SPOILERS BELOW
Rideback is one of those shows that evokes an odd sense of nostalgia, but perhaps for the wrong reasons. As I write this review I think back to what about this show causes this sensation – is it the animation? No – as a kid I saw perhaps part of one episode. Is it the plot? Couldn’t be, as it wasn’t until last year that even realized this show wasn’t a typical sports flick. My best explanation is that this show is nostalgic for me due to its music, with a good OP and excellent ED that has a plethora of plays on my
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old iPod. However, looking back now after seeing the entire show over the course of several months as part of my college anime club, I’m disappointed that it fails to live up to my admittedly unrealistic nostalgic expectations. Rideback is a show of lackluster plot, poor pacing and frustrating characterization that fails to standout in any particular facet and fails to deliver in most other aspects.
As usual, I’ll turn to the categories. This show follows a typical sports-esque plot line that soon branches into a pseudo military-mecha. Protagonist Ogata Rin, with her ballet career permanently suspended due to an injury, finds solace in learning to ride and operate “Ridebacks,” bizarre motorcycle-mecha hybrids that remind her of dance. These machines become an integral part of the military plot, which involve typical themes such as powerful governments and terrorist movements. My problem with the show’s plot not comes in the fusion of these two lines, but in that neither of the two are developed meaningfully. Indeed, the show’s major theme revolves around Rin coming to terms with the loss of her mother and passion, but is constantly interrupted and overshadowed by devious government leaders and their dubious desires to turn the nation into a police state. There were several times throughout the show where the plot seemed almost political in nature, detracting from the characterization and storytelling. The plot-fusion, in my opinion, is also frustrating just because it’s very hard to tell sometimes exactly what is going on – Rin’s involvement in the military intrigue seem connected only tangentially at her incredible ability to ride the same mechanisms that threaten the wellbeing of the public. I found the plot generally contrived and unbelievable (as believable as an anime can be, at least).
What, then, of the characters? Here is where the show is at its most polarizing. Ogata, the MC, is extremely well developed, and grows and changes in a myriad of ways throughout the course of the show. Perhaps my favorite example of this is how she slowly comes to understand how ballet provided meaning to her not due to her skill but because of how it represented her late mother, and how working past inadequacy does not require perfection. It’s a powerful message, and developed progressively throughout the entire course of the show. However, the rest of the characters truly fall flat in terms of meaningful characterization. Rin’s best friend Shouko, along with the rest of the Rideback club, are almost entirely flat characters, with very little defining personality. They seem to exist almost entirely to admire and support Rin as she progresses from rider prodigy to wanted criminal #1, and constantly show up at opportune times to drive her own characterization forward, just to disappear as soon as they aren’t needed anymore. My favorite example of this is Suzuri, who basically exists just to die for Rin’s benefit in episode 10. It’s almost as if the writers spent all their characterization efforts on Rin through sucking them away from all of her friends.
The rest of the characters aren’t much better. Tenshirou “Goblin” is supposed to be a dark, secretive rogue who betrays choice bits of wisdom when the protagonists are at their lowest, but himself lacks any meaningful characterization that would cause me to be interested in him. He doesn’t change or grow besides grudgingly providing Rin with the tools she needs escape the bad guys. His relationship with Romanof, himself a generic and two-dimensional villain, somehow manages to remain ill-explained even after several episodes diving into it. Even Kiefer, mysterious figurehead of the resistance, seems to show up only to make mysterious comments and then disappear until he’s needed again for more of the same. Essentially, I found any character who wasn’t Rin to be poorly and insufficiently characterized, which damaged my interest in the show and plot as a whole.
Let’s turn next to a quick look at the art and music. I’m not connoisseur but I found the art fine, even good at some parts, and the animation generally consistent. I did think some of the opening ballet scenes, along with the ending dance, to be the best showing of the studio’s creative muscles, but the rest of the show did a decent job as well. The OP and ED, as noted, have really stood the test of time for me, particularly with the latter fitting well into the mood of Rin’s characterization. The rest of the BGM was neither fantastic nor noticeably distracting, so it’s hard for me to make any further comments.
In summary, Rideback is a show that succeeds greatly in the characterization of its main protagonist but fails in doing the same to its other players. The fused-genre plots, while not a bad idea in theory, are somewhat poorly implemented and lack the engagement that comes with other shows. Ultimately, I think the unbalanced characterization really feeds into my frustration with the plot, as having little interest in the characters causes me to lose focus on the story being told. I can see that evidenced even in this review, as I struggle to find anything else notable to say about the show. In terms of recommendation, I’d honestly look elsewhere if you’re looking for either an excellent sports anime or an engaging military intrigue story, or meaningful character development for anyone besides one character.
May 3, 2020 Not Recommended
SPOILERS BELOW
Rideback is one of those shows that evokes an odd sense of nostalgia, but perhaps for the wrong reasons. As I write this review I think back to what about this show causes this sensation – is it the animation? No – as a kid I saw perhaps part of one episode. Is it the plot? Couldn’t be, as it wasn’t until last year that even realized this show wasn’t a typical sports flick. My best explanation is that this show is nostalgic for me due to its music, with a good OP and excellent ED that has a plethora of plays on my ...
Reviewer’s Rating: 4
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Apr 13, 2020
Full Metal Panic!
(Anime)
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Mixed Feelings
Have you ever put up with something you really didn’t like, just because there was a singular, redeeming aspect that made the entire experience worth it? Maybe it was the pain relief that came with getting a tooth filled. Maybe it was the degree at the end of a long four (or five, or six) years in college. Or maybe it was Full Metal Panic S1, a show that I found so unenjoyable but stuck with entirely because of one character.
This show, specifically S1 but the entire franchise in general, is a black sheep for me. I don’t like military shows, mecha shows, or ... anything with blood or extra violence. I don’t like shows with predominantly weakly-developed characters, annoying characters, or flat characters. I don’t like shows with wildly varying animation quality, questionable directing, or fanservice. Somehow, Full Metal Panic has all of this, and I’m giving it what’s close to an average rating. If you’ve read any of my other reviews in this franchise or know me personally, it’s no mystery what I’m hinting at. I watch this show for the MC, Sagara Sousuke, alone. Is it hilarious to put up with a show I sincerely dislike just because of a single character? Hard to understand? Cringey, even? Sure. But it’s equally funny, nonsensical and cringey to write a review of an anime only discussing one character, and that’s exactly what I’m about to do. Like many others, I was born on KyoAni works. A few years after starting, I decided I would watch all of them, starting from the beginning – FMP Fumoffu. Being a context-driven person, I decided it would be reasonable to start with watching the first season, released years earlier and directed by Gonzo. What a shock for someone, having seen little beyond slice-of-lifes, to be thrust into a really mediocre military mecha show. Trust me, I wanted to drop it, but the male MC somehow kept me interested. Why? At first glance, Sousuke really isn’t an interesting character. He’s absolutely stereotypical in so many ways. He’s a military kid, orphaned (obviously), raised in war and a mercenary working for a mysterious organization. He has a complete misunderstanding of society and social cues, exacerbated by suddenly being thrust into a high school setting. His character is all focus, all the time, completely ignorant to social propriety for the sake of his mission and his duty. Most of all, Sousuke is apparently extremely flat, showing only this front of his character. Why then, would I be so attracted to such a character, and stick with the show (and franchise) despite its many shortcomings? I’ve got two theories – the first is what I’ll call “suggested development” and the other “admirability.” First, I’d like to look into “suggested development” first, and to do this, I’ll have to take a look at some other means of characterization. One way of developing character is to do so explicitly. This occurs when character traits are either shown or explained directly, meaning that the audience does not need to work out the details on their own. And this, if done correctly, isn’t a bad thing! Lucky Star is an excellent example of this – all of the characters are more or less explicitly developed. Rarely does one have to sit and deeply weight how a scene impacts each individual player’s characterization, instead, it’s obvious from the beginning. Another way of characterization is implicit. Character traits are suggested, but not directly stated, and are not always obvious from the beginning. In this way, implicit character development takes more skill from the producer and more effort from the audience. Very good producers can also use implicit character development as a means of dramatic tension, where the audience is left questioning whether their interpretation of a particular characterization is correct. Serial Experiments Lain is perhaps the best example I have of implicit characterization, with regards to its titular character. Where does Full Metal Panic fall on the characterization spectrum? The answer is actually surprisingly complex. At first glance, it may seem obvious that explicit characterization dominates. From the first few episodes, it’s no mystery that Sousuke exhibits traits such as social ineptitude, commitment to duty, and a worst-case-scenario outlook on life. That’s obvious, and I’m not debating it. However, I also feel that implicit characterization plays a small and subtle role. However, due to the extreme prevalence of the explicit method, the implicit method is much more difficult to distinguish, and that’s why I call it “suggested development.” Some examples: Sousuke demonstrates apparent inability to recognize social cues due to ignorance, being raised in and around war. True, but the second thoughts he sometimes exhibits seem to suggest that this social ineptitude is bolstered as much by personal choice as it is by ignorance. Another: Sousuke’s commitment to his job and his mission drives his incredible preparedness. True, but his interpersonal relationships almost suggest that he is subconsciously driven by loyalty rather than blind duty. Again, these suggestions are subtle. They lie beneath the surface and are absolutely up for debate. But they, for some reason, made me deeply interested in the character of an otherwise-flat character. If Sousuke is somehow hides a modicum of implicit characterization, could it also be possible that he hides a bit of roundness in his flat character? The second theory is that of “admirability.” I think that while not necessary to create a good story, many excellent piece of media involve a character that is somehow admirable in one way or another. And I’m not merely talking about a surface-level impressiveness that makes you say “wow” at huge explosions, but a deeper sense of appreciation that actually influences you as a viewer. Sure, maybe you’ll never train as hard as your favorite Shonen hero, but doesn’t something about their commitment to kicking their nemesis’ butt leave you with a sense of motivation? This ties into a much more complex personal theory that I have regarding the relationship between fiction and reality, but I think it’s obvious that admirable fictional characters can inspire real-world audiences in meaningful ways. And even if you don’t buy that, it seems to me that an admirable fictional character is much easier to root for than one who lacks anything to look up to. For me, Sousuke is that character. I’m never going to spend my life fighting terrorism, but something about his commitment to duty and others is personally inspiring to me and turned the entire watching experience from unbearable to even enjoyable at parts. It was enough that I could overlook my revulsion for the genre and even the other characters while watching the show, and it’s why I’m going to watch S4 if any foolish studio decides to pick it up. Weird review? Sure. Am I greatly overstating Gonzo’s ability to subtly sneak in implicit characterization and admirability? I guarantee you I am. Is all this stemming from a bizarre and somewhat creepy over-obsession with Sagara Sousuke? Maybe. Is this review 1000% reading too much into things? Just wait until you hear my theories on some of the KyoAni shows.
Reviewer’s Rating: 5
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Apr 13, 2020
Sakamichi no Apollon
(Anime)
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Mixed Feelings
As I expose myself to more and more anime, I begin to question my original notion – do I seem to follow the trend when it comes to rating shows? I originally sensed a diversion from the popular opinion when watching and reviewing Sangatsu no Lion, but I’m noticing it yet again when reviewing Sakamichi no Apollon. A show that I thought was acceptable in some areas, amazing in just one, and lackluster in several others should yield average reviews, correct? Well, the opposite seems to be true. Kids on the Slope is extremely positively received on MAL, at the time of writing. I do
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consider “average” to be a 5, which happens to be the score that I’ve given this show myself.
Let’s get the obvious out of the way first. This soundtrack is a Yoko Kanno and is the single best part of the entire show in my personal opinion. Who would have thought that the mastermind behind so many other incredible soundtracks would create such incredible jazz pieces? The most notable aspect of the soundtrack is its subtlety. Unlike many of her other more popular pieces, no part of this soundtrack overtly commands attention – but that isn’t the point. The soundtrack is an underlayment, a quiet yet powerful stream that may be most noticeable during the performance scenes but continues steadily forward regardless of what’s showing on screen. You may not notice it, but after watching this show it’s difficult not to look back upon it positively. It was the refrain (and you’ll know it when you hear it) that stuck with me best about this anime, rather than the plot or characters. The most disappointing part about the soundtrack is that the rest of the show really failed to live up to it. So, then, what of the animation? Actually, I didn’t find it objectionable; actually, it was quite pleasing in some places. While this show isn’t exempt from the common curse of a few badly animated scenes (schoolkids jumping out of windows comes immediately to mind), for the most part, I rarely found the animation distracting. Beautiful? No. The church scenes were the closest the animation might have come to this, but the rest wasn’t too far behind. So, then, with an amazing soundtrack and decent animation, what’s not to like about this show? As most shows do, Kids on the Slope fails for me in the area of plot and characterization. In summary, the show is a mediocre drama with forgettable characters that is neither realistic nor fantastical. The plot drags on at points and is rushed to completion at others, characters are either overdeveloped or undercooked, and even the theme of resolution is teased but insufficiently dealt with at the end. I hate to say so many poor things about a show without presenting some evidence for my opinion, so let’s look at some specific examples next. It’s no mystery that the show has three main characters – Sentarou, Kaoru, and Ritsuko. Even MAL identifies this correctly. The major theme is that of relationships, involving the aforementioned three and the major supporting characters, Junichi and Yurika. My largest frustration with this show comes with the trite way in which these relationships are developed. Sentarou and Kaoru have a rocky start due to difference in upbringing and character, but find commonality around their passion for music. That’s it. Despite so many other scenes trying to portray otherwise, I can’t seem to locate a legitimate deeper connection between the two main male characters besides jazz. Am I misreading this? Maybe, but it’s very hard not to see their relationship developed any further. Sure, Kaoru may resolve his frustration with Sentarou’s defection to the rock band as the two play in front of the school, but it’s hard for me to see him valued as a person rather than just a decent drummer. On a related note, I also found it rather difficult to find anything redemptive in Kaoru’s character as a whole, not just with relationship to Sentarou – he starts the series as an aloof (perhaps even depressed) friendless smart kid and ends it as an aloof friendless doctor. I never saw him truly developing throughout the series, despite the various scenes to suggest the contrary. Sentarou less so, but to a related extent also lacked true character development. His portrayal as a “tough guy who actually really cares about his siblings and his bird” seemed almost patronizing as it failed to reveal any complexities beyond his character. Also, I felt myself becoming frustrated with the way his love interests were portrayed, particularly with respect to Yurika – it seemed to be shown as nothing more than an infatuation that spurred the fighting nature of this character until passing. On a related note, I also struggled to see much depth in Ritsuko’s character either. I keep on asking myself “what was her purpose?” Provide a friend for Kaoru as he adjust to a new life? Sure, but not in a particularly meaningful way. Mediate between her two friends’ personal spats? Sure, but perhaps at the expense of meaningful character development between the two. Provide the third leg of the ubiquitous love triangle. YES. Anything else? Not really. I hate to rag on her character like this, as she was probably my favorite of the main three, but I really struggled to see much purpose behind her. I suppose now is an appropriate time to mount my soapbox and complain about the rest of the relationships and how they pertain to the plot. I felt like Junichi’s role in the entire series was trite and boring at best, and hilariously distracting at worst. Sentarou becomes frustrated at a friend for stealing the attention of his crush, with no meaningful resolution besides some punches and some heavy-handed jazz scenes. This wouldn’t really be a problem if I didn’t see either one coming out of it completely unchanged. Both disappear into Tokyo in episode 9 and are more or less forgotten both by the plot and by Sentarou, who seems suddenly unaffected by both his friend and his love interest’s vanishment. Brother Jun’s involvement and backstory with the Communist Youth also seemed like a bizarrely disjointed way to explain his guilt – perhaps it’s a political statement being made, but I found it extremely separated from the plot of the rest of the anime. I was also frustrated with the way in which Yurika’s character was developed – her parents’ obsession with arranged marriage and hints of abuse are actually interesting and could have served as a more nuanced platform for her relationships with Sentarou and Junichi, but we get very little else about this besides one or two scenes. Speaking again of supporting characters, we’d be remiss not to mention Seiji, who I find unable to identify as a “supporting character” so much as he’s a comedic and convenient figurehead. He seems to be nothing more than a source of friction between two vertices of the love triangle, and seems to be cast to the wayside as soon as this purpose is fulfilled. While I’m on the soapbox, I’ll rant briefly about the way this show was concluded. Sentarou, wracked with guilt, disappears. Kaoru reveals his satisfaction with this “friend’s” disappearance and in doing so loses his relationship with Ritsuko, and disappears also to Tokyo. The final reunion scene, eight years in the future, shows a meaningful moment of redemption as the two friends reconnect and talk through their differences given their newfound maturities, explaining how what they learned from each other influence their chosen career paths and restore some of the broken trust that arose between them so much earlier. Oh wait, none of this happens. They play jazz together, because again, that’s their only point of connection, and somehow run into Ritsuko with no further purpose at the base of the slope. Honestly, other than the bizarre window jettisoning and the arise of the Communist Youth scenes, the final episode is the only one I truly remember due to its sheer unsatisfactory nature. Low separations following personal disagreement without communication are common and can intensely strain interpersonal relationships – I speak from experience. But the suggestion that years of aloofness can be resolved through some really good piano and drum playing is incredibly banal. It’s not redemptive, it doesn’t tie up the plot or the characters, and it certainly doesn’t help the taste in my mouth. Anyway, on to the conclusion. The soundtrack is excellent – that’s to be expected. The animation and art are adequate, even good, for the most part. But the characters are superficial, the relationships aren’t meaningful, and the plot is disjointed. If you’re a real jazz fan, go for it – the most important part for you will probably be the soundtrack, and that doesn’t really disappoint. But if you’re watching for meaningful relationships and well-developed plot, I regret to recommend you look elsewhere.
Reviewer’s Rating: 5
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Mar 13, 2020
Serial Experiments Lain
(Anime)
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Recommended
This is a review that is a long time coming. Before I begin, I feel like I need to preface this in a specific way. I do not claim to understand this show – even in a superficial sense. I realize that there’s a lot of well-researched and reasoned theories around Serial Experiments Lain, and I’m not targeting any one of those in this review. This is merely my thoughts about the show, its motivations, effect and legacy. I, like so many others, don’t seem to understand it either.
Speaking of that lyric – I’ve been listening to Duvet for a very long time. Much before ... I knew what show it was from, what it stood for, or even what the genre of psychological horror. Even up to when I heard that we were going to watch this anime in weekly installments in my college anime club, I was originally unmotivated to see it. I’m not at all into the horror genre. However, I held a certain modicum of respect for the show. I knew that it was widely positively received, and I certainly appreciated Nakamura and the show’s influence on the Haruhi series. Once I learned that the show focused very little on jumpscares or the “shock” horror motif, I decided, albeit with some trepidation, to watch the show in its entirety. I can say, with some hesitation, that I’m glad I did. After consideration I’ve decided to follow my casual, rather than formal, format for this review. Serial Experiments Lain has been widely discussed and picked apart by individuals far more intelligent than I, with much greater exposure to its interactions with contemporary and modern anime. Instead, I’m going to look at the parts of the show that stood out to me, my experience watching it over the course of several months, and ultimately my interpretation of some of its thematic moments. First of all, it should be said that I absolutely fell in love with the show’s art within the first few episodes – almost love at first sight. I think the scenes on Lain’s street are probably among the most powerful in the show, and not just for the ubiquitous power lines. The use of void color to contrast with the washed-out nature of the abandoned road, the way that camera angles are used to accentuate the physical and nonphysical players, and the use of light to show emphasis all give an uncanny sense of nonbeing. Perhaps my very favorite moments from this setting are the few times Lain steps through her front door into the light that is somehow both foreboding and welcoming. It’s very hard to describe, and perhaps its just the sheer contrast of the greyscale-heavy landscape with the colorful, light shows that I usually prefer. The artists use this very effectively. Nothing is wrong with the way that her street is portrayed, but something just feels…off. Trust me, it’s not just the power lines – just as their accentuated buzzing heightens your sense of hearing, the overwashed lights and darks play with your sense of sight and depth. It is seriously impressive for a show that was released, at this point, 22 years ago. What I really appreciate about the use of the art is the way that it draws contrast between the expected and the supernatural. However, it’s not done in the way that one might initially expect. I can say, with some confidence, that the writers never intend to give their audience a false sense of normalcy, of pedestrian security that this show it set in a normal world to begin with. The case of Chisa’s suicide, arguably the incident that spurred Lain’s descent into the Wired, is somewhere between the normal and the unreal. Again, the topic of what inspires Lain’s journey has been thoroughly discussed not only in these reviews but elsewhere across our own wired, and I’m not hoping to get too deep into it here. Mainly, I want to point out that this show never once seeks to hide its abnormality from its audience. It’s baked right into the title of the first episode – it’s Weird. Describing the plot of Serial Experiments Lain is a tremendous challenge for me. The obvious explanation, of course, is easy enough to roll through. Lain, through increasing interaction with the Wired, discovers two alternative personas beyond her reserved corporal self. Her interactions with Eiri and the Knights of the Eastern Calculus all culminate in her realization that she is none other than god – the god of the Wired, which itself is closely lined with the real world. In an attempt to reverse her antagonistic persona’s harassment of her best friend, Lain concludes the series by apparently deleting her memory from the world, which invalidates the events of the series so far. But I’m not overly happy with just that plot explanation by itself. And why? Perhaps I’m just frustrated with the seeming lack of explanation. I never felt content with why the Knights were murdered, with whether or not the Office Worker did it, or even with my own interpretation that Lain is the perpetrator. I’m unhappy with never knowing why Karl and Lin suffer from their terrible fate, albeit in a different way. I’m dying to know how Eiri’s entrance into the Wired is somehow inferior to Lain’s, and if he is a legitimate demigod or just a clever impersonator. All of this, however, pales in comparison with how much I feel we don’t get regarding Lain’s relationships, and that’s where I’ll turn next. Let’s look at the obvious first. Lain’s family merely exists to “Play House,” and although this explanation is relatively tame compared with some of the others that we get throughout the show, it’s one of the ones that frustrate me the most. It’s not exactly a mystery that even from a non-supernatural sense, her family is highly dysfunctional. Lain’s mother Miho and sister Mika are both distant, certainly in a figurative sense, due to their apparent and unexplainable disdain for her. However, I also like to note that they’re also quite distant from a physical perspective. Miho’s response when seeing her younger sister in the middle of a busy intersection is to remark on her stupidity and walk away, distancing herself in whatever way possible. Miho is similar – even if she was a real human, it’s hard for me to see a meaningful relationship between mother and daughter. The only member of Lain’s “family” who shows any sense of connection toward her is Yasuo, her father, who is arguably the one responsible for introducing her to the Wired in the first place. By his own admission, he dislikes “playing house,” but seems to be the only one of the three who actually takes his job seriously. Their final separation, in the final episode, confirms this. And next it’s time to turn to Lain’s friends. I did note initially that the entire plot seems to be sparked off by Chisa’s suicide – a girl she hardly knew, yet now writing notes to her from the other side. It’s easy for me to see Lain’s apparent connection with someone she only superficially interacted with as evidence of how much deeper the Wired goes. However, I also think there’s weight to the argument that Lain hopes to reverse the situations that led to Chisa’s death – by deleting herself, does she hope to divert Alice’s focus onto her peer? Alice, of course, is most interesting to me of them all. I never played Alice in Cyberland, or watched the OVA, but it’s apparent to me that Alice provides the alternate side of the Lain narrative. After all, she seems to be the only one who retains any connection to Lain after she erases her memory from humanity, despite her apparent misunderstanding of the technology that permitted it. It’s also arguable, from episode 12, that it’s Alice’s existence that manages to push Eiri out, rather than Lain’s power alone. It’s among these relationships that one of the central dogmas of the show arises. The Freudian nature of Lain’s self-discovery becomes one of the most significant and complex parts of the show. The dominating Lain – sneering at her onlooking self. The confident Lain – assembling computers on her bedroom floor. The opening Lain – reserved and quiet. The Id, the Ego, the Superego. The three sides of each one of us, brought to light in the human world, the wired, and the liminal space in between. Konaka shows that when one Lain betrays Alice by spreading awful rumors, the second will try to reverse the damage, while the third is pulled taught between them. The same is true for Lain’s family – it’s not hard for me to see how each aspect of her personality evokes a different response from those meant to be closest to her. Okay, so I’ve ranted for a while on the art, the relationships, and even the person herself. But the most significant aspect for me about this show is how it explores the topic of person. I said it earlier, but there’s several clear influences that we see reflected from Lain into Haruhi – and not only the obvious of a questionably self-aware female god, but also the use of light to show clarity and the power of perspective, among others. But one of these most powerful influences is that of names and being named. The god’s name – “Lain” – is spoken with significance throughout the series. Characters seem to be obsessed with the word “Lain.” So many of the lines either end with it or start with it, often accentuated slowly and deliberately, even such that a non-native speaker such as myself can’t help but notice. As far as I’m able to tell, Lain is named after Ronald David Laing, a 20th century psychiatrist who criticized conventional methods for “treating” schizophrenic patients, such as shock therapy and sedation. Laing, known for his founding of the infamous Kingsley Hall in London, a haven for schizophrenic patients with none of the forced sedation and repressive techniques common in the medical world at the time. While the details of Laing’s stance and works are somewhat obscure and controversial, it seems that he saw psychosis as not a mental defficiency but a spiritual or sensational experience in which individuals worked out their own experience with reality. Now I haven’t researched Laing extensively, nor do I propose to understand his complete disposition towards mental illness, but it seems to me that his opposition to cruel techniques such as electroshock and lobotomy was unique in his era, as was his disposition that mental illness was not fully understood. In Lain’s case, throughout the show, I could not help myself but see endless connections to a psychological explanation to the absurdities. Lain, disdained by her mother and sister, reaches out into a world where she finds people who seem to care about her. The death of someone she knew pushes her deeper into her own self and reliance on the Wired and her experiences in it. It’s not hard for me to see the obscure disappearance of her family from her own house one night as representative of the mental and physical distance that they keep from her, or her experience watching a live shooting as parallel to the games she plays online. Even her experience of herself as god, and seeing passer-by worship her figure in the sky, doesn’t seem unreasonable given the intense psychological distortion that Lain experiences. Most satisfying to me, however, about this explanation is episode 9, “PROTOCOL,” otherwise known as the alien episode. My brother’s explained this episode to me as being an expert troll of the community due to the absolute absurdity (come on, when else should E.T. show up in a psychological horror anime about the internet), but I’ve never been totally satisfied. I’m not saying that psychological experiences and extraterrestrial experiences are the same thing, but I think it’s worth noting that one’s sense of imagination may be heightened when introspective. Most importantly, I believe that Laing pioneered the school of thought that such an abnormal experience such as alien encounter is not necessarily a sign of schizophrenic disorder. I’m not sure. By this time, this review has gotten far too rant-y, so it’s time to wrap things up. Did I love this anime? In the first few episodes – yes, absolutely. I saw so many metaphors in the light and shadow even before Lain got deep into the wired, and they delighted me. But by the time things started to escalate, I found the show harder and harder to follow. The narrative that I tried to draw out seemed more and more contrived. Now that’s not a bad thing – again, this show is definetely Weird – but I found it harder and harder to follow a single theme or motif as the show progressed. Like I mentioned earlier, I wish we had more about the other characters, and more about Lain’s relationships, but alas, only 13 episodes restrained us. I’m not sure if any more episodes would have helped with a satisfying conclusion, or even that a satisfying conclusion is appropriate for a show like this. So take this review and rating with a grain of salt. Half of me wants to give it a 7, the other me an 8. Again, I don’t want to portray myself as an expert, or even as someone who has read up extensively on other perspectives. I haven’t even played the PS1 game (though I plan to, for sure). Do I appreciate this anime, for its unique story and characters? Absolutely. Do I appreciate it for its legacy on anime like Haruhi? By all means. Do I really know enough to understand it? No way.
Reviewer’s Rating: 8
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Mar 1, 2020
Kuragehime
(Anime)
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Mixed Feelings
“They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid the duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes!” – Orlando, As You Like It, Act V, Scene II
It takes little more than the first episode of this show to realize that Princess Jellyfish is Shakespearean in nature. Indeed, the anime is primarily one of disguise and front, a topic popularized in western literature by the legendary playwright. I won’t make the effort to argue that Princess Jellyfish is entirely Shakespearean, however, as I think this is where the show finds both its highest ... strengths and lowest weaknesses. Let’s look, as usual, at the various categories. The art – it’s pretty good. I never found myself blown away by any means, but the art seemed appropriate, especially during some of the ethereal underwater scenes. On a related the topic, I found the animation not spectacular but at least very consistent. While I can’t exactly praise it, I could describe it as “pleasant” and definetely unobtrusive. I do appreciate the fact that this show is, by design, based around the use of color to tell the story: the subdued blues in Tsukimi’s dreams reflecting her escapism is a great example of this. Is it fantastic? No, but it works pretty well. Next, the soundtrack. It’s…just okay. The OP is decent, I suppose, as is the ED, but one thing that struck me most about this anime is just how little I felt the soundtrack played into the storytelling process. I wrack my brain to think of a single time where the score added to the drama, and I come up short. This isn’t the case for most other anime that I’ve seen – it’s normally not difficult for me to associate one particular part of a truly good soundtrack with a critical part of the show. I’m not saying that this is a necessary prerequisite for an anime to be good, but it certainly helps. Here’s where I’d usually move onto the characters or plot – and I’d like to jump into both simultaneously here, as they’re very interconnected. It’s also here I’d like to return to the opening quote. Looking at something “through another man’s eyes” is a key tenant of the show, and not only because much of the comedic motif is based around a man who dresses as a woman. Indeed, the Shakespearean disguise is a prevalent theme in his comedies, and often analyzing the disguised’ motives is important in uncovering significant related themes. Similarly, digging into Kuranosuke’s motives helps to reveal his character. And it’s not just him – I’d go so far to argue that most of the show’s characters possess some sort of disguise that is challenged throughout its course. Now that all sounds very serious and literature-y. But just as As you Like It was designed as a comedy, so is Princess Jellyfish. The show, dare I say it, has some excellent humor as it opens. The Amamizukans’ attitude toward “trendy” culture, general fear of the public, and sense of isolation are portrayed in a humorous (though primarily slapstick) manner, and rarely in a crude way, which I appreciate. I personally also found all the drama surrounding Shu and his awkward personality to be hilarious during the first few episodes. The fact that so many of the surrounding characters are primarily present for comic relief (I can’t help but think back to Touchstone, myself) somehow works itself out as well. However, I can’t help but feel somewhat more disappointed with the progression of the comedy as the show moves on. In particular, I think the show hit its peak around episodes 5 and 6, when Kuranosuke gives the sisterhood disguises of their own. It’s here that the thematic question of identity – reflected frequently in Tsukimi’s introspections – are at their most poignant. Who is she, and who does she want to become? Unfortunately, the plot develops quickly into the unfortunate love triangle, which stagnates the disguised motifs. The humor of Kuranosuke’s true identify becomes old as it seems to drag itself on as the drama unfolds. Some of the comic relief characters’ tropes become a bit more tired out. I don’t know quite how to describe it, but the show seemed a lot less comedic to me at the end than the beginning, and even the hilarious gag jokes surrounding Yoshio’s beloved Benz couldn’t quite redeem it. That being said, my biggest frustration with this show came with its resolution. The ending felt a bit rushed – sure, we find out that Chieko’s mother has given up plans to sell the property, but this almost seems like a bandaid fix over the lack of resolution in the money-making arc. We never get a resolution to the love triangle or Tsukimi’s true feelings for either of the Koibuchi brothers, as the elder finds himself conveniently shipped out of the country on the same plane as the antagonist (who, I’ll give the studio credit for, is satisfactorily evil). Most, however, we don’t get the Shakespearean revelation that I waited for since the first episode. A key moment in the Comedies is when true identities are revealed – Hymen’s role in revealing the man Ganymede as the woman Rosalind. Kuranouske has to look at his situation through the perspective of his disguise, something that we know from episode 4 to greatly frustrate him. He, just as Orlando does, “looks into happiness through another man’s eyes.” Similarly, we see relatively little resolution about the identity of his mother, and the suggestion that Shu is holding the knowledge of her disappearance (or death) above his younger brother. This frustrates me not only because the revelation is such a key moment in the Comedies, but because we miss out on all the character development that comes with it. Now, don’t misunderstand me – I don’t think that a comedy has to exactly mirror Shakespeare to be successful. I just think that it’s shame that a series that so very obviously borrows from these motifs doesn’t carry them through to the conclusion. Maybe my tone would be more positive if the comedy was better maintained, the drama better developed, or even if we saw some legitimate character development in the side characters (who themselves are disguised – come on, we never even get to see the eyes on three of them!!). So how do I conclude? Princess Jellyfish is a good comedy that starts out very strong with some really excellent references to famous motifs in literature. The topics it touches on extend far beyond what I discussed here. I personally think that the MCs are both sincerely interesting characters. However, the anime does not satisfy me in its conclusion – perhaps with a full 24-episode adaptation, more could have been done. Full disclosure: I haven’t read the source material, and maybe I would be satisfied with how that finds the end. But the anime in and of itself disappoints me with a strong start and unsatisfying finish.
Reviewer’s Rating: 6
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Jan 25, 2020
Kyousou Giga (TV)
(Anime)
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Mixed Feelings
OBVIOUS SPOILERS BELOW
I’ve been trying to vary things up with my reviews recently – moving away from the general discussion of music, character plot in a formulaic fashion. Thankfully, all these elements of Kyousou Giga has been discussed to death in these reviews, so I’m going to diverge and talk a bit about what I do and don’t like in this show – any of those more detailed elements are otherwise easily found. I should also clarify that this is largely a criticism. Kyousou Giga is quite positively reviewed, and the majority of the popular reviews here fail to identify some of its major weaknesses ... – something I hope to address here. First of all, looking at the narration, I’ve got to recognize the nonconventional (and nonlinear) style. It’s no mystery that I’m a fan of nonchronological works - for a series that explicitly identifies itself as one about destruction and rebirth I find it appropriate. The point of this narration style is that you actually don’t get most of the story in a massive exposition dump, at least unless you’re extremely perceptive or unusually attuned to the nuances. However, I do struggle quite a bit with the way in which Toei uses it. Nonchronological shows rely largely on character development to drive their audience’s interest, relying on the viewers to build the story and work out the details. Did I say nonchronological? Interestingly, most of this story is chronological, but the method of explaining the details absolutely isn’t. Instead, a lot of this character development, and thus the audience’s keys to working it out, is anti-chronological, meaning what we get more and more toward the end. Now is this a bad thing? Not necessarily – as long as there’s enough to build the story. But what constantly frustrated me throughout my watch-though is that the details we do get don’t have the effect we’re looking for. Remember what I said earlier about character development driving the story? We get plenty of character development, but so little of it helps to push the story forward, all up until the final two or three episodes. Other reviewers have exhaustively discussed the details, so I’ll just use one example here. Inari claims that he wants to die (or disappear, if that’s your intended interpretation) no earlier than halfway through the final episode. Wouldn’t a detail so critical to his character development be valuable earlier on? Wouldn’t that help to draw the rebirth and destruction parallels much more strongly between Myoue and himself? We get plenty about his character throughout the show, but critical details that actually drive the story seem to be largely missing. Now don’t get me wrong, there’s elements of this suspension of details that I do really love in this show. A great example of this might be the purpose of Kurama and Yase’s creation, something that isn’t fully clarified until the second-last episode. But this one is far more cleverly done. Enough hints are given – right from the opening few episodes – of their purpose, hints that are clearly portrayed through character development in the right spots. But my issue lies, again, in importance. Sure, this might be an interesting development, but it really doesn’t help to drive the story forward. As a viewer, I feel as if I’m sent on a variety of interesting but ultimately insignificant side-quests. Some of the really important details are just too obfuscated for me to follow. Again, drawing from a simple example, I didn’t even realize that Myoue and Inari are the same entity until episode 7, which in a 10-episode series, is kind of a shame. Couldn’t we have gotten some more explicit details on a topic that’s so fundamental to the conclusion of this show any earlier? Moving on, then, onto my other criticisms of this show, I’ve got to do some commentary on where Toei places their focus. We get a lot of character development on Koto, who is a wonderfully strong character in her own right, but relatively little on her older brother, who I’d argue is the more nuanced of the two. What do I mean by this? It’s temping to see his resolution to continue living (again, last episode) as enough, but I think it’s unsatisfying. Do we ever see him coming to terms with being reborn against his own will into a family that he doesn’t belong to? Are we satisfied with his gift and re-gift of the creation beads, which suggest a grasp that he personally holds on his own life? Or are we content with him living because Koto asked him to? Again, I’m sure there’s way more to his character than this, and perhaps I’m just too dense to see it, but I can’t help but wish that we got more of this developed, in its own anti-chronological order, throughout the show. In a related topic, I’m also a bit frustrated with the use of some of the show’s characters. There’s obviously the main cast, all of whom directly influence the plot and development of the story, but there’s also a surprising amount of others whom I feel are thrown in just to be forgotten later. Inari’s brother, who seems to appear only for the antagonistic moments? Fushimi and Shouko? Even Danji, whose proximity to Myoue you’d think would offer her some more character development throughout the show? It seems that we get relatively little about all these lesser members of the cast, which really diminished the depth of the fantastical world that they live in. Finally, I’m going to talk about the art style and its relationship with the story. The story is fanatical – whimsical, mythical, whatever you want to call it. The art is as well. The style foregoes all realism for bright colors, large shapes, and clear motifs. And for the most part, the artstyle fits the story; however, I can’t help but feel that in some places, it doesn’t agree with me. I’ve said this about other shows, but there’s no one place I’d like to pause Kyousou Giga and screengrab it for my desktop background. I can’t quite put my finger on what about it bothers me – possibly that something is literally born out of monk’s idle sketches seems a bit excessive. It seems that most people love the artstyle and I’m in the minority here, but I’m throwing out this opinion in case anyone finds familiarity with it. I have little else to say and am gratified to have for once limited myself in review length. I wouldn’t rewatch this show for myself, nor can I give it more than a mediocre recommendation for whatever spoiler-nuts may be reading this right now. If you like more than a dash of confusion and some ridiculous fantasy, go for it – if you’re looking for serious plot development through pointed characterization, you may want to look elsewhere.
Reviewer’s Rating: 5
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Jan 11, 2020
Kanon (2006)
(Anime)
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MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW – 1999 VN, 2002 ANIME, 2006 ANIME
Kanon 2006 is the second adaptation of the 1999 Visual Arts Key novel. This game has had not only one, but two adaptations, all within the same decade. I first viewed the Toei-produced, 13-episode adaptation, a series that I appreciated for its source material accuracy and despite its lacking art style. And finally, I have now finished the KyoAni 2006 adaptation, which will form the substance of this review. First, I’d like to recap my reading of the game’s storyline. Kanon follows a typical branching plotline, a VN mainstay. Each of the five routes (Makoto, Mai, Shiori, ... Ayu, Nayuki) are mutually exclusive. While no source material explicitly treats it as such, the theory of “one true route” (Ayu) is present here. Unlike its successor, Air, in which the “one true route” is made incredibly evident, things are less so here in Kanon. Another stalk difference between the two games are the sheer number of routes – five in Kanon (six if you count Sayuri, which you totally should), and only three in Air (discounting Summer, which is no more than a kinetic novel) and the final Air route (Misuzu, with relatively little overlap with Kano and Minagi). I’ve heard Air praised for its focus on more detail in less routes, in which Kanon supposedly exemplifies the opposite. However, I feel that the integration between routes is actually better in Kanon than Air – which, of course being a matter of personal preference, also fits Kanon’s story better. So, the routes itself. I’ve explained their content previously, so I think it’s likely best to jump to the climaxes here. In the game, completing any route (and even the bad ends, unbelievably!) involve a common scene, in which Ayu appears for the last time to Yuuichi and announces that she has found her lost item, after which she disappears. In the game, most bad ends occur directly afterward, or in the case of any successful completion of the other four, the corresponding ending plays out. The only case in which this scene does not occur is Ayu’s route itself. Like I mentioned earlier, it’s not exactly a mystery that her route is the “true” one, but I actually feel that this scene’s inclusion has a bit of a deeper meaning, one that we’ll get into next. I’ll reference my review of Kanon 2002 for its contribution to the franchise next. Toei, having only 13 episodes to work with, focused on three of the routes’ completion in three consecutive episodes – Mai, Shiori, Makoto in 8, 9 and 10. Interestingly enough, Nayuki and Ayu’s routes are completed somewhat simultaneously at the end of the show (albeit without the former’s romantic element). As I mentioned in that review, I felt that Toei decided upon this as a consequence of Ayu’s third wish – Akiko’s healing rather than Mai’s demons, Shiori’s health, and Makoto’s humanhood. Kanon 2006 takes a bit of a different angle, which will become far more apparent later on. From the very beginning, I was struck by just how integrated this interpretation was. Even from the first few episodes we see all of the cast appear. Thanks to the extra length, KyoAni chooses to develop more of the routes simultaneously, all up until around episode 8, where Makoto’s route becomes the focus until its conclusion at episode 10. Mai’s route develops and ends at episode 15, which is followed by Shiori’s at episode 18. Again, we see simultaneous development of Ayu and Nayuki’s arcs, which carry on until episode 24. At first glance, this seems extremely similar to the 2002 adaptation, albeit with more episodes dedicated to each heroine, but I actually feel that this is not the case, for several reasons. Like I mentioned, I feel that the 2006 takes a much more integrated approach to the VN’s conclusion. In the source material, none of the routes can coexist, with the only similar element being the aforementioned Ayu scene. I feel that KyoAni chose to use this scene as basis of their integrative interpretation. Significantly, each of the arc “endings,” in 8, 10, and 15 – are left somewhat uncompleted. They are uncomplete not in the technical sense but in the speculative sense. Even since playing the game for the first time, I’ve read Ayu’s final wish as being the single force that brings about the successful route conclusion that Yuuichi desires. In Makoto’s arc, it is her humanhood and reversal of abandonment. In Mai’s, it is the defeat of internal and external demons. In Shiori’s, it is the restoration of something deeply hoped for. In Nayuki’s, it is the saving of a family and the return of unrequited love. Ayu disappears after finding her lost item because her final wish has been achieved: Yuuichi’s happiness within whatever route the player completes. However, the 2006 adaptation leaves these up to question. None of the first three heroines are brought to the same quality of conclusion as they should be. Makoto is reconciled with Yuuichi but her personhood remains in question. Mai’s external demons may be gone, but her internal demons are being pushed out. Shiori is reunified with Kaori but her health remains in question. Everything is held in suspense as the final few episodes play out – to whom will Ayu’s final wish go to? In the case of the 2002 anime, I argued it actually went to Nayuki, effectively saving Akiko’s life. In the case of the 2006, it is tantalizingly, delightfully unclear right up until the end. Even her final wish – after Yuuichi refuses to grant her initial request to forget about her – is a line lost to the wind. And what is the conclusion? The final episode. The episode of “Key Magic” that the internet so seems to hate. In this case, however, I find it much more satisfying than either the original material or the game at all. Indeed, we don’t know what Ayu’s final wish actually was, but we expect it is, as before, for Yuuichi’s happiness, which involves the redemption of all he cares about. And it is for that very reason why this adaptation is by far a superior piece of media than the 1999 VN. The true ending is this general redemption, which itself redeems the original game. I feel that this very realization is what induced the gut-wrenching feeling that I experienced during the climax, and one way in which the 2006 interpretation is far superior to the 2002, which sought to come to a crudely-similar conclusion in its OVA. How, then, does this come about? In Makoto’s case, her humanhood is restored through the appearance of the human Makoto, an interpretation entirely missing from both the game and the 2002 adaptation. Makoto’s acceptance of the desperate Yuuichi into her home mirrors his acceptance of Makoto the fox into his house as a child. In Mai’s case, she comes to closure with her own thoughts and pushes out the demons that prevent her from accepting Sayuri. Furthermore (and I kind of like this unconventional interpretation) it may also be suggested that her tears are what revive Ayu at the end of the show. And of course, in the case of Shiori, she regains not only her relationship with her sister, but also her meaning in life and desire to preserve rather than sacrifice it. In the 2006 adaptation, it’s incredibly obvious that Ayu’s arc brings this all together. Like I mentioned before, this series is excellently integrated. And that of course brings us to discuss the final two arcs – Nayuki and Ayu. They, too, are intimately connected. Both Nayuki and Yuuichi suffer harsh loss of those they care about, each feeling that their memories are being pushed out in the cruelest of fashions. And it’s only here that things become slightly confusing. Yes, Nayuki’s arc is the incestuous one, which Toei carefully toes around throughout its 13-episode series and brings to highly-awkward conclusion in the OVA. KyoAni, on the other hand, does better. It frames the paradigm of unrequired love as not romantic love, but human support through suffering. Yes, the show makes it clear that the tension is still there, but as in every route outside Ayu’s, that it is one-sided. It’s actually in Nayuki’s route that I criticize this series the most. I feel that Akiko’s accident and its influence on Nayuki was downplayed by Yuuichi’s obsession with remembering Ayu. The seven years of rejection is pushed to the side, and dare I say it, too easily resolved with their reconciliation at the end of the penultimate episode. Up to now, this review has failed to follow my usual style, so I’ll revisit some of the normal elements here. The music, to nobody’s surprise, is killer. Although I appreciate the effort of Toei to create a new OP and ED, “Last Regrets” and “Kaze no Tadoritsuku Basho” are absolutely the correct choices here. Maeda’s compositions, also from the original game, are prevalent in full, along with several excellent arrangements. The animation, from the mid-2000s era of KyoAni, is absolutely delightful, and absolutely extinguishes any of the meme accusations of the 2002 adaptation. I would also here like to give some appreciation for the voice acting. The cast remains mostly the same from the 2002 adaptation. Yui Horie, dare I say it, performed even better this adaptation as compared to the last. However, the largest and most important change was the altering of Yuuichi’s voice actor to the esteemed Tomokazu Sugita, better known for his recent appearance as Kyon from The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya. Sugita, with no disrespect meant, was much better suited for this role, and really helped to bring more life into who was formerly just a faceless VN protagonist. Finally, some loose ends to tidy up. I don’t want to finish this review without giving thought to some unique takes that KyoAni made on the story. Firstly, the roles of Amano and Kaori as supporting characters are much better here than in the 2002 adaptation. The introduction of the human Makoto, while a bit of an unexpected and perhaps unnecessary move, is characteristic of what I would expect from the studio at the time. Finally, its general adaptation of what was originally an erotic VN into a meaningful, heart-wrenching drama was what sold this anime for me. I talked a little bit before about redemption, and I guess now is the time to say that redemption is what characterizes this series’ development and conclusion. I feel like episode 14, which is perhaps the best single episode of any show I’ve ever seen, illustrates this best. With Pachelbel’s greatest work playing in the background, Sayuri explains the principle of a Canon and how its repeating imitations vary from, yet follow after, what came before. In this adaptation, the Canon is rebuilt – each of the heroine’s arcs are redeemed into the flow of life that Yuuichi so desires. I find it beautiful and oddly moving. So how I do I conclude this? Yes, this show is excellent. No, I have not yet fully figured out the question I posed in my Kanon 2002 review – what have become of the memories? Again with the extremely odd omission of Shiori, each of heroines share experiences with Yuuichi seven years ago. In the game, these memories seem to be mutually exclusive. Do these memories really exist? Or are they being spontaneously generated while Yuuichi deepens his relationship with each of his friends? I have yet to discover how KyoAni addresses this issue, but the hint I currently have comes within the remnants of the dream that we are given brief glimpses into. Is the dream Yuuichi’s reality? Or has this final, redemptive ending just one from which he’s about to wake up? After all, don't forget the Canon: “Dream. I was in a dream.”
Reviewer’s Rating: 8
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Sep 27, 2019
So Ra No Wo To Specials
(Anime)
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Not Recommended
MISERABLE SPOILERS BELOW
This will be another short review, mainly because my opinion about these special episodes is even lower than that for the full series – it’s bad. Like the main series, I watched these as part of the anime club at my school, at a rate of one episode per week. I saw the first (7.5) directly between episodes 7 and 8, and the second (13) after concluding the main series. And, in a lot of ways, I really wish I hadn’t. I’m not a great fan of the series as a whole, for several reasons – typical, explicitly-characterized cast, terrible pacing, very poor plot, ... and extremely weak and hilariously unsatisfactory ending. Unfortunately, the specials take each of these undesirable characteristics and extend them, doing absolutely nothing to add to the already-struggling story or further flesh out the disappointing characters. Episode 7.5, and I wish I was joking, is entirely about what happens when you get a lot of faux-military moe characters drunk out of their minds. Yes, the platoon raises most of its money from illegal distillation, but Aniplex sees that already-minor plot point as a mere excuse to get its cute girls completely smashed. But why? What purpose does it solve? Somehow it’s supposed to be funny that older teenagers (yes, teenagers) deceive their younger counterparts, along with a celibate-and-sober member of the local church, into getting totally hammered? This rite of passage that Kanata passes through is some sort of cruel hazing ritual involving intense physical activity, injury, intoxication, and some bizzarely-sexual scenes. It’s almost as if the writers thought that rushing a stereotypical American fraternity constitutes a hilarious and heartwarming military picture. I guess that makes sense given the already-tenuous “military anime that wants to be a slice of life” that the entire series struggles under – why not throw some alcohol into it? On the other hand, Episode 13 avoids the sheer awfulness of 7.5 by being completely lackluster and uninteresting. Kanata doesn’t know her dream, so she asks everyone else. Wonderful! What are we in, preschool? Can dreams be so swiftly singulated into becoming a beautiful bride or playing the trumpet so well that peace returns to the earth? The point is lost on the audience, who is probably still chortling from the inane trainwreck of episodes 11 and 12. If Aniplex was trying to save the series’ tender moments in this final special episode, it should be obvious that they failed a full half-series ago. And that brings this not-so-serious review to a close. These specials are pathetic. If you’ve had the misfortune of seeing the rest of the series, just avoid these shows – if anything, they make it worse.
Reviewer’s Rating: 2
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Sep 27, 2019
Full Metal Panic! The Second Raid
(Anime)
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MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW
Full Metal Panic! The Second Raid is the third installment in the anime adaptation of Gatoh’s original series, with the first a lackluster Gonzo plot tracker, the second a raunchy but hilarious episodic comedy by Kyoani, and now the third, plot-based again but this time with the excellent art and music I’ve come to expect from Kyoto Animation. Three things need to be said before getting started: firstly, there does exist the fourth installment (FMP The Invisible Victory), released in 2018 by Xebec, but as I haven’t seen it, it won’t enter this discussion. Secondly, I’m writing this review after that of Fumoffu ... and before that of the first series, so expect some revision in the future. Finally, in the interest of saving space this review will actually forego my general approach to review writing (music, art, characters, and plot) for the first release – there’s a lot to say about this anime, and those additions will need to come in a later revision of this review. If you’ve read my Fumoffu review it will be obvious that I have a love-hate relationship with this series. I’m not a big fan of many of the characters, as I find them either too irritating, too flat, or too stereotypical to be interesting. I’m hopelessly annoyed by the female MC, Chidori, for her endlessly archetypal tsundere tendencies. However, unlike some actually likeable tsunderes, Chidori has almost nothing actually redemptive about her in any of the first two series. She obviously is attracted to Sousuke (for good reason!) but values her normal life above everything else, almost to a ridiculous degree. She chooses to berate him rather than appreciate him, regardless of the number of times he saves her life, doing relatively little to accommodate his difficult shift from military to school life. Chidori refuses to accept that her unique power is accompanied with a stringent duty to protect herself and those around her, constantly accusing the very person who works tirelessly to keep her safe. I’m similarly frustrated with the villain of the series, Gauron, whose character exists solely in vague evilness and a refusal to die. Even midway through the very first series, it’s painfully obvious that Gauron lacks the depth that would really bring a level of intrigue to the story. He is your unkillable, power-hungry antagonist of so many archtypical fantasies. The other antagonists of The Second Raid are portrayed more as insane, senseless, controlled, but Gauron’s sheer two-dimensionality make him an unlikable but ultimately boring character. On the other hand, you’ll also remember that I absolutely love the series’ MC, Sousuke. Mercenary from his childhood, Sousuke simply does not understand the concepts of failure, unloyalty, and disregard for duty. While Chidori remains amicable with Sousuke merely due to being attracted to him, Sousuke does not need such romantic connection to obsessively stand by her. His mission is enough, and he stops at nothing to uphold it. Why in the world would I appreciate such a seemingly flat, depth-less character? The answer is fairly simple – Sousuke is the opposite of the lackluster, wishy-washy, indecisive male protagonists seen in so many other KyoAni works and those from other studios. Sousuke has principles that he sticks to regardless of the cost, something that works out excellently for comedies such as Fumoffu but also surprisingly well in the seriousness of The Second Raid. Sousuke is the constant in a sea of variables, and is the face of good in a sea of mystery. He is the character you root for when all else seems hopless. However, Sousuke alone isn’t enough to revive the series for me. The lackluster remaining characters, coupled with the excessive fanservice (this isn’t rated 18+ just for the violence) and lacking the sometimes-excellent humor of Fumoffu, would drive this show down to average or worse on my rating scale. The saving grace of The Second Raid comes in the intense and passionate character development that occurs in the MCs within the last few episodes, development that is almost completely missing in the first two installments. Let’s dive in. As those who have watched the series recognize, the show doesn’t truly begin until episode 6, when Sousuke is ordered to cease duties as Chidori’s bodyguard. For the first time across the entire series, we see the faintest glimpse of a question in his head. Up until this point, his duty had always been his passion, but now, something within him sees a disconnect. But it’s quick and painless – stuffing those feelings aside, Sousuke recognizes that his duty has moved elsewhere. He packs up and departs immediately, just to be disparaged by his superior for his perceived, if even so slight, interest in protecting Chidori. The viewer sees the gears churn in Sousuke’s head. Why is it that his duty now seems to conflict with his morals? Why does he, someone who has killed so many others during his life as a mercenary, suddenly value the life of an individual who became his friend, how derogatory she may be? But duty is duty, and Sousuke pushes feelings to the side. However, something similar is happening to his female counterpart. Chidori, outwardly gleeful that her one block to a normal life has vanished away, begins to feel some legitimate concern for his wellbeing. This concern first manifests in the typical tsundere romantic desire for a love now departed, but more quickly develops into something more tangible. She feels suddenly that she is being watched, surveyed from afar, and everything Sousuke stood for filters slowly back into her mind. In perhaps the first and only act of unselfishness that Chidori feels, she runs to his apartment just to find him gone, departed, vanished just how she desired. But rather than feeling relief, she feels fear, and finally arms herself as the Sousuke of the past so desired. Chidori – in the events that follow – is assaulted and left destitute, finally taking into her own hands the protection that she so disregarded in the past. What, then, of Sousuke? The nagging feeling, of a loyalty that extends beyond duty, comes to a head in the poor teenager’s mind. The psychological horror of his failure – abandoning someone he cared about – pervades his psyche, leaving him to abandon his mission and walk, in a dazed confusion, through the streets of Hong Kong. It is only in the unlikely encounter with alcohol and a prostitute who looks oddly like his former charge, that Sousuke returns to his senses. But this time, something has changed. Sousuke realizes that while he can abandon his duty, his loyalty is absolute. He charges into Gauron’s stronghold, where the fabricated death of Chidori drives the solder into a inhuman frenzy. He returns to the battle, duty thrown to the wayside. Sousuke charges forward convicted by devotion alone, reuniting with Chidori and defeating the enemy – both physically and to his responsibility as a mercenary, demanding that his old bodyguard position be reinstated. Sousuke changes more in 7 episodes than he does in the entirety of the former series, and I can’t help but appreciate the sheer rawness through which it occurs. So what else can I say? The Second Raid is an interesting series. The art is generally really good, the soundtrack (battle scenes included) is epic, and while the characters are generally frustrating and lackluster, the excellent character development in the MC cannot be disregarded. Yes, it is a mature series (and not exactly something I’d choose to watch for fun), and yes, it has its weak points, but I found myself appreciating Gatoh’s development much more in this installment than in the prior two. Sousuke alone is pretty much the reason why I’m (eventually) going to watch the fourth series, but I can’t help but admit that I have pretty high expectations following the end of this one.
Reviewer’s Rating: 7
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Sep 27, 2019 Mixed Feelings
SPOILERS BELOW – VN AND ANIME
Kanon 2002, a show associated more with internet memes about extremely long chins than with the content of the media itself – if you’ve seen it, you know what I mean. However, as with any anime, a proper watching of this show requires a context that supersedes the mockery of the artstyle. As usual, this review will include a discussion of the show’s music, art, characters and plot before concluding. First, some context. Kanon was released in 1999 as the first visual novel by the now-esteemed Key studio, followed by Air in 2000 and Clannad in 2004. The studio itself found ... its origins in the core developers of the Tactics studio, who had previously worked on Moon (1997) and One (1998), and then split off into the Key/Visual Arts studio we know today. It’s also worth saying that Jun Maeda – the mastermind behind much of the incredible music that the studio is known for – also played a large role in developing the soundtrack and several of the routes in the original VN, the former of which are either directly taken or modified for their respective anime. In terms of Kanon specifically, it was originally introduced as an adult visual novel consisting of five individual routes (plus one mini-route, which we’ll talk about earlier) that each focus on the main protagonist, Yuiichi, and one of the main heroines. Kanon, in typical VN style, follows a branching plotline of which only one ending route per playthrough can be achieved, and comprises different “bad ends” that do not reveal some of the art shown in the “good ends” to each route. It’s also worth saying that the original release of Kanon is true to its genre by being hentai in nature, however, most of the erotic content is reserved for specific “h-scenes” that were stripped in later “all-ages” releases. It’s worth saying that the developer’s earlier works – Moon and One – did not receive such releases due to their relative unpopularity compared to Key’s later works, and it’s arguable that the erotic content is completely irrelevant to the VN’s story, thankfully, as I skip such scenes in my own playthroughs. Furthermore, I have yet to see a compelling argument to the contrary – though I encourage you to try and convince me! With all that out of the way, it’s time to move onto the anime itself. The show was produced by Toei animation and released in 2002, with a one-episode OVA (Kanon Kazahana) released the following year. This review will focus entirely on the anime rather than the OVA, and properly so, as I feel that the latter fails to capture both the anime interpretation or the purpose of the story as a whole. The plot picks up directly where the VN gameplay begins, and one of the major characteristics of Kanon ’02 is its unique conclusion of four routes in roughly one episode apiece. The show, notably, does strongly adopt the “one true ending” interpretation of the VN conclusion, which is left much more up to user adoption than its spiritual successor, Air. First, let’s progress to the music. The mastermind behind the original VN soundtrack is Jun Maeda, who also wrote two of the routes in the original game (Makoto and Mai). In general, the atmosphere of the VN is driven by its soundtrack, with the excellent and distinctive “Last Regrets” setting the tone for the rest of the game. The anime, on the other hand, chooses to accommodate an entirely new OP and ED, which, although being decent pieces of work in their own right, fail to capture the sense and feel of the original OST. That being said, the rest of the soundtrack does a good job of serving as the anime BGM, always serving to augment rather than detract from the exposition and climax shown in the animation. And speaking of animation, that is where we will turn to next. The animation is probably what you know this show for, and not for bad reasons – a simple google search of “Kanon chins” will reveal the famous 9-panel composite image featuring Yuichi with a grotesque extension of his lower face. This meme has perpetrated so far that it has been a matter of confusion to some casual viewers if these images are real or faked – and the former is most definetely untrue. Yes, Toei may have adopted a strange affinity towards its characters’ chins in Kanon ’02, but even five minutes of play through the original game (or any early Key work, for that matter) reveals that the studio is actually pretty close to the original character design. The art is, however, particularly off-putting when compared to the much-higher standard of the Kyoani-produced Kanon 2006. I won’t attempt to justify this artstyle (as I’m not a huge fan of it either) but it’s worth saying that 1999 was a different time for character design, and thankfully Kanon 2002 includes enough plot to keep you interested beyond the art memery. On related notes, none of the rest of the art in the show is particularly outstanding, though it is worth saying that the studio stays amazingly close to original character and scene design, even nailing things like the characters’ dress and setting. When looking holistically, however, I’d rate the art at sub-average overall. Next, let’s move onto the characters. Strangely enough, Kanon ’02 generally does a very solid job accurately portraying most of the characterization shown in the VN, particularly difficult given the limited number of episodes. The MC, Yuichi, is definitely the worst of the bunch, in typical VN fashion. Absolutely nothing about him is remarkable, in a good or a bad way. He isn’t particularly intelligent, funny, cruel or ambivalent. He just exists, and serves as a neutral looking-glass through which the viewer can watch the stories unfold. It’s also worth saying that while I don’t hate his VA, he is the only member of the six leads who was re-cast in the 2006 remake (to Tomokazu Sugita, who IMO cannot be competed with). Really the only arc that he adopts a bit of a personality in is Ayu’s, who is the next logical figure to talk about next. I’m a Yui Horie fan and she almost singlehandedly turns this anime’s casting from lackluster to good. Ayu, the “true ending” of the VN and also of the anime itself, checks pretty much all the boxes for a typical Key heroine – mysterious, clumsy, having wings. Her character draws its spark more from her relationship with the other characters than anything else. And, interestingly, this actually does much better than you’d expect in Kanon. The show tempts you to view her as a childish airhead, and then traps you in an unexpected whirlwind of character development. My biggest criticism is how this seems to happen much closer to the end of the show (episodes 11, 12 and 13), but that’s somewhat unavoidable, as we’ll see below. Next is the remaining four leads. First is Mai, whose arc is covered and completed across two episodes (7 and 8), in which the directors shift almost all focus onto wrapping up her story. Mai is the typical aloof, taciturn girl contrasted by her gregarious friend Sayuri, who befriends Yuichi. Mai’s story is one of demons and Yuichi’s role in accompanying her fight. Frustratingly, however, I feel that the VN accomplishes the nuance of her story far better than the anime, which concludes that her struggles are mainly psychological rather than supernatural, rather than leaving it up to the viewer’s interpretation. It is with Mai that Yuichi begins to regain his memory and interactions with her as a youth. Shiori’s story (episode 9), follows another Key trope of mysterious sickness, which again Yuichi finds himself involved. Shiori is perhaps the most shafted character in the entire show, as her VN ending is incompatible (arguably) with Ayu’s. Part of me wants to believe that Toei’s hands were tied (adopting a branching plotline to a linear one is hard!) but as the Shiori arc wrestles with some of the most “real” topics (such as family abandonment and self-harm) I can’t help but wish it got some better dealing. Shiori, unlike the remaining characters, also has the unique characteristic of not having any backstory with Yuichi, unlike Makoto, who we will discuss next. Makoto’s arc (episode 10) is the most supernatural of the bunch, describing her change from a mysterious, vengeful girl to a key part of the MC’s upbringing. If a bit short, I can say that the Makoto arc is brought perhaps to the most accurate ending in the anime (not the OVA sadly), and actually doesn’t disappoint. Finally we’ll move to Yuichi’s cousin Nayuki, who has the unique characteristic of having part of her arc completely stripped from the anime, in a bit of a strange way, as we will see in the next section. Overall, the characters of Kanon are good – generally true to their VN portrayals, suffering more from lack of screentime than anything else. Now onto the meat – the plot! Rather than explaining line-by-line (and to save those of you who don’t want it completely spoiled), I’ll take a look at the methodology behind the plot progression as a whole. Like I mentioned, Toei attempts to portray a branching plotline in a linear fashion, an extremely difficult task. The first 6 episodes include simultaneous development of some of the earlier points in the VN’s plotline, with Yuichi interacting with several of the heroines per episode. The studio then uses the following episodes to develop and conclude each of the arcs, as mentioned above, concluding with Ayu’s arc as the “true” ending. Oddly enough, I find myself seriously appreciating the commitment to concluding each arc before moving onto the next (impossible, of course, in the original game, as each playthrough can only conclude one arc), rather than trying to awkwardly finish each simultaneously at the end. The inevitable weakness, however, lies in the limited time for each. For example, Mai’s story slowly and convincingly develops a sense of dread and mystery in the game, but includes mere quick exposition in the anime. This issue extends, moreover, to plot conclusions – the miracle in Shiori’s arc is downplayed or even downright ignored. I think this issue of branching-vs-chronological-vs-simultaneous lies squarely on the question of Ayu’s story and her wish. In the game, it’s suggested (and again, left largely up to reader interpretation!) that Ayu sacrifices herself and uses Yuichi’s wish to save each of the other heroines: Mai’s demons, Shiori’s health, Makoto’s humanhood, and Nayuki’s family – in the anime, it’s very clear that her wish can only save one. And her choice is for Nayuki, saving her mother Akiko in exchange for her own existence. Perhaps there’s an easy explanation for this from the Toei standpoint: it’s the best way to make up for what Nayuki is missing in the anime adaptation. While the incestuous topic isn’t foreign to the genre, it’s painfully obvious throughout the entire adaptation that the Nayuki romance is intentionally disregarded. I can’t exactly explain why, as this omission is immediately prevalent to those who have played the game, but I really appreciate how it emphasizes the actual point of her route – family above self (an old Key favorite). It is worth saying that the OVA attempts to revisit this omission, but in a crude and unsatisfactory way. This is a bit of a quandary that brings up a greater question about Kanon as a whole – in the VN, Yuichi only regains the memories of the girl on whose route he completes, and like I said earlier, there can only be one. Does this mean that the rest of those memories (specifically, for the three other heroines disregarding Shiori) are left permanently un-remembered? Or did they not exist in the first place, and those memories are being spontaneously generated in his own mind as his relationship deepens with his girl of choice? It’s not a question that the 2002 adaptation really grapples with, but it’s hard for me to fault Toei given the short time that they had. I can’t help but wish, however, that they had dug a little bit deeper into the tension between the wish of one heroine and the needs of another. Ayu’s story is heart-gripping, no lie, but I feel that it misses a bit of the Maeda-esque mystery present in his game. So overall, Kanon 2002 exceeded my (admittedly low) expectations. The art wasn’t great but was bearable for someone who had completed the several hours necessary to finish each route in the VN. The soundtrack, while sadly not including the excellent theme, was decent but not remarkable. The characters, average but fairly representative of the source material. And the plot – not exactly the most complete way to resolve a branching plotline, but certainly not the worst. Overall, I appreciated Kanon ’02 and actually ended up giving it a much higher rating than I expected. I am, however, excited to finish the 2006 version and see how it compares. Only regret is the lack of the Sayuri mini-route as she’s pretty much best girl.
Reviewer’s Rating: 6
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