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Kazunari Usa is a Japanese high school freshman who finds himself living the dream: his parents are out on work assignment, leaving him to enjoy independent life at a boarding house where he cohabitates with his cute bookworm senpai. Unfortunately for Usa, the other tenants at the Kawai Complex prove to be anything but normal. The title "Bokura wa Minna Kawaisou" ("We Are All From Kawai Complex") is a play on words with the double meaning "We Are All Pitiful," and the residents of the Kawai Complex all exemplify this in different ways. This anime chronicles Usa's misadventures amongst this new group of vexing personalities.

Kawaisou ... falls squarely into the "slice of life" genre. There's no continuous plot to drag us through the series. It is episodic in nature, with each episode introducing a new stimulus for the cast to react to. Most scenarios force protagonist Usa into uncomfortable (often socially awkward or sexual) situations. This is played mainly for laughs, though sometimes we get dramatic character-building moments out of it.

Usa's discomfort serves as the main source of Kawaisou's comedy, executing manzai (the straight man/funny man act), with our protagonist playing the role of straight man and the rest of the household serving as a revolving door of ridiculous antics. This can sometimes feel redundant, however. Because each of the supporting characters is, for purposes of comedy, mostly defined by a single trait exaggerated to varying degrees, it feels like we go back to the same bag of tricks a bit too often.

Fortunately, Kawaisou's comedy pulls from a fairly large bag. In addition to our straight man/funny man pairings involving the protagonist, the supporting cast members are also able to spin new jokes off each other's embarassing situations. This gives us a good amount of variety in gags, enough to keep things fresh even if some of the beats feel familiar. The comedy hits more often than it misses, and perhaps Kawaisou's greatest virtue is that it always moves forward at a steady clip: even when gags do fall flat, they're in-and-out before they have the chance to get too annoying.

Kawaisou's comedy is enhanced by its judicious use of visuals, frequently inserting highly exaggerated and stylized artwork to great effect during gags. Apart from this, Kawaisou's visual direction maintains an idyllic vibe by constraining the bulk of the action to the Kawai Complex, allowing the show to keep a consistent color palette, which is notable for its use of contrast and bright hues. Particular attention is paid to the lighting in each scene. While the animation is passable, Kawaisou is gorgeous within each individual frame.

Most of the supporting cast members start off as two-dimensional, but even as two-dimensional characters, they benefit from being unique. The cast of Kawaisou is atypical not only in the sense that its members deviate from commonly-accepted social conventions (much to the irritation of our protagonist), but also that they're able to confront problems and support one another as a family. Each of the supporting cast members also gets some dedicated time during which the series explores their character, and we get a better idea of what makes each of them tick. These different character "arcs" are executed to varying degrees of success, but chiefly, these arcs allow the characters to feel like people rather than props that exist solely for our protagonist to react to. Despite the relative lack of progression inherent in slice-of-life shows like Kawaisou, there is real character development.

Although Kawaisou doesn't make any radical attempts to innovate within the slice of life genre, the anime is often playfully and refreshingly subversive. Kawaisou is well aware of the ways in which it could be cliche, often feinting toward that direction and misleading the audience before pulling the rug out from under them and laughing both at us and itself.

For example, Usa's "nice guy" behavior early on causes him to take a concerted interest in reaching out to his introvert bookworm senpai, Ritsu. In the interest of "rescuing" her from what he perceives to be a state of loneliness, Usa cultivates a series of habits which border on stalker-like: he enters full-on appeasement mode and begins following her around doing everything he can to "help" her break out of her shell. Rather than reward Usa for this faux-nice behavior, numerous cast members call him out on his behavior, Usa realizes that he's being a bit nutty, and we all have a good laugh at his expense.

On that note, Kawaisou's respecful depiction of Ritsu's introversion is one of the show's more impressive feats. Ritsu is far from the tree as far as the "shy anime girl" trope is concerned. She's not anti-social, and she does have it in her to enjoy the company of others, but she prefers to be alone with her books. Ritsu's introversion is not portrayed as a problem to be solved, but rather just one facet of her personality that makes her a bit unusual at first glance without constituting the entirety of her character. Introverts will likely be able to relate and appreciate this.

Also refreshing is the fact that Kawaisou doesn't beat around the bush when it comes to topics of sexuality, while at the same time refraining from over-sexualization. All of the characters in Kawaisou are sexual beings to some degree, and in the context of the home, none of them seem particularly bashful about discussing it, with perhaps the exception of our virgin protagonist. Kawaisou doesn't use sex as a tool to titilate or arouse the audience. Rather, the sexual aspects of the various cast members serve to further illuminate and color their personalities, and Kawaisou makes it apparent that sexuality is a critical component for each of these characters. Particularly notable is Mayumi, a bitter 30-year-old office lady who is constantly struggling to find a stable man who will respect her, a goal that seems at odds with her own sexual impulses. Mayumi is also haunted by the feeling that she's past the apex of her value on the dating market, and she constantly alternates between jealousy and disdain for younger couples. While Mayumi's constant sexual conflicts are mostly played as a source of comedy, if you remove this sexual aspect of her personality, you lose the character. Kawaisou handles sexuality in a manner that is respectful while still mining it as a source of laughs.

Ultimately, the relationship between "nice guy" protagonist Usa and introvert senpai bookworm Ritsu serves as the bread and butter of our story. The story of an overly-accomodating borderline obsessed stalker "nice guy" might be a massive turn-off in other contexts, but Kawaisou incorporates his behavior in a manner which is both self-aware and funny. The stoic bookworm who seldom cracks a smile might also look cliched on the surface level, but there's real joy to be found in the story that centers on the relationship between these two. That said, if you're looking for a romance story, you probably won't find it here. Rather than attempting to tell a story about love, Kawaisou tells us a story about a teenager learning to coexist with people from different walks of life.

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This review is written by members of the club Quiet Discourse. We thank the writer Kuiper, as well as the editors lpf and nil-.

"He's got to have a hole in his defense! He's reading me—he's predicting my moves. Show me your weak point! I just can't afford to end here!" Think these lines are from the latest battle shounen? Wrong: they're from none other than Ping Pong: The Animation! If the theme of table tennis doesn't pique your interest, looking at the show's creators certainly should. Masaaki Yuasa, known for making great creative anime, teams up with Taiyou Matsumoto, a mangaka with similar experimental tendencies: the harmless fun-filled game of table tennis suddenly got a whole lot more interesting.

The very first minutes of the show seek to impress: ... large shots of the protagonists' table tennis hall, full of life and 2.7-gram balls hitting the table and players doing racket moves. Each chop, smash and drive is animated with shocking accuracy and from the best angles. All of this on watercolor backgrounds with resplendent palettes. Think the show's misshapen character designs do not fit the subject matter? Well, quite the opposite! The ill-proportioned art style not only allows characters to be easily animated from the tilted angles that make this series so full of life, they also explain why racket moves can be animated so accurately. With proportions and shadows being no object, Yuasa's hand moves the characters with real dynamism and diversity.

The series progresses with various table tennis matches, art and animation carrying the visual impact while spot-on writing keeps each match and point varied and suspenseful. But not late in the series does it become clear that Ping Pong is not just about sports—it's also a powerful coming-of-age story with very engaging characters.

Ping Pong opens with Smile, an apathetic player who sees table tennis as simply a way to pass time. His polar opposite, Peco, is an energetic, eccentric boy aiming to play in the Olympics and Smile's best friend since childhood. The anime spotlights a series of high school tournaments where Japan's best players gather. Kong, an accomplished player from China, has set to conquer Japan to make up for his rejection from his home country's team. Kazama, a member of the renowned Kaio Academy, is on an invincible streak. The stakes are high for those with a reputation, but both Smile and Peco are just starting to make a name for themselves.

For an 11-episode run, the series juggles many characters effortlessly. While Smile and Peco are predominant, plenty of time is allowed to others like Kong, Kazama, even the coaches as we explore their desires, ambitions and conflicts related to table tennis. For example, with Kazuma we are faced with the monotony of being the best, the hard work it requires and its consequences on private life. Kong offers the heartwarming story of how an elite player from China gradually comes to respect little Japan. Peco, introduced with lines such as "hard work is for chumps with no talent", learns to believe otherwise throughout the series.

Smile, Peco, Kong, Sakuma, Kazuma... each of them come to rethink the way they approach table tennis and their reason for playing. All in different ways, the characters find the approach to table tennis that brings them the most joy and peace. The spectrum of table tennis covered is huge—through older characters we even gain insight into the money-minded aspect of the sport. As an 11-episode coming-of-age story, Ping Pong is surprisingly complete and cathartic.

What's even greater about Ping Pong is how expressive its screenplay and dialogue is. For example, in a setting where top performance is imperative, smoking is tacitly rejected: there's a scene where a character lights up a smoke, communicating his desire to stop playing competitively. Another character takes his cigarette off his mouth, and though they say nothing of it, it furthers that other character's will to make him play again.

Consider the insert song segment in episode 6: this scene has no spoken line, yet it is one of the most meaningful. Kong opens the sequence singing the insert song at a karaoke with his team—showing us his development from spiting Japan to opening up to Japanese players and learning their language—and the scene continues with various shots of the other characters' occupation on Christmas Eve. Smile's part is poignant: unsurprising for a character shown to enjoy solitude, he is all alone at home, contemplating the Christmas cake his coach gifted him. But from Smile's lonely gaze and the candles he paid the effort to light we can tell that the boy does cherish what little warmth others give him. We begin to empathize with the character. Not present in the source material, this karaoke insert demonstrates Yuasa's amazing directing skills in combining spot-on soundtrack, perfect pacing and compelling shots.

Helping Ping Pong transition between matches and character introspection is a diverse and excellent soundtrack. Pounding drums set the tone in pre-game sequences to stir up anticipation, and the next moment whimsical keyboard keys accompany Smile's scattered thoughts and memories. The show has a song for every moment and emotion, each used exceptionally and making for a complete audiovisual experience.

It's amazing what Ping Pong accomplishes in its short 11-episode run. It chronicles the heartfelt physical and emotional journeys of multiple characters and delivers a conclusion brimming with heart yet grounded in reality. All of it conducted in an exciting, creative fashion in the perfect marriage of both Taiyou Matsumoto and Masaaki Yuasa's talent. The harmless, fun-filled game of table tennis did get a whole lot more interesting.


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This review was written by members of the club Quiet Discourse. Credit goes to:

BigSimo, lpf, Stellio - Writers and editors
mosaic, RMNDolphy, syshim - Editors

2006 marks the last airing of Mushishi, a small journey within a rural Shinto-inspired Japan. It is, in essence, about harmony—emanating the struggle for humans to find balance in their lives and to attain kiyome ("purity") among the cycles of nature. Prospects of a sequel have been teased for a while now, and as time passed, hopeful fans were beginning to lose faith. Now, 8 years later, studio Artland and director Hiroshi Nagahama relaunch the series with a one hour-long Mushishi episode, entitled "Hihamukage" ("Sun-Eating Shade").

Hihamukage is in tone with the original season, with a spiritual phenomenon kindling discord, followed by a diagnosis by the ... mushishi Ginko, and then character-driven drama bringing about resolution. In this case, the mushi "hihamukage" is cosmic in scale, blocking all sunlight and causing crops to wither and die. Hiyori, a young albino girl unable to stay under sunlight, must come to terms with her condition in order to save the village. The format is a consistent model that heaves a rhythm to Mushishi's plot: we can recognize and predict the story's end, but we always treasure the means by which Mushishi arrives there.

Mushishi is based all on naturality; there is nothing malicious, nothing violent or overtly sinister, nothing but the link between humans and nature as they coalesce and work in tandem to solve conflicts. Villagers are depicted to be unperturbed by all this (at first), routinely harvesting farmlands and going about their daily lives. It is by a change's subtle effect that these activities come undone, having a much larger impact than if it were spurred spontaneously. The eerie yet serene aura of the hihamukage awes both character and viewer. Characters from previous episodes witness the eclipse as well, making a discreet cameo which will not fail to please the fans.

As the sun is blocked by the hihamukage, Hiyori realizes her newfound freedom to waltz around the village without a worry for her condition. Simply walking around, crossing the river, and splashing water as fish pass is exciting for Hiyori. There is something to be said about the joy of freedoms we take for granted. However, she too realizes this about the sun; it is vital to the well-being of the villagers and her family despite her protest for others to feel her suffering. Hiyori must learn to accept this fact, and the drama while she confronts it is nothing short of exemplary.

Part of what lends to this is the atmosphere, ranging from its lagging camera, its setting, its sounds, and its colors. Void silence assaults key moments in order to render them more impactful. Strings, loosely structured "clinks" and "clanks", place emphasis not on the sound or the visuals, but the moment of the scene, to immerse you into Mushishi's rich world and observe it in the eyes of the characters. The landscapes are resplendent in sea-green grasses, but they are laid bare onto the blander browns of the farmlands and villages when the hihamukage ruins the land. The lighting is suggestive; visual actions such as Hiyori lying in darkness remain symbolic of an inner turmoil. Florescent white flowers make the climax all that more meaningful when the villagers destroy them, shoveling their way to the hihamukage's root. Its exposure to the sun removes the darkness once again.

The manner in which Mushishi explicates its lush universe is also in tune with its storytelling: calm, unhurried inspection of the initial surroundings, followed by an omen that marks misfortune. Mystical and strange-looking, the mushi are inscrutable creatures bearing a likeness to folkloristic legends. Part of what makes the mushi so intriguing are all the diverse habitats that they live in. There is something familiar about every legend and every story, but they are different in such a way that they shock you; they confound you, and most of all, they inspire you.

Among other purposes, Hihamukage is an excellent addition to garner excitement for the new season. Artland and Nagahama have preserved the essential aspects of the series, and fans—whether old or new—will be astonished by the work's subtleties. Mushishi's relaunch will not be one to forget.

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This review is written by members of the club Quiet Discourse. We thank the writers nil- and Stellio, as well as the editors lpf and RMNDolphy.

A void, a soft gust of wind, a sole lone flower with naught but to wither away. not simple is akin to a gleeless memoriam, a sorrowful take on one life that unfortunately could not be saved.

With the spine of a story gently brittling away, not simple takes you on a journey, a chronicle detailing the life of a young man named Ian. This tale is a dejected one—every event compounded onto Ian's misfortunes. Each moment, each flash onto not simple's stage is wistful, placing heart and soul into the stiffened dialogue at play. The bastard child of his sister and his father; an abusive ... alcoholic for a "mother"; and his father, a callous businessman who couldn't possibly care. Even child prostitution is but a casual topic for Ian. This irreparable lifestyle fundamentally warps his beliefs—a shadow that continuously haunts his search for happiness. But, there's a shimmering hope. Every scene you see Ian clinging to his innocence, clutching something so sweet that others can only look at him and cry out in solace.

not simple's plot is short and fleeting, but the passion behind its tale takes readers on an affectional journey. The miles each character sojourns across become a metaphor for their fleeting nature, constantly on the move and in search for that which would keep them happy. Moreover, each character becomes intrinsically wrapped with family, a motif (and overall theme) which becomes clearer upon every page. This message is a simple one, suitable to the length of the story. However, what is extraordinary is not simple's ability to render it so exceptionally—to realize unhappiness so tangibly.

Each character is so dolefully a result of their environment. A once enflamed romance is now all withered away; both mother and father see others and do not give so much as a glance towards their fallout children. The loving sister as well is in prison for dire needs to take care of Ian. Each experience within this life is a wicker, passing so ephemerally from Ian's grasp. The work also adds an alternative perspective. The reporter named Jim becomes ever so fascinated by Ian's life, so much that he aims to write a memoir of him. Every one of Jim's actions is just the same as Ian's—sorrowful, analytical, and expressionless. Always wearing slate black in style, Jim's presence stays ever so distinctive, placing readers into his shoes as much as one would consider Ian alone.

What dances so mournfully into this atmosphere is Natsume Ono's impassioned hand. The paneling is wonderfully imaginative, with speech bubbles constantly defying panel lines, and diagonals slashed across non-conventional layouts. The vertical diagonals place the focal point less on the storytelling in so much as on the characters themselves. This flocks attention toward each character's lanky poses and vapid inscrutable faces. Shadows as well take a heavy effect onto dispersing this melancholy so acutely; Ono regularly crafts opposites in tonal shading. This fastens the minimalist artwork with a subtler depth beyond what most works attempt to express using even more tools.

Natsume Ono's iconic character designs take its place here again, always the same with cylindrical eyes and clean charcoal outlines. The minimalism in Ono's artistry persists as a fascinating juncture. Panels often span expressions and slow rigid movement, lacking dialogue page after page. This gives many of the characters a subtle rueful expression, surveying the atmosphere with pensive thoughts and unspoken aversion. It's bleak in taste, like crying out for help in a forest with no one to hear.

Just an hour or two is all it takes to complete not simple. This is a beautiful story, like a melancholy that can only (and fervently) clasp its passion. not simple subdues readers and places them in utter despair, offering a slight shimmer of light with a humble message at its end. Page for page, this journey is certainly not one to miss.

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This review is written by members of the club Quiet Discourse. For more details, please see the club frontpage.

At the top of the cyberpunk hill stands the Ghost in the Shell franchise. First formulated in concept by Masamune Shirow, it has been Mamoru Oshii's Ghost in the Shell (1995) film and Kenji Kamiyama's Standalone Complex series that have amassed wide and overwhelmingly positive reception. Ghost in the Shell: Arise—a four-part OVA series—is the most recent installment into the franchise, serving as a prequel set prior to Section 9's establishment. With high expectations coming from a new Ghost in the Shell title, it may not come as a surprise that Arise's first piece (Border:1 Ghost Pain) wields variable success.

Perhaps one of the most noticeable ... changes in Arise is the single point of view focus onto Motoko. Her actions and behavior play off as slightly more human in the OVA, whether it be displaying discernible facial expressions or occasionally acting by emotion. This causes her to seem more like her physical age than her typical, cold and cryptic self. Additionally, she holds more bearing on the story than normal. Aiming to solve a murder and later being implicated as the primary suspect, Motoko becomes pivotal in whether Arise can subtly yet powerfully grasp its story.

As a teaser and opener, Border:1 does a decent job. The mystery remains simple while still wafting that old GITS tension; it nicely paces through the narrative on tried and true grounds. The investigations murk about, action scenes go a-flurry, and exciting plot twists make the sketches of a solid storyline. Motoko also receives hints of development through a partially grasped backstory, and while this may seem incomplete, Border:1 is after all only one of four entries, and the allusions toward more (particularly Motoko's development and thorough introductions to future Section 9 members) work seamlessly into the storytelling.

Yet, this is also one of Arise's pitfalls. The simple plot structure—combined with a singular point of view and occasionally awkward pacing—can cause a few scenes to feel slightly linear and dull. Moreover, the restrictive point of view may narrow the scope of the OVA's aims, and GITS's recurring characters (namely, Araki, Batou, and Togusa) make a nice cameo but that's about it.

This leaves a lurking, uneasy feeling about the work's direction; many of the sci-fi themes prevalent in previous titles are also non-existent here. However, what's fortunate is that Arise manages to keep many of the subtleties and charm within the character dialogues intact. It may not exactly feel like the GITS we've all come to learn and love, but it's still a good sci-fi story nonetheless.

Much of the streamlined narrative can also be attributed to the limited time allocated in Arise. After all, a one-hour treat can only do so much into framing the beginning, middle, and ends of a mystery. However, this limitation is surely not the only factor causing simplifications in the work; the villains come and go, the action scenes are numerous yet not always relevant to the plot, and certain dialogues seem out of place and unrequired. Still, at the heart of Arise's content lie the fundamental pieces which provide for good writing.

While Arise's visuals proudly stands with its own style, its design choices have stirred controversy. The OVA beautifully flourishes a lighter opacity than previous installments. This luminosity offers a fresher appeal, leaving a tonal vibrance that nicely captures the ages of the slightly younger cast. However, paired with the more minimalist detail and brighter shade of skin tones, this can at times apprehend viewers. Motoko's character design, for instance, almost (note: almost) has that moe appeal trending among current shows. This no doubt has spurred contentions among the loins of all otaku and self-appraising viewers. Fortunately, what rare fanservice does exist encapsulates the same seinen bloodshed-and-boobies common in the genre. In other words, you won't be seeing Motoko pull off an Asuka catchphrase any time soon.

The soundtrack remains true to the cyberpunk theme, offering circuits of electronic pop, jazz, and smooth guitar riffs. The choreography and overall animation are generally both fluid and topknotch, oozing out creativity with Arise's integration of cybertechnology in action scenes—realtime hacking wizardry, cybernetic organs, and quick-fire CQC. The 3D CGI works just as well as in Stand Alone Complex, with little to no intrusive vices; it's great to know these elements have (for the most part) marched the classic beat encased within the GITS franchise.

With mixed success in its execution, Arise still serves as an admirable entry point into a new tetralogy. Production IG proves that its animation and visuals are still ever improving, and Arise's plot—while "off"—makes a decent segway for the next three titles to come along. Whether one is a fan of Border:1 or not, high hopes remain for the upcoming installments.

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This review is written by members of the club Quiet Discourse. For more details, please see the club frontpage.

College slices of life are rare in a medium prolific with high school romances, 15-year-old pilots in mecha, gargantuan harems, and everything inbetween. In comes Genshiken, one of the most laidback and down to earth shows I've ever seen. The heavy amount of realism is almost shocking, and the college club slice of life elements are fantastic. Picturing a life in an otaku club can't get anymore immersible than this, with a solid lead character that's relatable (much like Yuuta from Honey & Clover), and an all-around fantastic ensemble. You know you're in for a ride when your appreciation for Genshiken's comedy is directly proportional ... to how awkward your social skills are.

Perhaps what's most striking about Genshiken is its crassness with the ins and outs of otaku culture. The show manages to hit the main crevices on otakudom—whether it be compulsively watching midnight screenings, purchasing doujinshi, cosplaying, or even building models. Genshiken intends neither to glorify nor criticize the underlying culture; what merely exists is prevalent, and Genshiken deftly and unbiasedly documents it.

What's also admirable is how forward Genshiken is in its storytelling, particularly with not dodging borderline controversial material. Saki, for instance, constantly berates others with her sexually frustrated problems, and admits that one of the main reasons she dates Kohsaka is because of his looks. Frankness with sexual content is to be expected of in western shows, but is fairly commendable for one within an otaku-glorified medium. Even holding hands may take an anime multiple seasons! (Yes, Japan may not be so forward as in western cultures, but "purity" is nowhere even close to what's perceived in pandering anime versus real-life Japan.)

Genshiken's unparalleled persistence to realism almost becomes one of its few flaws, as the show is practically uneventful—even for slice of life standards. This is where you have to wonder when the mundane is pulled too far. One episode could be so briefly summarized as, "Saki reads manga in the clubroom while Madarame tries to strike up a conversation." The work is almost Hyouka-esque in its banality, but fortunately, Genshiken is told in such a charming way that you often forget that nothing even happened in the episodes (and it's also not spoiled by silly "mystery" antics like Hyouka's first half).

The "new guy in the group" manages to be an archetype served well here, as it grants viewers the insight into what would otherwise be a closeted (and hence alienable) culture. To divy the variety, the role is often placed among different members of the group (particularly with Sasahara and Saki) depending on the situation. However, Genshiken's cast performance is not all as great as the concept bears to mind. Certain characters are unfortunately pivoted towards the sidelines while the few with inherently more interesting premises take up the primary spotlight. Saki becomes the de facto main lead (while already the poster girl), and Sasahara is more or less forgettable during most of his screentime. He spends his idle time blending in and never doing anything that stands out, offering comedic reactions in uniform with the rest of the group. What makes this truly unfortunate is that given the ensemble's individual premises, each character offers a certain flavor of comedy to enhance every scene. Instead, we're served the same glops of behaviors and comedic variety each episode, which quickly diminishes one's entertainment via pure redundancy. Sure, the topics change and the group slowly mingles more and more, but the character dynamics and per-character screentimes remain relatively the same.

The animation and artwork is dated and quickly shows its age from a cursory glance. A most noticeable resemblance would be to the often compared work, Welcome to the NHK!. In both, the visuals are frankly quite terrible, but this is mostly forgivable due to their comedy subgenre anyways. Works like Genshiken don't necessarily rely on compelling production values to ample its enjoyment, and there are never situations where you feel more detailed visuals would have benefited a particular scene. On the audio side, the soundtrack is practically nonexistent, which complements the laidback, relatable atmosphere of the show (especially with all the awkward scenes). Production-wise as a whole, things here are cheap as Mexican candy, but so what? It works.

Genshiken is a fantastic, homey slice of life that places itself in a genre difficult to come across these days. The ensemble has its flaws, but overall the casual storytelling really takes center stage and makes up for this. The cast slowly yet noticeably grows with each other, and the uneventfulness of Genshiken really grows on you. This is certainly not a show to miss, and I look forward to its newest season. Hopefully it'll retain the same charm that makes the show so endearing.

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This review is written by members of the club Quiet Discourse. For more details, please see the club frontpage.

From a fantastic series comes these six extra Blu-ray specials, each one packaged to a separate Blu-ray volume holding ~2 episodes of the series each. These two-minute specials (totalling to ~12 minutes) offer a condensed slice of Jinrui's hilarity in the form of one fully encompassed skit: Watashi finds one of the fairies' inventions idly by, and since her curiousness always gets the best of her, a random turn of events causes her to shrink down in fairy form! Now lies a touching tale of wits (or rather, the lack of) and bravery to become normal-sized again.

As a whole, Jinrui wa Suitai Shimashita is a ... highly enjoyable piece taken either analytically in its social commentary subtly suffused into the narrative, or more generally in its brashness with the story's actions. In both perspectives, Jinrui stays at the top of its game, uplifted to excellence by writer Romeo Tanaka's cheeky style. Whereas many series specials suffer either from needless fan pandering or relying on inconsistent lowbrow humor, these Jinrui specials do not; fans will continue to be entertained by the closely rendered style in homage to Jinrui's phenomenal satirical atmosphere.

Much of the series' meritable assets are commonly attributed to Watashi's clever quips, and things here take a reverse effect: her growing lack of cleverness actually becomes a plot device, causing her to squander as much wisdom as she can. It's a light-hearted jab about the effect of sweets on the brain; it's an uncommon allegory featuring civilized rodents playing the fallen man and infernal weasels playing the two-faced villain; it's even a parody on a common fairy tale; and ultimately, it's an intriguing glimpse on the life of fairies. At all odds, Jinrui continues to dish out its savory desserts—a compilation of random items that on a closer glance oozes sheer cleverness in writing.

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This review is written by members of the club Quiet Discourse. For more details, please see the club frontpage.

In a dull season plagued by the predictable, describing this newest series as "different" would be a severe understatement. Enter Sasami-san@Ganbaranai, the front-runner for absurdity—playing the seductress, the shrew, the madwoman fueled by crack cocaine. Be forewarned. This is a genuine concoction of the bizarre, lacking any sense of direction, and indeed, having no concern for it. Sheer bewilderment becomes Sasami-san's very forte. Yet, this eccentricity is a double-edged sword, and considering the shallowness of Sasami-san's loony design, we're unfortunately left with a show that is plain disappointing.

Both a strength and a weakness, the plot is all over the place. In the first episode for ... example, Sasami spends her idle time stalking her brother from home via some unexplained form of ultra-computer technobabble, mixing in Haruhi references (oh the boldness) on the way; then Sasami purchases some Valentine's Day chocolate for her brother, which suddenly transforms the world into...chocolate. Now if this weren't enough, we have some wacky screenplay done in eroge style, a whole 30 seconds spent watching Sasami undress; cue jazz-fusion music, concurrent with tumultuous action scenes: missile-endowed breasts, chocolate dragons, magical powers, mechanical wings, and sensual cannibalism—all to save the world from becoming a permanent Willy Wonka factory.

While we're offered nothing of the underlying plot, we're so bemused by its over-the-top direction, disoriented into excitement by the story and art direction's compounded nonsense. Yet, the underlying problem is that we're offered nothing related to the real plot. Instead we're served a bowl of shallow eccentricity, leaving a cloyingly sour taste as we're still wondering what the heck is going on (!).

This is a real shame given that some of the more unique eccentricities are intrinsically linked to the Shinto doctrine. Sasami's brother Kamiomi perpetually hides his face under the presence of his sister, a testament to the humility of servants under deities; and the brooding incest between the two—while a common SHAFT delicacy—is canonically supported by the historical myths behind Shinto creationism. These are the occasional subtleties, the acts of brilliance overshadowed by heavy-handed symbols and writing: Sasami's mother inserting an awfully phallic totem into her daughter's stomach, festering into tangible bloat, and then Sasami birthing her own mother through some Freudian version of catharsis. Better yet, Takamagahara mythology even details this very method as the cycle of creation.

Am I overreaching somewhere? Yes, a bit. Unfortunately, Sasami-san clouds itself with so many absurdities (much of the time for fanservice) that it becomes impossible to determine what actually warrants in-depth discussion. It would be too convenient to suppose all of it is just pandering eroticism, especially with the more detailed source material in mind. Yet, this potential existence for merit does not make Sasami-san's diluted symbology any more comprehensible from the start, overshadowed by the show's refusal to expand upon its elusive—and unfortunately, fleeting—strengths.

At the show's core we're left with nothing but soppy melodrama—a direction that the show initially tried to avoid. This is where Sasami-san truly unhinges itself. While once entranced by the subtleties within the Shinto doctrine, the story takes a jarring left turn, yanking us out of the rabbit hole and placing us into a different tale: one of happiness versus responsibility, an introspective battle between Sasami's self-indulgent desires and her shrine maiden duties. Yet, the story forgets what previously distinguished Sasami-san, substituting eccentricity for intense manipulation (and boy is it an emotional roller coaster). Spending time with a zombie mother, only to be handled with a glop of melodrama by the end, simply does not compute. To have such a jarring turn of events (and an awfully serious one at that) alienates viewers from any meaningful connection to the characters.

This dramatic venture is only exacerbated as many of the events are unnaturally spontaneous, pulling away from any sense of realism in the story. These are the scenes full of hilarious spunk when the show doesn't take itself seriously, but when deus ex machina are integrated with the drama, it's difficult to consider any of it to be sincere writing. How unfortunate that the only savior from a time-traveling golem (which just happens to have waited an entire decade in hibernation) is some awkward plot device tantamount to going Super Saiyan.

Unfortunately, the narrative lends no favors to the cast either, as all the intriguing characters are offered little substance beneath their eccentric guises. Sasami Tsukuyomi is a hikikomori who also happens to be something of a goddess, and is queerly characterized by opposites: antisocial hikikism and a gooey moe personality. Sadly, her character is inconsistent, and constantly swaps between the two at the flick of a switch, a poor trait for a lead character aiming to pull off realistic drama. As for other cast members, Kamiomi plays the lustful brother, Tsurugi the frivolous red-head, Kagami the cold-hearted robot, and Tama the well-endowed moeblob with the brain age of a nymphet. While we are offered the occasional dynamic cleverly (word)played among these personalities, it is regrettable then that they never amount to anything more than that; the plot simply refrains from developing them past farcical melodrama. Moreover, the show even introduces more quirky characters three-quarters of the way through its 12 episodes, which only seems to confirm that the writers are looking more for gimmicky shells than ripened fruit.

In the end, Sasami-san concludes as the devil child that it is. The show's dynamics lends itself into an air of ravenous hilarity, pumping out the rare cheekiness reminiscent of more successful shows of its kind. But unfortunately, Sasami-san is so all over the place, and weighed down by its bloated melodrama, that these breadcrumbs are unsavory—ephemeral loaves expanding into excessively sour ones. Worth the watch? LSD's better.

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This review is written by members of the club Quiet Discourse. For more details, please see the club frontpage.

Nekomonogatari: Kuro is the third adapted installment of the Monogatari series, an array of light novels written by Nisio Isin. It serves as a precursor to Bakemonogatari and features Tsubasa Hanekawa during the events of Golden Week, in which she becomes possessed by a neko (translated as "cat") and indiscriminately attacks people on the street to relieve her built-up stress. Viewers of Bakemonogatari may recall references and flashbacks to this incident particularly in the Tsubasa Cat arc, and here we finally see it divulged in detail.

Now coming from the markedly huge success of both Bakemonogatari and the controversial Nisemonogatari, fans may likely enter this third ... installment with a few qualms. After all, Nisemonogatari occasionally acted like a completely different series than its predecessor Bake, with the most divisive issue being its more prolific fanservice. And now viewers are left wondering whether Nekomonogatari will continue the footsteps of Nise or tread back towards the more "conventional" success from Bake (well, at least more conventional than Nise). The result?

A mixed oddity.

Structurally, Nekomonogatari is like a bizarre child born from a vile yet oddly alluring incest between Bake and Nisemonogatari. It takes the most successful aspects of both series and tries to mash them into its own masterful direction. But the end result is less a full-on masterpiece than an overall great but not perfect special: Neko thrives and yet occasionally suffers from the very compiled aspects it relies on.

On a holistic level, the story follows Bakemonogatari's arc formula quite closely. It starts off—much like a visual novel or eroge—with several cameos of the "see girl then talk to girl" type. Here, it stays light-hearted in its comedy while tossing in some witty dialogue between our sexually frustrated Araragi and one of Nekomonogatari's several supporting characters. The overarching mystery is then introduced, some character development and macrabre-like drama ensues, a solution is finally realized, and the status quo is achieved again.

While this formula is nothing new coming from the five alike arcs in Bakemonogatari, it is nonetheless executed in a well-woven and highly enjoyable manner. Really, this alikeness to Bakemonogatari is actually one of Neko's strengths, as it keeps the plot structure fresh and interesting coming from the slower and more casual pace of its predecessor Nisemonogatari. Even the sudden, fast-paced action scenes involving some form of an Araragi massacre continue to be outlandishly eye-gripping and exciting, not only in its sudden change of pace coming from the heavy dialogue, but also in its vivid detail and fluid animation. It is no exaggeration that these extremely gory scenes keep viewers on their toes and high on the suspense, even if these scenes are just part of the arc formula to reach the end conclusion. After all, being the subject of mutilation is Ararararagi-kun's modus operandi, a lose to win scenario, and he certainly doesn't disappoint in being the best loser there is (I'm bad at puns).

Now aside from the story structure, what the Monogatari series truly shines in is its engaging, witty dialogue. Nekomonogatari is certainly no sloucher, as it touts some of the best soliloquys in the series and continues to make great use of its art direction in keeping the dialogue-heavy script truly captivating. Regarding the subject of much of the dialogue itself, Nekomonogatari acts more like Nise in employing a raunchier perversion and boning up the sexual tension to the largest tip. This isn't to say in contrast that Bakemonogatari is the Virgin Mary of anime, but the sexual undertones and fanservice in Bake is arguably done in a more playful and "intellectual" manner, though it still has its fair share of ecchi(-ish?) slapstick comedy and deadpan humor.

This brings us to the most controversial topic in the series—fanservice.

Whether you may be in the "too much" or "too little" category, there is no doubt that the Monogatari series lives by its unique art direction, strong characters, and witty, often sexually charged dialogue. All of these elements, including fanservice, are just as frequent in Neko as they were in Nise, and whether it's discussing porn and fondling breasts with your sister or licking desks and gaping at a scantily clad Hanekawa-nyan, Nekomonogatari does not hold back on its fanservice—for better or worse.

However, there is a lot to be said about the source material here. This four-episode series stays pretty true to the light novel it adapts to, and does quite a good job at condensing the entire novel into only 96 minutes. That said, the fanservice could have been a lot more prevalent given the elaborate detail and flamboyant panache of the novel (where's our 2-page rant on Tsukihi's pantsu??). Personally, I find the occasional subtle fanservice more enjoyable than the crude masturbatory imagery done in most fanservice-inducing series or specials; and in this respect, I think Neko does a decent job at providing enough fanservice to stay true to the novel and pander to fans, but not so much that it completely bars one from enjoying the story or characters.

Character development-wise, the story explores Araragi's love for Hanekawa in great detail, as he questions whether his newfound love is one based on romance or one based on lust. There is certainly a plethora of great analysis here given Neko's connection to Bake and Nisemonogatari. For one, we have a clear juxtaposition between Araragi's relationship with Hanekawa and his relationship with Senjougahara. In Neko, for instance, Araragi discusses Hanekawa's cat problem with Oshino, and Araragi promptly asserts, "Only she can save herself." And yet in early Bake, Araragi discusses Senjougahara's crab problem with Oshino, and it is not Araragi but Oshino who spouts the very same line. Is Araragi perhaps more willing to save Senjougahara than Hanekawa? More interestingly enough, this becomes ironically subverted: Senjougahara essentially overcomes her crab problem by her conviction alone, while Hanekawa overcomes her cat problem not by her own will, but by direct intervention from Araragi himself (well, technically it was Shinobu but you get the point).

Hanekawa's development alone is also quite strong, though little can be said without spoilers. In a very early scene where Hanekawa explains to Araragi why her step-father hit her, she undermines herself in her step-father's defense, saying that she was a "seventeen-year old that speaks like she knows everything," a subversion of her very well-known catchphrase, "I don't know everything, I just know what I know." Ah, what a woman.

Other supporting characters get a fair amount of detail as well. While Nekomonogatari features a smaller supporting cast (for continuity's sake), this is actually quite convenient given the limited 96 minutes, as Neko doesn't have to deal with adding short fanservice cameos to every single character in existence. This isn't to say that Nekomonogatari doesn't suffer from this problem however, as Karen makes an awfully short cameo with a small role in the story and a big role in the fanservice.

At the very least, however, the rest of the supporting cast get their just deserts. We get some much needed interaction with Tsukihi, who was largely lacking in Nisemonogatari as her sister Karen took up almost all the spotlight—even in Tsukihi's own arc! Oshino also makes a few great cameos in Neko, and it's interesting to see his character again considering the discussion surrounding his philosophy from Nise's finale. And perhaps an even more vital character, Shinobu gets a good deal of much needed air time as well. With her intimidating yet all the more cute capriciousness, she continues to be the looming lolicon vampire guardian that we've all come to love from the past two seasons, possibly the most fleshed-out character of the supporting cast. While she still hasn't gotten the attention she deserves as a prospective main lead, it will certainly be interesting how her role will play out in the events of Kizumonogatari.

Animation-wise, SHAFT artwork in general has always been controversial. Some consider it a beautifully original direction while others consider it an expensive slide show. Nekomonogatari is certainly no different than its predecessors in its production quality. As such, we get a fair share of one-liner screen slides, SHAFT head tilts, eye-cropped shots, and outrageously comical blown-up views to make the current situation more over the top than it already is. The series can immediately shift from cheaply made 5-second-long stills to the most beautifully hand-animated artworks in existence, taking the "sudden shift in art style" trope to the utter extreme. Nekomonogatari's attention to detail here is excellent, with a vibrant array of colors and overall strong use in appropriating the lighting and physical setting to suit the current atmosphere. Really, if you've watched the previous installments or any modern SHAFT work, then you know exactly what to expect, and at the very least, it's undisputedly better than two talking heads in a fixed panned-out shot. Whether you're a fan of SHAFT's eccentricities or not, animation style is all about complementing and enhancing the story, and a dialogue-heavy series—however good the script may be—just wouldn't be all too compelling without fresh ways to keep viewers piqued.

Suitably in that regard, it is even more vital that the seiyuus do an excellent job at conveying proper emotion and keeping viewers entertained. And Nekomongatari certainly doesn't disappoint, employing the same brilliant cast. The soundtrack is pretty decent, and as with Bakemonogatari arcs and their respective OPs, Nekomonogatari's OP "perfect slumbers" is composed by Satoru Kosaki, lyrics by meg rock, and vocals by Hanekawa's seiyuu Yui Horie. It's a nice mellow tune featuring the beautiful Hanekawa, with a soothing yet melancholic mood revolved around loneliness. Dire fans (and/or the masochist-equivalent) may recognize that SHAFT certainly loves its train tracks and vibrant geometric imagery, and "perfect slumbers" is no slouch on either account.

All in all, Nekomonogatari doesn't do much different from its two predecessors, combining a Bakemonogatari-like storyline with a more sexually charged dialogue and more rampant fanservice suitable to Nisemonogatari. And for a four-episode prequel, Neko does a great job at handling a focused cast and molding their characterization and relationships to fit its congruity with the rest of the series.

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This review is written by members of the club Quiet Discourse. For more details, please see the club frontpage.