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Yukimura Makoto's Planetes is, as I've seen, hailed as a space odyssey that keeps itself grounded by its human elements. That much may be true, but the crucial point which prevents this manga from being great is that very element lauded as its strongest: Planetes is a manga which clearly prides itself on Moments, but which lacks the wherewithal necessary between those to make the Moments impactful. This highlights a pattern in Makoto's work (of which I've now read all, barring some more recent chapters of Vinland Saga) which I would call a fear of subtlety, a fear manifesting most strongly in his character development ... and progression.

Hachimaki: lead protagonist, loud, brash, myopic in terms of desires, unthinking in terms of the desires of others; essentially the archetypal shounen hero. I should note that this archetype doesn't automatically inhibit how great a manga can be — for instance, One Piece’s Monkey D. Luffy is just about the most cookie-cutter a shounen protagonist can get, yet I find little reason to criticize Eiichiro Oda's choice in making him that way. Primarily because One Piece is a manga driven more by its sense of unbounded adventure: keeping the main characters practically unchanging doesn't matter much when it's the setting and world which constantly changes around them. In other words, something has to change in a story for it to be compelling, and if it isn't the characters then it has to be something else.

Planetes of course follows this rule of change: the setting arguably never changes (what with the manga's very interesting assertion that even the planet Earth is in space — one I find very important in a society increasingly globalized by the very technology Planetes easily integrates into its prototypical space-crazed future), but the characters, particularly Hachimaki, usually do. However, Makoto fears his audience will be unable to follow the transitions characters undergo, and thus the character archetypes. Hachimaki is not the only brash, loud, overly charismatic cast member in this brief series, but as he's the most prominent, he is the most susceptible to analysis. So let's trace his character arc and see where Makoto faltered.

For one, this will have spoilers (but I don't think that necessarily matters: how can I really recommend or discuss this manga without divulging what about it I specifically like/dislike?), and for two, I want to preface that in terms of broad strokes Hachimaki's character progression is brilliant. But the steps between which connect Hachimaki in chapter 3 to Hachimaki in chapter 26 are quite erratic.

To begin, Hachimaki is, as stated, loud and brash, and happy enough simply being in space working as a glorified garbage collector (not to disparage garbage collectors -- I'm simply paraphrasing the manga itself, in that many of its characters seem to believe that just because a job is less desirable it automatically makes it less important or admirable). But, after an debris-sweep wherein he was incredibly lucky to survive at all, he comes to the conclusion that "Space loves [him]," and so decides that he'll become a true astronaut by putting thousands of hours of real spatial experience under his belt on joining a 7-year manned mission to Jupiter, so that he can purchase his own vessel and be truly free under the stars. Following this are various crises of character and realizations regarding the consequences his dreams have on others: he comes to understand his own weaknesses, what he means to others and what others mean to him, and finally to see the interconnectedness of humanity even when some of its members fly hundreds of millions of miles away from their birthing port.

This probably sounds like a great story, and that's because it is. But even the greatest stories can be shot by their execution. In this one, Makoto's presentation of Hachimaki's progression completely undercuts its inherent sublimity. Chapter 5, where Hachimaki undergoes testing for “deep-space disorder” by seeing how long he can last in a sensory deprivation chamber, more or less emblematizes the poor execution of this entire manga. He enters the chamber confident of himself, believing he can last just fine because he “knows what space feels like,” but it is found that based on the recent traumatic episode which landed him in hospital had some deeper psychological ripples: even after two weeks worth of attempts, the maximum time he lasts is twenty minutes, where to be an E.V.A. (the job he already has), he has to be able to last 6 hours straight through.

Obviously this would be frustrating: one being unable to do what one could do perfectly fine before. It would therefore be wrong of me to say that Hachimaki’s anger — at having the dream he’d just laid out be undercut — was illogical. It follows logic, but along a caricatural course. Hachimaki, embodying that classic case of over(tly)-expressive, young male protagonist, explodes at this news, and his idea of conquering his newfound phobia is to fight it tooth and nail — almost literally. In the sensory deprivation chamber, he hallucinates a version of himself which embodies all the pessimistic outlooks he bottles up and buries: not only does he scream at it, he headbutts it. When out of the chamber, he’s constantly dialed up to an 11 — the problem being he was already an 11 before, so where does that mean he can go?

The answer is that his base reactions can go nowhere, because from the beginning, due to the byline establishment of his being an archetypal shounen protagonist, he is already naturally inclined toward overreaction. In which case, how can his reactions toward genuine problems feel genuine? There’s no further way for his character to react, no way to escalate.

Following this chapter, Hachimaki falls into Dark Days. Shifting from happy-go-lucky everyman to brooding and self-centered (that is: space-gazing, misanthropic), we descend into the chapters wherein he trains and applies for a position on the Jupiter mission, distancing himself from friends and humanity in the process. And, physically, he earns it. But as a character, he has not earned this new groove of brood, something which settles by chapter 8 upon meeting new coworker Tanabe. That’s because he started at an 11, and when his character needs it most, he can’t go any higher. In fact, from Planetes to Vinland Saga, Makoto has a problem with actually regressing characters: soon enough Hachimaki sees the fault in his aggressively pro-exploration anti-caring ways, and very — I emphasize — very quickly dials back, recanting not only his anger but also any outward expression of passion he demonstrated as a youth. You see this also in Vinland Saga’s Thorfinn: I don’t disagree that characters can calm themselves as they mature, but when the bulk of your story regards the characters being suddenly closer to their state of maturity than their immature beginnings, that bulk better be good. And Hachimaki’s simply isn’t: the situations are set up perfectly, but because his character is created via the outlines of others (Naruto being perhaps a prime example), Makoto jumps the gun in bringing his character to the conclusion he wants.

Here’s to bring in an outside example, a manga which began curiously enough a mere two months after Planetes: Takehiko Inoue’s samurai epic, Vagabond. Vagabond traces roughly the same character arc: Musashi Miyamoto transitions from a hothead, nihilistic duelist looking for nothing more than to be the Strongest Swordsman, to a philosopher killer-turning-pacifist contemplating the very meaning of swordsmanship. Similarly also, Vagabond’s motif revolves around Musashi, lone-ronin, discovering not only his place and importance in the world, but specifically the consequences of his decisions on all the people around him. But Takehiko pulls Musashi to this conclusion with patience and poise, components Makoto is evidently deficient in. The two primary contrasts Vagabond has with Planetes: one, Vagabond is one of the greatest manga of all time (if unfortunately incomplete), and two, Vagabond is set in Edo-period Japan rather than Earth’s orbit.

Perhaps then the problems regarding Planete’s character arcs boil down also to an issue of manga length: Planetes finished its run at only 26 chapters, whereas Vagabond is a hefty and ongoing 300+. 300 chapters (primarily) following a single character allows much, much more room for nuance. But I can also think of manga of similar length and core-character-count that achieve nuance and poignance on a level far, far deeper than Planetes has (Solanin at 28 chapters; Buddha at “66” chapters; Pluto at 65 chapters — keep in mind that Planetes has 50-page chapters, whereas I believe all but Buddha have the usual 20). So it comes down more to something I said way up near the top: Planetes prides itself on Moments.

Moments don’t have a terribly strict definition, but if I were to give one colloquially, it would be “epic panels.” Panels, or, more frequently, full pages (and sometimes scenes spanning a few pages within a chapter), which enamor one with a sense of awe, signal the manga’s je ne sais quoi, encapsulate the manga’s entire meaning in single frames: cinematic moments. Full pages of Moments fill the chapters of Planetes, and part of that is because the manga is semi-episodic, with each new chapter usually holding its own separate three-act structure and characters unlikely to return to the foray in later chapters, but keeping the substructure of the story focused on the progression of its main characters (namely, Hachimaki). So just about every chapter you get undeniably brilliant and beautiful panels or pages which more or less summarize the manga as a whole: a character, bedecked in their bulky E.V.A. suit, staring wistfully to the stars beyond; foregrounded in this vast tapestry yet verily not the true focus, as Makoto clearly sees humans not as exploring space but exploring a whole (the universe — or maybe, more, the solar system) of which they make a small but important part just as those distant and ostensibly small dots have their own import. Those are Page Moments. Then there’s Scene Moments: more abstract concepts brought to the forefront of (usually) Hachimaki’s conscious mind via subconscious-attempting-to-tell-him-something-important, for instance chapter 14 which focuses on a Hachimaki’s strange recurring dream regarding an alien creature and him jointly musing at the Milky Way.

In concept, indeed in execution also, I love both these types of Moments. They’re either beautifully contemplative, strange and thought-provoking in their strangeness, or both. But does Planetes earn panels and scenes like these with the story and characters it pushes? No. They’re the saving graces of a manga that would otherwise likely by and by be considered subpar, because they’re the quiet moments desperately needed in a story too loud and in-your-face for the good of its own communal message. These Moments lack significance because they lack the context needed to be significant. The manga visibly eschews subtlety throughout, so adding it in in this manner feels, unfortunately, very forced. My guess is that maybe Makoto thought of all these panels and pages like those separately, individuals gazing into the breadth and depth of the world surrounding them, then structured the entire manga around them, and simply didn’t know how to adequately connect those important points them without rushing. And that’s a shame, because if he didn’t rush this (or, also, Vinland Saga — again a similar character arc for Thorfinn) I could very well see it matching up to the likes of Vagabond. But it doesn’t even come close. I’d wonder if it would fare better if it simply had the muted, nigh-dialogueless storytelling style of “Blame!”

I say that because of the visual presentation of space, interplanetary flight, smokers in a smoke-shunning biome, E.V.A. equipment, politics and anti-politicking, and so on with everything else. The majority of my review may seem negative, but that’s because I’m disappointed: this manga in many respects had clear and powerful potential.

For one, Makoto’s research chops regarding space travel is amazing. Even if the people in this manga don’t feel real, everything around them absolutely does. It’s an attention to detail that reminds me heavily of the recent novel (and recently film-adapted) The Martian. If Makoto had relied less on character archetypes and caricature, rushed less in terms of character progression, then exhibiting the way they so smoothly live in this future world would land phenomenally. Adding to that, his ability to crisply draw high-velocity motion in a world that measures itself in km/s means that when he isn’t focused on making his cast philosophic mountebanks in terms of countenance — I’m not a fan of how he draws people, as he has a tendency for facial non-diversity (compare: eyes, eyebrows, nose) and a penchant for making overreactions overreactive — you can bet that the equipment you see on each panel looks and moves very naturally (or seemingly so; I’m no astronaut).

For a popular culture so hellbent on nail-biting over technological dystopia — the West having that capitalistic fear of economic castration by machine-replacement — Planetes is a breath of optimistic fresh air. Manned interplanetary flight is an inevitability, along with interplanetary economy, transit, family, technology, culture — at this rate. Having all that potential rooted by people, just regular people, and how they’d live in Earth’s orbit in 2075, is something we need. Planetes is something we need: but it’s an idea that can be evolved on, and, especially in terms of characters, improved.

The Dynamic Duo, ONE and Murata, are at it again, with a brand new installment of "Defying Audience Expectations!" This one's sure to please the crowd!

Ahem, sarcastic introductions aside, there isn't too much to this one-shot. It's basically just a chapter-long joke that reverses cliches: the princess is ugly, the demon king isn't demonic, the heroes aren't heroic... You aren't exactly going to waste your time reading it, but there's nothing too fantastic about it either. Murata's employed his typical art style though with less detail than he manages in One Punch Man and elsewhere, and you can see ONE's hand in the thing in, ... well, the rest.

Essentially, read it if you like ONE/Murata or are just in the mood for a lighthearted one-shot that's moderately funny/entertaining. I only give this a 4 overall because it doesn't have much to offer, but it's not bad per se. Just meh.

“Make X/Y/Z great again.” You’ve probably heard this phrase numerous times throughout your life, perhaps in different ways. It signals one monolithic thing: a contempt for the contemporary and the present, coupled with a yearning for times which, while in reminiscence better, are in fact not as grand as we would like to believe. Yet yearn we do, if only for the best parts of the whole, leaving the bad aspects to bite the dust.

Let’s face it: anime is rife with trash. You’ve got your brainless fanservice, your blatant audience pandering, your harems, your waifus and husbandos, your overhyping, your moe, your rehashed mysteries with ... a new thematic skin; it’s mostly just the same old same old used by the industry time and again because it has a relatively secure guarantee of success. For every original, fresh concept entering the newest season there is that millionfold recycling of the old that rakes in considerable quantities of cash. A large portion of older anime fans are disgruntled at what is essentially a focus on the younger, likely more paying audiences. Those older fans now remember, remember that magnificent time . . .

Let’s rewind the clock almost 40 years. This is the cinema era of gritty streets, blood and gore, ridiculous heroes, nonsensical abilities, Confucianist one-line philosophies, retro and punk, frizzy-haired pornstars and rockstars (yes, this is a double-entendre) . . . this is the ‘80s, where an overabundance of low-budget VHS action-thrillers you could buy in bulk stocked video stores, and zero-gravity kung-fu movies are not only the norm, but tame in comparison to many others lurking on the shelves.

What if I could tell you that you can go back to the best that time period had to offer in the form of a 26-episode animated series?

Domo. Enter Ninja Slayer From Animation-san. *Cue explosion*

Equal parts flamboyant retardation and madcap genius, inebriate awesomeness and poignant commentary — and potentially psychotic sexuality — Ninja Slayer is essentially everything you could ever ask for in terms of a “fuck it, let’s have fun” type anime with some brains and a decent budget. It is a quintessential return to the ‘80s:

Intentionally low-budget animation for climactic scenes? Check.

Intentionally heavy-handed reliance on Japanese jargon and allusions? Check.

Unexplained powers, dark and neon milieu, overpowered characters, one-shotted villains, busty bombshell women wearing incredibly revealing clothing, poppin’ soundtrack . . . Check check check.

This is essentially the revival of classics like The Punisher, or The Terminator, or Robocop, or Total Recall, or Conan the Barbarian, or Mad Max, or Big Trouble in Little China, or Flash Gordon, or any number of ‘80s/‘90s classic kill-‘em-alls, except with ninjas, mechas, super-science and lousy animation. Ninja Slayer is what Naruto could have been if it starred a masked, Japanese Jean-Claude Van Damme and was directed by a legitimately creative Michael Bay. Ninja Slayer is what would have been the product of Morpheus’ intervention with Neo, if instead of proffering the red and blue pill he strapped Neo to a chair, pumped a decent amount of hallucinogens intravenously into him, held his eyes open Clockwork Orange-style, forced him to watch strange softcore porn, and commanded him to write a script to the next great ninja-related action anime. Ninja Slayer From Animation is a zany, apocalyptic amalgamation of so much goddamn pulp fiction, dystopia, and ludicrous stereotypes of world culture that it essentially becomes a beautiful singularity of its own: an over-the-top collage that, in a wider perspective, grants something of actual coherence.

And don’t let others (or myself) fool you: Ninja Slayer From Animation is far smarter than most might give it credit for upon observation of its surface. Sprinkled over the bizarre cupcake that is this throwback anime is, indeed, an articulate plot and actual world building and excellent satire. Granted, the plot is brimming with and driven by illogical incidents and fanatical Tokyo-punk fairytales; the world building is often followed and negated by a massive, disintegrating explosion; and the action in between is essentially what might happen if you had a 12 year old on drugs direct the show using action figures (both in terms of the ideas, and the action itself); but that’s fine. It’s not about physical reality in the universe of Ninja Slayer From Animation, but the psychological.

This brings me to the characters, and where better to start off with than our titular one, Ninja Slayer-san. Originally known as Kenji Fujikido, he seeks vengeance after ninjas raze his home and kill his family in a turf war. He, whether by good luck or bad, survives, as on the edge of death he is approached by a vagrant spirit, which urges him to host it, promising miraculous powers he could use to enact his vengeance; thus, he turns into a noble wrath-and-testosterone fueled superhuman. His goals, at first, are monomaniacal — slay all ninja, especially those of the Soukai Syndicate, those who destroyed life as he knew it — but along the way he acquires many allies who help him on his quest, and subsequently change his at first relentlessly enraged ideals. His background is hectic and meteoric, but his development is slow and subtle; such is the way of the ninja slayer. There are many legitimately touching moments, as well as incredibly well-scripted monologues (and beyond great repartee) which detail the philosophical and psychosocial standings of all the individuals in the show.

Several characters are like this, although since the primary focus is on Kenji, the development of many are relegated to just a few episodes. This does not stop the characters from being absolutely awesome: for instance, in 3 short episodes (the episodes for this series are only 10 minutes long, if you weren’t aware) I learned everything I needed to, and consequently fell in love with, the character known as Kagi Tanaka. He alone is veritable proof that you don’t need 20-some-minute long, 25+ episodes series to showcase a character, but some characters were given even less episodes for introduction and extermination, while still managing to be fantastic. Let us not forget our incredulous narrator, either, who provides commentary on the action and plot with gusto; for every time something may be of confusion, he either explains it, or says in his telltale narrative flair an exuberant “I don’t know what is going on” (paraphrasing), followed perhaps by a gasped “Oh my Buddha!”

Other proof of character strength lies, ironically, in the one-shotted villains. In a few seconds you can have a complete introduction on their abilities and their quirks, their mannerisms, and maybe even some backstory. They may be unceremoniously exploded after being told to recite their death haiku, thus rendering that introduction moot, but due merely to the overabundance of characters like this it makes for an excellent running gag, and assures you that none of the villains will be boring.

Speaking of running gags, let’s talk about the humor of this series. C’est magnifique, to say the least. It’s not simply that it’s over the top . . . it’s something more. A willful ridiculousness with the appearance of attempting to be willfully badass; that’s what it is. It’s a parody of a parody, trying to make fun of ridiculous ‘80s romps by being yet more ridiculous. That, and the intense build up which cuts to a low-quality 2-D Mortal Kombat-esque fightscape, lead to excellent laughs amidst this bastion of self-seriousness. And how can we forget the repeat-cuts and excessively long tracking shots? What seems a build up of attacks turns into a repetition of “YEART!” and “AIEE!”, back and forth, back and forth; and it wouldn’t be funny if Akira Amemiya (director) didn’t know exactly how long scenes like this needed to be dragged out in order to garner laughs. That’s truly what makes this show a riot: through all the uber-serious dialogue and plot, there is a perfect amount of ridiculousness and anti-camera-tricks; the creators of this show just know how to do comedy without spelling it out for you via crass sexual humor (true, there is plenty of that, but it’s either subtle enough or so damn overt that it remains funny, and isn’t relied too heavily upon) or a what-have-you try-hard comedy show.

Tits. Yes, there are tits. Big tits. Titanic, really. All of the female cast in this are essentially walking busts with some kind of superpower or biological enhancement (non-boob related enhancement, I should add). While often damsels in distress, they also provide critical assistance to our title character for certain missions, so, one could say that this show is incredibly sexist based on their designs, but I think that would be a disingenuous and hollow accusation. These girls experience maturation just as well and as substantially as their male counterparts . . . they just happen to have gigantic knockers (save for one girl, Koki Yamoto, who is more of a cute schoolgirl type, though she has perhaps the most interesting character arcs). So what? It’s the neo-‘80s, baby; it is what it is; satire of the old and the current.

Lastly, I’d like to pass over the sound. Firstly, if you’re a Japanophile who thinks subtitles are the one and only, think again fool. Go with the English dub. Not only will you get a wider range of voices for the wacky villains, but the antiheroes that the camera follows have the voices of uber-masculine angels. Perfect if you’re watching this for the reasons stated earlier (that ‘80s fix). Not to mention they retain the hallowed phrases critical to the Japanese version:

YEEEAAART
AIIEEEE
WASHOI
Domo, I am (insert name here)
Recite your death haiku!
SAYONARAAAAA (cue pre-filmed stock explosion)
Oh my Buddha!
Death is the only way out for ninja!

and others which constitute the deliberately mishandled cross-pollination of national/regional slang. You won’t miss out on any Japan-only jokes; everything is translated perfectly, and sometimes given a colloquially Americanized zest.

As for other sound, the opening theme is a pretty sick resurrection of classic 8-bit soundtrack with a grinding techno twist, and echoey, ill-translated lyrics that sound straight out of Splashdown or SSX Tricky. The general SFX (explosion, throwing star, sword clash, gunfire, and etc sounds) are relatively standard, but they’re meant to be, alongside the uncomplicated animation. It’s all part of the joke, basically. Generally the soundtrack otherwise consists of Naruto-esque stuffs (which is a really, really good thing; the soundtrack is one of the few things I have zero issue with in that franchise): rock, electronic, synth, and traditional Japanese instruments come into play, depending on the moment. The ending theme actually changes for every episode, so that gives you some incentive to watch the credits sequence each time, something new and different there.

In conclusion, if you’re disconsolate over the status quo of anime and want to return to a beautiful time, a time of Hokuto no Ken, of Akira, of pure emotion, rigorous chest hair, buff men, ninjas, hypersexuality, blood-and-guts fun, tastefully immense knockers, neon-punk cityscapes, and a parody of the weeaboo’s bastardized view of Japanese culture of the ‘80s/‘90s, look no further than Ninja Slayer From Animation. Trigger isn’t just deconstructing anime, it’s demolishing it — see their previous releases, notably Kill La Kill and Inferno Cop, as well as the currently airing Luluco Patrol — and in doing so, it is also attempting to save it.

. . . Perhaps erringly. But it’s a noble gesture, if in a delinquent, deviant, no-holds-barred, kickass, blunderbuss format.

“In this world, is the destiny of mankind controlled by some transcendental entity or law? Is it like the hand of God hovering above? At least it is true that man has no control; even over his own will.”

William Tecumseh Sherman once said, amongst many other things, that war is hell. And Hell, when regarded in a biblical sense — which, when concerning Berserk, chock full of biblical allusions as is, seems a fine thing to do — is supposed to be eternal. Does that mean war is eternal? Does it mean war is an eternal hell?

Berserk is, at its core, a two-pronged fantasy epic. ... The prongs are made up of these subjects: revenge, redemption. Our protagonist, Guts, is constantly forced into sharp corners to make a choice between the two, all the while having otherworldly creatures tell him over and over that what he so pugnaciously fights against is merely predetermined. And yet, that foreseen future is clouded and indeterminable, for both Guts and the reader. Perhaps one of the most brilliant things Kentaro Miura has done with this story is that, with whichever path Guts chooses throughout — and he vacillates every now and then, particularly for the first half or so of the manga — us, the readers, can both agree and disagree with his decisions. As he flies into blind furies, killing the monsters he loathes with all his being and destroying his own body in the process, we dislike him for not following the path of righteousness, but are able to agree that his indignant disposition is entirely justified, particularly upon the revealing of his terrible past and the reason he so hates the Apostles and the God Hand. Similarly, when he see him choose the righteous, ofttimes just as difficult path, we can accept that this decision is most likely the more morally correct one, but secretly we wish that he would tear apart whatever beast stands before him, one of a legion of things which took everything he loved and cared about from him.

This manga is lengthy — at 340 chapters as of writing this — and shows no signs of stopping soon, what with the incomplete story itself, the long waits between chapters, and frequent, protracted hiatuses. It moves in arcs, typically with the primary villain being slain by Guts at its end, and every arc grants an important addition to the overall story (as an arc should). While critics of Berserk complain of the way in which information is introduced, often saying that it could be shown in a more compressed or concise manner, the subtle way in which major plot devices are foreshadowed combined with the explosive nature of their formal presentation is cause for no complaints from myself. The story has an obvious current direction with a mysterious and far-off end; while the current place the manga is at has been treated as the worst part of the story thus far, it has been clear what it means for the Berserk universe on the whole, and where the story will go from there.

Berserk is hailed by many as the greatest manga to date. While I certainly would not agree with that statement at the moment (though if it ever ends, I may have to reconsider it), the reasons beyond a solid story for that communal thought are easy to agree with. Berserk, undoubtedly, has the best art of any manga. Trust me and the community when we say that Berserk and Kentaro Miura are the current pinnacle of manga when it comes to visuals alone. If you do not believe me, simply Google “Berserk best panels” or something of the like. Truly, Miura’s dedication to extreme detail turns out stunning and beautiful on a consistent basis. This alone may justify the irregular release schedule: anyone who knows anything about mangaka knows that the job has horrid work hours, with many authors working from deadline to deadline on little to no sleep. Many have the resolve to become a mangaka, but none so far have come close to putting as much exhaustive detail into their works as Kentaro Miura.

Perhaps one of the greatest things Miura has done, though, is the battle of, and battle for the distinction of, good and evil.

Several characters throughout Berserk can be considered, without a doubt, evil. Those of you who have read it or have watched the anime or have simply seen tidbits of various characters here and there will know exactly of whom I could be speaking of. However, many characters embody desires or ideological points of view that are somewhat more ambiguous in nature. Guts, our protagonist, is obviously one of these, for reasons outlined previously. Others, though, are abound. Some do their questionable actions based entirely off of selfishness, while others see what they do as . . . just. Or, at the least, justified. Many of these characters die, but the ones that live on undergo some of the greatest character development I have seen in probably any work of literature, alongside a raging of philosophical ideals akin to that of Watchmen.

Berserk is not without its problems, though these problems may be few and far between. Ones that I occasionally agree with are a vagueness of story and unnecessary plot elements. These, however, are often overridden later on when the point of a certain action or development is revealed in full -- something I look forward to as the current arc recedes in the rearview mirror. One that I definitely agree with, and often point out myself, is the rise of terrible humor. Chibi comedy. I can stand it in spurts, but some characters are growing far too chibi far too often for it to not be annoying. Not to mention that it does nothing to further the story or the art. These moments are stains on what is otherwise a masterpiece.

Now, to get this out of the way: Berserk is a seinen that deals with very mature themes rather . . . unabashedly. Rape, murder, theft, all those evils of the world are brought to the forefront of the manga with Miura’s relentless penmanship. That means, yes, gore, sex, rape, loss, insanity, all that is shown in graphic detail. If you are queasy or conservative about those sorts of things, do not even bother picking up the first volume of the manga. I myself have no complaints about Miura’s depictions of violence, but many people do, and those people need to understand that it is simply what you will experience in the brutal world of Berserk.

Overall, Berserk is one of my favorite manga of all time (although I have not read too much manga to begin with), though is by no means my favorite, mostly due to its incomplete story and inconsistent release schedule, as well as, in more recent chapters, a rise in dumb chibi comedy that I find distasteful for the type of manga it is.


Do I recommend Berserk? Hell yes. The art is absurdly good, the story thus far is compelling, the characters are diverse, interesting, and non-stagnant, and it produces excellent philosophical conundrums, questions, and systems. Just know what you’re getting into: graphic imagery and a long wait for the finish line.

Have you ever loved? Been loved? Hated? Been hated?

Oyasumi Punpun (English: Goodnight Punpun) delves into the reservoir that is humanity. It's a deep reservoir, and it dives all the way in, down, down. Every character has a dream and many flaws, everyone wants to be something and found out, too late to turn back, that they were not strong enough to be what they wanted to be.

There were various people coming into and out of the limelight of the manga: a mother, a father, aspiring artists, would-be lovers, dimwits, geniuses, manics, musicians. All were thrown into the torrential current of a day-to-day life and made ... to struggle.

They all surface, alive but changed.

What can this manga mean to someone? Some may find beauty in how disgusting it is, disgust in how beautiful it is. There's no way that it could have a completely happy ending; such was not dictated by fate nor by the incorrect choices made by the various characters living inside. At best, this manga whispers in one ear every insecurity you could ever hope to know. In the other, it whispers calmingly that there are others just like you, struggling with themselves and their day-in-day-out lifestyles.

I cannot say I liked this manga, nor that you will like it. It's one to either love or hate, nothing else. I myself still cannot tell whether I love it or hate it; I hate it for its absolutely depressing tone, its completely realistic tone, and just when I come close to having truly incipient waves of hate for it, I remember how similar I and everyone else beleaguered by the average is to all these characters. Just when that despicable feeling washes away and I come to love it, I remember all over again how depraved every single individual is in the manga, and with that remembrance all the bad things I myself have done in my life. It is a vicious cycle.

There's a dark underbelly to people, there's always something that they don't want to show you. Oyasumi Punpun shows the underbelly to you with spotlights trained on it so you can see every malignant detail. Wrong choices are made, human choices, and unfairness is abound. Nothing is pretty, nothing is perfect. There are scars a mile wide on these characters that don't show until the most pivotal of moments, moments where they should be hidden.

This isn't a manga where several happy accidents drive the conflict. The conflict is within every single character, and it is contagious. It spreads. Everything has a purpose, but those purposes collide with one another. The story is one beautiful mess.

Who is Punpun? What is Punpun? One may ask the former question upon me making no mention of the main character through this review up until now; one may ask the latter when they see an image of a strange bird-like creature plastered on the front page of the manga.

That is Punpun. No, no one else sees him as a strange bird creature (though his family is also drawn as strange bird creatures); it is a divulgence of his psyche for us to see. And, just as with everything else I've described so far, it shows everything, often in a surrealistic and hyperbolic manner -- Punpun's countenance changes from a bird, to a pyramid, to a demonic shape, with whatever he faces throughout the story and his life. His anguish; his happiness; his hate; his love; all are displayed with an air of intensity or of unassumingness. Punpun is the product of a dark world; no, Punpun was at the liberty of a dark world at a very early point in his youth, and it dug its claws in quickly. Punpun is forced to face the realities of this dark world at an alarmingly early age, from rejection to loneliness to the aftereffects of spousal abuse to having his beliefs challenged. Punpun is abysmally normal, and this normalcy attributes to his impressionableness and, ultimately, to his downward spiral.

Every once in a while, you may spot some perfect individuals . . . Well, they only seem perfect. Asano Inio has a tendency to draw characters with ugly features, and most ugly characters are ones without a huge role in the story. We see one of these characters as a zealous sportsman; it is revealed that his zealousness is almost on the point of mindless aggression, a pulverizing need for victory that renders him dislikable. We see another one of these characters as a friend of Punpun's uncle. He's always cheery, buoyant, jovial; it's later that Punpun's uncle's actions (the uncle is just as tragic and flawed a character as Punpun) get to him, and more and more he is seen with less of a smile, with more problems of his own.

Nothing is perfect, I suppose.

As I said, Asano Inio has a tendency to draw ugly people. This is not a flaw in his drawing ability; it is a way to make yet more fallacies in characters. The backgrounds are gorgeous, rife with photorealistic detail, shadowing, et al. People are either drawn beautifully or uglily (or as strange shape-shifting birds), and either way it's done the emotion is palpable.

Should one read Oyasumi Punpun?

If you are a fan of manga for fun, adventure-filled stories with happy-go-lucky protagonists, successful romances, action, the fantastical . . .

Then stay well away.

Oyasumi Punpun is a brilliantly written coming-of-age tale. Brilliant -- but disturbing. This is a manga that, if manga were more widely regarded and acclaimed as an artistic medium, could hold itself up against literary and cinematic masterpieces. It is brilliant because it is disturbing; it is disturbing because it is utterly, utterly human. And so it goes.

If you are a fan of world-renowned novels, ones that do not shy from grisly material, then read this manga. No, you must read this manga. Go in with whatever level of expectations you wish, and be prepared to come out on the other side perturbed and dismayed. Be prepared for mistakes, loss, insanity, lies, death. Be prepared for love, pyrrhic victories, false promises, more downs than ups. Be prepared for life.

"Can a work of art be objectively bad?"

Throughout the history of humanity, many have attempted to answer this question, often with subjectively collected conclusions. I myself promulgate the idea of subjectivity in art, trying to poke as little fun as possible at things like One Direction or Transformers because hey, everyone has their own tastes.

ChäoS;HEAd, however, loudly grants evidence to why the opposite is true.

The most unfortunate thing about this mutilated mess of a show is that I actually enjoyed it at first. There was an air of intense mystery about it, and while the characters (dear god, the characters) were underwhelming from the start, ... it had piqued my interest. This interest manifested mostly from not having idea what was going on, and wanting to know, as is the usual for psychological stories.

By the time I was less than halfway through with the series, it was readily apparent that its creators had no idea what was going on either. I haven't read the source material, but if there is any evidence that the VN is followed with scrutiny by this anime, then I will stay well clear of it. These are the folks who made Steins;Gate? They must have been in quite the slump when writing this...

Where should I even start? I suppose I'll start with what I was thought was the best part of the show: the animation. I really only say that because the artwork is absolutely and completely average. There is nothing technically wrong with it, it is simply that there is nothing to catch the eye. None of the characters have memorable designs, and the backgrounds are dark and ambient with little detail or notable precision. The fight scenes, few as they are, are fairly straightforward and lifeless. I cannot say that the art and animation is bad, as much as I'd like to, but at the least it leaves a bad taste in one's mouth and is, again, utterly average.

After the animation comes the whole ... semantics of the series. As I said before, I was drawn in by having no idea what was going on and desiring answers (the show starts off by showing the end, a writing style that I am fond of, since one knows to an extent how something ended but has no clue how things became that way), and this initial appeal was quickly wiped away. There were vague attempts at describing the world in terms of solipsism, metaphysics, and fatalism, but they fall flat and seem like something an angsty, partially-illiterate teenager may come up with, failing entirely at being the world-view-changer that it was clearly trying to be.

Then they started introducing technical supernatural jargon: "Di-Sword"? "Gigalomaniac"? Who is this "Shogun," and what is "Gladios"? "Well," they (the show) responded, proceeding into a 12-episode long description of things filled with plot holes and mediocrity that turned my attention into despondence, and my despondence into irritation. By the end, it turns out that a socially retarded weeaboo has this power to wield a Di-Sword, a sword with the ability to alter time and space or something, and this makes him a Gigalomaniac, Shogun is nothing more than a dying old man with a similar power that he somehow possesses, and Gladios is just another word for "fate" made by a Gothic teenage girl, I think. Notice how I say "somehow" and "I think" and "or something"? Yeah, that's because I still don't understand. Not the cool, The Usual Suspects-esque "don't understand", where you have to watch it again to catch everything and end up going "Oh, cool, that was even better the second time through because everything leading up to the end game makes sense," but the "seriously, what are you trying to say" kind of "don't understand". Everything that is at first thought provoking is in retrospect a dysfunctional essay on fate and reality endeavoring to manufacture a couple of unique buzzwords before concluding unimpressively.

You may be wondering why I gave the story a four as I deride this sadly farcical depiction of incompetence, and that is just for the first episode, first two episodes at most. There are the interesting concepts ushered in in a marvelous flurry, but they swiftly fall to shambles. This is the same reason why my enjoyment was anything above a two: I had to hand it to the exposition in the first episode. The music was unmemorable, so alone I would have given it a four, but due to the voice actors (which I will expand upon later on) I had to bump it down to two.

Just wait, I haven't even gotten to the characters yet. Oh boy, the characters...

Our lead protagonist is Nishijou Takumi, who, as stated previously, is a shut-in truant otaku that does nothing but play one video game and watch one anime show. There is no reason whatsoever why we, the viewers, should like him or dislike him, as he does nothing. By the time we see him a little more, we realize that, really, guys, all he does is watch one anime show and play one game. He also has hallucinations, but only one hallucination is an actual, mental-disorder-having hallucination, all the others are revealed to be some distortion of space-time by the supporting cast that also has no definitive (or, at the least, purposeful) reason for occurring. By the time we see yet more of Takumi, one should hate him because all he does is whine and complain with no development at all. Literally all he wants to do is shut himself back in; the more he learns about the Gigalomaniacs, the more whiny he becomes, but then all of the sudden he sees two people he barely knows get into a telepathic fight with the main villain and almost die (after, at this point, already seeing many people die throughout the city, but only through the Internet because he doesn't go outside except for supplies) and he decides he's gotta save the ... world? City? I didn't know and I didn't care.

Do you like harem anime? Then you'll despise this show, because it shits all over the harem, and not in a parodical, "ha ha" way. The girls that randomly start to hover around Takumi are either annoying or one-dimensional or both. They all seem to like Takumi somehow, despite him having zero redeemable qualities, let alone engaging qualities, and all of them turn into disgustingly stereotypical damsels in distress for our belovedly useless Takumi to rescue, kind of. None of their backstories give them credible motive for their actions or personalities. I think one of the girls was a tsundere, and she only had one goal (revenge), and once that goal was fulfilled (the villain gets defeated; the villain, by the way, has less motive and credence than all the other characters combined ... he's just a greedy corporate guy, that's about it) there's nothing else to know about her. The same can essentially be said for the rest of the side characters. Honestly, the characters I liked the most (such as Takumi's sister or Shogun) were shown the least, and right when they're shown I began to instinctively dislike them again because they were devoid of use. The voice actors merely amplify the disdainful cast. Takumi's was the most likable because he made the most sense, since all he had to do was be awkward and stammer periodically. All the others were annoying, squeakily-pitched, Japanese high school girl voices, and if they weren't that, then it was soap opera-y melodramatic facades with no substance behind them as well as on their surface.

Story: 4
Art: 4
Sound: 2
Character: 1
Enjoyment: 3
Overall: 2

Final word: Do you like harem or psychological thriller anime? Do you like ANY anime? Do you like even the simplest of creative stories? Then don't watch this show. If you're at all curious, do NOT watch more than the first episode (the first episode is actually good, it is the complete nosedive I've described from there). I don't even know why I finished it, because this is by far the worst anime I have ever seen.