Human beings naturally seek companionship and bonds. It’s an innate desire of ours to form relationships (both negative and positive) in order to not only establish our own identity, but also to understand the world around us, and our role in it; and language is the lingua franca that allows these bonds to be formed.
For all of us, words are the means by which we form these bonds. Not only is it the most readily available method of forming a meaningful relationship but, no matter how good an individual’s understanding of non-verbal cues are, they won’t learn about a person’s character or state of mind
...
until they engage them in conversation.
Our use of words in everyday life means that a level of meaning is attached to the words we speak (subconsciously or consciously) which inevitably shapes how others view us as well as how we view ourselves. From using a certain word, to our construction of sentences, we are attaching a part of our personality onto the phrases we use. From politicians and world leaders to business executives, media moguls and everyone else in the public eye, their use of words to craft an answer designed to attract people towards them while also saying noting of any note is a skill in and of itself. As a student of ancient history I have studied some of history’s finest orators and their ability to master language is a prerequisite not only in convincing the masses, but also to convey one’s ideas as clearly as possible. It explains why some of the most charismatic and successful people in history all share the same trait: being excellent orators.
For the wordsmith, their chosen tool for didacticism is the dictionary. With at least 500,000 words and more than a billion different ways to combine the words, the dictionary is vital for the one who wants to understand words. Even holding a dictionary is to feel not only the physical weight of it, but also its cultural and social weight; the culmination of centuries of compiling and editing, revising and perfecting to create a portfolio of every word that has ever been uttered in one language. For most of us, a dictionary is used to find a word’s definition. Unfortunately, not many of us use a dictionary anymore. The vast behemoth that is the internet, where everything (including a word’s definition) is at your fingers, using a dictionary is an anachronism of a bygone era consigned to the annals of history.
Anyway, this is an anime about a group of people making a dictionary. This, as I’ll explain later, is simultaneously a good and bad thing.
Mitsuya Majime is an excellent wordsmith, an individual capable of defining words in a myriad of ways, and is a walking encyclopaedic knowledge of language. The problem is that he cannot articulate himself in a meaningful way. A shy, unassuming man, Majime lives his life in the unremitting slog of daily mundanity as a salesman who works for a publishing company. A chance encounter with Araki, who is looking for someone to assist in the publication of a new dictionary, allows Majime to satiate his desire not only for words, but also to find a place to belong.
Majime himself is a thoroughly human character, an individual who despite being handed his dream job, is still wracked with uncertainty about his ability to perform to the best of his abilities. His journey to not only understand how he fits in within the larger scheme of life, but also to express himself properly with the multitude of words at his arsenal, is both illuminating and thoughtful. His subtle evolution as a character makes him a far more realistic character. The best compliment I can give Majime is that he is thoroughly humane: you could imagine him existing as a real human being. His evolution is not drastic. He is still incapable of expressing himself for most of the series, but he is far more aware of his limits and of his strengths. Even without the skill to express himself, his love and passion for words comes across clearly to the viewer, and something about that almost childlike naivety made him more endearing to me as a character. Majime, like the rest of the cast, is not an especially complex character, but his passion for words and his inability to express them creates a conflict within him, which is aided by some lovely and deliberate animation to highlight this conflict within him. This conflict might not be fully resolved, but his recognition of his strengths and weaknesses, as well as his concession that he cannot overcome them but chooses to focus on his strength while having others compensate for his weaknesses creates a fully realistic and human portrayal of Majime. Here is a character that could really exist.
Alongside Majime is a colourful cast of characters, including a female Majime (Kishibe) who turns up halfway through the series and the resident badass grandma Take. The other character of note, Masashi Nishioka, is your typical ‘life of the party’ character, but his evolution from comedy character to thoughtful character provides the perfect juxtaposition to Majime. Masashi is perfectly capable of expressing himself as a person, but lacks the same passion for words that Majime has, but the latter’s influence over the series can be seen as Masashi develops his own relationship with words, and continues to help with the making of the dictionary even when he is no longer a paid member. Either way, all the characters are handled with a level of maturity that I found utterly refreshing. This was a ‘slice-of-life’ in the truest sense, dealing with the trials and tribulations of completely human characters. The dialogue of the show was also expertly executed at times. Some of them might have waffled for a bit longer than necessary, but as someone who enjoys thinking about words, I found their discussions to be thought-provoking. It’s just a crying shame that they didn’t have those conversations more often, often eschewing conversations about the use of meanings of different words in favour of plot exposition.
Accompanying the story is a visual and auditory treat. The show for the most part is fairly standard with certain occasions where they smooth out the animation to create some absolutely gorgeous scenes that are well-directed and accompanied by a varied soundtrack which enhances the scene, sets its tone, or/and compliments the scene. Just as important as the dialogue is the direction and special emphasis should be given to how the series showcases the importance of non-verbal cues, whether it is a stroke of the chin, a clench of the fist or a quick diversion of eye contact, the camera work is truly excellent.
So a show with a realistic lead character, a colourful cast of characters, with some excellent direction and at times is a visual and auditory treat. So a 10/10 from me; right?
Well, no unfortunately. Remember how I wrote that its plot was its biggest weakness as well as its biggest strength. Having a character that has a passion for linguistics and having them framed through the prism of composing a dictionary is a novel idea. Unfortunately, it is also a bit stale. I have a couple of other issues with the narrative as well, including a badly written romance sub-plot which is never expanded on, and a mid-episode cutaway featuring hand drawn dictionaries talking to each which constantly killed the tone of the episode. However, I believe the two problems above are causes of the type of show that Fune wo Amu is. Its primary concern is with the completing of the dictionary. I wrote that a dictionary is an anachronism, and it is true. How many people use a dictionary? Even the exploration of words is a niche subject. It always ran the risk of being stale and uninteresting.
I predominately felt for much of the anime that both the romance sub-plot and mid-section ‘Dictionary Corner’ were tactics used by the writers to make the show more appealing, and break up the monotony of a primarily dialogue-driven show. This is a shame, because its premise is utterly original. Plus, I really enjoy thinking about linguistics, which makes the show's fear, or inability to take itself seriously a shame. It is a show with immense promise, which had the ability to be a serious work on the nature of linguistics and linguistics anthropology, but lacked the means and the belief to execute its ideas in a philosophical and thought-provoking manner. Nevertheless, I really did enjoy the series a lot. It has a lot of elements going for it: realistic characters, a great soundtrack, great visuals and camerawork and an excellent cast. It’s just a shame that it didn’t have enough faith in its own idea. Mind you, I would still recommend it, because the show still manages to execute its individual elements with a level of subtlety and nuance not always seen in anime.
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Feb 10, 2017
Fune wo Amu
(Anime)
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Human beings naturally seek companionship and bonds. It’s an innate desire of ours to form relationships (both negative and positive) in order to not only establish our own identity, but also to understand the world around us, and our role in it; and language is the lingua franca that allows these bonds to be formed.
For all of us, words are the means by which we form these bonds. Not only is it the most readily available method of forming a meaningful relationship but, no matter how good an individual’s understanding of non-verbal cues are, they won’t learn about a person’s character or state of mind ...
Reviewer’s Rating: 7
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Feb 7, 2017
Joker Game
(Anime)
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Mixed Feelings
I have something of an ambivalent relationship with spy thrillers. Possibly because my experience of them usually boils down to watching James Bond shag and destroy his way through an emotionally draining two and half hours, and that’s emotionally draining in the negative. Spy thrillers themselves can generally be split along the divide of either being about the suave agent who beds a sexy Russian and drives an Aston Martin or depict a taut, tense Cold War espionage scenario where all conversations take place through a haze of cigarette smoke (mind you, there is now a modern tendency to make spy thrillers in the vein
...
of a Bourne Identity). Nevertheless, all spy thrillers present an idealised notion of how espionage should be and how the creators envision it as opposed to anything based on a semblance of realism. The only realistic aspect that all spy thrillers share is the mutual distrust that the army’s upper echelons and government bureaucrats hold for their nation’s spymaster (something which Joker Game is only too happy to reinforce on numerous occasions). So, how does Joker Game approach its world of espionage? What sort of spy thriller is Joker Game?
Joker Game itself takes place during the Second World War, a period not often explored in anime, but is the subject of a vast array of Hollywood movies. The anime itself presents a stereotypical view of some of the areas which it takes place in, from the foggy nights of London to the militarised centres of China, via the vast, opal oceans of the Hawaiian deep blue. For anyone who has seen lavish spy thrillers, the settings themselves are fairly typical. The animation, as usual of Production IG, is both sharp and slick, even if it does seem like some of the characters are lifeless. The music pieces are also fairly standard, although special mention does go to the opening for being both stylishly cool and effortlessly slick. Part of Joker Game’s appeal is in its name. Sakuma is a soldier who serves in the Japanese Army as is drafted in a liaison between the army and the newly formed D-Agency; a spy agency under the tutelage of the mysterious Lieutenant Colonel Yuuki. Sakuma is a straight-talking soldier who has been trained in the art of the Bushido, more specifically the aspects involving killing and dying for the state as honourable acts. Sakuma’s army education is mirrored against the citizens recruited for D-Agency, who are taught to never kill and to never die, believing it to be detrimental to the cause. A tension that is inherent, but never fully expanded on. This, as I shall show, is a running theme of both the anime and the review: its inability or reluctance to expand on any idea. Joker Game’s appeal and unique selling point is shown in episode one when the spies play a game of poker and they invite Sakuma to play. He loses quite easily, but that’s not the point. The poker game itself was a charade, as the reality is shown to Sakuma, in that his loss was guaranteed from the beginning. The true aim of the card game was for the card players to foster relationships with those watching the game, who were signalling what kind of hand each player had. What makes things even more complicated is that the card players don’t know who is cheating for who or whether the information being relayed is accurate. It’s a complex and intricate game of bluffs, double bluffs and triple bluffs as the card players try to not only win, but to befriend those who are giving out information so that they are in control of the situation. Yuuki likens the analogy of the card game to the realities of international politics, where one has to not only understand the rules of diplomacy, but also use the rules themselves in order to achieve their aims. In short, it’s an information war where protecting one’s information is just an important as convincing an enemy spy to turn over their information, and it’s in this world that Joker Game sets up its premise. Or at least it would be, if not for its glaring deficiencies. For a start, the way the series is structured is problematic in and of itself. Joker Game follows an episodic structure, with each episode concerned with a different spy and a different case to be investigated and resolved. However, because of its episodic nature, there is no overarching plot running through the series; nothing to connect the individual episodes together. What this creates is a situation where each episode contains a different trope of the genre. Whether it is investigating deaths, shadowing someone, infiltrating an enemy cell, faking a capture or meeting with defectors, Joker Game ticks off all the tropes of a spy thriller and honestly, it’s a bit of a shame. The intrigue of the Joker Game is ignored in favour of unconnected storylines rehashing stereotypical tropes of the spy thriller genre, instead of focusing on the idea it had espoused so eloquently in the first episode. I really enjoyed the opening couple of episodes, and it’s this that makes the unremarkable nature of the rest of the series harder to understand. Yes, the series is unremarkable. There’s not a lot to bite into. The plots themselves are typical of the genre, and are usually resolved with a fair bit of logic jumping in its attempts to resolve the case in the allotted twenty minutes. Mind you, I did enjoy episodes 8 &9, if only because it involved a psychological game of chess as one of the spies tried to ascertain the character of his opponent in order to ascertain his behaviour. Not only am I a fan of chess, it’s also the closest the series got to the concept of its Joker Game, but as soon as the chess game finished, my feeling of indifference returned. It’s a shame that a show which had so much potential ultimately fizzed out into the mean. As for the characters, well there’s nothing particularly distinctive about them. The drawing and animation of the characters makes little attempt to differentiate between the spies, so that they essentially become reduced to looking like a caricature of a stereotype of the spy who’s always wearing a suit and a fedora like they’re on their way to shoot someone for being late with their debt. The only characters who are even remotely interesting (I use that term loosely) is Yuuki and Sakuma. The latter is your typical by-the-book soldier who believes in the army and that there is honour in death and all the other usual traits. Sakuma is pretty much typical: doesn’t stand out and is more or less part of the furniture. As for Yuuki, well he’s mysterious (in the sense that we don’t know much, doesn’t talk and is generally a bit of a dry character). We do learn more about Yuuki towards the back end of the series, but not enough to call him a character. He too is part of the furniture. There is nothing to get attached to, and their non-existent personalities never expanded on. This isn’t helped by that fact that a lot of the episodes are driven by dialogue which is utterly meaningless when the character’s delivering them aren’t meaningfully fleshed out in order to give a bit of energy to the reams of dialogues contained within each episode. Honestly, concluding this review, and my own thoughts, is slightly complicated. The show is typical, the characters unremarkable, the episodic nature debilitating to its premise, and the individual plots dull themselves. I will not disguise my ambivalence towards spy thrillers, and their reliance on illogical and reactionary plot twists, cigarettes, unrealistic car chases and absurd villains to keep them going. Still, I won’t deny that I wasn’t mildly entertained with some of the episodes (even if I didn’t know which spy I was following; why do they all look the bloody same for?). As with episodic anime in general, some episodes are hits, and others are misses. For me, there were more misses than hits. Still, if you’re a fan of spy thrillers, you will enjoy yourself, and if you’re someone who knows most of the tropes of the genre then you’re welcome to watch it, but you’ll have to understand that you’ve probably seen most of the plots before and accept that Joker Game is fairly typical of the genre that it is representing.
Reviewer’s Rating: 5
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Feb 2, 2017 Recommended
It’s the 1930s. It’s America. This can mean only one thing: Prohibition! Sex, drugs, alcohol and profanities are the signs of the times. The speakeasies are up and running, the moonshine is being made and the bootleggers and Mafioso are running around town shooting each other up and generally being a nuisance. It’s a lawless age in the lawless town of, Lawless…. That is actually what the town is called. Imaginative; right?
When I saw 1930s America and Prohibition, my mind did wander towards comparisons to Baccano, set in the same time. However, and unlike 91 Days, Baccano is an absolute romp. It’s fun and fast-paced ... and inherently cool. 91 Days is a world away from that as a story primarily concerned with revenge, which is much darker. About the only thing the two have in common is a similar art style which appears to be a staple when it comes to anime about the 1930s, and a few jazzy soundtracks. Yet there is something about the world that 91 Days presents that is really attractive, especially to those who enjoy how ‘sexy’ the 1930s is, and how slick it can sometimes seem to the modern viewer. The production team did a really good job with creating an immersive atmosphere. There were a couple of occasions when there were a few problems (my mind recalls a scene in episode 2 when Nero and Avilio are walking through a market which looked distinctly out of place), but for the most part the production was generally excellent and did build an excellent town that felt like it could have been a real-life town in America. Adding to the setting was a combination of dark colour tones and melancholic, orchestral soundtracks with their distinctive violins and piano pieces. There were a few soundtracks that could be classed under ‘jazz’, but the intention of the writers, which fed into the narrative about revenge, was to craft a dark atmosphere to match the equally dark plot, characters and themes which the story was attempting to portray, and like I said earlier, the production team did an excellent job. The setting and atmosphere complimented the narrative and the characters really well. Not to mention that 91 Days has an element of Tarantino and Scorsese, and as a fan of their films, I really enjoyed watching an anime that felt like the gangster films of the aforementioned directors. Revenge stories, in one sense, are the easiest idea to conceive. All one needs is an avenger, the evil enemy that has wronged them, a credible motive and a shedload of betrayal. Yet executing a revenge story is far more complicated. What becomes clear is that the plot and main character become entwined. The plot of the anime is the story of the character who has been wronged. If both elements works, the anime is a triumph of excellence, as the plot and the lead character are knitted together superbly (Gankutsuo is something that does this really well). However, should the character seem badly written, or his motive useless, the revenge tale falls apart, as it becomes difficult to emphasise with the character’s revenge or to take them seriously. This doesn’t mean that the revenge tale has to be wholly realistic, but that the character’s motives and actions make sense in the context of the story. With that in mind, 91 Days does an excellent job as a revenge tale. Our hero or antihero Angelo Lagusa sees his family gunned down by the Vanetti family and vows vengeance against them. The story itself picks up about seven years later where Angelo (now under the pseudonym of Avilio Bruno) befriends the son of Don Vanetti, Nero Vanetti, with the clear intention of worming his way into the Vanetti inner circles to eliminate the Vanetti family and see his revenge come to fruition. Avilio’s revenge tale is framed by a turf war between the Vanetti’s and the Orco family as they attempt to control the town of Lawless. Avilio, the empty shell of our lead character, is a man driven by his thirst for revenge, and this can sometimes have him come across as mysterious (in the sense that he doesn’t talk much and seems a bit dry as a character), but when push comes to shove and he is given the chance to execute aspects of his revenge, he comes alive. Avilio as a character is a ruthless, Machiavellian and opportunistic avenger. He has a plan, and exploits it with an efficiency and subtlety that doesn’t always shout at the viewer what Avilio’s plan is, and doesn’t rely on shocking events solely to get some mileage out of an episode. Even when Avilio commits an action that seems out of place (something happens in the first couple of episodes that fits the bill) or teams up with the sadomasochistic and seriously deranged Fango (a character guilty of embellishing the insanity stakes for the sake of insanity and one of few failings in the show), Avilio always seems in control of his own actions and of those around him. Yet none of Avilio’s decisions seem forced or unnatural. There is a natural progression to the plot and to Avilio’s actions. His motives and actions make sense in the context of his revenge. Plus he looks as cool as all hell while executing his revenge plan. He might be difficult to connect with emotionally, but you have to admire his ruthlessness. As with revenge tales, the viewer experiences the story through the prism of the main character. Avilio is the conductor of his revenge tale, and as such is something of the unreliable narrator. The viewer experiences Avilio’s relationships through his point of view. Fango is the idiot puppet king being controlled by Avilio, yet it’s his relationship with Nero that shows this unreliability at its fullest. Nero as a character is portrayed as the typical caring brother who cares not only for his family members but also for the Vanetti mafia family as well, always striving to please his father and accepts the burden of others. However, his future is shaped by his interactions with Avilio, and we the viewer are an extension of these interactions. One example is Avilio suggesting that Nero invest in an alcoholic drink made by his childhood friend Corteo. While Nero uses the drink to corner the alcohol market, Avilio uses it to further his ambitions by using Nero’s influence to get the alcoholic drink Lawless Heaven into all the pubs, which has impacts later on in the narrative. Even more obvious is when Nero ascends to become the don of the Vanetti Family. Avilio’s fingerprints are all over this scheme. It’s obvious to the viewer what will happen when Avilio befriends Nero, yet the process by which he slowly betrays him is still intriguing, even if it isn’t original, especially to those who have seen revenge stories play out. Avilio’s relationship with Corteo, his childhood friend, is different to the relationship with Nero. Corteo gives Avilio his humanity and I enjoyed their to-and-fro interactions. I’m not fond of characters like Corteo, who can seem a bit whiney at times, but he had a humanising effect on Avilio, which enriched both their characters. Corteo is the only character who gets angry at Avilio for his continued involvement with the mafia and is the moralising element in the story. With the exploration of betrayal and loyalty and the mafia, there needs to be a moralising character to keep the narrative human. This is especially prevalent in the later episodes, when Avilio and Corteo’s relationship is explored in more depth, giving Avilio a surprising level of humanity to his personality. It can be easy to see Avilio as the Machiavellian puppet-master that he is for most of the story, but his interactions with Corteo give Avilio’s personality some extra colour, and not just merely keeping him as the empty shell that he was for most of the series. Although they is a lack of subtlety to their relationship at times (including one memorable encounter), I appreciated the fact that the writers gave Avilio some humanity: it makes his inevitable betrayals that much more impactful, and makes the ending much more dramatic. After all, one cannot relate to an empty shell. In the end, 91 Days was an excellent revenge tale told in a wonderful setting with an excellent lead in Avilio, who is equal parts vengeful as he is human. The deconstructions of the ideas of betrayal, family and loyalty are nothing new, but the tale is told in a wonderful setting. The Prohibition town that is built is wonderful, truly excellent and in some ways, the setting that is used enhances the story of revenge being told. A really well-written, character driven story that worked better than it might have done because it was written in a context that perfectly aided the tale of revenge and vengeance. An anime for those who are attracted to the allure of America in the 1930s, for those looking for a good revenge tale and for anyone looking for a good, character-driven story.
Reviewer’s Rating: 8
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Jan 27, 2017
Boku dake ga Inai Machi
(Anime)
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Mixed Feelings
Erased: A Review
(This is my first review, so cut me a bit of slack. Positive criticism is both welcomed and encouraged). Having finished watching Erased, my initial emotion was one of confusion. Having left the series alone for a few days to form concrete opinions about the show, this feeling of confusion did not go away, but served as the fundamentals of a couple of issues which I will explore in more detail later on. As for the show itself, it starts with an interesting enough premise. The main character Satoru Fujinuma is a twenty-something year old man who works as a courier for a pizza shop ... in between being a manga artist; hoping to one day make it as a popular manga artist. Or at least I think he does; when he isn’t being hopelessly apathetic about pretty much everything. What makes Erased stand out is Satoru’s power, which he dubs ‘Revival’. Basically, he can go back in time by a few minutes in order to stop a tragic event from happening. So, all is well, until he becomes the suspect for his mother’s murder and is then promptly thrown 18 years into the past. It turns out that the individual who murdered his mother is the same person who 18 years ago was guilty of the abductions of several young girls. In a ‘surprising’ twist, it turns out the wrong person was arrested. Shock! Horror! Anyway, it turns out that Satoru was in the same class as one of the abducted, and thus the plot begins as the adult Satoru, trapped in his younger self’s body, attempts to save his classmate Kayo Hinazuki. The main bulk of the anime follows Satoru’s attempts to save Kayo; which is fine. If Satoru knows about the crime, preventing is certainly one way to go about. As such, a large part of the show details Satoru’s relationship with Kayo as he attempts to befriend her and help her. Which is fine, until they chuck in the fact that Kayo is being abused; which is the first issue I had with the show. There was no rhyme or reason for this particular plot line. In fact, it felt like a convenient plot point so that Satoru’s reasons for saving her didn’t seem completely contrived to the other characters; which had the unfortunate effect of making his reasoning seemed contrived to the viewer. Even when the reason behind the abuse is revealed, it sounded forced. Rather like the motive was tacked on to give it more legitimacy. So what about Satoru and Kayo as both characters and the dynamic of their relationship? Honestly, neither character stood out for me. Satoru is far too apathetic (which is another way of saying he’s a bit dull) and Kayo doesn’t sound like a ten year old. Some of her soundbites sound just too mature to be coming from the mouth of a little girl. Not to mention in a show where little girls are being abducted, the fact that the main character is still an adult did create a jarring sensation for me, especially in scenes where he is lusting after her. Thrown into this is another character, Kenya, who is far too smart for his age. It seemed very obvious at times that these young children were being written by adults. It probably explains the fascination with Satoru’s character. After all, who doesn’t wish that they could relive they childhood while having that wisdom of an adult mind? Except, Satoru doesn’t always act intelligently or wisely, and this is apparent in the latter half of the series, and already occurs within the first couple of episodes when he runs away from the crime he didn’t commit, thus making himself the prime suspect. There’s also a co-worker who helps him, yet he doesn’t entertain the idea that the police are following her without her knowledge in order to get to him, and guess what. Yeah, he gets caught. Bloody idiot. Before I discuss my biggest problem with the show, let me get this out of the way. I did not hate or dislike this series. I enjoyed the first half of the show. While Satoru and Kayo are individually not great characters, their relationship and interactions are entertaining enough, even if the paedophilic dynamic between the two does exist. There were also quite a few heart-warming scenes, including one at the end of episode 8 which tugs at the heartstrings. The interactions between the two lead characters is helped both by a soundtrack which isn’t memorable by itself, but compliments both the scene it’s being used in and the colour and tone that is being relayed to the viewer, from the darker tones of the outside world to the warm colours of the inside of Satoru’s house (for example) thus juxtaposing the inclusivity of the home with the loneliness of the outside world. There is also the contrast with the colours between Satoru’s house and Kayo’s house; the latter almost always seen through a darker palette of colour. The insinuation is clear. A lot of the show takes place during the winter, which also helps to create that juxtaposition between the warm atmosphere of the home and the cold atmosphere outside. All this works well. My biggest problem with the show is with both its pacing at the plot. My feeling of confusion comes from these problems. You see, I was under the impression that the show was a mystery thriller, yet it spent the first several episodes developing this relationship between Kayo and Satoru, which is fine, but is neither thrilling nor mysterious. Not once does Satoru even use his knowledge of the future to second-guess the murderer’s motives, instead believing that by saving Kayo, the murderer won’t kill her and his mother won’t be killed in his future. This is where Satoru’s lack of intelligence comes to the fray. He doesn’t even entertain the notion that the murderer may go elsewhere to kill. However, Satoru is unperturbed by this notion, and instead goes onto save the other girls near to him who also fall victim to this murderer. At this point, one has to question Satoru’s motives. It doesn’t seem like he’s particularly bothered about finding his mother’s killer. This transformation is bizarre as Satoru begins to resemble a white knight of justice. Not only that, but Satoru’s intentions and motives don’t make sense. He wishes to save his mother. It also transpires that Satoru feels guilt for not saving Kayo the first time round, despite not knowing who she was and having only seen her in a park the night she disappeared. How does one feel guilt over a person’s disappearance when they did not even know said individual? Satoru’s initial motives and his actions once he goes back in time don’t tally up, creating a character that is difficult to understand because he himself makes little sense. So, having spent the first eight or nine episodes contriving to save the three people close to him, guess what happens next. Considering that this is a 12 episode series, you can imagine. They rush the ending. The writers spent so much time building up the relationship between Satoru and Kayo, as well as the other characters, that in the end they run out of time. The supposed mystery that was at the heart of this series (who is the serial abductor and murderer?) is tacked on in the end in the most convenient of ways. The murderer tells the main character. The murderer is thrown into the plot in order to answer the question of who was behind the abductions. Not thrown in in the sense that the murderer is someone out of the blue, but that they are the most obvious candidate. The show tries to make them seem mysterious by showing the eyes under the hat in order make them more menacing. All this does though, is show just make the murderer's identity that much more obvious. Not to mention that the murderer’s motives are odd, their actions even odder (apparently, having their main targets protected is sufficient reason for them not to carry out anymore abductions in the town) and the reveal just plain anti-climactic. A mystery/thriller lives and dies by its villains. A good villain can elevate a show, while a bad one tends more often than not to drag it down into the gutter. This villain isn’t bad, just nonsensical. Not to mention the final showdown with the murderer is both horribly clichéd and yet more nonsensical as Satoru attempts to understand the murderer. As for the time-travel, the principle plot point which allows the plot to happen and such has an importance within the narrative, isn’t fully explained. There are a few questions to ask about, chief among which is how he travels back 18 years when on every other occasion, it only reset time by a few minutes. Honestly, I don’t mind it. I’d rather the writers not explain it then attempt to give it a reason, and then thoroughly screw up that reason. Plus the time travel doesn’t have a massive impact on the story, other than as a tool by which to start turning the wheels of the story. Even if there is a level of Deus Ex Machina halfway through the series to keep the plot going. Erased was an odd anime to review. If only because what the producers marketed the show to be (a mystery/thriller with elements of time travel) and my experience of the show did not tally with each other. The mystery/ thriller element, the fact that the main driving engine of the show was Satoru stopping his mother being murdered by preventing the death of his classmate in the past and also trying to find the murderer doesn’t manifest itself. One of the most important elements of the show, the murderer, turns out to not even matter, which is a damning indictment of the failing of the mystery elements of the show, and contributed this odd feeling that I had. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the first half of the show. It was entertaining fare. It’s just that as a mystery/thriller anime, it didn’t work. Yet, because it was straitjacketed by its own genre, the finale left me wholly unsatisfied, and a show with an interesting premise which started well enough quickly devolve into an unadulterated mess later on.
Reviewer’s Rating: 5
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