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There’s no way to substantially criticize Attack on Titan without spoiling at least some of the plot, so here’s your warning.

When the first season aired, I couldn’t understand why my peers loved it so much. I tried watching it, I did, but it bored me out of my 14-year-old mind. Years later, I gave it another shot and ended up enjoying it, but still missing the overwhelming praise. It wasn’t until season four that I began to see the appeal of Attack on Titan, then watch it all wash away as it went on.

Time travel, brainwashing, character motivations, magic system, and the ever-changing sequence of historical events require a spreadsheet to follow. Everyone is double, triple, quadruple crossing each other like we're back in the second season, which made that the most entertaining part of the show for me. It leaned into the series' absurd premise—it was like a murder mystery, except the murderer was a giant bloodthirsty cannibal, and there were ten of them. Almost a decade later, we’re still revealing betrayal after betrayal. It’s old hat by now, and even a generous viewer would struggle to call it surprising. The repetition could be forgiven if the characters involved were multilayered enough to justify lazy writing.

The truth is, the cast is still flimsy. In part one of the final season, Reiner was the best character because his backstory was placed well in the plot, his motives were justifiable, and his subsequent redemption felt earned. But he is on the sidelines this time. Armin and Mikasa are not strong enough characters to carry the show. She is bland, and he is practically a stand-in for the author. Other side characters serve as speed bumps in part 2, such as Connie (do you remember him?). He deals with grieving his mother, trapped in the body of a titan, but his episode leaves no lasting impact beyond satisfaction for fans of the character. Though Levi returns, he is practically only present in spirit because his injuries rendered him immobile. Levi should have died, simple as that. There was no way he could’ve survived his injuries in part 1, but it was far from the first time he was protected by plot armor. We’re constantly reminded that the good guys aren’t immortal because dozens of faceless soldiers die violently, but it is seldom a main character. I’m going to speculate here, so take it with a grain of salt, but I worry that the author feared killing off popular characters would cause too much backlash or people to drop the series, so he kept them alive—at the expense of tension.

Reintroducing Annie halfway through part two was also an interesting choice—her reveal was practically a carbon copy of the manga’s panel with uninspired directing, which was a bad omen of how the production showcased her revival. Annie hasn’t been relevant since the second season. It’s like the author read complaints about the cast lacking depth and decided to dump it at the last minute. Spending 10 minutes of a 23-minute episode on the backstory of someone who hasn’t been relevant in four years destroys the pacing. It wouldn’t be so bad if the visuals were at least cool to look at, but it was flat still images lacking animation. The ninth episode of part two is emblematic of the poorly directed drama scenes. Most of it is spent hashing out grudges and speaking about the past, which amounts to dull conversations animated like a slideshow. MAPPA’s artists certainly can draw frightened, concerned, and infuriated facial expressions like no other modern studio, but an entire episode of intense faces lessens the effect they once had. The use of a melancholy piano track for background music served as a reminder that the score seldom suits each scene half as well as it did in the first three seasons. MAPPA poured talent and resources into the score. However, the editing and placement fail to do it justice.

The recurring problem with MAPPA’s Attack on Titan is that when we’re not in an action scene, it’s boring as fuck to view. I’m not a picky person when it comes to anime visuals. As long as it doesn’t detract from the writing, it’s okay in my eyes. The matter is, the directing is subpar outside of the titan fights, and even the 3D titans struggle to keep up with the choreography. The CGI titan artists come out unscathed because their work is not as prominent this season, and the worst CGI is obscured by fog, blood, and fast-paced action. The infamous "rumbling" looks like an army of giant turkeys, which I should've expected because nothing this show hypes up is as exciting as we're led to believe. 2D art for some of the Titan battles worked, as did the 2D blood. Due to the animators’ constrained deadlines, entirely 2D art was impossible. The 3D blood just looked terrible. Even during action scenes, the directing always feels off. The shot composition never feels quite right; shots either linger too long, not long enough, or are positioned in the wrong order. The flow of action is cut off, making the pacing seem choppy. Even choppier than the pacing is the theme of this season.

The central theme of season four is a condemnation of nationalism. This anime is NOT pro-nationalism. The first two seasons of attack on titan present pro-nationalism imagery in the openings and cool as fuck titan wars, which is later subverted. The third and fourth seasons tear down these messages by portraying soldiers as clones, giving the role of the main character to child slave soldiers, blatant allegory to Nazi Germany, making the fascists the antagonists, and discovering that the titans were once real human beings. These revelations are executed mainly successfully.

The opening of season four, part 1, immediately establishes the anti-nationalism theme: Soldiers are shown as uniform statues destroyed instantly. Following the cliffhanger at the end of season three is a time skip, which worked well for several reasons. First, switching visuals from WIT Studio to MAPPA’s grittier art style helps darken the tone. Second, Gabi and Falco refresh the story and themes by introducing two new protagonists. They are Eldian kids who are conditioned to believe they must become soldiers to defend Marley, a stand-in for Nazi Germany. There are slight issues in basing the Eldians on Jews because they are genetically different from Marleyans. The ability to become titans sets them apart—this fucks with the allegory, which is further complicated in part 2 when the Eldians try to genocide the Marleyans led by Eren fucking Yeager.

For the first three seasons, Eren was the protagonist. Now he is the antagonist who strives to murder man, woman, and child so long as they’re Marleyan and anyone who stands in his way. You will undoubtedly find people defending Eren’s actions because he looks like a badass and has super cool time travel powers. Now, there will always be people who misinterpret the text. Unfortunately, many people unironically support Eren and his followers, the Yeagerists. It’s not just a few conspiracists and crazies on dark corners of the internet—and that says something about the show’s struggle to balance portraying almost every character as morally grey versus sympathetic. Eren’s waltz through time in season 4, part 2 shows us how he was forced into his role at a young age by Grisha; this absolves him of some responsibility; however, his choice to persuade his father to claim the founding titan by murdering the royal family puts their blood on his hands. One could suggest Eren is a psychopath, but tantamount to arguing that Hitler was a sociopath. These statements are untrue because mental illness absolves them of criticism, and they both have a love for their people, although horrifically misguided and tainted by bigotry. Whether or not the show chooses to portray Eren sympathetically or condemn him remains to be seen, and could make or break the final season.

Attack on Titan: The Not So Final Season Part 2 is, to the surprise of no one, far from the last we'll see of this anime. It would take an immensely forgiving fan to praise the mediocre art and animation wholeheartedly. Given that I am not, and never was, a fan of AoT I can happily say I'm looking forward to whatever nonsense they hash out in the next season. Regardless if the story and characters are still haphazardly written, it will surely be an entertaining ride.

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I am a gay man who loves GOOD boys love anime. Sasaki and Miyano is pretty fantastic.

I don’t like being represented by the most grotesque stereotypes possible, i.e., rape-to-romance (Love Stage!), pedophilia (Super Lovers), possessiveness (My Very Own Hero), and endless ambiguity (Gakuen Heaven). Watching these anime elicits the same repulsion in me as being called a faggot on the street by a drunk. This is not one of those anime. The show follows the eponymous high school students Miyano, a fudanshi (a male fan of boys love manga), and Sasaki, his slightly older delinquent classmate. They meet when Sasaki breaks up a fight between Miyano’s friend and trash-talking jerks. The random encounter immediately subverts a BL trope; the older love interest protects the younger man’s friend rather than him, earning his admiration and respect rather than attraction. Their relationship progresses as they continue to run into one another; Sasaki gradually admits to himself he finds Miyano cute and Miyano questions whether he really likes BL manga because he’s into men (oh, you innocent boy).

In the first half of the show, Miyano introduces Sasaki to the world of boys love by lending him manga. Over these episodes, the two discuss BL stories, tropes, and character archetypes while slowly realizing their attraction to one another. Dissecting your own story’s genre is a precarious choice for an author. They risk drawing the reader’s attention to the flaws with their own story. Luckily, these writers are self-aware. Though the main characters fall into the categories of seme (dominant, older, usually taller) and uke (submissive, younger, shorter), these archetypes don’t define their personalities. By pointing out every trope in the BL genre during the show’s first half, they set the stage to subvert them in the second half. Once the romance becomes the prominent part of the show, BL manga moves to the background, referenced occasionally to remind you of certain tropes being subverted. Such as by suggesting the delinquent uke pushes himself on the seme, essentially fetish fuel for fudanshi/fujoshi. No shame if you’re into that thing, but it ruins the story. Though these scenes’ lighting and dramatic music would suggest something scandalous is about to occur, Sasaki expresses his concerns to Miyano in a mature level-headed manner. Witnessing his love interest care for him, Miyano respects Sasaki and embraces his affection. As the viewer, this is so satisfying because the romantic outcome feels earned rather than shoehorned.

The central romance is far more developed than either character involved. Aside from a love of manga and rebellious behavior respective to each protagonist, there’s not a whole lot of background information about these boys. The character progression made up for the lack of character development. Both of them gain emotional intelligence by overcoming relationship conflicts: setting boundaries, asking for consent, admitting mistakes, and knowing the right time to comfort each other are some of the ways they build communication. Honestly, I can't recall the last time I saw a boys love anime that actually discussed consent. Sasaki and Miyano exemplify a healthy gay relationship, and I wish I had their story while I was growing up.

Sentimental high school romances often struggle to escape the honeymoon phase: the early stage of a relationship when the attraction is at its peak). The show addresses this concern; Sasaki finds Miyano cute, which is one of the main reasons he gives at first to explain his attraction. Hence, he gives him the pet name “Mya-chan,” but Miyano comprehends how real romance differs from manga. He tells Sasaki, “When I’m 50, I might look totally different than I do now,” which shows he considers the far future of their relationship beyond the honeymoon phase. Long-term is rarely considered in high school romances, let alone BL because it risks overshadowing the fantasy love story the viewer uses for escapism. Drawing attention to the potential problems you may face in a long-term relationship makes the romance less idealized and more believable.

I have many problems with boys love anime; one is that you can switch a male character with a female and make it a heterosexual romance, and the story would barely change. Many aspects make this show unique to BL. First of all, societal expectations to be heterosexual. The will-they-won’t-they conflict comes from within rather than by plot contrivances (EX: every time the characters in Dress-up Darling are about to kiss, they get interrupted). Their internal turmoil comes from the inability to admit that they’re attracted to men. Too often, western TV shows tac-on poorly written homophobia subplots because individual writers don’t know any other problems that affect gay people. I, of all people, know homophobia impacts your ability to date in high school when you’re gay, but tonally it would’ve ruined a wholesome love story. Instead, part of what keeps them apart is the thought that they’ve never been attracted to men—both had crushes on women in the past. That’s a common issue characters face in BL manga, but it is addressed substantially here. Miyano’s past crush returns into his life, but she’s surprisingly not judgemental. It’s refreshing to see their friends are supportive of their relationship. Through the side characters, the author explores challenges gay teenagers deal with that don't fit within the main duo's story. Interesting topics are explored like how to come out of the closet to friends and family, recognizing abuse, and dealing with questions people only ask same-sex couples. I found all of these painfully relatable.

The original soundtrack is just beautifully dramatic. Every few minutes, there are heartfelt piano melodies. The sound effects, every footstep, clothes movement, and hair rustle are audibly pleasing. Unfortunately, studio Deen is infamous for low effort and low-budget anime adaptations. The animation is stilted. Characters barely move aside from motion tweens, which at least means their designs are usually consistent. Every background is overly simplified and bland, I couldn’t blame anyone who found the visuals too distracting to enjoy the story. The director often adds eye-catching colorful shapes spinning on the frame to make up for the lack of motion; at least it adds visual flares.

Sasaki and Miyano, the guys and the anime itself, are the antithesis of every bad boys love anime I’ve ever seen. None of this ambiguous shit, no censorship, no sexual assault, no queerbaiting, and no toxic relationships. Just genuinely believable drama and heartfelt romance. Gay, straight, ace, I recommend this one to everyone. If I had to describe Sasaki and Miyano in one word it would be “Heartwarming.”

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I want to tell you a story. A story about an extraordinary boy who loved to paint dolls: all his classmates ridiculed him, but he kept painting anyway. Why? Because it’s what made him happy. His grandfather taught him all about the art of doll painting—but he advised him to seek out more in the world. In high school, he met a beautiful girl, equally passionate about a similar art form, and she would change him for the better. My Dress-Up Darling is an ecchi rom-com, heavy on sentimental romance sure to warm even the coldest hearts. It tells the story of a socially awkward teenage boy with a passion for dolls and sewing. Upon meeting Kitagawa, his popular classmate who excitedly wants to try cosplay, he’s tasked with creating her dream outfit. Although lacking any fashion experience, he accepts her request because of her infectious enthusiasm and good looks. At first glance, My Dress-Up Darling appears like another Nagatoro-san or Uzaki-chan, but that’d be an unfair comparison.

The appeal of those shows was the average male protagonist’s humiliation at the hands of a mischievous nymphet. Though both tell the story of a girl overflowing with personality who tugs an awkward man into society, the script is much more kind-hearted. The leading duo treats each other with respect and earnest care. Gojo appreciates Marin’s passion for cosplay, and Marin respects his talent. Their chemistry is positively joyful. When he speaks about her, he doesn’t describe her as an object or idealizes her, and she is his equal. “She is a ray of sunshine, loved by everyone around her... I figured she didn’t have troubles like I did… I found out she even messed up at times. She has the same feelings I do.” His description indicates character growth we witness firsthand; Gojo views her through rose-tinted glasses and learns she’s just a teenager like him. Deconstructing the illusion of a perfect heroine doesn’t cause disappointment—but understanding. Another romance, Rather A Ghastly anime I don’t want to name, treats its fantasy waifus like villains after the protagonist learns they’re real people with real problems. Even though Gojo provides Marin with a service for free and supplies raw material for outfits, she never treats him as a servant or patronizes him. It’s a low bar, but one many new rom-com of this ilk fail to pass (Looking at you, Nagatoro). Gojo’s introduction in the first episode immediately allows us to empathize with him. Getting made fun of as a kid for having a hobby other kids find strange is pretty relatable to most of us. Unfortunately, that problem doesn’t come back into the show, which we can chalk up to the fact that it’s about cosplay, not doll painting. I wish the writer at least addressed his trauma later on because it would’ve given him more character depth.

Though the anime boasts some of the best visuals in a Cloverworks anime (I haven’t seen hair animated this meticulously since Gleipnir), its leering manga is adapted a little too faithfully. Directing-wise, it is less wholesome. There are enough boob and panty shots that hormonal teenage boys will surely be satisfied. Everyone else will probably be annoyed by the persistent fan service. Much of the humor comes from Marin unknowingly acting sexually and Gojo’s embarrassed reactions. Conversely, Gojo accidentally charms Marin frequently, causing her to feel embarrassed. If that kind of humor isn’t your cup of tea, you’ll find the show a slog to get through because that’s the central joke. The comedy falls flatter than a pancake dropped off the empire state building when it relies on fan service. Occasionally the humor crosses the line between unfunny and uncomfortable. Like when Marin is in full cosplay during a hot summer day and describes her sweat-drenched panties and moans loudly when Gojo wipes her sweat.

Where My Dress-Up Darling shines is when it tries to be sincere. Well-timed close-ups, warm lighting, beautifully drawn landscape shots, and one sappy line of romantic dialogue made the slog worthwhile. The composer uses melodramatic strings and piano for the original soundtrack for the over-the-top tone adequately, especially during sentimental moments between Marin and Gojo. The thoughtful storyboards convey a sense of emotional distance between the characters, which becomes more noticeable at the halfway point when Marin and Gojo’s relationship materializes. Marin’s lack of self-awareness transforms, just as it gets frustrating, into tongue-in-cheek playfulness to mask teenage awkwardness. The show never pretends to be a love story because the romance takes a backseat to the fundamental themes: self-confidence and acceptance from others. Gojo is insecure about his skills as a Hina Dollmaker, Marin needs reassurance she’s beautiful, and other side characters grapple with the inner turmoil that led them to cosplay. How the artform empowers artists and brings people together is the premise they explore to some success, but with some caveats.

My Dress-Up Darling had the potential to subvert its premise, which is an otaku’s wet dream, and it does to some degree but stumbles in a few crucial ways. Every time there’s a line about how anyone of any gender can participate in cosplay, it contradicts itself. Gojo notably observes men in drag, illustrating how cosplay is for everyone and not always about sex appeal, but in the next scene, there are excessive close-ups on Marin’s breasts, panties, and lips. I admit I’m not the target audience, but it’s a shame the universal themes are held hostage by ecchi cliches. In this way, the show tries to have its cake and eat it too. No one is getting fooled. If the anime cared about the messages it preached, it wouldn’t turn Marin into an otaku’s fantasy waifu, and that’s why this show doesn’t work as an ecchi. Had sexuality been part of her personality, we could read the anime differently. Still, the fact is she’s written as a conventionally attractive 15-year-old girl awkwardly unaware of how others are attracted to her. Her cluelessness, popularity, and bold personality are by design. She pulls Gojo out of his comfort zone and assists his character arc without having a substantial one of her own. We can blame her lack of progression on a few problems—one is the fanservice driven jokes, another is Sajuna “Juju” Inui.

Juju goes from a background character to a prominent supporting character in the ninth episode. Despite looking like a middle schooler, Juju is two years older than the leading duo. After seeing Gojo’s work on Marin’s cosplay, she requests he makes her an outfit. Through her, the show represents another portion of the cosplay community. She represents those who don’t attend events instead of choosing to only post pictures on social media—with her younger sister’s help. Despite the show initially relying on her big boobs for comic relief, she becomes a likable character. Her more serious approach to cosplay gives us an alternate perspective, reminding the viewer that expenses incurred by raw materials and transportation should be kept in mind. I also appreciated that the show explained breast hugger bras and why they’re necessary for people cosplaying—which is perhaps the first time I’ve ever seen them discussed in anime.

I recommend My Dress-Up Darling with a couple of caveats. It is just the right amount of sentimental to warm my heart. The romance feels organic and rarely forced. The animation, storyboards, lighting, acting, sound effects, and music came together so elegantly I was stunned. Both main characters, male and female, respect each other and are treated as equals. Their emotional intelligence, ideals, and motivation grow through their interactions, and that’s a beautiful thing to see. However, I cannot recommend it to everyone due to the excessive fanservice, repetitive humor, and lack of character development of its female main character. Give it a shot for those patient enough to see the wholesome romance and thoughtful approach to cosplay. You might just be as pleasantly surprised as I was.

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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.

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I consider myself a very patient person. It takes a lot to get under my skin. Even when I watch bad anime, I still enjoy riffing on the flaws.

Josee, the Tiger and the Fish managed to irritate me. Trying to finish it was like waiting at the end of a school day, watching the clock tick tick tick… I constantly paused to take in the frustrating decisions the characters made, then brace myself for more melodrama. The protagonist, Tsuneo, is a lot like me. Maybe that's why I had such a strong reaction to it. We're both 22-year-old guys planning to study abroad, working a part-time job to save money. Except, he's much more patient and resilient to psychological abuse than I am.

His tormenter is named Josee. A slightly older woman with a disability that prevents her from walking. You might assume from the art that she is a pleasant person. That is so far from the truth. Tsuneo and Josee met by coincidence—someone pushed her down a hill. Luckily Tsuneo caught her moments before she hit the pavement. Instead of graciously thanking him for saving her life, she accuses him of being a pervert for groping her. He did not. Their wacky facial expressions imply this false sexual assault accusation was meant as a joke—that's the kind of tone-deaf humor we're dealing with here. Their relationship proceeds as follows: Tsuneo wastes his time and energy to ensure her happiness and livelihood while she begrudgingly puts up with him. A series of contrived unfortunate events befall Josee throughout the film. That's what forces him to stay by her side and help. After saving her from nearly dying, Josee's grandmother invites him in for dinner. For some reason, everyone ignores the sexual assault thing. Her grandmother continues inviting him over to assist with chores for payment. While writing a thesis, applying to school abroad, and a part-time job, he chooses to keep working for this bizarre family for a bit of cash. Josee calls him her "Servant" but she treats him like that too, and this is supposed to be cute? Why the hell does he put up with her awful personality? Josee and Tsuneo's dreams merge in Kon-esque psychedelic montages, among other unanswered questions. Cool, but why?

Nothing about the art style stood out aside from the dream sequences. At least the animation is fine, but the background art is pretty bad for a Bones production. I appreciate that they animated everyone with 2D rather than CGI, the complex movements of crowds and designs of each one take time and commitment to a seamless experience. The compositing was quite good too. Characters blended with the background well because of the soft line art and lighting filters.

I love stories about awful people. One of my favorite anime is Monster (2004). The antagonist Johan Libert is a devilish serial killer. The difference between Johan and Josee is that we understand why he murders people because he's well written. We're assured his actions are morally reprehensible because the protagonist recognizes his unwavering cruelty. Whereas Josee to Tora wants us to believe she is completely justified and we should root for her success. Tsuneo returns to her, not even for the money, to be tormented. His autonomy, dreams, and self-respect vanish into thin air at Josee's will. Josee blackmails Tsuneo by saying she'd accuse him of sexual assault again, and he's forced to oblige. Do human beings do this? Unlikely, but not impossible. Do human beings fall in love with blackmailers? I hope not, but evidently, this dude does. I regret to inform you this is a "love" story. Is Tsuneo a masochist? Likely. Is he desensitized to abuse? Very likely. The most frustrating thing about him is that he's too one-dimensional to loathe him. There's nothing to him that explains his self-destructive choices. His closest friend is only interested in chasing women rather than worrying about this man's descent into madness. The side cast is equally inconsequential, and the character designs are not unique at all. Other torture porn movies go through great effort to acknowledge the misery—he just suffers emotionlessly.

Josee takes advantage of Tsuneo's kindness (or stupidity) by guilt-tripping him. When she's feeling sad that he's gone, she avoids him until he runs back like a dog—sometimes returning with an apology gift as though he did something wrong. Tsuneo simply speaking to a female friend makes Josee bitter and jealous, despite still treating him like dirt beneath her wheels. Rather than talking things through, she manipulates him into staying with her. One unfortunate coincidence after another forces them together… And now it's a romance. The movie repurposes old cliches—sudden death, freak accidents, and rapid mood swings for a quick burst of melodrama. One or two contrivances are easy to overlook. The ENTIRE story is made of contrived situations.

Despite being the most rational voice in the movie, Tsuneo's female friend (the one Josee hates) the film treats her as rude and unsympathetic. Firstly, she treats him like her equal, respects his space, and is open about her feelings. She is not flawless; however, she always attempts to speak rationally by asking Josee to treat Tsuneo with dignity. Suddenly, she drops degrading comments that make her attempts seem artificial and misguided. The script implicitly validates Josee's disdain for the woman. A well-written character doesn't randomly alter their personality like her. It is a pattern of contradictions used to absolve Josee of her rude behavior. Josee herself is not a very likable character unless you love kawaii cliches and hate yourself. There are a few pros to her: The screenwriters illustrate ableism in a way that's not condescending. A businessman bumps into her wheelchair and blames her for getting in the way because of her condition. It evokes an intense reaction without preaching. Portraying people with disabilities is often a problem anime have—see Komi-san Can't Communicate. Since the film is based on a live-action movie from 2003, I'm assuming the themes were forward for the time. Nowadays, they could've done a lot more to realistically convey life for someone with a disability.

Josee, the Tiger and the Fish (2003) had a different ending than the animated version. I doubt it could've been any worse than the overly idealistic way this insidious crap wrapped up. Imagine a train full of cow manure derailing into a burning pit full of used needles—it was worse. Many of us know what it is like to be manipulated. Watching it romanticized disgusted me. A tragic event portrayed through rose-tinted glasses. I understand these characters are just lines on a screen, but they are lines I despised. If you found something to love here, as so many people seemed to, I'm happy for you. If this sounds like something you'd hate, avoid it. Please, God, avoid it.

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Komi Can’t Communicate is a comedy about a 15-year-old girl with extreme social anxiety who attempts to make friends. It fluctuates between “Mildly entertaining” and “One of the most unfunny comedy anime I’ve seen in my entire life.”

Komi begins the show with the goal to “Make 100 friends.” That premise becomes irrelevant when you realize everyone is magically drawn to her. For some reason, everyone in this high school finds her irresistibly attractive. She quickly becomes a passive protagonist shortly after meeting her second friend. Her goal no longer motivates the plot. Instead of making 100 friends, she should’ve filed 100 restraining orders because these students are absolutely insane. In the first episode, the recurring, completely unnecessary narrator warns us that the school is full of weirdos, creeps, miscreants, but they’re far worse than she made them sound. Everything the narrator says reiterates what we’ve already seen, adding no comedic value. There’s a wide variety of appalling cliched archetypal characters who hover around her like a swarm of bloodthirsty mosquitos: stalkers, psychotic lesbians, and more creeps.

Komi’s first friend is Tadano, who sits next to her in class. He makes it his job to help her form a friend group by communicating with her via writing because her anxiety prevents her from talking. The romantic feelings between them progress at a snail’s pace, but hey, it’s better than nothing. Their relationship is wholesome and unique, aside from a few weird comments from Tadano. The first red flag was when he described her to the audience, “Her skin is pure white…her hair is smooth, she smells good….” Dude, can you turn down the creep factor a bit? Honestly, Komi-san would be a decent slice-of-life if you removed everyone but Komi and Tadano. You’d get a show like Teasing Master Takagi-san without teasing and replace Takagi with a knock-off Rei Ayanami. But then they threw in all of these god-awful stereotypical characters that do nothing but drool over Komi like blossoming sex offenders.

Creeps and weirdos from Komi’s high school fawn over her so much that it crosses a line into sexual harassment territory. One of the lesbians tried to make Komi eat her “sausage,” and I want to ask the author, what the fuck were you thinking? Why would you add raunchy sex gags in a wholesome slice of life? Another girl lasciviously pleads for Komi to ‘abuse’ her—which is just her misunderstanding Komi’s anxiety as disgust. We’re not even at the bottom of the barrel. Some of Komi’s stalkers kidnap Tadano because he’s getting too close to her for their liking. It’s like I was suddenly watching an episode of Mirai Nikki, except everyone was the yandere. Then as if nothing happened, everyone went back to being besties. It wasn’t funny when Kazuya stalked Chizuru in Rent-a-Girlfriend, and it’s not funny now. The way to make stalking humorous, if it’s even possible, is to humiliate the stalker. They attempted to do this with an ironic sight gag in episode 2: While Tadano followed Komi, right behind him was a sign that read “Watch out for stalkers,” and passersby proceeded to mock him. The side characters who aren’t bizarre homophobic tropes or mentally ill are simply annoying. Your enjoyment will depend on whether or not you think yelling is funny. Audiovisually, the presentation accomplishes very little to elevate the underwhelming sense of humor.

I don’t get why people say this anime has great animation. The studios blew the budget on the OP art and the first two episodes. The character designs are barely animated besides a few motion-tweens, slight movements, and lip flaps. Aside from the opening, it is very drab to look at. There are only a handful of ways this adaptation takes advantage of the animation medium, such as adjusting the aspect ratio during flashbacks. There are a handful of clever transitions in the second episode. Using an analog rewind effect to portray multiple awkward conversation attempts is a genius idea but underutilized. A real problem was how they simply put manga text boxes on screen a lot of the time. In moderation, this is fine, but it’s all the time. Since Komi can barely talk, she writes her thoughts in a notebook for Tadano. It makes sense, but then they use text boxes for everything else. Perhaps this would work for an animated comic, or if they were translated at all. They did not translate much of the text in every version I watched.

Another gag comedy that lacked impressive animation was Saiki K. Except where Komi-san’s jokes failed to land, Saiki K’s rapid pacing and excellent comedic timing kept it fresh and hilarious. Often the jokes left me thinking, “That’s it?” Good anime gag comedies employ a loud bang or crash in sync with a joke’s punchline—Komi-san has those, but frequently they’re too soft, mismatched, or flat out missing. More elegant directing and sound design aside, Saiki K had way better material to work with thanks to the over-the-top personalities of the vast supporting cast. On the other hand, Komi-san has perhaps the WORST side characters of any comedy anime I’ve ever seen. And I’ve watched the depths of the genre.

Najimi is the side character I’m most conflicted on. They identify as male or female whenever they want because they're gender fluid. Part of their running joke is that “they’re actually a boy even though they look like a girl!” All I ask is to let trans characters be funny on their own merits rather than relying on unfunny 2012 “trans panic” jokes. In the second episode, a brutish man grabs Najimi and threatens to sexually assault them—all of it is played off as a joke! Najimi is portrayed as manipulative in how they trick people with their gender, exploitative of Komi’s kindness, and sexualized with fanservice. It sets a horrible example because they’re the only gender fluid character in the show. It is no surprise the fandom debates what their “true gender” is because the author treats being trans as a joke. One of the only funny jokes Najimi is associated with is when they found communication and speech textbooks under Komi’s bed. The gag works because it relies on the funny parts of their personality, not mocking trans people.

I don’t know anyone who has anxiety so bad that it prevents them from speaking personally. However, I know it is not uncommon for people with extreme social anxiety to learn ASL. But part of the appeal here is watching Komi struggle to communicate for laughs—at times, it’s painfully relatable seeing her dread awkward social interaction, like worrying how to tell someone they have food on their face. Sadly, this author is not concerned with alleviating Komi’s anxiety, educating the audience, or portraying her disability in any way resembling reality. Throughout the show, she becomes slightly better at communicating. But it’s hardly a driving force of the plot. They could fix this glaring issue by making Komi the narrator or perhaps the main character rather than Tadano. She may be non-verbal, but she’s full of thoughts—why not let us hear what she’s thinking? Movies about deaf and non-verbal people have used this storytelling tactic. It would help the audience empathize with her. To see her as a real person instead of an artificial waifu figurine manufactured to be laughed at and pitied.

There are a ton of better comedy/slice-of-life anime you should watch instead of Komi-san. Here are a few to start with: Cromartie High, Kaguya-sama, The Disastrous Life of Saiki K, and Monthly Girls’ Nozaki-Kun. The premise is tone-deaf, the comedy is painfully unfunny, the romance is stagnant, and it lacks a distinctive style or visual spectacle to be worth watching for surface-level entertainment. Just as I don’t get why the vast array of awful characters adore Komi so much, I don’t get why people love Komi Can’t Communicate.

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*RebelPanda sits down to write a review of Mushoku Tensei with the help of his friend Al for a second time*

Al: Mushoku Tensei’s second season exceeded all of my expectations built up by the first. It is a thrilling fantasy journey spanning a brilliantly designed world sprawling with intricately written characters—each of them overflows with nuanced personality and varied cultural backgrounds. Rudeus developed exponentially since the first season. His companion Eris underwent a heartfelt character arc. My favorite, Roxy, returned for a much-needed episode dedicated to her compelling backstory. The spectacular art, animation, and sound continue to make it the most impressive TV anime productions. Combined with the first season, this is without a doubt the best anime I’ve seen all year, worthy of all its high ratings and praise.

Panda: Here we are again to review Mushoku Tensei: the most overrated anime of the year. Everything I said in my original review continues to be true. Rudeus is still a pervert, but now he is slightly older. Both mentally and physically. Is there character growth this season? Sure, but it’s one step forward, two steps backward. I did appreciate that episode dedicated to Roxy you mentioned. At the very least, I agree with your take on the audio and visuals, but none of that justifies ignoring the repugnant aspects contaminating the whole show.

Al: At least we can agree on the art and animation. Before we dig into it, I need to get this off my chest: Why the fuck are you still watching a show you hate? Do you just enjoy hating popular anime? You proved your point last time. Is this just for the clout?

Panda: I’m still watching it for a few reasons: There are more problems I didn’t get a chance to address with my first review. I want to amend some of my previous arguments. The new chapters have introduced a whole truckload of problems that someone has to criticize and that someone might as well be me. Is it for clout? The amount of harassment I get from reviewing Mushoku Tensei outweighs any personal gain, so no, this is not for the clout. It is purely for my satisfaction.

Al: A truckload of criticism, you say? I find that hard to believe, considering it is one of the highest-rated anime of all time on every popular database. If you watched more fantasy anime, you would understand why. It stands out from the crowd of adaptations because the characters are unique, a significant focus on world-building, and the story keeps you engaged. At the core of this season are Eris and Rudy’s journey to find their families after being separated by the mana calamity—a puzzle you slowly put together as they reveal one piece at a time. The Demon Continent is such an intriguing setting too. It is home to many different fantasy races and cultures.

Panda: Those are reasons why you, and many others, enjoy the show. I’d like to agree with you, but it’s not nearly as good as you make it out to be. We’re told the world is vast, but we only see a narrow sliver. All we get is essentially medieval Europe, then a bit of time on the beast-men village to justify keeping wolf girls around. Mushoku Tensei is popular because it’s a crowd-pleaser. It panders to fans of the isekai genre while attracting the attention of anime fans with eye-catching visuals, action, gore, and sex. The problematic parts are the only hurdle its target audience needs to leap over. However, some would prefer to defend all aspects of the show until their dying breath.

Al: If people care so much about anime being “problematic,” they should watch western cartoons instead. Can’t you save the virtue signaling for Twitter?

Panda: No, but we can save that discussion for later. Right now, we have to discuss this so-called masterpiece of a second season that relies on asspulls and plot conveniences. Rudeus isn’t the refreshing isekai protagonist you say he is; he’s overpowered like the rest. Jumping directly into the second season, he’s given an overpowered ability for no reason. A boisterous little girl dressed like a stripper pops up out of nowhere to flash her panties and grant him this power—The “Eye of Foresight” which allows him to see the future. Seeing the future and casting spells without incantations gives him a considerable edge in combat. It looks cool, but he did not work for either skill.

Al: Rudy trained with magic as a toddler! Of course, he is skilled. Kishirika gave him the eye because he fed her. Those shitty examples are not asspulls at all.

Panda: OK. Rudeus did do some work, but food for a magical eye scarcely seems adequate. As for the asspull… Whenever Rudeus’s God friend, the one who reincarnated him, assists him, that’s a deus ex machina. The asspull is when it tosses Rudeus a lifeline. All sense of danger is gone. Sure, the fights are excellently choreographed, easy to follow, and fluidly animated, but there are no stakes. Not only is God on his side, but he can see the future. Rudeus and Eris are fighters who can take care of themselves, but even when they’re against strong foes, they have Ruijerd at their back. In the anime, Ruijerd is perhaps the most underutilized character. Introduced late into the first cour, the intimidating warrior is the crew's mentor, guardian, and escort. By the end of the cour, he’s not given enough attention to be anything but a convenient and disposable tool for Rudeus.

Al: You say that, but in your last review, you were critical of Roxy’s insufficient character development, but now the anime has rectified that. It is too soon to judge Ruijerd because he will likely get more spotlight in the third season.

Panda: Roxy is not a central character, whereas Ruijerd is constantly around like furniture. The issue is unavoidable. Roxy’s character development was indeed a pleasant surprise. Cutting her point of view at various points throughout the season was a charming idea. Her backstory offered insight into her upbringing and explained why she acts calm and collected. They finally explained why she looked like a prepubescent child! And it was so hilariously stupid and a tacked-on excuse for lolicon fanservice.

Al: You’re seriously making this argument?

Panda: We’ve covered the topic of pedophilia in Mushoku Tensei plenty in our first discussion, so best not to dwell on it. You argue that Rudeus has developed exponentially, but that’s not the way I see it. “Eris is 13 now, and she’s been growing up nicely,” is one of the first lines of season two, episode one. Rudeus says this in his perverted adult inner voice as she strips to go swimming at the beach. He hasn’t come very far from the first season if this is how he starts. Comments like this and sexual assault happen throughout the season, though I’m sure you won’t see it like that.

Al: Pause. I’ve already given you my opinion on this. Rudy is a CHILD. It is normal for kids his age to feel attracted to girls his age. How could it be sexual assault if they’re both children?! Besides, the show is aware he is a little immature at times, and that’s why his poor actions are never condoned.

Panda: If the anime indeed condemns his perverse nature, why does it sexualize Eris? For example, after the beach scene, when she says she plans to go goblin hunting, we see an image of her getting assaulted in Rudeus’s head. Even though Rudeus’s perversion is a character flaw, the show indulges in the same perversion. His pedophilia is not seen as a flaw to overcome. Pedophilia is one of his personality traits. He only “gets better” when he stops making sexually objectifying comments out loud, groping people, and grinning perversely. That’s why the show encourages a lolicon audience and filters out people who find sexualized kids disturbing.

Al: Drawings of sexualized kids. If Twitter gets offended by drawings, they should stop comparing anime to child abuse. There are no kids at harm. It would help if you focused on canceling real pedophiles instead of artists.

Panda: OK. Drawings. You’re overlooking the point here. If the show’s theme earnestly were self-betterment, it would need to fix how he views children. He’s an adult in a child’s body. Since his rebirth, he had the dirty mind of a convicted sex offender. When he was born, he looked at his parents Paul and Zenith, and said they looked young because he retained all the mental capacity of a grown man. If he sees his adult parents as young, what does he think of Eris, a 14-year-old?

Al: Actually, she’s 15.

Panda: Because that changes so much!

Al: Their relationship is normal for kids their age. Rudy proves he has gotten better when Eris clumsily comforts him with a hug. He does not act perverted. Additionally, Rudy proves he has changed when confronted with his excited outlook on living a fantasy adventure. Once he’s told to consider the death and destruction—like his missing family at the end of the first season—he realizes the gravity of the situation. This confrontation attacks Rudy’s childish view of the world, forcing him to become more compassionate.

Panda: He does act perverted, constantly. He sexually assaults Eris in front of Ruijerd and there's no punishment! That's not normal behavior for kids their age, and don't forget he is still about 30-40 years old. No one punishes Rudeus because the show does not treat his behavior like a problem—this has the accidental effect of making Ruijerd seem like a spineless character who condones perversion. The confrontation you are describing was one of the only parts of the story I’ve appreciated up until now. You’re right, and it altered him. Temporarily. Soon thereafter, he did his worst act of pedophilia, undoing all of the progress he made—reader, I'll leave it up to your imagination.

Al: The truth is, once Rudy becomes a grown-up, you will have nothing left to slander. Your entire argument is reliant on the same hollow criticisms you constantly used in the first review. Rudy's personality flaws are not an unintentional problem like you seem to think.

Panda: Even if Rudeus were reincarnated without the memories of his previous life as a scumbag, it’d still suck. Remove his flaws, and he’s another overpowered Mary Sue isekai hero. Plot contrivances carry the story—like the Mana calamity that began the entire season! His motivations are weightless and barely relevant to the plot, and his goals don't drive the show. Even if you can overlook the asspulls, the tone is all over the place because random sexual situations happen at the worst times. There's a guarantee that once an episode there'll be a busty woman dressed like a stripper for no reason other than obnoxious pandering. I get why you love Mushoku Tensei. All I want is to engage with it responsibly. It is OK to like problematic things. When you attempt to defend its problematic aspects, you make the whole thing seem worse.

Al: I can tell you think you’re helping, but people won’t change anyone’s minds to suit how you view the world. In my eyes, everything I’m defending is perfectly reasonable. My rating for the second season is still a 10/10.

Panda: I don’t expect to change anyone’s mind. I only want to get my thoughts out for my own sake and for others who might disagree with the overwhelming praise for such an underwhelming show. No amount of spectacular animation, great sound design, and epic instrumental music can salvage such an awfully contrived story, stagnant character development, and repugnant themes.

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The anime industry's default approach to beloved manga adaptations is to drain them dry of personality, rip their hearts out, and factory-produce them for a market that rewards quantity over quality. Blue Period comes out of the machine an uneven but worthwhile experience regardless of all this.

Yatora Yaguchi is a condescending high school student who prides himself on hard work, rather than relying on natural talent. At the very beginning, he sees a Picasso painting and says to himself smugly, “I could paint that.” If you’ve never picked up a paintbrush, that’s an understandable conclusion to reach. After all, people who are good at art are just talented, right? Blue Period strives to destroy this misconception at every chance it gets. The author wanted passionately to convey that art takes time, effort, and a strong work ethic. An unfortunate side effect of condensing a lengthy manga into a measly adaptation is cut content at the expense of this one crucial theme. Despite Blue Period's technical faults, and there are many, its character writing rises to the occasion. Like Yatora, each of their lives is well detailed: We know what motivates them, their concerns about getting into art school, how their family feels about their decisions and all of the turmoil that comes from pursuing their dreams. The show’s most compelling theme is talent versus hard work.

In a show about art, there's not enough screentime devoted to the process of creating art. And for an anime about artists, it's about as creatively vacuous as manga adaptations come. Even the untrained eye will notice this anime’s an eyesore at times. Nothing is captivating about the visual language. There are no inventive directing choices; every background is drab, unimaginative storyboards, and the editing is lifeless. The character designs aren't very detailed yet they’re inconsistently animated. They move like stiff cardboard. The close-ups fail to convey the script’s intense emotions because they're flat. Unmoving. Likely they copied shots directly from the source material without considering how color and animation would affect the scene's impact. Having never read the manga, I can only assume poor adaptation choices. The same can't be said for the background music, which isn't haphazardly edited at all. Taiko drums and piano work well here to give seemingly mundane moments an air of melancholy and anxiety.

Drab though it may appear, Blue Period's engrossing story creates tension very well. Yaguchi and his fellow aspiring artists hone their drawing skills in preparation for the competitive Tokyo Art Institute exam. Only a select few are accepted every year—you're never sure if the main characters will fail or succeed. They face constant negative emotions caused by stress, overwork, and self-doubt. Aside from training, the conflict the characters face and problems at home propel the drama and make it consistently engaging to watch.

Yaguchi is a flawed protagonist and a newcomer to art, which makes him the ideal focus for a show about chasing your dream. He said the wrong thing, praising someone when they are comparatively not impressive to other student artists. Yaguchi's mother disapproves of art school at home because his family has a tight budget. But she is supportive upon realizing the effort he puts into his work. His character arc consists of defying his deeply held belief that “People who are true to themselves can’t survive.” That’s the harsh truth for artists, making a living doing what you love is no easy task. The person who originally drew him into the fantastical world of art, Yuka, plays a key role in his development.

Yuka nearly shares the role of the protagonist with Yaguchi—they also want to get into Tokyo Art University. They live with their grandmother, who has high hopes, and parents who disapprove of their lifestyle and choices. Yuka's gender is ambiguous, but they present femininely and don't want to be treated with masculine gender roles. Their gender is a significant detail incorporated into their backstory with sensitivity: they face bigotry, rejection, and insecurities that dig beneath their elegant and confident exterior. Although they hardly get time for character progression due to the disastrous pacing, they are one of the better characters in the show. Though Yuka is a sympathetic character, the show tries to have its cake and eat it too. Yaguchi constantly refers to them as a man with masculine pronouns and by their deadname, Ryuji. No one questions why he uses improper pronouns—the show blames other people in their life who reject their gender identity. We're told Yaguchi feels compassion for them, then his actions make him seem like an asshole. It’s detrimental to his character development, and their relationship progression.

Pacing is the most irritating problem with this anime. Originating from the second episode, which rushes past necessary development: Yaguchi struggled to become a better artist, so we're told, but he simply became great in a series of time skips. Skipping his growth goes directly against the story's themes: not everyone has natural talent, and it takes hard work to achieve your aspirations. The studio responsible for this adaptation, Seven Arcs, selected specific story beats but skipped over what they deemed as less important. Rushing through Yaguchi's art training also leaves non-artists in the dark about his processes to create his drawings and paintings. This issue is persistent throughout most of the show. It's not until the last third of the season that we delve deeply into his step-by-step creative method. If the show had put as much emphasis on creating art as its character drama, it'd be great, but significantly longer than 12 episodes.

Blue Period makes a convincing argument for why you should read the manga—and that’s ultimately the only reason this anime was made. It doesn’t take advantage of the visual medium, but it’s watchable. In spite of insurmountable odds, its stellar character writing, script, music, and themes make it a success. Shining through a thick layer of grime covering this diamond in the rough is a beautifully relatable story about passionate artists striving for their dreams.

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A promising pirate tale made laughable by contrived storytelling and convoluted fantasy elements.

Fena: Pirate Princess is a somewhat misleading title. Fena is a princess, but not a pirate. There’s more emphasis on romance and drama than swashbuckling sword fights or buried treasure. Imagine if Princess Peach went on a globetrotting adventure—a damsel to constantly get kidnapped by one-dimensional villains and a MacGuffin to steer the plot. Except, Fena lacks the charm of your imagination. Her ditzy and energetic personality loses charm quickly; Especially because she’s intentionally annoying. A running gag is that she talks too much, which never becomes funny. The swaths of men who vie for her affection, or to simply spend a night with her, do so because she is irresistibly attractive (so we are told). She’s blond, blue-eyed, and very white—which characters repeatedly imply (and sometimes say outright) equals purity. Aside from being the perfect specimen of beauty, her personality is skin deep. She’s a blank slate ‘chosen one’ for the viewer to project onto. What she has been ‘chosen’ for is rather ambiguous. The so-called pirates, both good and evil, believe she possesses an intangible key. The key to a mysterious place called Eden. That name may make you wonder if Pirate Princess is a biblical metaphor. But the surprising direction the story goes will make you question if the writers have ever picked up a Bible.

When Fena is held up by bandits, she prays for someone to save her, and a man shows up and saves her. Again, she begs to be saved, and she is. She isn’t capable of taking care of herself. Luckily, she is shrouded in plot armor. All she has to do is be a damsel in distress. Her only other usage is leading the way to Eden with magical contrived abilities. When her escorts are lost, she switches to an alter ego and knows exactly what to do. Dream sequences and flashbacks hint she has deeper motivations in suppressed memories, and the build-up is consistently intriguing. On the other hand, the pay-off to her character arc is a massive dud.

Abel Bluefield is the anime’s central antagonist, who at the start, replaces the would-be villain that planned to marry Fena. He gave the suitor, a womanizer, an ultimatum, to capture Fena or die. Abel inevitably takes the reigns as the true villain accompanied by his disorganized pirate henchmen. The times they chase after Fena and co. are when the series takes itself less seriously, and it's earnestly a blast, but that does not last. The lead swashbuckler, a red-haired busty pirate, comes onto Abel, to remind you this isn't a kids' show. As the series progresses, Abel becomes increasingly fascistic and joins together with nameless European soldiers.

Yukimaru is the love interest and childhood friend of our titular heroine. A skilled fighter with a subdued personality that makes up for her boisterous behavior. Their relationship consists of her blushing at the thought of romance and him being oblivious to anything related to love. What 20-year-old guy doesn’t know what sex is? It takes more than blushing and awkward pauses to convince an audience that two characters are in love. Those are just some of the many failed attempts at comedy; that usually get dispensed by a comic relief character. Either the jokes are incomprehensible, or there was no punchline because they never made me laugh once, well, intentionally. The melodramatic lectures from Yukimaru and Shitan were more effective at inducing laughter than being taken seriously. When Fena starts singing like a Disney princess and Yukimaru instantly knows the lyrics by heart, you have to wonder if the writers intended it to be taken seriously.

Compared to Fena and Yukimaru, how do the rest of the characters fare? They’re one-note. Their reason for accompanying them on the journey to Eden is out of obligation. We know their names, but not their motivations or their personalities beyond surface-level traits. The times the anime attempts to develop chemistry between the good guys come off as awkward. They're more believable as a group of actors who hate each other pretending to be friends than a team.

The animation, sound, music are perfunctory. It is a predictable soundtrack, with a few insert songs that leave no impression. At least it is never distracting. Action-packed fight sequences once an episode spice up the adventuring and endless comic relief. There’s enough violence and death to keep you interested in between the long stretches of waiting for things to happen. A typical polished series for studio Production I.G. (Psycho-Pass, Haikyuu, Ancient Magus Bride). Visually it is one of their less impressive efforts, though the art and animation are more consistent than 90% of seasonal anime. But it’s not enough to sell a fundamentally flawed anime, particularly when it climaxes in a wet fart of an ending.

Fena—AKA White Marginal/Pasty Girl: Snow White and the Pirates follows a monotonous pattern; kidnapping, false stakes, awkward romance, and heartfelt speeches that fall flat. In the third act, it takes a sharp turn into nonsensical fantasy territory. God, the afterlife, spirits, and a forced attempt at metacommentary on fairy tales. By the time the show has already crashed and burned, the final twist is so alienating that it leaves you numb.

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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 great—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 great 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.

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