplifying sentiment in an authentic way. It unironically makes the most emotional moments come off more canned than real. At the end of the day, the presentation may look very pretty, especially when it comes to the animation, but otherwise is rather insignificant when building on the emotional side of the film.

I feel conflicted when trying to summarise my thoughts on Grave of the Fireflies. It has some very noticeable problems that I take issue with, but it’s far from a bad film in my eyes. On the contrary, I would call it a fairly good movie that I unfortunately feel numb towards now, no longer jaded by the emotional appeal that obfuscates the maladroit aspects of the movie. The fact that it tried so hard to appeal through emotions and failed only disappoints me that much more. It’s an odd contrast for me to ponder over: a film I loved at first no long holds any fondness from me. It tugged at my heartstrings, but no longer has any effect. My experience with Grave of the Fireflies at first was special; depressing yet executed with such elegance that made the journey worth the heartbreak. But that feeling could not be rekindled here. Part of me is sad coming to this conclusion, but there is a silver lining. Instead of searching for that exact feeling again, I’ve come to respect and appreciate what I got to experience the first time. I’m happy to have at least experienced this film once, than never at all.

'The fireflies rose, burned ever so brightly, before slowly returning to darkness.'

Rest in Peace, Isao Takahata. (1935-2018)

The phrase, “That which does not kill us makes us stronger”, is one that has been made popular over the last century through various means. Originally coined by ‘entry-level’ philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, paraphrased later by the likes of award-winning artist Kanye West and only last year, happened to be used by me: one random person on the internet, in reference to the anime community and its initial reaction to the 2018 anime, Goblin Slayer. With it I pleaded to the community, fans and haters alike, to learn from the controversy it garnered off a single implied rape scene lasting no more than 15 seconds. To ... not cast people aside with shoddy labels that only commit more harm, and maybe, just maybe, grow stronger as a community from all this.

It’s six months later, and I’m upset.

In no more than two weeks since Goblin Slayer finished airing, we all got ourselves up in arms again. For another popular anime series had started that deserved all the vitriol received, well deserving of the titles thrown towards it. Disgusting. Outrageous. Repugnant. A dozen other adjectives synonymous with the terms aforementioned. And a complete abomination in the eyes of the community. But it was not due to using horrendous-looking cell shading CG that could have possibly caused eye-cancer, nor did it feature explicit and gratuitous fanservice to sexualise numerous female characters, or even repeat the sin of its predecessor with another rape scene. No, instead the thing that really got underneath everyone’s skin was simply the use of a false rape allegation…

I apologize for having to bring this up, but this is important to mention. Community discussions of seasonal anime deemed controversial, whether on Reddit, Twitter, internet forums, etc. seem to now become the focal point of how the average joe is likely to judge the show’s quality. How much does this piece of media adhere to our beliefs and who are the people this series offends are questions becoming more apparent as time goes on. While I believe there’s value in viewing a fictional work through this sort of lens, there’s something we need to understand. We can ignore the fact that we’re applying these notions upon Asian cartoons, made primarily for an Asian audience, probably speaking to the social issues and politics of Asian countries if anything. Because just as these aspects have been disregarded by the vocal side of the community, so too were attempts to critique the series for quality.

Does the use of a false rape allegation intrinsically equate to bad writing? In my opinion, no. I find it difficult to say any mere concept or premise is of inherent poor quality, instead being determined through the presentation and execution of such. But Lord Almighty, with a series like this, it certainly tests the extent of that view. Make no mistake, I am not a fan of Rising of the Shield Hero, nor was I a fan of Goblin Slayer, but these two series were bad to me for more… defensible reasons. Reasons that relate back to the core elements of the show and will be further explained in my review. So sit back, relax, have a cool beverage beside you and let the catharsis commence. Might as well call this ‘Late Registration’, cuz you know I’m takin motherf***ers back to school.

*THIS REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS*

Rising of the Shield Hero initially seemed to be the most typical of isekai light-novel adaptations in the last decade. Naofumi Iwatani, the protagonist is introduced as a completely run-of-the-mill otaku, who through reading a generic-looking light novel is transported to a standard RPG-based fantasy world alongside three other ordinary otaku who must become heroes of the land. Sounds like a typical isekai, right? It even goes so far as to provide some of the shallowest reasoning for why people dislike Naofumi: out of the four who wield legendary weapons, he is burdened with a shield – the “weakest” of the four weapons that only bad MMORPG players would use. Because what kind of elite gamer would ever play a support role? Omegalul. Regardless, the series appears as though it’ll follow the standard formula of many isekai stories that came before, forming a fantastical adventure centring around a main character who may lack in personality, but has generally good upstanding morals we can all appreciate. Right?

Well fellow gamers, it ain’t that simple.

One of the most common tropes of isekai stories in recent memory is how circumstances are created largely to garner as much sympathy onto the protagonist as sincerely possible. But here, forget the last three words of the previous sentence. In one day since arriving to this new world, Naofumi’s world is turned upside-down in a way only conceivable through the power of isekai. He’s falsely accused of rape in a matriarchy by Princess Myne, one of the most powerful women of the land, for motives implied as a way for her to gain the affection of another hero. This is not the first instance where rape has been used in fiction, but it might be one of the densest examples, even in the anime medium. It was explained in the same episode how the four heroes were prophesized to save the world from total destruction, only for her to risk that just for attention. What kind of self-centred egomaniac would one have to be, to do this when already being a princess and potential heir to the throne? It doesn’t do the show any favours to demonstrate how obvious of a false accusation it is, from explaining how no trial or investigation can be made, to the princess rubbing this fact in the protagonist’s face. Tactfulness on such topics can go a long way to evoking genuine emotion from an audience, and here they’re simply treated to outline the most disastrous sequence of events that could have occurred to dear Naofumi.

It’s no secret the show paints its protagonist as the picture-perfect example of an innocent victim. His situation is as unfair as one can imagine; literally everything goes wrong for him in the span of one episode, with almost no one wishing to lend a helping hand. The royal family hate him, the other heroes are disgusted with him, regular civilians see him as less than human and on top of that, he is exiled from the Kingdom. It’s probably the show’s biggest strength with how easy it is to root for someone in Naofumi’s position no matter how contrived and exaggerated the events that led him there were, akin to rooting for a clear underdog. But there’s a limit where the show goes out of its way to demonstrate how much garbage is piled onto Naofumi’s shoulders, that it becomes hard to take seriously. And the rubbish is constantly brought up throughout the series progression. As soon as someone is considerate for his troubles, you can bet money on the chances that a villain is right around the corner, specially to remind the audience about his victimisation. As a result, Naofumi is no longer receiving as much sympathy as intended; instead the emotions evoked are more along the lines of anger and frustration towards the series and its direction.

To the show’s credit, it does play around with the limitations placed upon Naofumi. While he is reduced to a supporting role on the battlefield at first, the story utilizes clever ways to him to still act in a valuable way by making the shield the most versatile of all weapons. Possessing what appears to be an unlimited skill tree for abilities that coincidentally factor in to how he is able to survive after being outcast, that simultaneously explores the internal mechanics and lore of the series noticeably. But he still cannot attack effectively, and thus is reliant on using companions to fight for him, the first of which being a sickly demi-human girl named Raphtalia as a slave. In all honestly, I found this to be interesting setup; bringing some of the lowest of the low in society together and grow stronger, co-operating in a relentless struggle to overcome all the obstacles thrown their way, and maybe have something to say on the nature of slavery. And while most of these do happen, we have to remember: this is anime, and adapted from a light novel at that. Even these expectations aren’t met with satisfaction.

What showed promise as a character drama that slowly builds a respectful relationship between the two is also exiled from the conversation. There are potent moments worth commendation, like Raphtalia confronting her fears and regret, as well as the pair declaring their loyalty to one another. But these moments are few and far between the amount of times Naofumi treats her as beneath him – an almost exact parallel to how everyone else views him, and this continues past these scenes of reaffirmation. Whenever Naofumi has shining moments of noble morale, he always reverts back to his brooding nature and clear disdain of women. It’s not like one could miss the latter fact about him either, with the series continuously portraying him as a self-insert main character who just so happens to have multiple monologues detailing on how terrible everyone other than him must be, especially women. Because why else could he have such intense hatred towards everyone around him? They all must be guilty of this. This would have been much easier for viewers to digest if it had shown Naofumi significantly learn from this and find trust again in others, except that his development (if at all) is so drawn out, inconsistent and the fact that we are never shown what the character was like previously besides Mr. Generic 101.

The show never views Naofumi in the wrong, with anyone allied alongside him being good and everyone pitted against him being bad. Classic black and white dynamic with Naofumi hailed as the arbiter of morality, regardless of how questionable his ethics really are. Let’s not forget that our protagonist and epitome of goodness justifies his “tough love” towards Raphtalia with the reason that at least he gives her basic necessities such as food and water. Kanye may not have been great at articulating his thoughts on slavery, but they come off as truly profound compared to the protagonist’s morally-bankrupt mindset. Not once does the series condemn his views or actions towards others, and it’s this kind of favouritism toward the most important character that no longer makes him the underdog of his own story.

If you haven’t realised it yet, the protagonist is also a clear-cut Gary Stu, even with being hated by the majority of characters. Not only is Naofumi the owner of truth and knowledge, he happens to have the most overpowered weapon in the world, overcomes nearly every obstacle set in front of him with little to no sweat and, by pure accident (of course), is surrounded by a harem of attractive women. Seriously, even with all the unfair disdain put on him, this seems like a dream scenario for otakus around the globe. Even with a defensive weapon, he is still shown to be the most powerful of the four heroes, even overwhelming one on several occasions. The shield is versatile, so much so, that it almost nullifies the initial limitation put on Naofumi. This shield can:

- Heal injuries.
- Attract monsters.
- Grow plants.
- Burn enemies.
- Enhance the abilities of potions.
- Drain an opponent’s magical energy.
- Cast a cage of shields to trap enemies.
- Transform into a rope, megaphone and two dog heads that bite.
- Materialize the Berserker cursed armor.
- And cook.

At what point here can we call the shield broken like a mother****er? Of course, he has to always get a sudden power up from “pure hatred” when it’s convenient. But Naofumi’s overpowered abilities aren’t just restricted to battles; he doesn’t even have to fight someone, just put Naofumi in a race with a 2-day old bird against cheaters and he’ll still find the ways to win fair and square. There's no excuse. How can one man have all this power? This is the type of lazy writing you can find in more episodes than not. It’s concerning when your self-insert protagonist has incel-like tendencies, and the story panders like this to the wish-fulfillment part of the fanbase. When you constantly push one character up on the highest pedestal, other characters are unintentionally going to be pushed down, which leads me to every other character in the show. Because while everyone might hate Naofumi in the world, it’s everyone else in the show that actually suffer.

Naofumi’s harem is comprised of a few distinct characters. Raphtalia, the demi-human that went from loli to “maybe” legal over the course of a couple episodes. Filo, a Filorial loli who hatched from an egg and openly calls Naofumi her master ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡ °). And Princess Melty, a good-natured woman whose main service to the plot is acting as opposition to the woman that accused Naofumi in the first place. Out of the three, Raphtalia is the only one to receive any focus from the narrative, but even then her arc is scattershot. Wanting to fight for Naofumi and essentially falling for him in the first few episodes, to subtly vying with Filo over his attention. She is given an interesting moral dilemma in multiple episodes about whether or not she should kill a slave master. Only for her to not have to decide as the man falls from the windowwwwwwwww, to the floor! That is the general overview for Raphtalia over this season. It may not seem like much, but that is still more than either her companions had. The most development Filo had was how she reached “adulthood” in just two days. As it stands, Filo is only there to fight and look cute. As for Melty, her motives are simply to restore whatever relationship there was between Naofumi and the King, and wherever Melty goes, her sister is always close by, waiting to give more reasons to pity the Shield Hero.

If you thought the characters above sounded bad, you do not want to know about the villains in this show. Thankfully, there isn’t much to tell, since they can all be summarised by “everyone hates Naofumi”. This is the extent for everyone that is not helping Naofumi on his quest. The other heroes aren’t exempt; they turn out either oblivious, stubborn, delusional, or a combination of the three nearly all the time. Ever since the first episode aired, fans of the source material promised that the arc where both Princess Myne and the King got their just desserts was all worth it. I cannot comment on how accurate the arc was adapted, but here, in the anime world, this arc proved just how insufferable these characters can be. It took this show over 20 episodes to get to this point, and finally – after months of build and anticipation – FINALLY, the heroes take off their invisible blindfolds, remove their imaginary earplugs, and finally stop acting so mentally challenged towards Naofumi. The sad part here, is that you could feel this was meant to be the show’s climax, regardless of how juvenile it was. And they could have gotten any with it too, if it weren’t for all these characters being forced into a position, where they had to go along with everything that was so obviously propagated against the protagonist…

It's been six months, and I’m upset.

I’m upset because even with the crass use of rape allegations, the contradictory worldbuilding, the lacklustre characterization, the Gary Stu, the inconsistent development, the fact it's another f***ing isekai, etc. I don't hate this show as much as you would expect. For all the issues I’ve described, there was still part of me that kept hoping, yearning and wanting this to turn out alright. It’s easy to want to root for an underdog, and even with being one the most popular shows of the season, it got laid out to dry by the community almost instantly. No concept or premise is inherently bad, at least that’s how I feel. And what better way to prove that, than to see a show take one of the most controversial topics in the current day and turn out something special. I sincerely wanted this show to succeed, but Rising of the Shield Hero, to me, was not meant to be. There are still parts I like about it though: the shield’s versatility is still very intriguing, the animation and sound while inconsistent and never standout are still better than most typical isekai shows in recent memory, most of the battles that took place were enjoyable, there’s still an insane amount of lore for the series to explore… And I do feel some sympathy for Naofumi’s character.

This was not the show for me, but very well could be a show for anyone interested in the isekai genre, MMORPG’s and a story about one man given the worst circumstances, overcoming the hatred of the world and, maybe somewhere down the line, can learn to trust again. If this is a show you enjoy, all the power to you. While it wasn’t my personal cup of tea, we each have our own unique tastes, and I can respect that.

“I want to connect, but I want to lie.”

Sarazanmai presents two sides of the same coin. On one side, we have desires; the sense of longing and hoping for a certain outcome. Often considered an innate part of our humanity, they can also be attributed with the darker aspects of one’s personality. They’re the deep secrets we hold to ourselves, not wanting the world around us to know about, and dreading the thought of if they were found out. But as much as the show focuses on desires, it’s just as focused on connection. The world is comprised of all kinds of connections, whether by ... blood, through communities or even with similar desires. We are all connected in some way to one another… But connections can be broken just as easily as they were formed. And even with a desire to connect with others, can we truly form the connections we want with the desires we hold still intact?

“I want to connect, but I want to take.”

Sarazanmai is the latest series of one of anime’s most stylistic and socially-conscious directors in Kunihiko Ikuhara. His ability to tackle thematic topics such as love, adolescence, destiny and power hierarchies through surreal plotlines and symbolism is arguably unmatched in the entire industry. Lauded as a visionary by fans, Ikuhara seems to increasingly escalate the bizarre nature of his works as they’re churned out. Sarazanmai does little to change this notion, taking viewers on a journey that’s honestly hard to describe on first impression. It should come as no surprise that the show can be very difficult to follow at first despite how overtly direct it is in its ideas. There’s such a unique blend of sexual symbols and homoerotic imagery on display that could easily warrant essays analysing just those aspects. But my interest in the show lies more in the characters here, with Ikuhara having crafted in my opinion an oddly compelling character drama in the span of 11 episodes.

“I want to connect, but it’s not meant to be.”

The main cast of Sarazanmai consists of three middle school students, all vying to protect the desires they hold dearest. The first of the trio to be established, Kazuki Yasaka, also happens to be the most fortunate of the group on the surface. Liked and appreciated by practically everyone around him, it’s not until his more startling hobbies are brought to light that reveals a clearer picture of Kazuki. He’s a child burdened with self-guilt, feeling responsible for crippling his younger brother because of his own selfish wishes, and as a result tries giving him the happiness he felt was taken away. But make no mistake, Kazuki’s actions are made for his own sake, not his brother, and show a fundamental flaw in his character: maturity. Kazuki understands his own mind and wishes, but is unable to recognize the minds of others, and without the latter remains wary of the connections he still has. Until he’s able to appreciate others more, his struggle with connection can only continue.

“I want to connect, but you’re so far away.”

Toi Kuji is an interesting case in that he acts as a direct opposite to Kazuki initially. The delinquent to Kazuki’s upstanding persona, he ironically counters Kazuki’s self-centredness through being the most empathetic and mature of the three. He understands the feelings and relationships of others best, and despite some troubles with communicating his own thoughts, connections can be formed with others. But in Toi’s case, it’s not so much about forming them, but preserving them. Toi underneath his mysterious nature and dubious actions does have respectable desires – to save the soba shop his parents owned and to get away from the illegal circumstances his brother pushed him towards. From an early age he was taught of the importance of familial bonds, though under the inkling that it ultimately came at the cost of other potential bonds. However now he arrives at a crossroad between preserving the relationship he has with his brother, or valuing the connections made through friendship more. Maybe more importantly, is he worthy of having these new connections?

“I want to connect, but I can’t be forgiven.”

Enta Jinnai is the last of the three to be enveloped in Sarazanmai’s story, whose desires are probably the most simplistic of the group, but still a core part of his character. Unlike familial love or friendship, the kind of connection Enta yearns for is romantic love, specifically toward his best friend since childhood, Kazuki. But as much as Enta might try to form that connection, his feelings are not reciprocated. Enta can clearly be seen as cheerful, innocent and the one with the least amount of baggage, but overtime it’s readily apparent how frustrated and fearful he is about Kazuki and his situation, at times even hallucinating about what his ideal romantic relationship would be like. A connection already exists between the two, just not the type he honestly wants most. A solution may seem obvious to us as onlookers, but if it were us, what choice would we make? Abandon this desire for unrequited love with someone who has never registered these emotions? Keep these strong feelings bottled up for fear of losing your closest and possibly only friend? Or end up pursuing them, and risk falling in a cycle of heartache as a result.

“I want to connect, so I won’t give up.”

Three distinct personalities all different from each other are brought together through the strangest of ways – being transformed into kappa and having their shirikodama removed from the anus, before having to fight zombies and remove their shirikodama in order to become human again, assisting the Kappa kingdom in their ongoing war against the Otter Empire. The premise is certainly original, but the themes are what take centre stage here. How connections between people are forged, strained and how that pain can affect each other being the most overt example, but for as much as the series shoves connections at the audience, the relationships between the cast are formed rather organically. The way each character’s darkest secrets are revealed after each fight is what leads to the natural bonding in the show. There’s a trust created as they rely on one another whilst holding their own goals that would put each other at odds, a dynamic rarely explored in anime and is reinforced through the explicit symbolism. But these bonds may also speak to the level of trust required in a world not accepting of their desires, with the backdoors of society being the one place where people can freely express themselves. Or perhaps the world is not as it seems, and in reality is controlled by an industry feeding and profiting off our desires through corporate means. Or maybe it’s just saying that it’s ok to be gay. This is both the beauty and difficulty of Ikuhara’s works; always shrouded in so many visual metaphors that it presents itself as a puzzle, almost devoid from the typical standards of storytelling but still encapsulating a myriad of ideas and messages, to where viewers are inclined to decipher the dense tale themselves. It’s not a style that everyone will enjoy, or even acknowledge, but for those who do, it’s part of the charm, something that is constantly gleaming off of Sarazanmai

“I want to connect, but I want to betray.”

Now while I am personally a fan of Ikuhara and this series, there are some glaring issues I have with Sarazanmai, most notably due to how this eccentric tale is contained in only 11 episodes. Ikuhara, as beloved as he is by many, is known for his many tropes, from wacky animal hijinks and overly flamboyant poses, to increasingly surreal and almost gratuitous imagery, to the worst of his traits: his re-use of animated scenes. Sarazanmai features all of these quite regularly throughout its broadcast, to a degree where it can be no longer inviting for viewers unfamiliar with Ikuhara’s work. But speaking for myself, watching so many of his trademarks on display leaves very little room for the show to breathe when it needs to. The director’s previous work, Yuri Kuma Arashi, is the worst example of this. To quote a review for the series: “Watching Yuri Kuma Arashi is like trying to memorize the first 100 digits of Pi. Succeeding might technically be considered an accomplishment, but good lord is it meaningless.” Thankfully Sarazanmai does not become this insufferable, staying a joy to follow moment by moment whilst remaining coherent on top. But the quirks do leave their marks on the series. For a show so based around connecting to its characters, the audience is given little incentive to care for the characters in the first place. Factor in the repetitive tropes, a breakneck pace and a script that beats the term “connection” into your skull, and as a result we’re left with inconsistent development and key events not able to fully capitalize on their emotional impact. I truly believe it would have benefited from having more time available to explore the world, the cast, their backstory, etc. in order to tell a more complete story without rushing to the finish line. But alas, we fans get what we are given.

“I want to connect, but we’ll never meet again.”

Ikuhara’s history as a director is riddled with him having to compromise in some way on most of his projects, whether it be the numerous limitations that faced the production team for Yuri Kuma Arashi, or him completely abandoning his position on the Sailor Moon TV series. But with Sarazanmai, it’s hard to tell if there were any issues the crew faced. Very rarely does an anime emerge with the kind of intensity that Sarazanmai brought in the first episode. At face value, the show is visually stunning, using a multitude of vibrant colours and attractive character designs that immediate distinguish it amongst the crowd. The show has a knowledgeable understanding of colour theory, with red, blue and yellow used to help define the personalities of the main trio. The series also features a surprising amount of action that’s animated very well. I find it extremely praiseworthy that despite MAPPA being credited as the main studio, the first 4 episodes were produced by Ikuhara’s small team at Lapin Track and look no different from MAPPA’s work on the project. The show is like an explosion on the screen, bringing Ikuhara's vivid creativity and imagination to life.

“I want to connect, but I can’t express it.”

The music for Sarazanmai is fantastic and well-voiced even with how repetitive it can be. Each of the fights feature the same tracks over re-used animated footage of the same dance sequence most episodes. The show takes inspiration from musicals with how it uses a mixture of diegetic and non-diegetic songs that help propel plot and character development, another rarity to be found in the medium. The themes of desires and secrets mesh well with the musical format, utilizing the basic structure and common song format to help give the series a theatrical essence in these moments. The voice acting is also excellent in conveying the appropriate tone, clarity and emotions required from each scene, effectively helping to humanize the characters. The soundtrack was composed by Yukari Hashimoto who also worked on the soundtracks for March Comes in Like a Lion, Toradora, Osomatsu-san and one of Ikuhara’s other works, Mawaru Penguindrum. Yukari has a knack for combining traditional Japanese motifs with modern electronic-style music to create a collection of tracks that’re uplifting in their own distinct way. The opening and ending themes are also bangers if that means anything to you.

“I want to connect, but I can’t.”

Sarazanmai, as much as I may like it, is an anime I find difficult to recommend, simply due to how hard it is to describe the kind of experience someone is in for. And in a way, that’s how Ikuhara’s works differ from the norm. There’s a story to be found and characters to move it forward, but they rely on interpretation to the point where my experience could end up completely different to that of the average anime watcher. But what I will say is that Sarazanmai sums up a bit of every original work from Ikuhara: The structure of a battle closing each episode with meaning behind each foe faced from Utena, the comparison of love and desire from Yuri Kuma Arashi, and the way society works with a shredder to destroy what the world doesn’t accept from Mawaru Penguindrum, all while maintaining its own identity. Sarazanmai is a weird show, but the weirdness is not complicated, as it constantly bears two sides of the same coin. Connection is an important part of the show, and our lives, but the show is also about hidden desires – the embarrassing parts of ourselves we don’t wish to share. The truth is we all have weird parts about ourselves, and we’re afraid we won’t be accepted if we admit those things. Yet in Sarazanmai, admitting those desires allows for real human connection to foster, and there’s something worth fighting for in that.

“I want to connect, so Sarazanmai.”

“When it comes to gambling, there’s always a risk involved.” – No one in particular, FACTS and LOGIC speak for themselves here.

Gambling is a concept we should all be able to relate to. Maybe not as the premise of a series or with having ever put one's own money on the line, but wagers are constantly made in our own minds regarding quality when a new show comes around. A mere glance at the seasonal lineup will inevitably lead to first impressions being made despite how little is known about an anime. But make no mistake, this is to our advantage no matter where in ... the life cycle of anime fandom you lie. Slowly but surely these thoughts act as effective tools to determine whether an anime will be to our liking. However, for this to happen, gambles must be made. From newer fans learning of disappointment for the first time by not ‘dropping shit like it’s hot’, to hardened viewers having learned what garbage lies amongst every season’s dark trenches – we all made bets one time or another, and we all suffered for our ignorance. As Kurt Cobain said: Nobody dies a virgin, life fucks us all.

Kakegurui was one anime that served this purpose for me. I had hopes for the show to be the standout of its time, only for that hope to be taken and buried six feet under its own morally bankrupt excrement, all while the protagonist stared back at me with a smug, crazy-eyed look on her face. Jesus may not have wept when he felt betrayed, but I could not follow his example. I felt the need to release these pent-up emotions; I wanted catharsis and the top review of last season is where you can find it. I detested Kakegurui for the suffering it put me through and have now seen hundreds of anime to have awakened my third eye. So naturally, one may find themselves asking me “hurr durr poohead, if you don’t like, why still watch?” And to that, my answer is simple: I am Jesus, or at least I like to believe such. One value Jesus promoted during his time on Earth was forgiveness, and like Jesus providing us the ability to atone for past sins, I approach Kakegurui in the same fashion. This is Kakegurui’s chance at redemption and despite already disappointing with the title clearly missing one more “X”, it deserves at least that much from me.

**THIS REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS**

Following last season’s anticlimactic finale, Kakegurui x(x)x was put in the awkward position to follow a plot and characters left with practically no conclusions nor a clear sense of direction. Instead of establishing clear intentions of how this season would approach the narrative, no time is wasted introducing viewers back to the main appeal of the series: gambles featuring raunchy females and their sadistic facial expressions. The academy still appears to be lacking in faculty members to ever properly function as an academy, although we are welcomed with new faces. After Yumeko single-handedly decimated the Student Council’s stranglehold over most gambling-related affairs, an election looms over the school for main antagonist Kirari Momobami’s position as president. This causes the emergence of a new threat in the form of the “Momobami clan”, all family member related to Kirari with their objective being to banish Kirari from their family. It’s also revealed that Yumeko is related to the family in some way and also becomes a target of the clan, challenged to a series of gambles throughout this season. It’s an admirable attempt to drastically shake things up and deliver on more creative, unpredictable moments to keep fans invested. Unfortunately, the intentions still fall short as Kakegurui x(x)x comes across more like a rehash of the first season than otherwise, unable to move away from issues that plagued the previous season.

Kakegurui x(x)x as a series thrives on its gambles as they are the easiest way for the series to create any sense of thrill and excitement. This season puts a greater emphasis on them specifically by decreasing the number of gambles taking place and in turn increase the amount of time and focus given to each gamble. Most games take two episodes to complete instead of one and do better in allowing more character development and motivations to take centre stage. In theory this should be a more successful way to structure this season compared to last, however these changes manage to come across in practice as a detriment to the show overall from my perspective. Aside from removing the idea of stakes from their gambles almost altogether, using several episodes to explore the inner workings of games is usually effective when the games themselves have a certain level of complexity to them. Here's the problem: barely any games shown in the series thus far have that level of depth purely in their construction, with games like the “Finger Cutting Guillotine” only being effective as a game of chicken. It also does no help for this show that every gamble is extremely predictable in their outcome, with Yumeko only allowing for games to end in her favour, as proven from S1 and is the way of the Mary Sue. For a piece of entertainment, these drawn-out gambles are unable to adequately capitalize on the initial suspense and excitement viewers wish to feel each episode.

Because Kakegurui x(x)x is always following the almighty Yumeko and her deus ex machina abilities, it’s the other characters who are required to do the show’s heavy lifting. She may be the main character, but their perspectives are the ones always shown when standing opposed to Yumeko and end up changing as a result. In the first season they were barely more than obstacles for Yumeko to swiftly overcome but they still contained something about them that defined them as a character besides their design. Yumemi is an idol singer, Itsuki had a fingernail obsession, even edge-queen Midari had her revolver fetish of all things. In Kakegurui x(x)x, we have a clan full of new characters that we know little to nothing about regarding personality or motives aside from the their clan’s objective. Sorry, but simply having a cool-looking design does not make them any more interesting as characters. They just look cool. Sure, these new characters do break away from the stereotypes birthed from last season; no longer are all the females psychotic or grotesque, and the introduction of new male characters breaks the idea of males in the show being no more than pathetic beta males. But that’s far from a high positive for the season. So far these new antagonists have been relegated to just fulfilling mandatory roles as Yumeko's opponents. There still lies development present here for secondary characters that is noteworthy, but the way Kakegurui x(x)x treats these characters so sparingly in the narrative does it no benefits. I’m not fond of seeing a side character to return for two episodes looking like Ken Kaneki from Tokyo Ghoul before being pushed to the side again for however long the narrative demands.

With how the series handles both its plot and characters with such recklessness, Kakegurui x(x)x is the kind of anime one can find easily detestable. Not to say one cannot find enjoyment anywhere here, but when trying to depict characters created clearly immoral as admirable in a story centred around malevolent aspects of gambling, I’m left asking myself serious questions. Who is this being made for? What is this show trying to say? Clearly the show's focus is on addiction – why else would the anime title be translated to “Compulsive Gambler”? It’s not shocking that the characters with the most plot armour are the ones with the worst cases of addiction. But what has the series done so far in 24 episodes to really delve into this theme? Yumeko has yet to show any signs of distress or psychological torment while the punishment for losing is constantly raised to astronomical proportions. Is she a sociopath? If so, how is anyone supposed to know when it’s not even remotely close to a realistic depiction? Kakegurui x(x)x seems to be the kind of show that likes to have its cake and eat it too. It wishes to be a commentary on the dangers of gambling whilst holding the act up proudly on a pedestal, unabashed in sympathising with those clearly contemptible of such deeds. A show that sets up stakes and never follows through with them. Trying to impress with intellect and logic while simultaneously having the Tower of Doors arc end with the loser jumping out the “correct door” because she’s apparently so smart that she SUBCONSCIOUSLY CALCULATED what door was the one that wouldn’t kill her. The show has so many glaring holes, I could probably order it on the menu at Subway.

Kakegurui x(x)x from a visual standpoint is likely to either make or break the experience for viewers, and it’s almost solely because of the facial expressions. Once again Studio MAPPA tries to bring out as much insanity from these designs as humanly possible. While it does convey the kind of lunacy viewers are in for when watching characters lose themselves in their games, it’s still far from aesthetically pleasing and will no doubt have its fair share of detractors. Although if you’re already this far into the show I’d assume you can tolerate it. The character designs for the main cast are certainly eye-catching especially compared to new characters. Background art is usually typical and unimaginative but fits perfectly fine during games. The visual effects are still a strong part of the series and CGI usage is improved upon from last season. As for the soundtrack used, it never particularly stood out throughout the season but I was pleasantly surprised with the new opening and ending themes used here. Honestly I found myself preferring both themes over those from S1, despite the first from my perspective working as a better introduction to the comical madness this series indulges in. The voice acting also felt like an improvement, not coming across as off-putting when it came to the crazier parts of the script. They all do a great job in their respective roles, with Yumeko Jabami’s performance by Saori Hayami capturing a wide array of emotions in her voice to match the character’s absurd behaviour.

At first, I called Kakegurui pretty awful and feeling like it wasted my time. Now having given the series a second chance my thoughts haven’t changed that much. Making a second season that blatantly imitates key events of its predecessor only to fall victim to its shortcomings is not what I had expected or hoped for, but I still found a silver lining to this season. While Kakegurui initially felt more of an insult in what it set out to be, Kakegurui x(x)x has a clearer identity about it that I can respect. Instead of trying to encapsulate far too much in so little time for its own good and as a result failing in every way, this season is more inclined to take a step back from the intensity in order to bring more detail and focus on something grander. Whether this is a significant improvement remains to be seen, but the potential is there, building to something hopefully greater than anything the series has shown us yet. I still dislike the series, but I cannot say that I haven’t developed more respect for what it sets out to be. And for that, I do not consider Kakegurui x(x)x a complete waste of time.

Love is like After the Rain. In the midst of stormy conditions you can either comfortably wait inside until the weather dies down or choose to face it head-on, pressing forward through the torrent and seeing where it takes you. Similarly, passion is like after the rain; once drowned out it can leave you confounded and lost with grey clouds hanging overhead. What once before had consumed one’s lifestyle is suddenly stripped away, no longer part of who they are and now they must come to terms with this. In After the Rain we are shown two characters, each on the surface seem completely different ... to one another but upon closer inspection share a comparable suffering – they are both burdened with the feelings of a lost passion.

*THIS REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS*

High-school sophomore Akira Tachibana is obliged to give up track-and-field after suffering a torn Achilles tendon. Up until this point, running had been part of her life since her earliest memories, almost becoming an instinctual part of her. Now having been ripped away from her passion she finds herself detached from her past world. Stumbling along mere sidewalks by her lonesome self, enveloped in a constant downpour that doesn’t appear to let up anytime soon. Akira as shown on numerous occasions is very emotionally-driven, her feelings never bottled up and always fuelling her actions. Now facing the reality of her situation alone, she is at the lowest she has ever been. But one day, whilst sitting inside a family restaurant staring out at the rain, the manager approaches her with a cup of coffee on the house, performs a cute magic trick before saying to her:

“It’s boring when you’re just waiting for the rain to stop. I’m sure it’ll stop raining soon.”

This alongside his act of kindness captures her heart and results in Akira developing a childlike crush on the man, subconsciously filling the void her injury left with an almost unhealthy love for Masami Kondo, the manager over twice her own age. Going so far as working under him at that very restaurant, becoming more and more committed in confessing her feelings to the man. Considering the subject matter, this series walks on very thin ice with focusing on an implied romance between a young girl and a middle-aged man, even testing the waters at times with her confession leading to a date between the two. But where many other series would have faltered, After the Rain handles this relationship with a level of grace and tactfulness rarely found in anime. It evolves from a simple age-gap romance generally considered taboo to deliver on a tale that focuses on the couple as individuals, each having lost something integral to themselves in the past and are both still learning to cope with.

Masami Kondo may seem a typical kind man on first impression but his life up to this point has been far from what he once hoped for. He is constantly burdened by what could have been – an avid writer in his youth whose material unfortunately never gained popularity and coupled with a failed marriage, leaves him with an attitude of complacency. His adoration for writing heavily implied as the driving force behind his divorce and losing custody of their child, a tragic turn of events that left his family broken and eventually caused him to abandon his writing. Now whenever his past career work is challenged, he simply blames it on age and sees any serious attempt to change such is inconsequential. He is content in reminiscing about the love he once had bitter-sweetly, afraid of potentially tainting the memories he still cherishes.

Both our main characters have felt the pain their passions led them to, Akira physically with a severe injury and Kondo emotionally with his family fractured in the process. Both are pushed away from what they lost and have grown fearful of the hole left in their place, afraid of ever returning to them. Kondo is fine reading the words of others and scribbling down notes when working, but at his desk with pen in hand he can only stare at the sheet in front of him, his thoughts never put to paper. Alongside being reminded of his past failings in the form of his highly-successful college friend, he is unable to take that step towards rekindling his passion. Akira is still willing to talk with her friends on the track team, but now doing so is coupled with a feeling of disconnect and angst, stranded alone and forced to watch their practice from the sidelines. Every time she tries to run she’s left injured in the process by her lost love, an ever-present obstacle that she just cannot seem to overcome.

On that day when Kondo offered her coffee they were only strangers, unaware of what has happened in the other person’s life. What Kondo did know however was the look in her eyes; the longing gaze of someone who’s lost and mourning something important to them. He knows it because it’s the kind of look he shows whenever alone. Staring into the rain at night with cigarette in hand, reflecting on what he once had, his position in life and how he ended up there. Despite the difference in age Kondo is able to empathize with Akira, birthing a stronger connection between the pair from the parallels of their situations. A crush from the teenage girl does initially result from this and while there are moments throughout the show that hint towards romantic feelings being returned by Kondo, the overall approach is cautious and thoughtful. Her fondness for Kondo is illustrated as simply infatuation born out of immaturity and never becomes a path to shape her future. Not only are her feelings never taken advantage of by the older man, but what began as a school-girl affection morphs into a deep mutual respect and understanding between two damaged people.

Love is like After the Rain, but not strictly in a romantic sense. Instead it aspires to depict the rekindling of a lost love that has plagued both Akira and Kondo’s lives. Here lies a story of two people with their own problems that are able to help each other work through them. Allusions are a core aspect of the series used to convey the issues each main character faces, both visually and metaphorically. When referring to the short story “Rashomon”, Kondo suggests he is too far gone to try writing once again, claiming he is not the protagonist and does not possess the energy or determination required for it. In response Akira tells him that his regrets aren’t something to wallow in, instead use them as motivation to return to that love that constantly spurred him on. For Akira, her fears of running again are finally addressed when having a conversation around a swallow that had trouble leaving the nest. Asked if the bird could have been happy staying behind in the nest, Kondo asserts that while there might be happiness found, it would forever look up and long for the skies. These moments end up being the push both needed to take the next step forward in their lives. Both have realised they each have a lot to work on as individuals and neither are ready to give up on the dreams they hold dearly in their hearts yet. And so, they each go their separate ways.

As the end credits roll, a melancholic theme plays set to a race track flooded with rain, only to transform into a bright one as the sun breaks through the clouds whilst the tune meets its climax. It’s a gorgeous representation for how the series closes with both Akira and Kondo coming out of the storm stronger than before, ready to face their passions once more. No matter how long darkness and feelings of uncertainty loom over, there will surely be a light that follows. Amidst the rain seeds of romance were planted, but now that the rain is over do they have the chance to flourish. Whether their relationship still holds romantic love or not remains to be seen. But from a year praised as one of the best for anime, I know there’s at least one show from that year I still hold great fondness for.

Ambition. An earnest desire for achievement or distinction and the willingness to strive for such is often fundamental in success. It produces action, bringing forth moods of passion, emotion and a yearning love for the endeavor in itself. This is especially the case with art, where the skill and craftmanship of creators are bared on display, readily available for consumers to take in and experience for themselves. However, in recent times one could argue that such craftmanship seems to have dwindled overtime, instead reverting to complacency in one’s ability to prosper. No longer when writing a story is a high level of skill or diction ... required when accompanied with breathtaking visuals, nor is impressive production necessary for adapting acclaimed literature. Today, ambition appears no longer appreciated as it once was, and honestly, this does seem rational. Why take a chance on something new and bold when settling on success still grants enough in return? It is this mindset that I sincerely believe breeds mediocrity whilst leaving those who dare try otherwise in the dust, but I would hope for the opposite; where originality is valued amongst the familiar crowd and if successful, could very well turn out a classic that stands the test of time.

With that said… Madames and Monsieurs, good evening.

‘High above in a private opera box, a dark figure entered.
Removing his top hat revealed streaming ripples of hair, his skin ghostly blue.
The singer stepped forward with her hands outstretched, her voice lifting higher.
He grasped a bouquet of flowers and when reaching her climax, threw it towards her.
Their audience is left in bewilderment over his presence, yet cannot look away.
He took a bow among the applaud of many, but one in particular.
Of this moment he knew tonight, marked a new dawn;
This shall be the prelude, to vengeance."

Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo is one such work of art seemingly driven on ambition, exuding a distinct and lavish style unparalleled for its time and ever since has never been replicated to the same magnitude. There always lies a certain level of tension whenever adapting a classic adored by many, yet here lies not only a competent retelling of the greatest lovers revenge piece ever put to paper, but a fantastic re-imagining able to stand on its own merit as a masterclass of storytelling. Rather than simply applying a shiny new aesthetic coat to fit a tried-and-true formula, Gankutsuou takes strides in significant changes to allow core facets from the original narrative align seamlessly in this new world. The setting: Paris, Rome and other major cities used in the original are replaced by entire planets and sectors of the galaxy, each with their own set customs both suiting the sci-fi setting whilst matching mannerisms flaunted from characters near identical to the source material. Through this, the majority of characters are quintessentially the same for both versions, with their French names, relationship dynamics and mentalities crossing over smoothly. In short, it effectively manages to transfer the culture of 19th century Europe into one’s depiction of the 6th millennium without feeling out of place. The result is a rich world where spaceships, aliens and robotic horses are considered the norm, alongside fashion, architecture and entertainment more befitting of the Renaissance period than anything in the distant future. It’s a change of scenery more appropriate to call anachronistic instead of merely futuristic, projecting a sense of familiarity amidst the otherwise alien world that separates Gankutsuou from every other iteration of Dumas’ opus. But there still lies more prominent changes with respect to the novel.

The most obvious point of divergence between the original and this adaptation lies in their perspective; the former being an enduring melodrama of a man wrongfully convicted who enacts punishment on those that ruined his previous life. Whereas here the retribution played out is portrayed as a tragedy, fixated with the corrosive effect revenge may have when framed through the lives of who could be considered “collateral damage”. The most effective way Gankutsuou achieves this is by beginning halfway into the overarching story, trimming huge swaths of unnecessary content while focusing primarily on the victims within this tangled web of one man’s vengeance. Most notably is Albert de Morcef, a young partisan who unbeknownst holds a greater grief and anguish than his contemporaries know. Displeased with the confines of his own life and desperate to seek out pleasure while he still can, almost as if by chance he meets and is immediately captivated by a mysterious stranger known only as “The Count of Monte Cristo”. He invites Albert to dine with him and partake in a game of fate, gambling lives under the illusion of choice. An enthralling experience, one the naïve hedonist yearns for more of. He offers to be the man’s guide for reintegrating into aristocracy, entirely unsuspecting of the danger he has welcomed into his household.

“There is no such thing as coincidence. Everything happens out of necessity.”

Albert acts as the catalyst that puts the Count’s plan into action. Unknowingly strung within a web of deception, greeting the spider without apprehension as it readily descends upon its prey. Of course, this web only appears as mere strands barely connecting to one another at first, allowing for the story to unravel in thrilling suspense and ambience. As the narrative continues along its own thread, the supposed “first half” of the story is subtly revealed moments at a time, unveiling the true motives behind the Count’s actions in parallel to his plan enacted out in real time. The pacing of which is truly sublime: key information slowly leaked across the series’ runtime, letting viewers tie the knots themselves, coupled with asphyxiating cliff-hangers that do enough to maintain excitement and continually uphold a sense of curiosity for what is to come. It delivers on an engrossing tale specifically to those unfamiliar with the source material, however it still remains immensely enjoyable for those experienced with the classic version also. Despite creating a mystery from the most well-known part, the writing here is astute; clever enough to realise this fact and takes careful steps that eventually peel away from the canon in order to move in its own direction, adding extra layers that still fit with the original, whilst feeling fresh at the same time.

Although this tale is told from Albert’s point of view, the Count himself is without question the star of the show. A master manipulator, using his limitless amount of wealth, charm and guile to play everyone around him like pieces on a chessboard. His ability to shrewdly influence others from even the simplest of conversations is surely admirable to witness, and like a true mastermind he plays on the weaknesses of his adversaries. He creates the circumstances required where they cannot resist exposing their true nature: any immoral act they hold dear are brought to light as he takes delight in such. An enigma, constantly shrouded in an aura of mystique both frightening and fascinating, his very presence begs one wanting to know more. But sometimes learning more only brings forth more questioning. Just who is the Count of Monte Cristo? Vampiric in appearance and devilish by nature, suave as well as sinister. Controlled chaos… yet also capricious. He embodies that of a man hollowed out by revenge, but at times still appears to have a heart. It’s near impossible to determine all his actions as either manipulations or stemming from true emotion, and this intricacy further makes the man such a beloved character in my eyes, more akin to a compelling anti-hero than the dastardly villain the story portrays him out to be. Regardless of how one views the Count in that regard, he holds an unmistakable charisma setting him apart from every other character. Whenever the Count is present on screen, he demands the full attention of every viewer, all heeding on every word he speaks. His words, often providing the best insight into the creation and complexity that is the Count of Monte Cristo:

“In the darkness I awaited the dawn. And once dawn came, I cursed my flesh until night fell once more. I even prayed that I would lose my sanity. But those prayers went unheeded. I even strove for death, but the Devil’s cold, pitiless hand held me back.”

The Count and Albert are who ultimately carry this tale; the Count being cause for the mystery and overarching main plotline, with Albert contributing his point of view alongside the struggles attached with being at the centre of it all. Through Albert’s eyes a spotlight is cast upon numerous characters, each with believable characterization and strong chemistry that lends well to the dramatic story playing out. From his arranged fiancé Eugenie who constantly desires for independence, to his best friend Franz, a fellow partisan constantly involved in Albert’s affairs, frequently lending himself as a voice of reason whilst concurrently also directly affected at a similar degree as Albert courtesy of the Count – all are welcome expansions to their development compared to the source material where they barely held any relevance. Even characters who have their roles downgraded in this version are not relegated at the cost of their charm and never feel out of place. Everyone involved in Gankutsuou is complicated, entwined in a complex network of connections with each other and while some eventually fall by the wayside, a great number of them remain integral to the ongoing story.

Albert in many ways represents what the Count is not. Aside from being a very anime typical kind-hearted protagonist too credulous for his own good, from the beginning of the anime he expresses aspirations of breaking free from the confinements of his dull life that soon follows with him demonstrating clear naivete and general fragility. Albert is immature, often showcasing foolishness stemming from his young age and privileged aristocratic lifestyle. All and more play into why he is so easily enamored by the Count’s mysticism. Albert is the most central character in the show, with his innocent disposition and despair serving as the jumping-off point for drama to spring forth. He is probably the most criticized part of the series, but as a sheltered 15-year old boy most of his actions should be expected and these faults are what make him oddly relatable. Alongside his friends, they all signify a “changing of the guard” of sorts, with their parents – all important and respected noblemen – representing established customs and traditions of their society, held atop an old, corrupt and overall defective order that forces everyone into acceptance as they hold the power. But this new generation strive for a better tomorrow; one based of personal freedom, love and hope. Also involved is the Count, bringing about revolution, justice and a destruction for the establishment that wronged him, but one unforgiving to all parties. Interestingly enough, the Count does further allow for Albert and others to achieve their ideals, but there eventually lies a crossroad between both sides. This unavoidable clash furthermore brings to light the Count’s own inner conflict, with Albert reminding him of his past nature, yet still driven by his need for revenge. At its climax, viewers bear witness to how far the Count would go through with his vengeance, and how far Albert would reach out to him.

“Everyone has a sword within their hearts; the purer the heart, the sharper the sword.”

The aesthetic choices made for Gankutsuou are what instantly set the series apart from practically every other anime currently in existence and is likely to be what makes or breaks the series for viewers. Personally, I found the artistic direction near impeccable, crafting the best visual definition possible for the term psychedelic. Director Mahiro Maeda had a clear vision for this anime, using Western impressionism and Ukiyo-e as inspiration for an art-style that beautifully blends the designs of classic European and space age to form this spectacular kaleidoscope of textures, with elaborate sets such as the Count’s household appearing more like a dream arthouse than anything remotely realistic. Almost every scene at the beginning of Gankutsuou utilizes various bright textures that immediately grab one’s attention, before slowly reverting to a neutered-down colour palette more welcoming to the eyes. These textures also provide an almost secondary means of characterization with the clothing worn and gorgeous imagery saturated across the series. Its distinct animation uses computer graphics to overlay bright colours and multiple background layers that blends the various animation styles used into scenes rather well. The result was something both complex and minimalistic that adds more value to character gestures and expressions. The staff wanted to create a show that “talked” to viewers, something that from my perspective was a success. The production is not perfect though, as CG still manages to come off jarring in the most climactic scenes. Studio Gonzo was behind the production for this anime, around a time where integrating traditional animation with CG was more often than not the norm for them, repeatedly receiving criticism for many lacklustre attempts. But with an anime so immaculate and extravagant in its design and surreal art-style, it barely amounts to a hindrance that is easily outweighed by the show’s visual strengths.

Much like the artistic endeavours that went into the visual side of Gankutsuou, the music accompanied is also masterful in its own right. The series features a strong soundtrack comprised of various classical tracks that flawlessly set the tone and ambience for each and every scene, lifting the dramatic moments to even greater heights. Ranging from serene and charming melodies to the more haunting and thrilling themes that aid immensely in the narrative conclusion of each episode, leaving viewers on the edge of their seats waiting eagerly for more. Jean-Jacques Burnel both composed and performed the opening and ending themes that were each a delight. The opening “We Were Lovers” involves a simple piano piece, bringing a softer nostalgic sound that draws viewers in, with lyrics vaguely describing lost love that speaks true of the Count’s background. The ending sequence “You Won’t See Me Coming” is a stark contrast to the former, bursting after every cliff-hanger with an energetic number along with distorted visuals that match the series far more as a thrilling drama. The voice acting is incredible across the board for both the dubbed and subbed version, with Jamieson Price and Jouji Nakata both being splendid standouts as the voices behind the Count. Overall it comes down to preference. I was more in favour of the English dub, but you cannot go wrong either way for this series.

Gankutsuou might be one of the closest examples of anime genuinely being considered a work of art. A beautiful series, artistically daring and meticulously plotted, each of its individual facets come together as an overlooked gem that when given the proper attention, shines ever so brightly. Transposing a time-treasured tale from one medium to another will always detract some for fear of ruining the beloved original story. But classics are eternal, and through reimagining old works in a new light they are enriched, able to awaken the love and respect of many generations that follow, staying in our hearts forever.

“All human wisdom is contained in these two words - Wait and Hope.”

“Anyone who likes/dislikes this show is a Nazi/Libtard.” – The state of the anime community after episode 1.

I think it is fair to say that no other anime has caused such controversy and overwhelming divide amongst anime fans after a single episode like Goblin Slayer has. The pilot almost effortlessly setting a spark across the community that would act as ignition to countless flame wars lasting for weeks on end. A scene lasting around fifteen seconds receiving more vitriol and condemnation than arguably every other anime airing this year. On the surface, the divide seems clear: on one side lies those vocal to their displeasure ... of even the sheer existence of this series, labelling it as edgy, repugnant and pornographic. Some going even so far as comparing the anime to Nazi propaganda decades ago. And on the opposing side lies the fandom, constantly upset by criticism their beloved show receives and reverting to insults and name-calling them with popular phrases such as the dreaded “SJW” for example. But these are simply gross generalisations of both the series and its viewers, centring upon a small group of outspoken individuals that unfortunately leads any attempt of discourse astray. Instead my aim here is to hopefully bring a more critical view on Goblin Slayer to the discussion; of the series’ perceived intent, as well as numerous faults and issues prevalent throughout its first season.

“The gods of light, order and fate, and the gods of darkness, chaos and coincidence decided to throw dice in order to determine which side would rule the world. The gods threw the dice over and over and over again, until they began to feel faint.”

Goblin Slayer is a dark fantasy anime adapted from both the manga and light novels of the same name, highly inspired by tabletop role-playing games. Initially the story follows a young woman known as “Priestess” that has recently become an adventurer and joins an upstart party on her first quest. Their naivety and inexperience ultimately lead to their grim demise, ravaged by goblins who commit heinous acts such as rape and dismemberment depicted in much more graphic fashion compared to other fantasy anime of recent years. Before the Priestess can be dispatched however, the actual protagonist appears from the shadows, intent of massacring every goblin in sight. From this point, the series is predominantly focused on this mysterious adventurer commonly referred to as “Goblin Slayer” and his efforts to exterminate the entire goblin species.

The beginning to this story gives what I believe to be a clear sense of what Goblin Slayer strives to be. Simplistic, cheerful dialogue to elucidate fundamentals of the adventurer system, a light-hearted tone able to create a strong optimistic mood, even the visuals and audio utilizing light colours for character designs coupled with an upbeat tune all try and convey a presentation akin to the typical fantasy anime of recent memory. The group of upstart adventurers each can be seen representing archetypes one would expect to be present in such a series: tsundere, loli character, main character for a harem, etc. Numerous times before a goblin appears on screen, subtle signs are revealed about the party’s lack of preparation and expectation to indicate this quest will not be as successful as they hope, and then what follows is a shocking realization of what the world of Goblin Slayer truly entails. Essentially these characters were tools for the series to subvert people’s initial expectations of the story, with the tragic events that entail further emphasizing this point. The sickening portrayal and detail of these actions going to further lengths than most anime fans have probably ever experienced previously in the medium. Disgusting to watch even for the short time shown, and from the reception this anime received, it looks to have garnered the initial reaction staff had intended. From this perspective, while many can find these scenes crass and tactless in their depiction, I find it difficult to call this part of Goblin Slayer lazy writing.

Shortly followed by the introduction of the titular protagonist reveals a change that strongly contrast to events that just transpired earlier. Compared to the almost wilfully ignorant upstart adventurers that end up decimated to the lowest mob type in the world, Goblin Slayer’s approach to killing goblins is much more tactical. Shown to analyse nearly every time he murders a single goblin, often determining the most effective method for slaughtering the mob step-by-step before executing his strategy in cold, calculated fashion. Through this he not only personifies the kind of badass main character one would expect for a darker fantasy story, but also provides a solid understanding of how a high-level adventurer would be expected to act in battle. Armed with various weapons and antidotes whilst always on the lookout for signs, Goblin Slayer has enough tools at his disposal to face any goblin he would come across. A clear juxtaposition to how many inexperienced adventurers would conduct themselves. Him slaughtering the horde also raises an intriguing question of Goblin Slayer’s morality when intending to murder the child goblins. While the protagonist remains steadfast of his opinion on the species, the Priestess brings forth the possibility of a “good goblin”. Despite going through with eliminating them, he does admit there could be one out there. From this, viewers have a grasp on how this tale could further develop this idea with having both character’s ethics challenged as Goblin Slayer’s quest continues. There is potential in this tale to be more than just the fun schlock of the season. Unfortunately, that potential slowly gets squandered every episode following, and personally even loses the series’ initial appeal.

One of the more detrimental choices I find a story can make is following an attempt to create a purposeful, serious tone, and then reverting to what it tried to distance itself from initially. After Goblin Slayer’s shocking start that firmly established the story as a dark fantasy that supposedly takes itself seriously, the anime takes an odd change in tone that is rather baffling to understand. Numerous quests later in the series showcase characters in a way you would never have expected in Goblin Slayer, with an array of playful, trifling scenes one would more commonly associate with a slice-of-life anime than this show. Somehow the series decided to skip on possibly showing some of the effects trauma experienced from death, sexual assault or even just being an adventure can have on a person, instead these scenes barely contribute to the characters on a notable level. The change in tone can lead to breaks in one’s immersion of the story and the protagonist it follows, with transitions feeling awkward and out of place more often than not. A notorious example can be found in episode 2 where the episode cuts to a well-endowed redhead girl waking out of bed and stretching, followed by some of the most prominent jiggle physics to be found this season. I thought this was meant to be a serious tale. For a dark fantasy to work, usually it requires the atmosphere of a series to remain constant enough to a degree where the earnestness and consequences of actions can still be felt through the more cheerful scenes. Berserk, Attack on Titan and Fullmetal Alchemist 2003 are just some examples of dark fantasy anime that constantly have a sombre air about them, constantly felt when witnessing the actions of their characters. Goblin Slayer lacks this air that breezes alongside the narrative and whilst continuing to lack a strong sense of identity in a genre already spoiled by an abundance of generic fantasy, it is more inclined to leave a stale taste in the mouths of those hoping for Goblin Slayer to distance itself further from its contemporaries.

This lack of an identity also permeates the narrative and overarching worldbuilding to a degree that I have to address. When a series attempts to be subversive or even hold deconstructive elements to its genre, normally this involves acknowledging the well-established tropes typically associated to its genre, before supplanting their intentions. Goblin Slayer, at least in its first season, does not do this. Alongside the series constantly switching its tone between dark and nonchalant, the anime seems to never want to take its world too seriously despite the premise. Goblin Slayer is a man who has an unrelenting obsession to kill goblins as they are a species that lingers on as a problem for innocent people. They are weak creature with childlike intelligence individually, but as a mob are a destructive force which can lead to the devastation of entire towns. An interesting yet believable problem in this world. So then, how is it believable to think that there is only one person that acts in response to this problem? Because the anime has mainly taken place around a small town there is a possibility for other adventurers similar to Goblin Slayer to be primarily hunting goblins in their own areas of the world. But thinking on a large scale, if goblin mobs can and already have been a significant cause of wiping out various towns, would someone not think that their effect to agriculture and the overall economy poses a severe threat on a national scale, to where even adventurers seeking glory and fame would end up losing money? I would have at least expected some form of intervention – here is an idea: have some adventurers hired as a form of security for farmers against a potential goblin attack. Or at least have the guild girl not allow novices to take these jobs when it is made apparent how many novices and kidnapped and killed off by goblin mobs! If so many are dying because of this fact, maybe it would be best to intervene, even if with just a simple warning about how dangerous they are, and how prevalent this is. If only Goblin Slayer had more consistency in its world that more people could admire, instead of trying to subvert common fantasy anime tropes and then as if almost contradictory to itself maintaining a level of unbelievability behind how these aspects work in its story.

It is upsetting how a show essentially fails at fleshing out the more complex issues the world of Goblin Slayer encompasses, especially when most of the defence for this anime in regards to certain actions and events is derived from insular logic. A common complaint for the series initially was based around why goblins rape, and while it certainly is specified that rape is their only option for reproduction, that does not cover details about their creation. Goblins here are force-of-nature villains that embody evil and chaos, thus not requiring distinct personalities and from this the rape shown can be considered a further way of emphasizing that point thus bringing them to where they can be considered irredeemable, but this only works on a narrative level. All works of fiction are made with intentions from their creator/s and by peeling down the layers of in-universe context is one able to search for the purpose and intentions behind specific scenes, actions, etc. Often termed the Thermian Argument, it claims that pointing to a show’s logic in response to criticism of the subject matter is inherently fallacious. It supports a difference between what is being depicted and why such is being depicted at all; a metanarrative point of view. I stated what I believed to be the main intention behind such shocking acts in the first episode as a way for the show to subvert the audience for what kind of anime they were in store for, but after witnessing the series make that idea almost completely irrelevant through poor direction, tonal dissonance and having such actions repeated onscreen later with similarly crude framing for reasons even I am unsure of, it is hard to defend the series for all these creative choices happening numerous times throughout the anime’s duration from a metanarrative point of view.

Characterization is one of Goblin Slayer’s focal points if even only applying to one individual so far. Goblin Slayer is the embodiment of a man who refuses to die before his purpose in life is seen through to the end. Driven by revenge after goblins took away the person most precious to him, he epitomizes the idea of how a badass protagonist should act. His character design is also impressive in certain scenes with a red eye theme glowing in the darkness that oozes a killer instinct rarely found in anime nowadays. Reminder that the in-universe creation of the series was founded on gods rolling dice and playing the game of chance, with all various races and species being birthed purely for their amusement. But with the way Goblin Slayer acts, he can be considered the one character in this world to defy the will and wishes of those who created him. And while there are numerous examples of him conveniently surviving so far due to plot armour, the intent remains – underneath his monotonous voice and implied social awkwardness lies the potential for a metaphorical figure of inspiration. Unfortunately, that is where most of the praise for characters ends at this point in the anime. Every character besides Goblin Slayer receives little attention in the anime, with minimal development bar the Priestess who acts as a rookie slowly growing and learning how to survive as an adventurer in this harsh world, however even this has made little progress this first season. Other characters sprinkled across the story range from other rookies slowly improving and gaining experience to dependable fighters often able to hold their own in battle, which is a striking difference compared to how most typically act away from any battlefield; childish and immature. Honestly, besides Priestess and Goblin Slayer the rest of the cast are easily expendable, but I guess that is to be expected when the supporting cast includes names such as “Cow Girl” and “Lizardman”. Hopefully if there is a sequel, they have a better opportunity to leave a lasting impression on the anime.

Much like these forgettable characters the production quality for Goblin Slayer also failed to leave a strong impact. The art is not very detailed, with most character designs and backgrounds often appearing plain and generic for most of the season. A mixture of 2D and 3D animation is used to jarring effect, with most action scenes and the occasional panning shot relying on CGI that look more like an eyesore that anything visually pleasing. In fact, most of the better-looking shots involve scenes lacking any sort of movement. Disappointing as the artwork is commonly seen as a key strength to the manga’s popularity. For a series where the most basic appeal comes from a guy mowing down goblins, the action was underwhelming and that kills a show like this. Wish I could say otherwise for the soundtrack, but that also failed to leave a strong impression on me. Voice acting was solid but effectively crippled with a lacklustre script treating half the characters as dense. The opening theme was melancholic but failed to ever have me personally want to listen to it more than once. The ending theme while I certainly enjoyed it more was accompanied by CGI Goblin Slayer with clunky animation. At least the ending track was fun.

Goblin Slayer is at its core, an anime about one man slaying goblins. Though it can tempt viewers with ideas of something greater at work, it still boils down to a mere schlocky action show with lacklustre presentation that by the end of its first season has its biggest strengths stemming from potential and a hope that a sequel can further flesh out characters and worldbuilding which at this point cannot hold up to scrutiny. But it does have its appealing qualities no matter how superficial they might be. If you are willing to take a chance on a simple action anime trying to break the trend of generic fantasy released this year, this might be worth your investment. My main hope is that now with the most controversial anime of the year finished, the community at large can learn from this experience. As the old saying goes: “That which does not kill us makes us stronger.”