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One common misconception among the anime community is that sales and profit are proportional to an anime’s quality. Is a film that sells millions of tickets objectively better than one that sells fewer tickets? Demon Slayer: Mugen Train’s record-breaking box office performance may lead you to believe it is one of the greatest films ever made, but the truth is... the writing is no better than the anime.

Three-quarters of the two-hour-long film takes place on the titular Mugen Train, a brave choice for one of the least interesting settings the series has to offer. Each train car is similar; historically accurate wooden interiors, passengers conveniently sleeping while the bloody and stunningly animated fights rage on in the center aisles. While it does not quite deserve the R+ rating, the detailed animation and fight choreography will surely impress even the most cynical viewer.

Unlike prior horrific villains in Demon Slayer, our central antagonist is solely motivated by sadism. He desires to send the demon slayers into pleasant dreams just before killing them. There’s no real reason for these reality-altering powers within the narrative; it’s transparently a plot device made to give us character development and insight into Tanjiro and our new supporting character, Rengoku Kyoujurou: a compassionate high-ranking Demon Hunter with firey-hair and forked eyebrows. Once again, our villain pointlessly explains his motivations and powers unprompted. Script troubles like this aren’t simply a side effect of being a manga adaptation—it’s poor writing. They could introduce clues at the start and later reveal the twist once we understand how the demon powers work: The writer could do this through context clues rather than overly literal dialogue.

The antagonist, an androgynous demon, sends Tanjiro and friends into a deep slumber. In the meantime, he guides his minions to invade the demon hunters’ dreams, similar to a sci-fi flick like Inception. These dream sequences take up most of the first third of the film, with flashbacks scattered throughout the runtime. We return to Tanjiro’s home in the snowy forest, seen at the beginning of the TV series. His family is alive and well. For the first time, we get to see their interactions. Seeing them reunited is emotional, but it quickly set in that it was all a dream, and thus none of it mattered. The purpose of his dream sequence is for him to reconcile with a past I didn’t care about because it has never been relevant or exciting. Their unceremonious death in the first episode indicated how much I should care about them and their 1-dimensional characters. Once again, his family’s gory murder is used to make us sympathize with Tanjiro. Through his flashbacks, there was a significant chance to develop Tanjiro before leaving home: Showcasing his relationship with one or two siblings, or even his mother, would’ve added layers to him. Instead, the film blends all of his many family members together with a couple of boiler-plate personality traits like “Happy” and “Concerned” for Tanjiro.

The demon-induced dreams were adequately explained and logically coherent at first. Then they added new aspects such as “Destroying the subconscious” and “Incarnations of the soul.” These concepts are more suited to a film like Inception or Tenet than a Taisho-era demon-hunting plot.

Zenitsu and Inosuke’s dreams are fluff filler more suited to a non-canonical OVA or a fan-fiction. If you were annoyed by their loud voices and obnoxious personalities, this film will not change your mind. Most of their dialogue is delivered in screams, like in the anime. Yelling still isn’t a joke, nor is it funny. At least their scenes are few, and they’re reserved for sudden appearances to support Tanjiro in battles. On the other hand, Nezuko was almost entirely irrelevant. Unfortunately, she does not get a dream sequence—which would’ve provided much-needed character development. At least she’s not stuck in a box for the whole time.

Rengoku’s dream is perhaps the only one of interest because it develops his backstory and motivations. There’s a clear emotional connection between him, his anguished father, and his plucky younger brother. Seeing him inspire his little brother with pep talks and training made him all the more likable. Even though the dialogue was your average lines like “Do your best,” it was effective. He was genuinely my favorite character thus far. I would say his scenes, while simplistically written, made up for Tanjiro’s tedious dream sequence. Unlike Tanjiro, Rengoku’s flashbacks zeroed in on his relationships with individuals, like his mother, rather than grouping them all together. With this minimal background information, the emotionally charged climactic battle earns its spectacular pay-off.

The third quarter flies off the rails and contains the film’s best fight scene. You can easily sit back and enjoy the top-of-the-line animation quality for this part since it boils down to a battle between good versus evil. After twenty minutes of appreciating Ufotable’s magnificent artistry and LiSA’s emotional insert song, the climax lasts much too long. The hero’s foe, another seemingly invincible demon, gives his big bad speech multiple times before the battle finally ends. They aimed for an emotional gut-punch, and it would’ve worked had the film concluded 30 minutes sooner. Unfortunately for us, the final fight ends on a disappointingly inconclusive note. In an attempt to stick the landing, Tanjiro lets out a long blood-curdling scream which I can only describe as obnoxiously unnecessary. His voice actor Natsuki Hanae put his heart into the performance, and his passion for the character shines through—despite the lackluster script. I watched both the Japanese version and English dub, and they’re well-acted. The English version casts each character appropriately.

The overlong and incomplete ending can likely be attributed to the manga chapter ending on a cliffhanger. The material was stretched thin already, with no time to tackle the rest. Until the second season arrives, we’re left with a hollow sensation that serves as a reminder: This must convince us to watch the sequel. Demon Slayer: Mugen Train is an amazingly successful product, and no criticism I levy at it will change this fact. Worldwide it has made hundreds of millions of dollars and broken box-office records. That’s a landmark worth praising the film for.

The question is, does profit decide if a film is good or not? That's for you to decide.

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I finally watched the cult classic "Now and Then, Here and There" the anti-war series released two decades ago. Over the years, it has been labeled a masterpiece and one of the best Isekai anime ever. I had to see it for myself, but all I can say is… Seriously?

Throughout 13 tedious episodes, I found a beautifully produced but ultimately poorly written anime. Although I liked the sound and art direction, I couldn't get invested in the plot or care about any of the characters. Despite the story's attempts at social commentary, it has a surprisingly 1-dimensional view of war. It presents war and violence with the subtlety of a wrecking ball that often feels more like shallow exploitation meant to disturb you.

The story is centered around a classical shounen hero: A boy named Shu. He's a free-spirited kid with a loud voice but a heart of gold. After losing a kendo tournament, Shu climbs on top of a smokestack to watch the sunset, pictured in the anime's poster. After nearly falling to his death, he spots a quiet blue-haired girl on a smokestack parallel to his. Suddenly both of them are surrounded by soldiers piloting flying bizarre snake mechas, ordered by a bitter woman attempting to kidnap the girl. Shu selflessly tries to save the girl while being shot at; his blind desire to help those in need gets him into much worse danger. In a burst of white light, the girl is summoned to another world by the soldiers. Shu is accidentally whisked along with them to a dystopian barren wasteland—this world is bathed in sunlight, sand, and rusted metal architecture similar to Mad Max's setting. This alternate reality is controlled by a brutal military composed of young men—which is often said to be inspired by child slave soldiers in the Congo wars (occurring simultaneously as the anime's production).

On Shu's first night in the foreign world, he is tortured by the comically over-the-top antagonist, King Hamdo—a sadistic villain who chokes cats and beats innocent people when he's upset. The King is an unpredictable antagonist because he's insane; there's no depth to his crazed persona. His goal is to find an ample water supply because the scorching hot sun has gravitated dangerously close to Earth. He needs water both for his soldiers and for "fuel" ala Mad Max. Please don't ask me how water is used as fuel, and the show certainly didn't give me an answer. A dead cat blocks half the frame throughout the torture scene to remind us how Evil this man is. It frequently dabbles in this variety of misery porn to disturb the audience, which the show succeeds at in the same way Cannibal Holocaust repulses ordinary viewers. I cannot comprehend how anyone could possibly take this character seriously. The series often juxtaposes over-the-top situations with bleak and depressing story beats. Violent abuse in the same episode as Shu exhibiting laughably non-existent survival instincts, the comic relief he almost falls to his death, and his sudden burst of super-strength (even after suffering a beating). His character is more akin to Naruto than a normal human being in a life-or-death situation.

Shu's primary motivation is to rescue the quiet blue-haired girl named Lala-ru. The pain he endures to save Lala-ru is unbelievable; he constantly risks his life to save someone he does not know. When he's asked why he keeps chasing after her, he is speechless; his reasoning is that they're friends, except they're not. They briefly met, and he knew nothing about her, but she asked him for help. He has a good heart, even sparing the life of his first enemy who tried to kill him. Though his intentions are always pure, his perusal of Lala-ru is obsessive and borderline unhinged.

By the end of the first episode, Shu is defeated, lying on a metal floor, covered in bruises; beside him is the deuteragonist, a girl crying in pain. He attempts to jump on her, assuming he was Lala-ru due to their similar faces—immediately asking the question, why would he jump a girl he barely knew anyways? The crying girl is also from Earth, an American, but she speaks Japanese for reasons. Her name is Sarah Ringwald; She is both the most relatable but worst-written character in the show. At least Sarah is the only one to call out Shu for his overly idealistic personality, but that is one brief occasion that doesn't change his character in the slightest. She is sexually abused by soldiers off-screen, and Shu's response is to "Just forget about it." What's the metanarrative point? Nihilism? We already know the dystopian setting is cruel to outsiders, so why? If it was meant to characterize Sarah, then why were we alienated from her thoughts? If we can hear the thoughts of supporting characters, like Hondo's minion Ebillia, why can't we hear Sarah's? Sarah is irrelevant—forgotten by the story and Shu in favor of his irrational fixation with Lala-ru. Sarah wasn't the focus of her own abuse, and that's damning for a story attempting to make us empathize with a victim. All we see is her screaming and crying, and that's all.

When Shu suffers abuse, we at least hear his thoughts and understand how he feels, even though the portrayal of his trauma is shallow and the aftermath is short-lived. He quickly returns to being complacent and forgetting about trying to escape and rescue Lala-ru—instead, he continues to live as a prisoner until the plot demands he continues his journey. Only through lucky coincidences is he set on the correct path. Sarah was kidnapped because the soldiers thought she was the Lala-ru. Shu earnestly promises to escape with her, but unfortunately, this is ignored until the end.

Shu is the hero of the story because he helps those in need, refuses to kill helpless criminals, and maintains his morals even when facing assassins. There's a dichotomy between him and Nabuka, the soldier he saved in the beginning. Shu refuses to follow orders, but Nabuka follows the rules no matter what. Through their contrasting choices, the story informs us of the mind prison caused by authoritarianism. Shu's unshakable morals show how expressing free will is the antithesis of authoritarianism. Nabuka believes the solution to war is genocide, making him as brain poisoned as the rest of the soldiers. The military has conditioned him. While Nabuka doesn't really grow as a person until the final act, Shu imparts heroic wisdom. There's an odd dichotomy in that Nabuka is inferior to Shu, who is seemingly perfect in the eyes of the narrative. Therefore he never grows. Every time Shu abides by his morals or breaks the rules, he or others get harmed—yet it is never treated like his fault because he has good intentions. Seeing him constantly get away with being foolish infuriates me. He kept making the same mistakes until the end. However, it's easy for me to root for a hero who protects those in need and has good intentions. Shu is just an idiot. If he has a choice between shooting someone and letting an orphanage get shot up, he will throw his gun on the ground and cry because the decision is too hard for his tiny brain to comprehend.

For a series entirely about war and its horrific impacts, it has a black and white idea of war. You're either good or evil. In this fictional world, victims of war, trauma, and abuse will suddenly monologue all of the horrible things that happened to them because of war. They lash out in anger, beating innocent people and making irrational choices to exact revenge. The way it views mental illness is detached from reality at best and offensive at worst. Nearly every character suffers from a mental disorder, so it is impossible to ignore: For one, villains brutally beat innocent people for no other reason than to relieve anger. Occasionally people will spout the origin of their trauma like they're at group therapy, one says side character say, "Soldiers kidnaped my sister. They left her in the desert. She died of dehydration. Eaten by animals." Then he proceeds to kick the shit out of a person who's trying to protect him. This kind of nihilistic portrayal of violence is juvenile, unrealistic, and a sign of terrible writing.

The main point is "War is bad." No matter how often the anime plays its one sad song, the theme does not become more complex. When praising this series, people often cite the mature subject matter and the beautiful production design—but neither of these aspects makes a story great. Art, animation, storyboards, music, and editing, enhance the narrative. In a series as slow-paced and artfully framed as this one, it leaves plenty of room for the viewer to make their interpretation, like Evangelion, Ergo Proxy, and Haibane Renmei. It has plenty of still close-ups, silent longshots, and characters staring solemnly at the sky. Remember the iconic elevator scene from Evangelion? Take that and do it every other episode, except with none of the emotional weight. One great appeal of Now and Then is its ambiguity—But I need to get invested in the characters and plot before analyzing the symbolism. While others may love it, to me, it was mind-numbingly dull and pretentious.

There is symbolism in this series, such as the water and flowers. Water symbolizes life, and flowers symbolize love. The themes boil down to "War is bad." Over and over. Sacrifice yourself for the war. If you like the story and characters, you can appreciate analyzing the symbolic framing and thoughtful storyboards. But without a good story or characters, there's no point in symbolism. The issue for me was, I despised every character. Shu was an idiot and made illogical choices. His infatuation with Lala-ru creeped me out. Lala-ru could sacrifice her life to save others but chooses not to because charity does not suit her if she will eventually get exploited. In Sarah's brief scenes, she cries and/or screams; she is forgotten by everyone (including the writers) until she returns to be used as an obstacle for Shu to overcome. Consequently, the writers used her as a mouthpiece to spurt pro-life ideology.

Now and Then, Here and There left me empty, frustrated, and utterly disappointed. There's no reward for suffering through this exercise in nihilism. As someone who has seen most modern isekai anime, I can say this one does not belong in any 'best of all time' conversations. It is a relic of a bygone era of anime that’s best left in the niche corners of the community.

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Koikimo is dangerous because it uses cutesy art and rom-com cliches to hide what it's really about: A creepy adult man harassing and grooming a high school girl. The girl rejects the man, calls him disgusting, yet he continues to pursue her romantically and sexually. He takes pictures of her without consent, he visits her uninvited, he gets close to her mother, he flirts with her while she’s vulnerable and alone, he gives her tons of gifts, and he expects her love in return. Worst of all, it is targeted at teenagers. The art, animation, and sound are terrible too. Not cute. Very fucked up.

Have you ever passed in a test even though you know you got an F? You might've left some answers blank because you forgot to study or ran out of time.

That's Gokushufudou's anime adaptation. Though calling this eyesore an "anime" would be a lie. Every scene is nothing more than a glorified sequence of still images, killing any potential comedy from the manga. There are jokes, but they fall completely flat because of how they're presented; with flashes of a black screen like they forgot to check their work. I can’t help but think this was some sort of money laundering scheme.

An unspoken rule of anime adaptations is to never exactly copy the source material because you’ll only invite comparisons. Animation fundamentally can’t be as detailed as still art at all times. The lack of animation gives you time to notice just how ugly the show is—there's almost no detail and the character designs are constantly off-model. J.C. Staff's "animators'' literally traced every panel of the manga, but made it worse. They animated almost nothing except for the characters' mouths—unless you count panning shots, zooms, and rotations animation. Just one 15-minute-episode of this show has more camera movements around still shots than an entire twelve episode anime.

Adding stock sound effects, color, voice acting, and generic music to a great manga does not make a great anime. You can, and should, read Gokushufudou’s 25 adapted chapters in less than half the time it takes to watch this grift. Anime like this should not be made. Netflix is a multibillion-dollar corporation. They are capable of funding a full adaptation. They chose a PowerPoint presentation instead. This is creative bankruptcy.

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Horimiya is bound to be praised by anime fans as romantic, deep, a little cliche, and for a good reason. The anime is so prefabricated and artificially self-aware it is romantic, deep, and cliche that it feels programmed. It is a computer-generated story that thinks in cliches: It merges tropes from the average rom-com anime with others from sappy shoujo dramas.

On the surface, Horimiya is a finely polished product—Glistening character art, bright lighting, realistic backgrounds, glittery visual effects. Every voice actor suited their character, and their performances were convincing. Both the opening and ending credits are slickly animated with the utmost care and talent. The original soundtrack is predictable; nevertheless, it fits every scene. Though I was immediately drawn to this anime for its impressive technical qualities, they weren’t good enough to overlook the subpar writing.

Chances are you've heard this premise before: A male high school student with no friends meets a girl through a chance encounter. She's popular at school; still, she works hard to take care of her family, and she doesn't have time to socialize: The pair bond over their secretive lives. Despite his edgy appearance, the girl does not judge the boy. She encourages him to come out of his shell and find friends. In return, he does everything within his capability to make her happy. While it is a bog-standard plot, Horimiya was my kind of show. It had a simplistic trajectory: Make progress on Hori and Miyamura’s first love, tackle sexual awakenings, develop the side characters, and develop the themes of self-acceptance. That’s not quite how it went. Instead, they rushed through the story at a breakneck pace while repeating identical jokes and throwing in endless cliches. Fake dating scenarios, love triangles, perpetually pissed off heroines, and a tidal wave of misunderstandings.

Even though the premise was simple, I liked seeing Hori and Miyamura together. Their relationship felt genuine; beginning as playful friends who got along despite their differences. Miyamura was a cipher at first—Quiet and introverted, he does not like school, cliques, and social requirements. He spoke very little about his personal life and he stood out from every other generic character design. Simply looking at him raises questions: Why does he have tattoos, nine piercings, and such long hair? All of these questions are answered in a very cut and dry manner. About two minutes of each episode is saved for flashbacks to his dark past. His backstories are presented with washed-out colors, quiet background sound, and darkened backgrounds to highlight his depressed state of mind. The solid presentation makes his melodramatic past seem more interesting than it is. With Hori's help, he overcomes his trauma, depression, and isolation (rather quickly). Miyamura's most significant obstacle was his inability to say how he truly felt. Characters joke about it because they reference how stereotypical his behavior is. If your story makes fun of a genre cliche, then repeatedly uses it, you are not subverting anything. The story is aware it is annoying and it does not care.

Miyamura is a respectful guy; he's not possessive of Hori. He does everything she asks, and then some. When his friend Toru asked him for permission to date Hori, he said 'it's her choice' because he's a decent person. Most importantly, he had plausible reasons for falling in love with her. His first reason was, "She doesn't judge people based on looks." She embraced him even though society frowns up students with long hair, piercings, and tattoos. In reality, kids would be lining up to be friends with someone like him—but we need anime high school drama logic! So let's say being Cool makes him Uncool. Hori's classmates made fun of her for dating Miyamura since he's so uncool. Though she never let their words bother her. She accepted him, which made his high school experience better. He's the perfect guy for her. Yet in love stories, there's a problem if one of the partners is a little too perfect.

Miyamura does anything he can to make Hori happy, even at his own expense. Though the story frames his selflessness as something good, his dedication strips him of individuality and all intriguing aspects. Such as to prevent Hori from getting teased, he cut his hair and stopped wearing his piercings because people looked down on him for them. However, Hori never needed help. I hate how the show frames his edgy appearance as a problem he must fix to have a good relationship. Part of what made this show so appealing was Miyamura's distinct appearance from generic high-school anime protagonists. As we found out, that amounted to little more than a marketing gimmick. In the first few episodes, it pitched itself as an emotional portrayal of bullying and depression, but those themes were bait. When it comes down to it, this show doesn’t give a rat’s ass about “Not judging people by their appearance.” When Miyamura tells his friends about people talking behind his back, they tell him to man up—in a show about bullying that we’re meant to take seriously.

The only problems in their relationship that weren't Hori's fault were caused by contrivances. Miyamura's phone dies for five days, so Hori goes into panic mode and assumes the worst. The grand reunion is played up with dramatic slow motion, loud, emotional music, but it rings hollow. It's meant to feel like they've been apart for a long time, but to us, it was only five minutes. What should've been a significant turning point for their relationship felt inconsequential. Alone, this one contrived moment isn't a big deal; however, it is a persistent problem with the anime. The pacing issues are more noticeable the longer the show drags on. However, no amount of adaptation magic could've saved Hori from being an awful person. She treats Miyamura like sewage water—yet no one ever meaningfully criticizes her, so she is never redeemed! No matter what Miyamura does, she’ll yell at him, whack him, or get silently pissed off.

Girls compliment him? WHACK!
She's feeling nervous? WHACK!
He compliments her? WHACK!

There's no winning with her. She's like every bad shoujo author's idea of a strong female character. Making your heroine hit and berate her boyfriend totally makes her a girl boss. These 'issues' only got worse the longer they dated. First, she became possessive, then jealous, angry, and creepy. Mind you, Hori's short temper is not a character flaw. No, it's merely a sign of her love! Because this is how sane people act when they're in love, right? Hori could work on solving her anxiety and jealousy by communicating with her boyfriend. Or better yet, she could confide in her parents, who occupy background space for no reason. Her little brother acts as a bridge between the two when they're having one of their misunderstandings. When Hori finally expresses why she is upset about Miyamura getting attention from other girls, it is revealed to be all in her imagination! If they were able, to be honest, then these misunderstandings would stop. But we can't have that. We need Hori to be jealous because that's one of her three jokes! If I remember this show three months from now, it will be for those God damn misunderstandings.

Relationships are about compromise. Loving someone requires giving and taking. Hori takes, Miyamura gives. Some relationships are acceptable this way, but this one is toxic. Miyamura is the glue that keeps them together because he's always patient and submissive. When Hori asks him to act dominant by berating and hitting her, he tries. Expectedly it didn't work, but it's not just played off as a joke. Hori asked him to be dominant, and she always gets what she wants. This is the level of humor in the second half of the show. She constantly asks Miyamura to hit her and insult her. He says no, and that he's not into that—yet she continues to pester him! I would've ghosted her at this point, but he is perfect; therefore, he mustn't reject his queen. He even tries S&M it for her sake, but it makes him uncomfortable. Even stranger, they do their S&M shit in public. Their classmates just watch it happen and say "Wow Miyamura is so cool..." for calling his girlfriend a bitch. What kind of bizarre alternate reality is this writer living in? Still, Hori keeps asking him. If you're a masochist, and your partner isn't a sadist, don't force them to be one! To make her happy, he ignores his discomfort to berate and slap her. The writer must've assumed S&M just meant consensually abusing your partner in broad daylight. No, that is not how it works, nor is it good humor.

Miyamura confides in Hori's father, saying he feels uncomfortable with the S&M dynamic and asks for help. Finally, he spoke his mind! Hori's father tells her how Miyamura feels and to be considerate of her boyfriend's feelings. I felt blessed; finally, the show listened to my cries: Please stop being boring! You'd assume this would be enough to get through to her… but no, she responds with, "Stop blabbing about stupid crap and help me out with the chores." This could've been a problem they resolved to strengthen their relationship, but no, it is played off for humor. I knew for certain Hori wouldn't get any worse than this. Right?

Wrong. It's time to address the worst joke. Miyamura expresses attraction and considers dating other guys; it's apparent he's bisexual. That's cool! Bisexual people are great partners... though Hori would disagree. At the slightest implication that Miyamura is bisexual, Hori says, "Gross," with a nauseated expression. A little bromance? "Gross." To get the joke, we have to understand it from the way she does, and that is to believe it's gross. Very cool, girl boss.

Toru's entire character encapsulates this joke. He was in love with Hori, but he got turned down in the first episode. Afterward, he stuck around to support Miyamura. The thing is, he's into guys too! He'll call a guy attractive, then everyone will go, "Whaaaaat?" How quirky! I swear some of his dialogue was ripped straight out of a BL manga. This isn't just a Hori thing. Random extras act disgusted when they see Toru being friendly with Miyamura. They tease romance with full intention of never making it happen because it's bait. So what's the point of the joke? There is none—the show tries to have its bisexual cake and eat it too.

Every supporting character can be placed in at least one of three categories: 1. Nice on the outside, mean on the inside. 2. Constantly acts happy to avoid burdening others. 3. Too dumb to understand what's happening. Although some of them get a few seconds of characterization, it is skipped for the sake of dramatic romance. Ultimately none of their side plots mattered. They're simply a diversion from the primary couple, who could use more screen time because the anime skims through dozens in the blink of an eye. You probably won't remember all of their names, but thankfully their candy-colored hair makes it easy to tell them apart.

Hori's friend, Yoshikawa, falls into all three. Her character flaw is that she has trouble communicating. She acts sweet to make everyone around her happy, but she actually does it because she's a spiteful person underneath. Like most of the cast, she narrates her thoughts and puts herself down because she lacks self-worth for unknown reasons. She hides her emotions for the sake of others to not be a bother. Aside from Very Original character writing, this doesn't make her unique. Everyone in the show is terrible at communicating—not because this is true to actual high school students, but because it's repetitive writing. It's never a mystery what a character is thinking, and if you can't tell, the directing makes it even simpler.

When they don't know how to communicate the characters' thoughts, they just put a text box on-screen. Adapting a manga involves more than copying and pasting panels—you creatively develop ways to show emotions through body language, music, camera angles, and editing. The extent of Horimiya's visual storytelling is by focusing on a character, slow motion, changing the backdrop to a white wall, and adding a colorful shadow. The first time, it was unique. It conveyed Hori and Miyamura's thoughts. Even though they were evident without the sudden art style change. Then they kept doing it. Eventually, it would happen five times per episode for each side character. It lost its effect right away and became forced. There are numerous more ways to convey the character's thoughts without recycling this mindless visual effect. It just made me roll my eyes. Before it felt personal like I intimately knew who these people were. But then it happened again. Then again. And before I knew it, every irrelevant character had their little introspective moment and I realized I didn't know these people at all. By the end I still had big questions, even about the main characters, for one—why does Miyamura continue to date Hori even though she's a toxic asshole?

Nearly everyone has said Horimiya is a masterclass romance, that it is the anime of the season. All I saw was a subpar, run-of-the-mill anime weighed down by superfluous characters, annoying misunderstandings, rushed pacing, and a viscerally unlikable heroine. After sprinting past over a hundred chapters, the story screeches to a halt at the thirteenth episode with a tearjerker ending. I enjoy watching shamelessly corny love stories that make me tear up with joy. But I don't like anime that are so cliche that they do the tearing up for me. If you're new to anime, a lover of romcoms, and have a high tolerance for cliches, you'll get a kick out of this. To everyone else, there are much better choices than Horimiya.

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I had such high hopes for Wonder Egg Priority. I praised its first few episodes like it would be the best anime of the year. If only I could go back in time and prepare myself for a massive disappointment.

Before someone tells me, "You didn't understand the symbolism and metaphors." I understood it, but I don't think it's as deep as people say. The symbolism is either so blatant you barely need to do any thinking or so vague that it becomes pretentious. It's like watching a movie while the director is breathing down your neck, telling you what every symbol, line of dialogue, and gesture means.

In my eyes, the most underwhelming art is the kind that tells you exactly how to interpret it; though writers can break this rule successfully, it must be purposeful. Wonder Egg didn't ignore subtlety for a reason, and it did it because it's simpler to spell everything out. The viewer can feel instant gratification for understanding a symbol, which inspires us to dig deeply into the vague and nonsensical parts—leading to theory crafting to excuse the show's writing flaws. With only thirteen episodes, one being a recap and the thirteenth airing months later, the series bit off far more than it could chew. If we ignore everything except Wonder Egg's movie-like technical qualities, it is a masterpiece. Scratch off the paint, and underneath, all you'll find is hack writing exploiting people with mental illnesses and trauma.

***
Spoilers incoming, but you'll thank me later because you won't have to sit through the show to discover its idiotic twists. I'll try to explain the show to those of you whose brains died trying to understand what was supposed to be the hamfisted twist near the end. Trigger warnings include suicide, self-harm, pedophilia, child abuse, and sexual assault.
***

Entering Wonder Egg, I had no expectations. They hardly advertised it, and the plot summary was mysterious. "The story of four girls who find eggs." It sounded intriguing. From the start, it introduced our main character, a 14-year-old girl with two different colored eyes. She was cleverly named Ohto Ai. While aimlessly wandering through her town, Ai finds an egg with numbers stamped on it. What could it possibly be? When Ai falls asleep, she enters a dream world that resembles her middle school. Things immediately become dire as an invisible man yells at her to break the egg—once she cracks the shell, it expands and breaks to reveal a girl was inside.

Angry CGI gnomes wielding knives chase after the two girls. These creatures are named "seeno evils" because they symbolize any bystander who allowed bullying or harassment; this is the kind of on-the-nose symbolism the show is known for, rather than designing a creature that conveys the idea. The writer just named it the thing because it's easier. The seeno evils wear demonic masks, wielding knives, and leave a blood-red paint trail, like generic horror game monsters. Monsters can physically harm Ai within the dream world—those wounds won't go away when she wakes up, similar to the horror classic A Nightmare on Elm Street. The dream world has a final boss called a "Wonder Killer" representing the person who tormented the 'egg girl' in the real world—they are an oversimplification of cruel adults: abusers, pedophiles, stalkers, and other creeps. There's no nuance to them, don't expect complex villains. Ai assists the girl by clobbering the monstrosities with a large colorful sword resembling a Kingdom Hearts weapon. The girl who Ai rescues has a name, but you won't remember it because, as every egg girl, she is present for half an episode at most and given the bare minimum characterization.

This is Wonder Egg's plot structure; in most episodes, Ai, or one of her three friends who later get introduced, enters a dream world to save an egg girl from their tormenter. Every egg girl is 14-years-old and a suicide victim. The heroines, Ai, Neiru, Rika, and Momoe, defend the egg girls to resurrect a friend who committed suicide. Every girl they protect brings them closer to achieving their goal. Each girl's dreamscapes are the location where their friend, or family, passed away. The victims are represented by a statue, frozen in place moments before their death. The girls buy the eggs from two mannequin men who call themselves Accas; they explain various aspects of the dream world to create an internal logic; that way, it doesn't feel like an asspull when a character jumps 30 feet in the air. The Accas are the author's mouthpiece because he cannot trust us to think on our own. Their gender essentialist philosophy makes them unreliable allies, and that's welcomed character depth. However, their ideologies are never criticized within the story. Instead, they are reified. One of their gender essentialist quotes goes as follows: "Boys' and girls' suicides mean different things. Men are goal-oriented, women are emotion-oriented. Women are impulsive and easily influenced by others' voices." This is blatantly untrue, and suggesting otherwise is stupid and harmful.

The heroines struggle with personal turmoil, such as forbidden love, grief, regret, self-loathing, and more. Throughout their interactions with the egg girls and conquering trauma, they confront their problems. While a shallow, one-dimensional archetype, each dream's Wonder Killer is animated beautifully and brought to life with the best fights in TV anime. The production is on par with Jujutsu Kaisen and Demon Slayer. Though the egg girls are suicide victims, there isn't enough time to shape them into real people, so Wonder Egg uses a tactic to make us care for them. Designing a cute character design. There's no need to write a deep character when you can make her cute then say, "She committed suicide," or "She was abused." It has the same effect as putting an adorable puppy in a depressing situation—you'd be a monster if you didn't feel sympathy for it. If you want to scare the audience straight, then it works purely on the basis of the shock factor, like a stunningly animated Public Service Announcement. But you have to admit, PSAs aren't very well written.

In all seriousness, throwing in sensitive topics such as mental illness, suicide, and writers must handle sexual assault with respect and care. Wonder Egg treats them with the sensitivity of a sledgehammer. It doesn't feel deserved when the director throws in shots of a girl's dead body, with her head smashed into a splatter of blood on the pavement. It's overly indulgent. One of the worst scenes showed a one-off character getting raped on screen. The writer plays with fire, not caring who he burns in the process. It's no surprise that Wonder Egg's loudest critics are the ones who've experienced the trauma that it brazenly uses to startle the audience. Gratuitous violence and high-quality art does not make a story deeper. Trying to excuse the meticulous attention to detail put into drawing a dead girl's foot only leads to pretentious navel-gazing.

Wonder Egg has mastered the art of emotional manipulation in this way. Of course, I am not saying you cannot make depressing stories featuring cute girls. Look at Madoka Magica, Revolutionary Girl Utena, and Princess Tutu. They deal with suicide, sexual assault, death, and other heavy topics. Not to mention, the show copied Madoka's spirit gems which the girls use to summon adorable Pokemon-like guardians. Wonder Egg's issue is that it doesn't have enough time to make its extraneous characters more than two-dimensional victims, and its understanding of mental illness is shallow. If you take away the cute character designs, odds are people would have a much harder time sympathizing with them. Each egg girl describes their reason for suicide; some bold-facedly says, "I was repeatedly assaulted."

The script is so awkwardly alien it feels like you're watching a PSA or an afterschool special for teenagers, rather than believable people with trauma. Perhaps they grew weary of writing suicide victims who resemble real people, reflecting problems with society and the economy, because most of the egg girls state they committed suicide for ridiculous reasons. Such as, 'I want to be with my dead pop idol," "The ghosts told me to," and "I did it because my cult leader said so." Although it could happen in real life, they far surpass the point of relatability. I'd almost laugh if it weren't so exploitative of people who cope with mental illness and suicidal thoughts. It's astonishing how quickly the show desensitizes you to suicide; it becomes so inconsequential that Ai straight-up asks an egg girl why she killed herself, no preamble. The girl said she saw ghosts—so Ai thought it was appropriate to reference The Sixth Sense. The whole thing gets played off as a joke. Suicide. Joke. What is the correlation? Do you see how this is a total nightmare? It appeals to the same kind of people who disingenuously say they like "Dark humor" when they only want to offend people in reality.

On the other side, the main characters have plenty more time for development.

Perhaps the most fleshed-out character of the four was Rika. Her story is one of redemption. Despite being young, she was a junior idol who dealt with fans regularly. Her biggest fan was Cheimi, a girl who spent all her money on seeing Rika and giving her gifts. Eventually, Rika discovered the girl was shoplifting to afford gifts, so she made an irrational decision to stop her. She insulted the girl by saying she could never be friends with a fan and would be "Embarrassed to be seen with a fatty." Cheimi developed an eating disorder and died after starving herself to death. She said the cruel things seemed to reveal what Rika thought; they weren't just made-up insults to make Chiemi leave. We saw her, and she was a big girl, then she starved herself because Rika body-shamed her. There are plenty of good ways to prevent a fan from visiting an idol. Insulting them isn't one. But Rika understands the weight of her actions. Driving Chiemi to suicide leaves Rika regretful and self-loathing; she reflects on these emotions as she cuts herself with a razor beside a mirror. Do you get it? She is self-reflecting, next to a mirror. The MIRROR is a SYMBOL for her self-reflection. Seemingly to mock us, Rika's weapon is a giant box cutter. She cuts herself with a box cutter, a weapon she uses against herself to fight her trauma. Do you get it? Shall I explain it to you again?

In the seventh episode, Rika's character arc peaks. She confronts her feelings of self-loathing on her birthday while searching for a father she never met. The problem with this episode wasn't just the unsubtle symbolism. It is how Rika's self-harm gets treated. Clearly, she self-harms to cope with things—and it bothered me how the episode framed Rika stopping self-harming as positive growth. It's a good thing she stops, even if she relapses, but that's typically not how it is in real life. I'll admit I went through a period in my life that I self-harmed to cope with a difficult circumstance. And I'd be lying if I said it goes away entirely—even after years of treatment. Framing it as a step in her character development ladder is dismissive rather than a long and challenging process. It shows a lack of understanding on the part of the writer.

Perhaps the most questionable part of Rika's character arc was how a few times it is implied that Rika had sex with adults, but why? The probable answer is that the story restricted itself to a mere eleven episodes. Why would they include such a harmful topic like pedophilia concerning a central character, then not address it at all? One could argue the dream world allows Rika to conquer her inner demons, ala the Person franchise, which is true, but not enough to justify an unnecessary and painful aspect.

Within the dreams, the girls are stronger, but their injuries stay when they wake up. Rika got a giant cut on her arm in the seventh episode, but it disappeared when she woke up. The internal logic seems to fall apart whenever it's convenient. They attempted to make rules in the first few episodes: Kill the monster, save the girl, then once the bell rings, it ends. That's not longer important. The heroines use anything as a super-powered weapon, not just their designated swords or guns. Though I was frustrated with Rika's mental illness's poor handling, her mother's relationship was perhaps the most empathetic part of the show. The end of her episode had a poignant message; love your parents, if they're worth it.

I want to praise the show for Momoe Sawaki, one of the few respectful portrayals of a transgender character in anime. She confronts true-to-life problems transgender people face integrating into society as her true gender. Her friend fell in love with her, but Momoe "Got scared and pushed her away" because she was uncomfortable. Note, it wasn't anyone's fault. Inevitably, this led the girl to suicide; This is one of Momoe's most significant obstacles. Her egg girls are all lesbians in the dream world, or they mistake her for a man, except for one. I wouldn't say I like how the show portrays its only lesbian interactions as predatory. Still, it could be worse. They're attracted to her because she appears handsome and dresses masculinely, despite being feminine on the inside. The Wonder Killers that Momoe fights are typically pedophiles; her fights are symbolic for her claiming her true gender and rejecting the patriarchy. Her dream worlds were perhaps the most straight-forward.

There was a time I didn't like her, though. In the bowling alley, Momoe jokingly said, if you don't let us bowl, "We might kill ourselves without it." I dislike people who joke about killing themselves to get what they want—even though they exist among highly privileged people. Chances are this won't bother most people, but it is a major annoyance for me; whoever wrote this joke should've considered talking to real people with mental illness. It's another unfortunate reminder that Wonder Egg doesn't understand the people that it's story is about—rather it has the understanding of a parent's obtuse understanding of their depressed child. Momoe is wholly unlike Neiru, the most complicated of the four heroines.

Neiru Aonuma is a quiet and reserved super-genius who owns a company. She was created in a lab, has no parents, and no friends except a comatose girl. Her circumstances are so unbelievable I found her the hardest one to relate to; she seemed to belong in a Sci-Fi show. Her sister stabbed her, then jumped off a bridge. The reason why she is fighting in the egg world is to forget her sister. It's not until episode nine that she becomes outwardly unlikeable. She invites her friends to her home (part of her company's building), introduces them to her comatose friend, then says she'll unplug her life support right now. Of course, her friends are distraught. They don't want to watch someone die. In response, Neiru says, "I didn't… ask you to take a field trip here." No, she did ask them to come; she just wasn't honest about why. The writer rushed the whole thing. It introduced new concepts and far-fetched ideas; they showed that the Accas could record the dreams, Neiru's Plati society's existence, and its ambiguous connection to the Accas. As it rushed through content, it became apparent there would only be one season. If you don't understand what's happening by the eighth episode, don't worry; the recap explains all of the symbolism for you.

Comparatively, Ai received less development despite being the primary character. Her friend Koito committed suicide due to bullying—a typical sad story told in many PSAs geared towards kids. Her classmates harassed Koito because her teacher Mr. Sawaki gave her 'special treatment.' Due to the show's prevalent theme of not trusting adults, it is glaringly obvious that Mr. Sawaki is a suspicious figure. He's dating Ai's mom to get closer to her; Ai saw him getting intimate with Koito, so she has been awkward around him, and now she suddenly likes him for unclear reasons. The thing that bothers me about Ai's relationship with Sawaki is that he blatantly grooms her—like the other young girls who are in love with male adults (And yes, this becomes a trend), it seems irrational. Ai is the quiet outsider, allowing the audience an avatar to connect with the fantastical setting. The truth is, we don't have enough details to enter her headspace, unlike the other girls. When Ai saw how Sawaki painted Koito, she associated it with their mutual love. Ai believed if Sawaki painted her, they would form a similar bond. Their problematic relationship gets promptly brushed past until the twelfth episode to make room for the other characters, lore dumps, and unnecessary exposition. In episode twelve, Ai confronted different versions of herself from other worlds and predictably fought Sawaki in the dream world. The writers introduced totally new concepts and ignored previously established logic. They aimed for a profound conclusion like Evangelion's final episode but it landed closer to Darling in The FranXX's clusterfuck of an ending.

By the eleventh episode, Wonder Egg jumped the shark. It added an entirely new villain, a schoolgirl with the head of a butterfly, and it replaced meandering dialogue with gory ultra-violence. Episode eleven shifts perspective to developing the two Accas. You know. Because they're important, right? Their backstory focuses on their lives as scientists; for no reason whatsoever, they created an artificial human girl. Somehow the show ripped off both the Matrix and Ghost in The Shell in one scene.

The girl looked like a hideous bleached raisin. Less than a minute later, it turned into a 14-year-old girl, designed to look and act painfully adorable. She names herself Frill. In a better show, they'd use this as an opportunity to critique the male writer/director for designing a dozen cute female characters with prepackaged traits to be readily marketable. But no, the two men raise Frill for a couple of years, then they neglect her. She develops a mental illness, murders one of the guy's wife, and consequently, they throw her in a basement for years. Acca physically beats the girl on screen, and it gets framed as though she deserved it. However, it was he who created then neglected her. The show implied she caused Acca's daughter to commit suicide, gratuitously shown on screen. With no logical evidence, the man grabs Frill and burns her to death. The anime added her for two reasons: To show how the Accas are bad guys (which we already knew), and for sadistic entertainment that's more befitting a series like Magical Girl Site.

I didn't even get to the part about Frill controlling the dream world all along. At the last minute, it is all revealed to be a simulation designed to torture young girls. What is the message here? Don't create artificial life and let two mansplainers raise it? Beyond faux-intellectual theory crafting, there's no value in this exercise in futility. To any audience members with mental illnesses, I strongly advise you to avoid this like the plague. If you want to feel shocked, disgusted, and insulted, this is a good choice.

Wonder Egg Priority was a passion project created by young aspiring artists from across the world. Frankly, their work paid off because this is one of the best animated TV anime I've ever seen. Due to the pandemic, the staff worked remotely, but the lack of management led to them working far past their deadlines with little to no pay—even causing staff members to need hospitalization. Ironically, Cloverworks is a horrible studio that exploited young artists to create an anime ABOUT cruel and untrustworthy adults. The final episode will get released in a few months because the studio tortured its staff, but no polished animation will make-up for this show's deeply ingrained flaws.

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This review will include spoilers.

In the second season of That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime, Rimuru is mainly interested in creating equality for fantasy beings and humans. It would involve negotiating property, spheres of influence, and moral ideals with other races. If that conflict sounds interesting, you'll be disappointed. The story sweeps the perceived plot under the rug in favor of a one-sided war and meaningless dialogue. I would have preferred to see Rimuru gain equality for his people diplomatically as they hinted at. Instead, we got a formulaic fantasy war that became entirely pointless in the end. If you liked the first season of That Time I got Reincarnated as a Slime but wished it had been edgier, you might enjoy this.

Despite the copious amount of dialogue, Slime is incapable of intelligently resolving conflicts without having characters fight. Aside from slightly better than average animation quality, Slime is similar to every other action isekai clogging up the seasonal anime roster. You could argue it's because the main character began a civilization, but it's surface level. Why is Rimuru's society so perfect? Why doesn't it have any problems? It's because he is perfect in the eyes of the author and the audience. He's written for you to project yourself onto a seemingly flawless hero. The weirdest part is, no one questions him. He's always right. The show had chances to prove it is mature by letting its dead characters stay dead. But death is never permanent unless it's the bad guys.

The first half of the season spins its wheels like a carriage slowly approaching a cohesive story. Rimuru and co. fool around, and it is more or less what you'd expect from an OVA of a typical anime. Plenty of fanservice to go around, the same lame jokes, no character development. The only 'story' in this section is exposition dumps. Through conversations with aristocrats, Rimuru makes trade agreements for supplies. Their negotiations involve drinking alcohol, then immediately agreeing with each other. It’s boring. Rimuru still goes off on tangents explaining his next plans as an almighty leader to no one in particular. His dialogue continues to feel like meaningless word salad ripped directly from the light novel. He narrates to the audience as if the author has never heard of the term "show-don't-tell.” The writers were somewhat aware of how dull the script was because Rimuru has a few unfunny quips to break up the monotony. The English dub makes more attempts at humor. That's even less funny than the Japanese jokes. His jokes read like they were written by middle-aged investors rather than someone with a sense of humor. The rest of the cast doesn't add to the humdrum script—or much of anything.

There is no reason to care about any of these characters. Rinmuru's followers have individual drama, but it ultimately has no bearing on the story. Despite being nice to everyone, Rimuru doesn't seem to care when his people die—and I can't blame him. The side cast simply vomits exposition to progress the plot, and all of it is presented as slide shows that drag on for minutes on end: similar to The Promised Neverland S2.

Compare these characters to the cast of Re:Zero; there are fewer of them, colorful personalities, they each get backstories, and the hero needs their help to succeed. Most of all, they have enough depth to intrigue us. In Slime Time, Rimuru can do everything on his own. There are unnecessary characters, and the relevant ones barely get characterization. Even the most present side characters are fanservice vehicles. Like Shion, AKA boob woman. In case you forgot her (I don't blame you), she is Rimuru's secretary who doesn't do anything except flop around and throw tantrums like a newborn child. Shion is your typical power fantasy waifu bait—she's inexplicably in love with the main character. Despite having powers, she constantly needs help, not just physically, but Rimuru needs to pacify her when she behaves like a child. It was almost laughable when we found out she was unceremoniously killed off-screen, along with scores of Rimuru's citizens. It was glaringly obvious they'd be resurrected by the all-powerful Rimuru. At least that annoying scantily-clad loli was absent this season.

The most memorable subplot told a sappy love story between two irrelevant characters. Their relationship progressed too fast even to care. Still, it was an attempt. The woman was a cliche damsel in distress; despite having powers (like Shion), she's incapable of doing anything independently. Hilariously, she even gets a powerup when her boyfriend hugs her. Unfortunately, the couple became little more than Rimuru's toys. In the eighth episode, Rimuru brutally murdered her. He declared, "You need to die," with no explanation, then killed her in front of her lover. They embrace melancholically, he screams, she dies. Shortly after that, he reveals he had to rip out her heart and replace it with a new one to prevent the demon lord from controlling her. It's pretty convoluted, but what confused me the most is how unnecessary it was. Rimuru could've easily done the replacement quickly, in private, or at least warned her boyfriend first. But no, this is Slime Time. Rimuru plays with their lives and our emotions for artificial drama. This scene is a microcosm of the show's biggest problem: The sad moments are inevitable and blatantly mapped out. If a villain dies, they stay dead, but the good guys rarely die permanently. I've seen people defend this lack of stakes by saying, "It's a comedy show. Of course, they come back to life." But why kill the characters, to begin with? There's nothing funny about it unless you find ridiculously predictable writing hilarious.

Warning: Discussion of sexual assault below.
At around the halfway point, the most contrived conflict in all of Slime Time began. One of Rimuru's civilians, a goblin kid, gets falsely accused of sexually assaulting a girl—and that's how the war ignites. Although the second season's political backdrop is one of uncertainty, it is not why the war began. Rimuru and his followers want things to change, namely integrating his mixed-race society with the homogeneous human civilization. The church represents the humans, who want society to regress—to achieve this, they endeavor to genocide all monsters. Rimuru's solution to the war is to win the war in five minutes (even those who surrender) and colonize their land. I cannot root for a protagonist who willingly kills people who surrender. That's a war crime in our world. But I suppose that makes him no different than the average U.S. President. He's basically the Obama of the isekai genre.

To tell you the truth, none of this intriguing political tension began the war—just comically evil villains who stirred drama for the sake of it. The girl who accused the goblin smirked menacingly when all the townspeople believed her immediately. It's lazy writing, at best. At worst, it shows the writer is out of touch with reality; women rarely falsely accuse men. Portraying these kinds of shallow conflicts makes women who speak up about sexual harassment only adds to the stigma that they deserve to be ashamed and discredited. If you're familiar with these kinds of controversies, you'll know the anime community harbors an inordinate amount of people who harass the victims. I should've known Slime wasn't above using these tinker-toy Shield Hero plot devices.

One of the girl's partners, a human with dark hair and a hoodie, is a 1-dimensional pervert—no different from Sword Art Online's antagonists. He objectifies Rinmuru's female companions by saying, "I'll make her my slave. I'll torture her until she cries and begs for forgiveness." Then when he fights Shion, he makes her collapse. He smirks creepily, and the camera is below her boobs. It's trying to make the threat of sexual assault titillating. This hentai-tier screenwriting does nothing but pander to the lowest common denominator.

The accusation leads to an all-out war fueled by racism towards the goblins. When Rinmuru sees the aftermath, he realizes there are consequences to his actions: Humans kill and injure his orc followers because of prejudice towards monsters. Long ago, he told them never to belittle other races, making them too trusting of bigots. What is the message? Racism is inevitable even if you attempt to be amicable. The problem with portraying racism in a fantasy setting is, creatures like goblins and orcs are fundamentally different beings (and predisposed to violence). There's no comparison to the real world.

On the production side, there's a noticeable decline in quality: animation shortcuts, dull fight scenes, simplified character designs. There were times it looked like they used background art assets from roadblocks. Stiff CGI character models were placed right in front of the camera—it's like they didn't even care if we noticed it. The excessive still-images extended dialogue scenes, which likely caused some of the 'tell-don't-show' problems. Montages, telling, not showing. Too many recaps every episode—there was a maximum of three minutes of recap in episode nine. Even if you were a fan of the first season, you would have trouble not noticing the blatant production problems in this one. At the very least, the opening and ending tracks are unmatched as usual.

Part 1 of season 2 was a waste. Rimuru gained yet another powerup with little to no effort, turning himself into a God. In Part 2, he will embark on a quest to defeat this antagonist—a comically evil demon lord. He is wholly devoted to saving his friends from imminent danger, and to do that, he must become the new demon lord. It won’t raise the scale of Rimuru's powers to new heights, and the demon lord will likely be easily defeated. If it miraculously becomes good, I will eat my words.

That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime plays it safe by never letting anyone ever be in danger. There are no stakes, no real threats, and as a comedy it's worthless. This is a show that treats its viewers like children who are incapable of losing their favorites toys. It had one major opportunity to prove it could kill off side characters and become a fantasy series worth taking seriously, but it isn't. It wasted its last chance.

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“What is the meaning of life?”

Ex-Arm is a phenomenal anime. It is a beauty to behold for the mind, the ears, and the eye. It is a landmark achievement in art and animation, which no other anime shall surpass. This pulls you in, then touches your soul. It will make you feel a powerful range of emotions that you have never felt before—happiness, sadness, rage, ecstasy, and fear. Everytime the opening song “Rise Again” began, I felt goosebumps run down my spine. The orgasmic CGI animation will make you vomit your brains out. You will ultimately feel a satisfaction unmatched by that which you have already experienced.

Imagine if Tommy Wiseau wrote the Matrix, you would get this anime. Nay, Ex-Arm is more than an anime. It is an intelligent homage to the most prestigious anime directors, Hayao Miyazaki and Makoto Shinkai. HiRock beautifully wrote the characters, and in the anime, they looked so realistic. I could practically touch them. While I watched Ex-Arm, they were my best friends. Their quest to convert the 2D humans into 3D art inspired me. Someday I hope to become 3D too. As I watched the characters face the horrors of war and overcome prejudices to save the day, I learned that I, too, could be a CGI hero. It made me rethink everything I knew about morality, society, and sexuality.

My words are not enough to express how thankful I am for the existence of the director, Yoshikatsu Kimura, for this masterpiece. A man who was, in his own words, inspired by Christopher Nolan. I kneel at my bed every night and thank god for Kimura. Thanks to him, we finally have an answer to life’s greatest question. The meaning of life is...

To watch Ex-Arm.

∞/10

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Tomozaki is cringe-worthy; both the anime and the character.

He lacks self-confidence, cannot understand social cues, has no self-awareness, and has given up trying to make life better. He's an arrogant high-school student who disdains the rules of society without intentionally breaking them. He dresses poorly, doesn't style his hair, slouches over, and can barely hold a conversation with classmates. That makes him the ideal protagonist for an anime that understands the rules of high-school romantic comedies—and it knows how to break them. An arrogant, but earnest, speech introduces Tomozaki.

"Life is a god-tier game… But from where I stand, that's bullshit. You get discriminated against or treated poorly for your face, your build, your age. All these absurd rules go unchallenged. Unreasonable and unbalanced. That's what life is. 'That's only because you're not trying!' Biased thinking from someone born as a top-tier character. Some noob gamer born lucky enough to enjoy blazing through life on easy mode doesn't get to talk about life."

"The game of life is garbage."

When I read this, I cringed out of my skin, and I assumed Tomozaki would be another annoying self-centered anime protagonist who'd get everything he wanted with no effort. Things didn't quite go the way I expected. Everyone goes through a phase in life where you feel like the world has wronged you. And that's because it has. People born into a family with high income will have a much easier life than someone born into poverty—the world is unfair, and that's a fact. Tomozaki mistakenly believes he was born in an unfortunate situation. He selfishly assumed he was the only kid in his high school who has been created by society. But as his newfound rival Hinami says, "You lost, and you're blaming the game." She takes it upon herself to train him to become better at the game of life, which involves fixing his shitty personality.

There's a precise goal of Bottom-tier Character Tomozaki-kun: Turn a self-centered loser into an average joe, and I loved to watch it unfold. Tomozaki doesn't fit in with other high school students. No one understands him. He has trouble making friends in the real world, so he ends up spending most of his time playing games. It's not all bad though, he enjoys honing his skills and fighting his in-game rival. But there's more to life.

At first glance, it may seem like the story reaffirms Tomozaki's weird way of judging people—like your typical harem fantasy isekai—but his quick judgments get proven wrong. Though he acts like he's just telling it like it is, he's an outcast because of his quick judgment. He believes he can see through everyone's actions, and they're the problem—like a sociologist. The truth is, he's the problem. Hinami believes the key to his success is by teaching him strategies to fool people into liking him. Same as Tomozaki, she thinks she is the most intelligent person in the room. One of Hinami's challenges that will raise Tomozaki's statistics is to publicly embarrass the 'cool guys' in his class. AKA, being an asshole and saying things like:

"Your dick is tiny!"

*cue laughter*

It would’ve been funny if I hadn’t heard these jokes in middle school. Nowadays it feels tripe. The comedy is hit or miss, but there’s more success in terms of the characters. Through Hinami’s games, the author explores mistakes kids make when attempting to fit in. Every time Hinami gives Tomozaki instructions on the next 'level' of the game, he seems uncomfortable. He remarks how dating a girl to increase his social status doesn't feel sincere. I liked seeing Tomozaki slowly realize his mistakes. Hinami's complicated personality unravels as Tomozaki becomes more self-aware. She's the closest thing to an antagonist. Seeing him try, fail, and eventually succeed entertains her.

Hinami idolized Tomozaki because he's a talented player in her favorite game, but she also looks down on him for failing at the game of life. He can't dress himself properly; his hair looks like a mess, his posture is terrible. Everything she says about him is absolutely valid—though she says it is a cruel and demeaning way. Rather than trying to inspire him, she more often seems like she wants to put him down. She's frustrated that he can't do simple tasks to fit in and instead blames society because she knows it's hard, yet she put in the effort to fit in. She experiences a kind of schadenfreude when witnessing Tomozaki's failures. When Tomozaki breaks the rules of her game and confronts her with the truth that she's unhappy with her fake personality, it makes raw and believable moments. I wish these scenes weren't limited to the final act.

This is Tomozaki-kun at its best—when it isn't afraid to be down-to-earth. The script alternates between genuinely witty touches and standard rom-com dialogue with drama woven in. Weighing down the script the most is the 'gamer lingo.' If you see the word "Noob" or "Normie" and feel compelled to claw your eyes out, I don't blame you, but you won’t like this show. The dialogue sometimes feels like it was written by someone's out-of-touch dad trying to talk to his kids. Without the great voice performances on the part of the two leads, it would've lost me. The show's production enhances the script's delivery overall. The character designs are good. The artists nail certain facial expressions and subtle changes, but overall there isn't much animation. Most of the show takes place in similar locations: A classroom, a cafe, a sidewalk, and stores. There's no need for spectacular animation because it's all talking and monologuing. I'm sure that will be an instant turn-off for some people. The sound design is much more appreciable. Songs aren't faded into each other—they stop and start at pivotal moments. The songs are decent; both the OP and ED are good.

Bottom-tier Character often straddles the line between condoning or condemning Tomozaki's bizarre behavior. But more often than not, it falls on the 'condemning' side. He monologues in a logical manner, psychoanalyzing his classmates' behavior. One of his creepiest lines was commenting on a mutual friend who arrives a little late to a meetup; he says, "This ditzy act absolves you of a myriad of sins." Dude, she was like 5 seconds late. No one wants to hang out with someone who psychoanalyzes everything they do. That's why Tomozaki is at his happiest when he deviates from Hinami's rules—and the rules of the rom-com genre.

Hinami compares their female classmates to heroines in a dating simulator—you go out on dates with a love interest. It's dehumanizing but expected of her personality. Then after enough successful interactions, they become your girlfriend. Tomozaki adopts this dating sim method because Hinami told him to—it shouldn't work because real people are nothing like shallow characters in a game. Luckily, the author realized this and subverted the script. Rather than getting the girl with his gamer strategies, he throws them out the windows and just acts like himself. It works. Genuine people don't like fakers, and that's what Tomozaki is about. Between the wit and fanservice, the characters scarcely have room to breathe. Luckily, they were sure to spare at least half an episode to delve into each of the troubled side characters: Feelings of inadequacy, troublesome romance, or struggles to fit in. Tomozaki takes the time to get to know everyone while attempting to raise his stats. He comes to realize everyone has a tough life, even more than him, and that he isn't unique.

Unfortunately, the excessive fan service makes the subversive character writing feel somewhat phony. Thigh shots, unnecessary nudity, leering panning shots, and the girls grope each other for the audience's entertainment. One could argue there are' story reasons' for why there is so much sexualization, but let's be honest, folks. This is a product, and it needs to make money, regardless if it undermines the show's themes.

Mimimi is an excellent example of a side character with a compelling story, undermined by fetishization. She is one of Tomozaki's potential love interests and a friend of Hinami, the object of her inferiority complex. However, she has a knack for sexually harassing her friend Tama. The show plainly tells us her story, "Her feelings for Hinami—a mix of gratitude, respect, and envy—have mellowed out a bit thanks to Tama. Though Mimimi's sexual harassment seems to have increased threefold." The first part is solid character writing; however, the second part isn't. Mimimi acknowledges what she does is harmful to an extent, yet she continues to do it. Even after her character arc completes, the happy ending feels undeserved. Unlike Tomozaki, she never realizes that she's creepy and works to improve it. This probably won't be a problem for everyone, but it was for me.

Eventually, Tomozaki surpasses Hinami in the proverbial game of life once he realizes there is no game. Life is what it is, and attempting to climb an invisible social ladder won't make you a happier person. I recognize Tomozaki-kun is made for people five years younger than me, but I still enjoyed it. For that reason, recommend it to anyone around 16 years old. It's not a challenging show to watch if you're familiar with subversive romantic comedies; It is comfortable. Though it is far from perfect, it tells a universally relevant message: Be yourself.

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The Promised Neverland 2nd Season is a brilliant achievement of Japanese Television. It is a series that has no reason to exist other than to profit off of unsuspecting fans of the first season. This is the spiritual successor to Tokyo Ghoul: Root A—another anime original sequel that attempted to inflict as much severe pain and suffering on the manga fans as possible. Except, at least that blatant marketing scheme had semi-decent audiovisuals.

This sequel follows Female Kirito, previously known as “Emma”. Similar to Kirito, Emma is also the most powerful player in the video game. Rather than using a sword, she has the power of plot armor to protect her from any danger! Getting chased by a demon? She can outrun it. Armed soldiers can’t kill demons with guns? She’ll kill it with a bow & arrow. Instead of getting followed around by a harem, Female Kirito has a bunch of children that go along with anything she says. They have names but don’t worry—you won’t remember them anyway. Previously a character known as “Ray” challenged Emma’s overly idealistic goals. This season he has been renamed to “Hay” because has no weight on the plot and allows Emma to do anything—no matter how stupid she acts. A long-lost friend (who was lost for less than 6 episodes) returns, but he’s actually a bitter Bad Guy now! Shocking! But why is he bad? He explains everything to us because we are incapable of comprehending storytelling—we must be fucking idiots!

Just sit back and get spoonfed by one of Season Two’s many iconic exposition scenes: Emma and her harem gather in a non-descript room, and one character stands-up and summarizes 100 chapters of the manga in a five to ten-minute long speech. It’s like karaoke night, but instead of singing, they monotonously read SparkNotes summaries of the manga with no animation whatsoever. Unless you consider a PowerPoint presentation to be animation. The Promised Neverland 2nd Season does not tell a story, nor does it do much of anything. It uses a bunch of unrelated plot points throughout dozens of chapters. Years of time skips pass by in minutes. Then it stitches these barely connected pieces together like a hideous quilt.

The entire show rides on how Emma’s feeling today. In one episode she’ll let the kids eat potentially poisonous fish, in the other she’ll happily help a demon with its groceries despite knowing they like to eat children for supper. No matter anything she does, she’ll have either a smile on her face or a slightly concerned expression. I don’t like comparing the adaptation to the manga, but in this case, it is impossible to not notice the differences in art detail and writing quality. All of the passion is drained, turning climactic moments into laughably bad dialogue. Villains double-cross each other in unison like a hive mind being controlled by an annoyed writer.

They should have explained the motivations behind everyone’s sudden changes in goals and morality, but that’d require hard work. And lazy writers don't like doing hard work. Why bother adapting three beloved story arcs from the manga—full of battles that would be VERY expensive to animate—when you can just summarize them with a PowerPoint presentation? That's easy money! Strip away the psychological horror, intelligence, atmosphere, and logic that made the original anime so special, and what do you have left? This piece of inane shit. Granted, I am not a huge fan of the original, but it was light-years better than this. The show is dependent upon the demon creature effects but, even in 2D, they are below average at best. It’s remarkable, really. CloverWorks has mastered the art of being lazy, and they should be applauded for that.

My instinct is to blame the writers at Cloverworks, but it’s clear from disappearing names in the credits that they did not want to be associated with this colossal dumpster fire. According to interviews, the mangaka co-wrote the anime original story, but that has never stopped a film from being bad. George Lucas co-wrote The Rise of the Skywalker, and George R.R. Martin worked on the clusterfuck that was Game of Thrones S8. Just like those adaptations, The Promised Neverland will go down as one of the greatest declines in writing quality in all of anime history. The last time I saw an anime crash and burn so hard in the final act was Darling in the FranXX.

That’s all there is to The Promised Neverland 2nd season. Finishing as quickly as possible to cash a paycheck. Every aspect of it is rushed: The stiff voice performances, the recycled soundtrack is poorly mixed. They reuse the same facial expressions, character animations, background art, and CGI monsters. Even to the untrained eye, it will be obvious the production has cut corners in literally every aspect. If you don’t care about quality and want your intelligence to be insulted, watch this remarkable landmark in anime history. Come along, join these personified potatoes on a journey to rebel against Weekly Shounen Jump by becoming the most profitable adaptation while putting in the least amount of talent & budget possible. A journey which they have failed, apparently, according to the abysmal sales.

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