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Is it better to have loved and lost than never have loved at all?

I wish I could spend this whole review showering WIT Studio with praise for the gorgeous animation, outstanding sword fight choreography, consistently on-model character designs, and grand orchestral music, as many already have and will continue to. But unfortunately, while these features certainly made Ranking of Kings a spectacle and never boring to watch, the presentation isn't enough to make up for the disappointing writing.

(Spoilers in a marked section of the review.)

Underdog stories have always appealed to me, which drew me into Ranking of Kings premiere. The plot follows Boji, a young ... prince who is deaf, mute, and considerably weaker than most kids his age. He is first in line to inherit the throne after the untimely death of his giant father king Bosse; the problem is, no one takes him seriously. Citizens and knights consider him a weakling unable to carry the crown. Even his sympathetic stepmother Hiling views him as a hazard rather than a potential king. Upon meeting his only friend, a shadow creature named Kage, his journey to claim the throne begins. Boji is immediately likeable because he strives to achieve his dreams despite the odds stacked against him. It is satisfying to see other, stronger people judge him, then him beating them in a duel with his hidden skills. The artists so fluidly animated his graceful dodging and subtle rapier swipes that it's hard not to be amazed by him. Characters around Boji progress throughout the show as they learn to sympathize with him; they become better people when they regret their wrongdoings towards him and gain faith in his capabilities as king. Boji's cruel half-brother Daida is the main antagonist of the first arc—doing everything he can to prevent Boji from claiming the king's throne. Daida is guided by a dark spirit living within a mirror, not unlike the evil queen's Magic Mirror from Snow White.

Ranking of Kings' tone is deceptively joyful at first, in part due to the colorful background art, smooth character designs, and bright lighting, but it quickly becomes dramatic. Every few minutes, a character is crying, usually Boji. The first and second episodes had me tearing up because of Kage's depressing backstory and seeing Boji get beat up for the first time. I was numb to it after the third time he got his ass whooped. Not to mention, any time a named character is in danger, you know for sure they'll be saved at the last minute or healed after a foe beats them half to death. There are only so many melodramatic speeches and surprise rescues I can take before calling out emotional manipulation. Boji is not an overpowered protagonist; however, he is wrapped tightly in plot armor, and tears aren't enough to distract from that glaring issue. A bloodthirsty enemy could chuck a dozen boulders at him and miss. What he lacks in physical strength he makes up for with nimbleness that allows him to evade damage. The times he gets bruised, you can count on someone to heal him.

A director can weaponize crying in tandem with tension built up by the script. Overusing sentimentality lessens the effect over time because these scenes lack a long-term setup or a satisfying payoff—a problem many people had with To Your Eternity. One of the most egregious uses of emotional manipulation is showing last-minute flashbacks to redeem villains. After a character has betrayed the hero, saving them is a complex undertaking. Still, the author takes a shortcut to redemption by blending sentimental flashbacks, sobbing, and self-pitying monologues from the villain to manipulate us into forgiving them. Demon Slayer is another fantastically animated, awfully written, anime that attempts to redeem monsters moments before their death with a corny backstory. They don't do the work to make up for their faults—these sudden twists and turns make the story seem lazily written with minimal forethought.

(Spoiler section)
Boji is a very empathetic boy to a fault—even wanting to spare bloodthirsty killers, wolf beasts, and people who attempted to kill him. The furthest he goes is forgiving Miranjo, the evil spirit living in a mirror who convinces Daida to betray his family. Although Miranjo killed Boji's birth mother in front of him, he has no good reason to forgive her. Miranjo created a potion to turn Daida into an empty husk for King Bosse to reincarnate into—trapping his soul eternally alone in a void Essentially a fate worse than death. Miranjo is willing to kill anyone to stand by Bosse's side once again as she used to. When Boji nearly loses a fight, Miranjo advises the retreat, suggesting she feels empathy for him. Witnessing him fight an immortal knight futilely gives her flashbacks to her mother, a kind woman with a solid moral compass. Eventually, we learn she caused the deaths of tons of innocent people, carrying out the order herself. That the author would attempt to redeem her through pitiable flashbacks is appalling. There is no justice served. Instead, everyone lets Miranjo off with a slap on the wrist and a marriage proposal from Daida to keep her safe in the 22nd episode. The author desperately tries to make us love her, as all the other characters curiously do, and fails spectacularly. She is a floppy noodle of an antagonist and would have easily been a more significant threat by tweaking the flashbacks and reactions from characters. Bosse reincarnated as his son Daida is another limp antagonist. To call his, and everyone else's, motivations confusing would be an understatement. He switches between wanting to murder everyone and healing them just to fight again. The adaptation failed to convey that he is a psychopath who loves manipulating his enemies' expectations or that the author had no idea what direction to take each character. In other words, pick a lane and stay in it!

Boji’s mentor tells him 'believing in yourself, and 'self-confidence' is what granted him power, which would contribute to the show’s themes if it were entirely true. Boji trains to fight with a sword, but his high skill level comes from his royal genes. Aptitude derived from luck at birth is similar to My Hero Academia's quirks. Due to these natural abilities the story is more about reclaiming is ‘rightfully his’ then rising up as an underdog. The obstacles he has to overcome are other people who stand in the way of his path to the throne. Many of his allies double-cross him for personal gain, usually out of loyalty to others or for money. However, when they witness his fiery passion in battle and unwavering empathy, they have no choice but to stand by his side! One or two betrayals-turned-allies are understandable. Unfortunately, the author doesn't stop at two and keeps going; it's predictable, obnoxious, and makes sense that someone with a victim complex writes the story. Thankfully the egotism of the author doesn't seep through into Boji's character—who is arguably the most respectful portrayal of a disabled person I've seen in anime. However, the author's biases do radically impact the series in episode 18 and onwards, causing one of the worst declines in writing quality I've seen in an anime since Wonder Egg Priority.

In the 18th episode, King Bosse retells Miranjo's origin story in a lengthy exposition dump. (One of my favorite parts of the script is how lore was delivered naturally, NOT by a talking head reading off a script.) Miranjo lived with her mother in the Homura kingdom, a stand-in for Japan, and the Gyakuza Kingdom, a stand-in for Korea. The comparison is immediately apparent when you see how the Gyakuza houses are identical to those in pre-industrial era Korea. Bosse explains how Homura gave the Gyakuza all kinds of benefits, such as teaching them magic, but they took advantage of them by stealing, murdering, and deceiving. The author portrays Homura's colonization of Gyakuza as a net-positive and their rejection of their 'generosity' as ungratefulness. At the time, Bosse witnessed the merciless mutilation of Miranjo by Gyakuza civilians, which spurred him to murder all of them he could find—ethnic cleansing. Their motives are, as Bosse explains: "But different countries have different cultures." Blaming culture for socio-economic problems is a frequent tactic used by Japanese nationalists when criticizing Korea. Western viewers may miss this allegory, but all it takes is briefly seeing the Japanese audience's response to the series to understand how appalling this message is by portraying the Gyakuza as sadistic criminals who mutilate innocent children. There is no room to interpret them as anything but pure evil—making Miranjo their victim of theirs was a tactic to make us pity her, then eventually excuse her actions. There's no nuance to these villains; they're corrupt because they're a manifestation of the author's demonization of Korean people. These villains stand out mainly because, time and time again, the show redeems even the vilest of individuals. This is not to say redemption is necessary, but nuance is.
(Spoilers end)

The show’s central themes are self-confidence and forgiving those who wronged you—the latter was horribly executed for all the reasons I've said. Everyone, no matter how horrible, is forgiven except for one ethnic group. At the very least, Boji’s coming of age journey to gain self-confidence works. Labeling Ranking of Kings "Average" is generous at best. Without the artists' spectacular audiovisual heights, it would most certainly be an immediate skip. As the writing quality rapidly declines, the visuals become even more impressive as if to compensate for the flaws. For the ones with a brave heart and solid moral compass, watch on, but prepare yourself for disappointment.

“Am I supposed to be holding her hand?”

The Girl I Like Forgot Her Glasses delves into a rather unsettling narrative, catering to a peculiar desire among certain individuals who yearn for a disturbingly infantile partner. Kaede Komura, the protagonist, becomes infatuated with his classmate Ai Mie, who suffers from poor eyesight and frequently forgets her glasses.

“I can’t not wash my hands… But maybe I can swab the sebum off my hands and preserve it.”

Kaede's fixation on Mie intensifies due to her apparent vulnerability and dependence caused by her visual impairment. Rather than being deterred by her squinting eyes and lack of common sense, Kaede's ... attraction intensifies. He eagerly becomes Ai's constant helper, exploiting her visual limitations to gain her reliance on him. Someone accurately described him as, "A seeing eye dog for Stevie Wonder." First just mundane things like sharing books, then tying her shoes like she’s a toddler, and THEN spoon feeding her like a baby, etc… In doing so, Kaede manipulates the situation to his advantage, fostering a sense of dependability while indulging in a skewed power dynamic. I hope nothing is more mortifying than watching the cake scene. However, given there have only been three episodes, it could get much worse. While feeding Mie cake (his idea), he says,

“Twelve bites to finish the whole thing.”
“I pictured her father in my mind and begged for his mercy twelve times.”

After three episodes, Kaede's infatuation evolved into a deeply unsettling obsession. Ai's visual impairment becomes the foundation upon which their relationship is built. He capitalizes on her reliance on him to strengthen his emotional hold on her. In a twisted turn of events, Kaede molds himself into the person Ai yearns to see. This blurs the boundaries between genuine affection and a disturbing fixation. If it weren’t for the over exposed lighting and upbeat elevator music, GoHand's bizarre directing paired with Kaede’s disturbing inner monologues would create a fantastic horror anime.

Despite the disturbing main character, the visuals stand out more than anything else. Studio GoHands' decision to employ their patented janky camera angles feels more like a distracting gimmick than a creative choice. It’s not quite as ugly as Hand Shakers, but it’s not very appealing either. Instead of enhancing the romcom aspects, the lack of visual cohesion pulls your attention away and nauseates you. This makes the two leads’ interactions seem more distant than cute/comical. For a romcom, these interactions are crucial, but presented with wild hair motions and cameras flying all over the place like a mosquito, you can barely pay attention.

Inconsistency between the art styles is further exaggerated by the clash between the hyper-realistic background art and the 2D character designs. I think they rendered everything with an engine like Unreal because it looks like an overexposed video game. Buildings, streets, and grass all appear to be static images, like they were lazily slapped onto greenscreen last minute. The designs are fine, a bit glossy. They were adapted from the manga by GoHands character designer who designed Hand Shakers and K. The contrasting aesthetics between 2D art and 3D backgrounds are never more obvious than anime like this.

With its horrendous adaptation, The Girl I Like Forgot Her Glasses disappoints manga fans while Kaede disturbs anime-only viewers. The visuals, characterized by janky camera angles and a clash between hyper-realistic backgrounds and 2D character designs, create a nausea-inducing anime. The overexposed lighting and generic upbeat music fail to mitigate the disturbing nature of the source material, so you'd be better off reading the manga. The adaptation disappoints in every category—it especially fails at its main goal: being a wholesome romcom.

Bloom Into You is not a romance. Rather, it is a love story about self-realization.

The series follows the titular late bloomer, Yuu Koito, a girl who has never felt love before. Since she was young, she dreamed of falling in love, romanticizing the day when it would happen. Expecting to be swept off her feet, eventually. But that day has never come. Even when someone confesses to her, she feels nothing. This has kept her from fully connecting to her friends and peers. They are far more understanding of what they want romantically. She was alone until she met Tokou Nanami. A girl who had ... also never experienced love until she met Yuu.

To Yuu’s surprise, Touko suddenly confesses to her. While she does not reciprocate due to her inability to love, she allows Touko to be in love with her. The one condition Touko sets for Yuu is to never love her back. From here on, the tale of self-discovery begins, as each character learns from the other about who they are. At the start of the show, Yuu seems like your typical blank slate protagonist devoid of the ability to love but look further. You’ll see her personality is surprisingly realistic. Yuu is the type of person who cares for others deeply but masks it beneath a veneer of logic and normalcy. She possesses many of the telltale signs of sexual repression. Her loneliness and lack of romantic feelings are just a few examples. Throughout the show, we see her pushing through boundaries she would have previously avoided, gaining more control of her life, reflecting on who she is, and gaining a better understanding of her own identity. This is why labeling Bloom Into You as a romance would be only half true; while it features people in love, it is more complicated than that. Before Yuu can love, she has to face the realization of what she wants, who she is.

Without a doubt, Bloom Into You depicts homosexual youth more realistically than I have seen in any anime before. Highlighting even the most minuscule details that only someone who has experienced firsthand can convey believably. For example, in the first episode, Yuu’s father lets slide a casually homophobic comment about worrying that she isn’t in a relationship with someone of the same sex. After this line comes, the director smash cuts to Yuu in dismay at what he said. The tone sharply changes from moment to moment to great success because of the subtlety to which it is executed.

In comparison to Yuu, Touko is rather different because she knows exactly what she wants and would die before she relinquishes her purpose. Touko wants to love Yuu because she can be vulnerable with her. She wants desperately for Yuu to always be there to comfort her. However, she can’t stand the thought of being loved in return by Yuu because of her own insecurities. Throughout the series, we see her personality pulled apart and analyzed thoroughly. She is rather basic upon first impression, but look further, and there is far more to her than meets the eye. If Yuu were to love her, she would be conflicted because, in her mind, she can’t possibly be loved. She endures an upsetting conflict, but it is incredibly effective in engaging anyone who has experienced similar insecurities.

Overall, these story beats are delivered with an impressive amount of grace and panache. The dialogue feels natural; Yuu’s interactions with her friends are realistic and believable. Most of all, the supporting characters are consistent. They don’t have random lapses in their personalities, and if anything changes, there’s an explanation for it in their lives. For example, suppose a character is acting awkward towards the suggestion of seeing a romance movie. In that case, it’s because they had their heart broken recently and needed a push to mention it to their friends. There’s a layer of depth to everyone that is far greater than what is expected of girls love and anime in general.

This is also the rare explicitly lesbian show that does not fetishize its characters at all. Touko is very clear about her romantic and physical attraction to Yuu; likewise, Yuu is very clear about her lack of ability to love. Both are treated like fully realized people instead of objects. In figuring out themselves and what they mean to each other, they run into a few issues. Nevertheless, their relationship is still built on communication, consent, and respecting boundaries. They’re a likable duo, and it’s easy to get invested in their development. For example, when the first kiss happens non-consensually, it is apologized for immediately, then it never occurs again. The author very deftly avoids, as well as subverts, the Class-S tropes negatively associated with the yuri genre.

Class-S usually refers to yuri that does not allow their characters to get into serious relationships. They are in high school and have time to play around before they marry men when they graduate. The author of Bloom Into You have said on a few occasions that this is not yuri. Instead, it is a story about girls and love. Understandably she wants to distance her story from negative connotations associated with the genre. Notably, this anime features a healthy adult lesbian relationship, showcasing that there is more to being homosexual and female outside of the scandalous high school melodrama. We also see a supporting character who faced the issue of her lesbian relationship being nullified under the pretense that ‘it’s just a phase.’ From this, she develops into a wonderfully nuanced character.

On the production side, Bloom Into You is magnificent. Beautiful visual storytelling, the storyboards convey characters’ inner emotions in engaging ways. It is very visually interesting. There are occasional breathtaking moments of sakuga, but what impresses more is the director’s keen eye for editing to clue us in onto how a character is feeling at any given moment. If emotions are obscured, it is deliberately so. If they are shown, you have to consider every little detail given to the audience. One of the best moments of visual storytelling in the first episode is when a rush of water divides Yuu from her friends; this shot perfectly conveys how her lack of understanding of herself separates her from the average teenager. Aside from just visual metaphors, how the story plays out represents the internal struggles Yuu and Touko face. The play that Touko desperately wants to enact is a tale of a woman without memories who needs to pick a desirable personality for herself, reflecting her insecurity and desire to better herself.

Punctuating each emotional beat are melancholic piano keys loudly implying the turmoils each character is enduring. Each of them is developed consistently enough for the musical accompaniment to feel very deserved. This is contrasted with melodic orchestral pieces to match the upbeat tone of scenes when characters come together and express heartwarming joy. With a talented and experienced composer like Michiru Oshima producing the soundtrack, the show’s audiovisual splendor blends wonderfully with its script.

To say that Bloom Into You took me by surprise would be an understatement. At first, its unusually realistic characters blindsided me; Yuu and Touko are superbly nuanced people. They’re lost in the dark, trying to find their way through a first relationship just as real people in their situation would. The many relevant themes this series tackles give the cast such believability and relatability unlike any other anime in this genre; self-loathing, societal expectations, homophobia, and sexual repression, to name a few. Each theme is delivered respectfully and with subtlety. In the first few episodes, the pacing is relatively slow but always purposefully so, and once it gains speed, it becomes enrapturing.

Without a doubt, Bloom Into You is the best anime I watched from this season, perhaps even the year. It is a masterfully crafted, unforgettable experience that will leave an impact on me for years to come.

Yuri is My Job is a charmingly self-aware romance with a pretty clever twist. It gleefully makes fun of tropes, cliches, and stereotypes associated with the girls' love genre—then subverts each one. The satire seems to have flown over the vast majority of viewers' heads, unfortunately. Upon first impressions, it appears to be a one-note comedy, so I initially dropped it, but humor is not its main strength.

I.e., fine comedy, great drama.

People seem to have missed the point that the Café Liebe, where most of the anime takes place, imitates the traditional girls' love genre known as "Class S" (Maria-sama ga Miteru, Oniisama e…). ... The characters are merely actors in this themed cafe putting on a show for those enticed by melodrama and queer longing. Quite literally, the anime mocks viewers of the genre in a toying manner so as not to condescend and with passion for the genre's pedigree. It's a genius idea to juxtapose a parodied version of typical girls' love with the drama that plays off-stage, classic queer romance themes with a modern twist…

…And no, it is not queerbait.

There's plenty of explicitly lesbian love to go around, none of that beating around the bush are they/aren't they BS. It's not some crushing depiction of homosexuality, either. For every heartbreak, there is levity—you can always see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Themes fittingly revolve around hiding one's true self. Each of the four main characters, Sumika, Kanoko, and Mitsuki, but primarily led by Hime, have a persona they choose to show the world and one they hide. Throughout the series, their true identities become apparent, challenging their ability to balance life acting in the cafe with turmoil in the real world. Flashbacks to before the characters met at the cafe do not come off as heavy-handed and provide a relatable glimpse into their pasts as well as round out their present personas. Their motives and character arcs flow naturally without over-relying on narration or exposition.

Don't expect tons of animation because the production is lightweight, but the direction is solid. It is nicely storyboarded, frequently employing the traditional shoujo flower frames during cafe scenes for an over-the-top effect. Adding to that extravagance is the abundant expressive character animation. One thing I really admire about Passione and Studio Lings' work is how even though there are a lot of faces to draw in the cafe, the artists never resort to 3D models. It simply wouldn't have fit the cafe's aesthetic. Drawing each patron adds to the immersion, showing their excitement and shock as they watch Class S madness unfold. I liked how the understated piano enhanced dramatic moments, and swelling strings punctuated the more pivotal scenes.

Shoujo and Girls' Love anime tend to be known for melodrama, and Yuri is My Job has a healthy dose of exaggerated emotions. Placing Class S situations into a workplace environment just feels right. The stress of juggling customer service makes the conflict between coworkers all the more intense. The stress reaches a fever pitch when Hime and Mitsuki squabbles outside of work impact their schwestern (little sister) act in the restaurant. Every minor element of body language or suggestive language evokes extreme reactions. However, the writer never relies on contrivances to fuel melodrama. If Shinkai and Okada come to mind when you think of melodrama in anime, this will feel different. Although lacking in bombastic set pieces, stunning animation, or over-the-top climaxes, the drama in Yuri is My Job won't leave you feeling cheated by cheap tricks.

Though the satire doesn't go nearly as far as the superb Yuri Kuma Arashi, it handles drama remarkably. It would've found an audience here if it wasn't mismarketed as a gag comedy. I'm glad I gave it another chance because it's worth a second look. Yuri is My Job presents a fine balance of comedy and great drama, exploring themes of identity and the challenges of balancing personal and professional lives. With its solid direction, expressive character animation, and fitting classical score, the anime delivers a satisfying showcase of explicitly queer romance. Although casual viewers may feel out of the loop, fans of drama and girls' love will see its merit.

Mushoku Tensei Ⅱ: Episode 0 detours from the main storyline to provide a flashback episode centered around Sylphy. It recaps her experiences during the second part of season 1. While it delves into Sylphy’s struggles in high society, political intrigue, and her relationship with Princess Ariel, the episode drags on.

It starts with Sylphy’s arrival at the Royal Palace of Asura, where she becomes Princess Ariel’s servant. Princess Ariel offers to help Sylphy find her family on the condition that she remains by her side. She is dressed in servant attire, donning sunglasses and a black robe resembling a character from The Matrix. Additionally, Sylphy’s hair ... has turned white, symbolizing a change in her circumstances.

Sylphy, now called Fitz, faces difficulties adapting to high society. In one of the few notable scenes, she experiences a panic attack at a party, accidentally spilling a man’s wine. However, the poor direction of the episode fails to capture Ariel’s acknowledgment of the incident. Instead, the Princess abruptly breaks into song, diverting attention from Sylphy’s mishap. This shot composition fails to show Ariel’s connection with Sylphy, despite being a cliche that has been done before. 

Throughout the 23-minute special, the episode attempts to introduce political intrigue involving aristocrats and the monarchy. However, these characters lack depth and fail to establish meaningful connections with anime-only viewers. Their sole purpose is spouting exposition, making it challenging for viewers to develop an interest or investment in their stories. The only notable character in this regard is Ariel, who shares some similarities with Rudeus but lacks the development to make her compelling. The episode showcases a controversial scene where Ariel pretends to sexually assault Sylphy but stops before taking it too far. This may come off as funny for some or uncomfortable for others. YMMV.

The episode suffers from stiff direction, relying heavily on still shots, unattractive CGI models, and limited animation. While this decision might relieve overworked animators, it hampers the episode’s visual appeal. The lack of dynamic animation and composition further detracts from the viewing experience, highlighting the missed opportunity to engage audiences through captivating visuals. Based on a fan’s response who I asked, he was content with the episode despite the quality because “We saw Sylphy’s ass, so it’s OK.” I got permission to quote him!

Episode 0 of season 2 attempts to explore Sylphy’s struggles in high society and the political intrigue of the world, but the execution falls short. Poor direction, vacuous characters, and limited animation show a steep dropoff compared to the previous season. The episode may offer some valuable insights for fans invested in the series, but for others, you might be better off reading a Wikipedia summary. Regardless, this is a bad omen for season 2’s production quality.

Review originally written in 2017.

Himouto! Umaru-chan is an anime that explores the amusing yet relatable concept of leading two contrasting lives. Initially, I found it easy to connect with Umaru, the main character. But, my enthusiasm shrunk exponentially as I realized her character development would remain stagnant throughout the entire anime.

The anime tries, and fails, to explore the idea that all people have different sides to our personalities. Unfortunately, this theme takes a backseat to “comedy.” If you find watching a girl repeatedly teasing her kind-hearted brother entertaining, you might enjoy Umaru's antics. If this premise doesn't sound very funny to you, chances are you'll ... get very bored of it very quickly. Just like I did.

My main issue with this show is repetitiveness. Seeing Umaru bother her brother without consequences becomes tiresome after a while. The lack of growth and learning from mistakes hampers character development and prevents the show from reaching its full potential. The comedy mostly revolves around Umaru's quirky transformation into a mischievous gremlin whenever she's away from others. However, without Umaru's presence, the show fails to deliver laughs. Despite receiving more screen time than anyone else, she falls flat, along with the rest of the cast.

While the characters are pretty badly-written, the anime’s art brings them to life a little bit. The art style is simple, portraying typical suburban environments found in slice-of-life anime. Although the characters lack originality, their expressive behavior compensates for it. In her gremlin form, Umaru's playful antics remind you of a cat, making you want to sit on the couch with a refreshing soda while relaxing. Sometimes, Umaru’s brother’s character design flips to something out of Ace Attorney or Kaiji. It is creative, but does not always match his personality and comes off as pandering.

The music in Himouto! Umaru-chan is forgettable, adding nothing to the overall experience. While some catchy tracks accompany humorous scenes, none stand out as exceptional. Personally, I found the opening theme loud, brash, and obnoxious, which aligns well with Umaru's character. Which is why I always skipped it.

The anime relies heavily on forgettable jokes that persist throughout, and I highly doubt the sequel will offer anything different. Umaru's humor is like the Minions from Despicable Me—contextually thin but filled with obnoxious noises and mannerisms. Although the writing and comedy in Himouto! Umaru-chan left much to be desired, I don't consider my time watching it a complete waste. Everyone's experience may vary depending on how much they identify with Umaru, which can significantly impact their enjoyment of the series.

Hell's Paradise, despite its promise of thrilling fights and a captivating world, stumbles out of the gate with a heavy reliance on forced exposition. The stage is set for a treacherous journey with an explanation of the processes of beheading from our main character, Gabimaru. Meanwhile, an executioner struggles to decapitate him with a sword—a seemingly invincible boy who just wants to die. He explains his history, motivations, and flaws to a stranger who randomly interviews him in prison. Almost all the information we learn about the protagonist is delivered lazily through forced exposition. Whether narration in non-diegetic form, flashbacks, or characters uttering their backstory, ... it's all forced. The anime’s saving grace is the grotesque monsters Gabimaru fights along with the ensemble cast, but subpar production quality and weak writing ultimately leave you cold.

Gabimaru and many other criminals have been sent to a monster-infested island to find the "elixir of life." Upon achieving their goal, the nation would pardon their crimes. Every criminal has an executioner to monitor them. Gabimaru’s is Sagiri. She is a blank slate, a hard-working, disciplined rule follower known as an Asaemon. Sagiri's internal monologue spoon-feeds Gabimaru's character development. If they want us to understand how emotionless yet emotional he is, she will tell us painstakingly. Let's just say neither of them will make any "Best Character of the Year'' lists. It's not only Sagiri, either. Half of the screen time is devoted to people dumping exposition onto one another or, worse, the viewers. For an anime with such mature content, it treats us like children! We can handle visual storytelling, natural dialogue, and context clues. Is that asking for too much? Aside from its overly literal nature, the script is blander than an unseasoned boiled chicken breast. I like humor, wit, charm, irony, sarcasm, or flavor. There's none here!

If there's one thing Hell's Paradise does better than its contemporaries, it's how it doesn't waste too much time on world-building. It keeps its terms comprehensive. The monsters on the island are just called monsters. The energy that monsters harness to fight is called Tao. Gabimaru’s ninja flame powers are efficiently named 'ninjutsu'—all pretty basic stuff. Aside from the Mcguffin storyline, I didn't care about the generic world. It's an exciting anime for the violent death island and increasingly grotesque monsters. There's some lore behind how the monsters came to be, but it's mostly an excuse for big bug battles and giant killer statues. Body horror lovers won't be disappointed. The most challenging enemies heroes encounter are the Tensen—seemingly immortal flower/human hybrids. The Tensen control the island's monsters and use Tao to slice and dice human trespassers. Early in the series, the writers establish that cutting off a Tensen's heads doesn't kill them, yet no one seems to share this information, leading to predictable outcomes. One of the side characters chops off a Tensen's head, then it regrows, and now they're disadvantaged. Marvelous, what else do you have for us?

Hell's Paradise embraces a recurring theme of women's empowerment. A significant moment occurs when one of Sagari's superiors tries to belittle her by suggesting her weakness as a woman. He also urges her to leave the island. However, Sagiri courageously stands her ground, and it is refreshing to see the show firmly supporting her stance. As one of the few female Asaemon, she must demonstrate her combat prowess to silence misogynistic criticism. There are other female characters in the anime, and the overall portrayal can be deemed feminist in its approach.

Caring about Hell's Paradise characters could be an Olympic sport. After a few minutes of development, the series dispatches them so quickly that you may wonder what's the point. The supporting character development resembles Demon Slayer's worst aspect—they develop right before dying. Usually in the form of a badly-timed flashback meant to make you pity or sympathize with the short-lived fighter. This first season offers plenty of unique faces with likable personalities. It's a shame it's over right before you get to know them. Thankfully, they don't do this with the Tensen monsters. Flashbacks work in moderation, but their overuse here looks like lazy writing. The series' only alternative to quick flashbacks is inserting a character whose sole purpose is to spew background information. Like Sagiri, random people will appear just when we need to hear about the person's life story. You'd have to be blind not to see the played-out formula.

Speaking of played out, it's no surprise the production is mediocre. As the compositing shows, Hell's Paradise was a less significant production for MAPPA. Whether their productions will come out well is a coin flip. One of the problems is overexposed art and excessive brightness—this results in a loss of detail and a washed-out appearance like a low-budget anime. Additionally, the characters seem alien to their surroundings due to a significant disparity between the background art and characters. Instead of seamlessly integrating the characters into the environment, it looks like stickers haphazardly placed on wallpaper. The issue is made worse by slow fights. Combat constantly pauses for flashbacks, basic observations, or monologues. The battles aren't particularly well choreographed, relying on wild camera movements and close-ups to avoid animation. It's a lot of build-up for a fight that ends up being lame.

Hell's Paradise falls short in many aspects, especially character development, scriptwriting, and art. The forced exposition and dependence on flashbacks hinder the story's natural progression, leaving little room for viewers to form a genuine connection with the characters. The lack of humor, wit, and charm further detracts from the overall enjoyment of the anime. However, the series succeeds in concise world-building and delivers on the promise of violent battles and grotesque monsters. The body horror elements and the Tensen enemies provide genuine excitement. Hell's Paradise deserves credit for highlighting the strength and determination of the female deuteragonist, Sagiri. Hell's Paradise falls short in production quality and writing competence, resulting in an irritating sense of disappointment.

Sonny Boy is an experience. A philosophical, poignant, and inventive experience.

It would be pretentious to say, "this anime isn't for everyone." Sonny Boy is accessible to everyone, but it demands patience and an open mind. If you're willing to solve this puzzle of an anime, the payoff is worth it. Rewatching it, you will notice clever foreshadowing, irony, and metaphors within the complex story and mesmerizing visuals.

Sonny Boy is about an entire class that suddenly shifts into the void—comparable to a sci-fi take on Lord of the Flies. Out of the thirty-six stranded students, a couple dozen of them gain mysterious supernatural abilities. The students ... clash with each other's values, causing all kinds of interpersonal conflicts. Each argument represents a more significant societal issue. Controversial political topics, including capitalism, totalitarianism, freedom, religion, and authoritarianism, are covered throughout the show. They present these themes objectively. The plot is not straightforward in the slightest. The writers purposefully wove it like a maze. Understanding it requires you to pay close attention. Often I had to rewatch episodes to follow along, pause scenes to process what I saw, or rewind. Understanding fighting a final boss each time—though challenging, the reward is always satisfying. The cycle of confusion, curiosity, and solving the puzzle becomes addictive. Anyone who struggles to understand Sonny Boy is perfectly valid, it is intentionally obtuse, and that's not everyone's cup of tea. Though the complex themes and tangled narrative may lead you to assume the character writing is thin—they are anything but one-dimensional.

Rather than focusing on one point of view, the narrative follows multiple students to explore new themes. Nagara, the self-insert protagonist, is at the center of the plot, as the author has confirmed himself. He is one of, if not the best, self-insert lead characters I've seen in anime. Nagara's journey involves finding a reason to live. His arc is a classic coming-of-age story—beginning as a depressed teenager. Along with his friends, especially an eccentric girl named Nozomi, he transforms into a new person. Nagara's deadpan personality makes their dialogue oddly funny, though you must still pay attention. Each person is utilized as a mouthpiece for the author's philosophical musings. Their conflicts in values allow us to peer into his mind.

The show is as much of a journey of self-discovery for Nagara as it is for the author. The classmates who accompany him, Nozomi, Mizuhara, Rajidani, and Asakaze, undergo character development. Asakaze is the weakest of the bunch because he grows much less than his friends. He began as an average teenage rebel. He lacked the intriguing background and internal strife of the other, much more compelling characters. Nagahara has a monotonous voice, and he is a coward, but we know why. There is depth to him that's not shoved down our throats. Even though his outlook on life is wildly different from his classmates, they share a goal. Find how they get home and who sent them to the new world, and why. That's what makes Sonny Boy's characters so good—they have motivations. Even though we may not necessarily agree with them, it is obvious why they do the things they do.

As the show explains the superpowers and complicated logic of the setting, you will notice character development is seamlessly woven in. We learn about Mizuho's power simultaneously that we know she can create anything she wants. We find Nagara's power when we see him get confronted and anxious, not told through info dumps. The writers treat us like adults. We see characters act out their distinctive personalities then create our judgment. There is one slight exception to this: After the mysteries occur, such as spontaneous blue fires, there will be a follow-up explanation from the most intelligent person in the class: Rajidani. He gathers together the students to lecture them about how their new world works. He does not set rules, unlike the authoritarian student council. He learns as much about reality as possible because his goal is to escape. Rajdhani sticks with the main cast to conduct his intriguing experiments with them. The author develops the multiverse concepts through him: There are days and nights in the alternate world, but the characters do not age or need to change clothes. All of them are permanently stuck as middle schoolers. Through their inability to age, the author pries open the door to eternity; some students find peace, and others futilely attempt to escape their solitude. The anime begins as an inconspicuous middle school drama, moving through group hysteria, personal anguish, then endless lamentation.

Sonny Boy is visual poetry. Every setting could be framed in a museum, whether it be shots of nature or the trippy visualization of the multiverse. The atmosphere flows from whimsical, melancholic to cosmic horror—the director's clever use of hard cuts slicing apart the show like a layered cake. Tonal dissonance would typically be a source of criticism, but it illustrates the group dynamic's fragility. When the characters are framed at a distance, they fade into the background like an oil painting. Their figures quietly morph into shapes rather than human forms. This passion project was helmed by Shingo Natsume, known for directing One Punch Man's first season. Given how good the writing is, I'm shocked to see he has never written anything before now.

The soundtrack is one of the best of the year—with 20 distinctive tracks. Every instrument works together, the basslines are strong throughout, and the talented singers suit the rhythm. The songs build up and have direction, used to guide the show's narrative. Numerous audio effects combine to make the setting feel grounded and realistic. The sound engineers did not use stock sound effects; they expertly recorded the sounds themselves with foley techniques. Although the audio was overbearing at first, they found their groove as the episodes progressed.

Not all is explained in Sonny Boy, but enough is there for vibrant discussion to break out the minute the credits roll at the end of every episode. I've got my theories about all of it, and everyone will walk away from it feeling differently. What's undeniable, though, is the staggering profundity that emerges from a seemingly innocuous experimental anime. This is one we will look back on for years to come.

Lies. Who among us hasn't told a lie or two? Whether it's telling a white lie or presenting a false version of ourselves. Celebrities, actors, musicians, and artists must constantly maintain a public image, which may require telling a lie or two. As a famous idol, Ai Hoshino's life revolves around lying. "The lie becomes the truth" are words she lives by. She lies to her friends and fans, but no one can see through the facade beneath her starry eyes.

Oshi no Ko's most provocative scene tragically occurs in its feature-length premiere. The tearjerker ending propelled the series into popularity, leading to disappointment when the ... rest proved to be an entirely different beast. Some viewers may build false expectations, but those who approach it open-mindedly will enjoy where it takes them. The premiere was a well-written story best left in the past. It initially evokes the untouchable masterpiece Perfect Blue, but aside from the final scene, the juvenile execution pales in comparison.

The episodes after the premiere are more refreshing. Oshi no Ko's content is comparable to my all-time favorite anime, Kaleido Star, for its realistic approach to performing arts while maintaining an uplifting message. It never shies away from showing singers, dancers, and actors' struggles to preserve their image and criticize demanding audiences. Writer Aka Akasaka does not condemn consumers but provides a mirror to reflect on their behavior. Oshi no Ko honestly portrays the Japanese acting and idol industry. Seeing how child actors phase out, stunt casting, agency competitions, and differences between writers and studios add to the realism. There are many things they should have taken into account, such as numerous reshoots, scheduling, and post-production. They seemingly picked and chose the most exciting parts of show business to portray and ignored the less appealing but equally crucial aspects.

Through Ai Hoshino's twin son and daughter, the series explores the ups and downs of acting and idol careers, respectively. Both children secretly lived past lives, in which they adored Ai. Her son, Aquamarine, was Ai's gynecologist, murdered by her stalker. Her daughter Ruby was only a young girl when she died of cancer. They take their reincarnations surprisingly well, but who wouldn't when you get around-the-clock attention from your favorite celebrity? Well, probably some people. The kids pursue futures that live up to their mother's legacy and do right by her. For Ruby, this means carrying on Ai's legacy as an idol and rebuilding her group B-Komachi from the ground up. For Aqua, it's rather intense; he dedicates his life to searching for their absent father, putting aside any personal goals. Aqua and Ruby attend Yoto High School, which offers a performing arts program only for students attached to a talent agency. Luckily for the kids, Ai's previous manager Miyako Saito adopted them and made them part of her company.

A common critique of Oshi no Ko is that the reincarnation plot device is unnecessary. I disagree with that judgment because it's necessary to advance the plot. Aquamarine uses his skills of talking to seniors as a doctor in his past life to smooth talk a director, which gets his mother a film role. He uses his people skills to dig up clues to track down his lost father. Unlike many other high school geniuses in anime, Aqua behaves like an adult due to his reincarnation; it is better that the plot provides a reason other than the simple notion that he's a prodigy. Some viewers may find Aqua's infatuation with Ai overwhelming, and it is nearly an oedipal nightmare. Still, it rides the line carefully—quickly reminding us that his love for Ai is admiration, not romance. Ruby's past life provides an obstacle to overcome rather than skill. She struggles with dancing, a crucial skill as an idol, partly because having cancer made it difficult for her to dance, causing her to have difficulty with her mindset. Aqua and Ruby are deeply flawed, socially awkward, and very traumatized, like the other characters.

The side characters stand out with vibrant personalities that leave a lasting impression without gimmicks. Each character possesses their own set of goals, struggles, flaws, and endearing qualities. Among them is Kana Arima, a former child prodigy in acting who now finds herself a mediocre teenage actor. With a theater kid persona, Kana exudes excessive confidence that can seem condescending. However, her knack for maneuvering within the industry helps her secure roles. Like others, her character development involves confronting inner demons caused by past trauma and present triggers. As a freelancer, she often gets trapped in undesirable parts. However, when she joins Ruby to form their idol group B-Komachi, Kana discovers self-respect. Together, they build their team from scratch, with relentless effort and determination.

Another key supporting character is Akane, an up-and-coming actress who works alongside Aqua on a reality TV dating show. Through Akane's arc, the writer explores a theme touched on during the premiere. Social media: How it helps and harms performance artists. There's a focus on positive and negative responses to Aquamarine's TV shows, but it peaks with online hate and canceling Akane faces. Harassment's disastrous effects on her mental health are realistic and portrayed with uncommon sensitivity. Regardless of how the arc plays out, it is cathartic to see the people responsible for her turmoil condemned by the author. This includes the grossly misogynistic haters online and the scumbag producer of their reality TV show.

Aside from the tearjerker premiere, Oshi no Ko manages a few other genuinely moving moments—a mental health crisis and a near breakdown before a major performance—but surrounding those is a bit of contrived drama. Aqua's slow quest to find his father loses steam quickly. However, future seasons can revive that subplot. Ruby must navigate rising as an idol, a path well-worn by music anime. Though they mostly avoid pedestrian school drama, there's romance stalled by misunderstandings. It's as if the anime keeps seeking narrative conflict when there is plenty to dig into with the characters' turmoils—especially Ruby and Aqua's rich history. Tell us more about how their past lives inform their present! And it would've been fascinating to learn more about their adoptive mother; surely, a chapter or two can be spared for her. Despite the story's slight drawbacks, it's consistently elevated by one of Doga Kobo's most impressive presentations alongside Monthly Girls' Nozaki-kun.

Although it is less well-directed than Akasaka's prior adaptation, Love is War, Daisuke Hiramaki handles the drama in Oshi no Ko excellently. The combination of orchestral background music and close-up shots creates a sense of immersion during the dramatic scenes. With soaring melodies and dynamic arrangements, orchestral compositions heighten the emotional intensity. As the music swells, it accentuates everything felt by the characters; anguish, joy, and depression, evoking an impactful response from the audience. Furthermore, the well-timed close-up shots sweeten the effect of these moments by capturing the characters' raw expressions.

Oshi no Ko delves into the intricate world of lies and facades that permeate celebrities' and performers' lives. It explores the challenges and consequences of maintaining a public image while delving into its characters' personal trauma. While the tearjerker premiere may have set high expectations that the subsequent episodes couldn't fully meet, the series delivers refreshing and immersive portrayals of the performing arts. The reincarnation plot device, although debated, advances the storyline. The side characters shine with their distinctive personalities and genuine character development, with Kana and Akane standing out as memorable figures. Despite some contrived drama and missed opportunities for deeper exploration, Oshi no Ko is consistently elevated by Doga Kobo's strong presentation. Ultimately, the anime provides a cathartic experience, while taking the coming-of-age genre from a fresh angle.

From GeekToys, the studio behind Plunderer and Hensuki, comes something more bizarre and disturbing.

Dead Mount Death Play’s plot is overstuffed to the point of bursting. The ensemble cast and multiple interconnected plotlines is reminiscent of Durarara or Baccano, if they were written by someone on stimulants. There are like four plotlines occurring at once and only one is remotely enjoyable—the main characters just chilling in their apartment, running an amateur fortune telling business. Its plot is rapidly paced, wildly unpredictable, infrequently funny, and borderline incoherent, resulting in genre-bending trash. The premiere will give you the impression that the whole series won’t take itself too ... seriously, but that is not the case.

A necromancer named Corpse God dies in an epic battle, then finds himself reincarnated in the body of a recently murdered Japanese boy, Polka Shinoyama. He quickly becomes entangled with gangs, criminals, police, and other killers. As soon as he assumes the boy’s form, he fights off some crazy woman, Misaki Sakimiya (an assassin who murders assassins?). Corpse quickly kills her with necromancer magic. After Misaki failed to kill Polka, she Corpse resurrects her as a zombie. Corpse is morally centered, despite his name, he only wants a peaceful life, resulting in a very dull and monotone character. One of his first actions is transferring the original Polka's spirit to an adorable shark toy.

Throw all your logical thinking out the window because none of this shit makes sense. Corpse's powers are inconsistent, characters behave in unbelievable ways. I can't grasp how this came to be. It’s like the writers simply expected viewers to be children who’d follow along with whatever nonsense shit they threw at the wall. There’s barely any character progression, but there are a few flashbacks to develop the main characters.

Upon resurrecting Misaki, her mediator, Clarissa, strangely grants Corpse God a place to live as long as he works for her group. Clarissa has two people in her group join Corpse God, Misaki and an info broker, Takumi Kuruya: a Shinjuku informant who collects data illegally using drones. Corpse puts a police investigator's spirit in a pen to obtain information, which slowly reveals clues to solve mysteries. The little CGI pen writes on its own and wows clients. These oddballs form a found family and help Corpse work as a fortune teller, as well as dealing with Polka’s very wealthy family. As the story progresses, it becomes more complex, and new questions arise, leaving you wanting a clearer sense of where it's heading. Ghosts, gangs, supernatural criminals, magicians, etcetera are thrown into the melting pot with little cohesion. Despite its flaws, Dead Mount offers LGBTQ+ representation through Clarissa... and Misaki? She is working through it. For ecchi fans, you get some steamy lesbian action. The fanservice seems pretty intense for a show as edgy and juvenile as this one, but we already have all the other genres, why not add ecchi?

At the very least, there’s occasionally a fight scene involving thrilling necromancy magic.
The action scenes themselves? Meh. The choreography isn't the best out there, if you know what I mean. On the bright side, the characters have simplified designs that make fights look more dynamic. But hey, don't expect consistent quality here, folks. Sometimes, it feels like you're staring at talking heads and struggling to pay attention. Oh, and let's not forget the chibi art style they throw in during funny moments. The jokes rarely land, but it's cute, sure, and probably saved them budget. Overall, the animation is okay. Though the art has improved from previous Geek Toys animated eyesores, it's not going to blow you away.

Dead Mount's biggest selling point is that it doesn't take itself too seriously, but it's not as funny as it should be. With the help of Misaki and Takumi's colorful personalities, Corpse God's fortune-telling business was consistently the funniest plotline in the series. They successfully run the business using genuine readings and gimmicks. It’s pretty comical and they use ghosts to solve mysteries. The sixth episode played off their fortune-telling scheme. It was perhaps the most exciting episode for telling a self-contained murder mystery story, including espionage, natural world building, and a shocking conclusion. As well as developing a couple of characters without relying on flashbacks or exposition dumps, as the series does.

You must pay VERY close attention to the plot at all times, despite the monotonous by-the-numbers storytelling, or you’ll lose track of the sequence of events and complicated character motivations. Due to the rapid pacing, lackluster storytelling, numerous colorful characters, an overstuffed plot, and rapid tonal shifts, it quickly becomes a confusing viewing experience. It’s a shame because I love Baccano and can see the inspiration in Dead Mount.

Dead Mount Death Play pushes storytelling boundaries, but for the wrong reasons. It presents an ensemble cast and multiple interconnected plotlines reminiscent of Durarara and Baccano. However, the rapid pacing, excessive characters, and lack of coherence make it a tedious watch. While the main character's found-family provides comedic relief and the occasional fight scene adds excitement, the overall execution falls into monotony. Although the series attempts to balance humor and serious storytelling, it struggles to do so. Ultimately, Dead Mount Death Play may appeal to those who enjoy genre-bending narratives with ensemble casts and are willing to overlook its shortcomings, but for others, it may prove to be too confusing and inconsistent.