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THE PROMISED NEVERLAND has little pretension of being anything other than a brisk roller coaster ride. Forgoing atmosphere and mystery, the show immediately establishes the situation our happy-go-lucky orphan children find themselves in by the shocking conclusion of the first episode. Unlike FROM THE NEW WORLD or MADE IN ABYSS, this isn't a story that's interested in framing precocious innocence against a strange, hostile, and morally complicated world. Hell, the age of the characters is almost incidental considering they are geniuses with technical knowledge and observational skills surpassing most adults I know. Instead, this is purely an exercise in watching a group of people escape a bad situation using their wit, planning around new roadblocks and challenges as they arise. Such a rather straightforward premise may come as a disappointment for some, and even I will admit that the show is a bit thin when it comes to themes and characters. But as a mechanical thriller, the show mostly excels in its solid execution. With stellar character animation, inventive direction, and a clock motif that works its way into both the storyboarding and sound design, THE PROMISED NEVERLAND remains engaging in spite of the bland art and gimmicky story. It's a base pleasure, but good craft still counts for something.

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HERO MASK is the second Netflix original that attempts to merge elements of Western action/crime thrillers with sci-fi shenanigans after B: THE BEGINNING face-planted itself into a bizarre cliche-ridden mess of disconnected ideas and hollow characters. The best and worst thing you can say about this bit of double dipping is that I now appreciate B just a little more for at least making an entertaining albeit drunken stumble of it. By contrast, HERO MASK is joylessly sober in almost every moment.

The possible clandestine offing of a prosecutor in quasi-futuristic London gets the inquiries of her colleague Sarah Sinclair and elite Special Service of Crime officer James Blood (yes, that's right) up and running. It's a typical corporate conspiracy setup. But the show is already so disinterested in whatever minute intrigue this premise brings that it quickly introduces another mystery in the form of strange paper masks that grant their users extraordinary abilities and then proceeds to scrap this idea for the straight conspiracy stuff again. Just like B: THE BEGINNING, there's no through line and even trying to come up with a comprehensive synopsis is a toil in futility. Let's just say it's a story with shootouts, chases, assassinations, investigations, interrogations, revelations, and whatever other -ations you can probably imagine based on what I've described.

HERO MASK’s lack commitment to its ideas matches that to its characters. The history both leads share with the deceased prosecutor, a relationship that is never explored in any detail, is their sole drive and character trait. The show occasionally posits James as some kind of loose cannon who is quick to shoot, but really he is a completely competent professional without any flaws, internal conflict, or character arc to speak of. The supporting cast is comparably stodgy and one-dimensional, although a couple get some oddly timed backstories involving their fridged lovers. The only interesting characters are the two mask users. Grimm’s scenery-chewing is ridiculous and dumb, but at least he stands out in a sea of dullness. Theo is the only character with any sort of relatable plight. Neither last very long.

If the plot points and character descriptions didn’t key you in on the affinity HERO MASK has for the worst of American action thrillers, then the stylistic preferences certainly will. Newbie writer/director Hiroyasu Aoki bungles the action with extreme rapid-fire cutting and disorientingly close angles reminiscent of directors like Paul Greengrass, Christopher Nolan, and the late Tony Scott. Unlike their work, the action scenes in HERO MASK lack the frenetic camera movements and are at least properly storyboarded. But certain information is often lacking. Sometimes we get a character rearing up for a punch only for the next shot to show the adversary reeling post-impact, skipping the point of contact. Other times, it’s a car coming out of nowhere. The weak sound design doesn’t carry the necessary weight to make up for the absence of perspective either. Overall, the action is either incomprehensible or simply not appreciable, all happening within a spatial and locational vacuum. And no amount of choppy editing can hide just how implausible every chase and tussle is. I’m willing to suspend my disbelief for a lot, but the action here is full of howlers. In the animated form without real actors, props, sets, or need for stunt work, these kinds of stagings are purely inexcusable aesthetic choices.

Formal duffs apply to the non-action scenes as well with overuse of close-ups and reaction shots. Surely someone will make a supercut of every sigh, sip of coffee, and nervous lip bite that must be endured to reach the end. The amount of excelsior HERO MASK stuffs into every scene results in a slog, especially in the show’s second half. There are some truly pointless scenes and cutaways that have absolutely no bearing on the story. Why must we cut from a tense scene of James snooping around a house, gun in hand and checking his corners (which ultimately goes nowhere BTW), to Sarah at home, comfy, drinking tea and staring disapprovingly at her cat? Is this supposed to be some kind of tension deflator? I seriously can’t figure this one out.

HERO MASK crawls in this manner all the way to its strangely dissipated conclusion. There’s not much in the way of proper resolution or catharsis with plenty of loose threads for season 2. It’s a fitting end to such a dull and unfocused production. What’s nice to say about HERO MASK? I guess the art and animation are alright. Even a studio like Pierrot can make something look nice when given a decent budget. But it’s not like there’s much to show, and even then, everything seems overlit and the character designs have glassy doll-like eyes that reflect their empty personalities. Netflix has proven itself capable of delivering quality original content, but it has a long way to go convince anyone that they are a player in the anime sphere as well.

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Even a giant like Studio Ghibli is bound to have a few duds in its filmography. TALES FROM EARTHSEA marks the debut of Gorō Miyazaki, son of Ghibli's legendary co-founder who's name requires no mentioning. This fact alone generates a narrative offering some explanatory power as to why EARTHSEA feels like such a dispassionate product even compared to other lesser Ghibli works. A lot has been said of this matter, so for the purpose of this review I will focus on a purely descriptive picture of why EARTHSEA falls short.

The story is based on American author Ursula Le Guin's beloved fantasy series, particularly the third book THE FARTHEST SHORE. The pre-title card scenes describe a world crumbling to ruin and malaise. Magic is dying. Livestock are succumbing to an inexplicable disease. Dragons are making appearances in regions beyond their usual haunts. And while a king and his court deliberate on this matter, his teenage son fatally stabs him. This sense of nature out of balance, visualized by way of two dragons fighting to the bloody death, clearly approximates PRINCESS MONONOKE's comparable opening involving a mad demon boar and what it portends.

The problem is these opening scenes set the stage for a very different movie than the one EARTHSEA turns into. We follow the aforementioned prince, Arren, as he aimlessly wanders the countryside after running away from his home. He encounters Sparrowhawk, a studied and enigmatic mage. They travel to the seedy port city of Hort and its nearby prairies, the primary setting of the movie. Trouble a-brews when they come into conflict with the evil androgynous sorcerer Cob and his minions of slavers.

The afflictions ailing the land as described at the beginning are never shown. We see no signs of the plague. Sparrowhawk speaks much of "the Balance" and occasionally discusses the decline of magic, but we never get a sense of what this means or what the baseline of magic was before. Dragons are absent of the movie almost entirely despite the emphasis they are given at the beginning. What role do they play in all this? It's never made clear whether Cob is the source of these problems the world faces or some greater human transgression. Perhaps these ideas are messy leftovers from an overly ambitious adaptation of the original books, or maybe they exist to keep in line with the running theme of humanity's relationship with nature in the works of Miyazaki Sr. Whatever the case, this stuff is never really a part of the story proper, let alone resolved in any way.

Instead, TALES FROM EARTHSEA focuses on themes of mortality and embracing life, often in rather clunky ways. Arren's reasons for slaying his father are left vague. His inner demons are somewhat lazily externalized in the back half of the movie in ways that are made apparently literal. To be fair, the movie does somewhat prime the idea that Arren has a death wish. Early on he encounters a drug dealer offering escape from sorrow, only for Sparrowhawk to intervene and tell him the drugs will steal his mind and soul. Likewise, Arren repeatedly places himself in situations in need of rescuing, demonstrating an unhealthy recklessness and lack of concern for his own wellbeing. But his psychology is never illuminated by the light of proper backstory and motivations.

The characters across the board are rather weak. The best Ghibli movies say so much about their subjects just by how they move around and interact with the world. Keeping with the tactic of telling rather than showing in the world-building department, EARTHSEA merely has its visually uninspired characters verbalize their relationships with each other. Sparrowhawk speaks of his past with Tenar and Cob, but their storied histories aren't conveyed well by how they treat each other. The relationship between Tenar and her shy surrogate child Therru also comes across cold.

All of the movies problems reach critical mass by the conclusion. Ghibli movies often struggle to find appropriate resolutions that fit the languid pacing of their precedings, but EARTHSEA's feels especially like a deus ex machina and doesn't provide much in the way of new horizons for the future of its characters or world.

The movie does get elevated by that Ghibli touch though. The animation is expressive and fluid. even though Miyazaki's screenplay doesn't give the animators much to work with. As always, the production does a great job of creating a sense of place. Hort Town feels busy and lived-in while the surrounding moorlands and marshes are hauntingly breezy and sparse. Tamiya Terashima provides a nice Celtic-inspired score. But it goes to show that attention to detail can't replace a good story.

TALES FROM EARTHSEA just doesn't reach the heights of Ghibli's other fantasy epics NAUSICAÄ and PRINCESS MONONOKE even though it obviously wants to. To the contrary, it inherits some of their worst tendencies in terms of pacing and anodyne characters who don't invite much sympathy. A lack of proper world-building and a dearth of inspiring sights and moments bring it down. The final product is arguably Ghibli's weakest movie, although still not without its charms.

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LAND OF THE LUSTROUS is a gorgeously realized tale about identity, self-worth, and what one is willing to do to change their circumstances. Set on a small crescent-shaped island in a vast sea, the story concerns a cast of anthropomorphic gems that are ostensibly female in character and attire, but actually genderless. Of course, gems are things that hold high value in the context of our own lives, so the audience is already primed to think of the characters in terms of their worth.

But every gem has its flaws.

Phosphophyllite, the protagonist, has become all too aware of their own (everyone refers to themselves with singular gender-neutral pronouns). Weak and brittle, Phos is unable and forbidden to join their comrades in combat against the Lunarians, strange invaders from the moon who arrive at regular intervals to kidnap the sapient rocks for some mysterious purpose. These assaults are seemingly the only events of interest in this small and otherwise boring world; the Lunarians both threatening and defining the gems' existence. Barred from participating, the relatively young Phos has little else to do but laze around in the grass, which is exactly where we find them in the show's opening shot. Their peers berate them for being a slacker, but what else are they to do?

Kongō-sensei, a figurative and spiritual father to the gems, comes up with a rather mundane task for Phos to complete instead: writing out an encyclopedia. But Phos is clearly not interested, aspiring to be more like the hardy fighters of the group. This, along with their young naivety, results in reckless behavior that frequently shatters their vulnerable body, catalyzing a series of physical and mental changes over the course of the series.

While the unique world invites a variety of intriguing mysteries, these aspects of the show are actually rather slight and understated. Far more compelling is the existential quandaries the characters are exposed to. Phos isn't the only gem struggling with their body and potential. The gloomy Cinnabar sequesters themself from the rest of the gems because their poisonous body is liable to cause harm. Diamond is everything Phos wants to be, but still lacks self-esteem under the shadow of the even stronger Bort. This is a very character focused piece and they never fail to catch me off guard with their utterances and gestures. Every gem comes off as distinct with attention to detail in the way they move and act. Not every gem gets nearly the same level of attention as Cinn or Dia, but they are all a small joy to watch none the less. That LAND OF THE LUSTROUS can bring them to life in such short moments is no small feat.

Of course, one cannot forget the marvel of the studio Orange's CG work. Not since the tantalizing potential of Yasuhiro Yoshiura's experimental short AQUATIC LANGUAGE have I seen a mixture of 2D animation style and 3D CG used to such visually dynamic effects. I appreciate animation, but especially traditional 2D animation and anime, because the nature of the medium naturally results in very deliberate and stable compositions. The Frenetic editing, intensified continuity, and camera movements so common in mainstream American cinema are less common in this space; no team of editors sitting around monitors trying to make sense of the coverage from half a dozen cameras, no claustrophobic ubiquity of reverse angles. Is it not somewhat ironic that the medium in which anything can be realized is so often more restrained than what we are used to seeing in live-action?

But it's also refreshing to see experimentation and a break from this norm. The CG character animations and camera movements are dazzling here, although still a bit laggy. The action scenes especially are a tour de force as the camera whips around and tracks the gems as they charge into battle. A very tense long-take towards the end of the show should close the mouths of any skeptics. But LAND OF THE LUSTROUS is still restrained most of the time. Actions scenes are brief and spaced out. Outside of these moments, the camera is locked down, allowing the expressive character animation to shine on its own. 2D animation still plays a role and is seamlessly blended into gorgeous backgrounds and close-ups when more nuanced expression is needed. Takahiko Kyōgoku direction is strong, often choosing long shots with central symmetric framing that stages characters against the stark and rather lifeless environments. No doubt Haruko Ichikawa, author of the manga on which the series is based, deserves much of the credit for these compositions as well.

Perhaps what surprised me the most about LAND OF THE LUSTROUS is just how funny it can be. The proceedings are never too dark or dire for an injection of humor to seem out of place. The characters react to things in the most unexpected of ways. A reoccurring gag involving Sensei's sleeping habits had me laughing out loud. I love these characters.

The overarching plot isn't too detailed or special, although there is a hint of a humanity divided. Will Phos become the bridge connecting it? Will the change they undergo be for the better, or will they regret losing other parts of their identity? It's these character-related questions that have me hungry for more rather than the larger mysteries. But for now, Phos's central character arc in this cour, which comes full circle by the end, is enough to strongly recommend what I consider to be one of the best shows of the last few years.

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I'm split on how to feel about BLUE SUBMARINE NO. 6. There's a lot to like about it. The premise and inundated setting are unique. The character designs are great. An all-star lineup of animators, graced by the likes of Kōji Morimoto and Toshiyuki Inoue among others, put in some good work. Mahiro Maeda's direction is appropriately reserved, distant, and atmospheric for what is an otherwise ludicrous story. Sounds like a home run, right?

But this is Gonzo we are dealing with. BLUE SUBMARINE is the studio's first production and essentially serves as their mission statement. Ergo, all that aforementioned good work is buried under mountains of ugly and poorly aged CG animation. Looking back at some early opinions on the show, I noticed a lot of praised aimed at the underwater battles. I can't fathom why. They're total eyesores and often confusing. The show only ever occasionally finds moments of haunting tranquility between the bombast. And while there's enough time here to give some flesh to the two leads and the antagonists, this is clearly a show that could have benefited with a few more episodes. It's still an interesting albeit polarizing experiment.

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Japanese animation had forever left it's footprint in the world of science fiction by the late 90s. Works like AKIRA and GHOST IN THE SHELL were just the kind of stylish, cool, violent, dystopian, and thoughtful visions of the future that would land them squarely within the favoritism of American pop culture, impressing Hollywood titans like James Cameron. Nowhere are these influences more noticeable than in the Wachowskis' hit trilogy THE MATRIX. The merging of stylish action, philosophical themes, and a futuristic setting provides a unique cocktail that is heavily indebted to anime. It only makes sense for the Wachowskis to give it back to the animation their success has been built upon.

THE ANIMATRIX is a collection of nine animated shorts set within the universe of THE MATRIX, each with a different director and production studio. Released in the short six month period between RELOADED and REVOLUTIONS, it's easy to see this collection as the typical sort of transmedia promotional material for the movies. But a lot of real talent has been brought on board with this project and some of the shorts contain ideas more interesting than anything that was invented for the sequels. Like any collection of stories however, the quality can be mixed. Thankfully, THE ANIMATRIX is more good than bad.

First up is "Flight of the Osiris." This short, the only one to be done entirely with CG, was directed by Andy Jones, a notable special effects artist who has since gone on to win several Oscars. But it was his work on FINAL FANTASY: THE SPIRITS WITHIN that probably brought him here, especially considering Square Pictures also get production credits. Written by the Wachowskis and set before the Machines assault on Zion in RELOADED, "Flight of the Osiris" is the least inspired short in the collection both visually and narratively and serves as a weak start. It's basically an amalgamation of ideas and images familiar to anyone who has seen the original 1999 movie: a simulated dual (with some cringe-inducing eroticism), fighting off Sentinels in a hovercraft, plugging into the Matrix's urban landscape, romance, and self-sacrifice. This is more or less a tech demo for the CG work. And while the animation is impressive enough in its photorealism to hold up pretty well today, it just doesn't add anything to our understanding of this universe.

"The Second Renaissance" is a step up. This two-parter is a narrated overview of the origins of the Machines, their war with humanity, and their enslavement of humans. Mahiro Maeda (GANGKUTSUOU) and Studio 4°C are up to bat for this one. The mechanical designs and their gradual evolution are great and the scenes of gory violence against both robots and humans is glorious and unnerving its parallels to our own history, giving us the perspective that humanity's suffering under the heals of the Machines are a product of its own foolishness. Some CG work was used in the larger-scale moments can be a bit iffy though.

The legendary Shinichiro Watanabe (COWBOY BEBOP) directs the next short "Kid's Story," also produced by Studio 4°C. However, it's Shinya Ohira and Shinji Hashimoto's sketchy and expressionist animation that really makes this short a visual treat. Kid's gradual awareness about the fictitiousness of his reality culminates in a frantic evasion of Agents inside of his school. The blurry skateboard chase is a favorite in sakuga MADs everywhere.

Yoshiaki Kawajiri is an obvious choice to write and direct a short as WICKED CITY and NINJA SCROLL are noted sources of inspiration for the Wachowskis. Like "Osiris," "Program" also features a simulated dual, this time with the theme of feudal Japan. It's not the strongest short. The colors are great and Madhouse's production is solid, but the story and dialogue aren't particularly compelling.

On the other hand, Madhouse's other production "World Record" (also written by Kawajiri) is the real deal. Takeshi Koike brings his avant-garde sensibilities to this fantastic segment, an inspiring story about one track athlete's final shot for glory and redemption bringing him to awareness about the Matrix. Sweat and muscles have never been rendered in such slow-motion glory. This is definitely the strongest short of the bunch.

"Beyond" gives it a run for its money though. This time, Studio 4°C's own co-founder Kōji Morimoto is at the helm exploring a part of the Matrix that was introduced in the trilogy but never saw any elaboration: glitches. Set in a modern Japanese city, several youth investigate an abandoned property subjected to a glitch where the rules of reality begin to break down. Takeshi Honda's colorful designs and Morimoto's skillful direction result in a gorgeous and playful piece that is dense with atmosphere and an eye for the surreal.

"Detective Story" is an obvious crowd-pleaser. Of course Watanabe would get to direct two shorts. The overtly noir style is much more to his familiarity than his previous short, although perhaps a bit too pastiche. The short more or less parallels "Kid's Story" with its framing device and focus on individuals engaging with the leads from the trilogy. It's attractive, but not as much of a standout compared to some of the other shorts.

Unfortunately, THE ANIMATRIX ends on a note that is about as weak as the one it came in on. Peter Chung's MTV series ÆON FLUX is enough to justify his inclusion in this project. "Matriculated" has an interesting enough conceit as well: Machines getting a taste of their own simulated medicine INCEPTION-style. But the whole thing long overstays its welcome and the trippy visuals during this sequence are too garish to look at for any significant amount of time. It's just weird, and the ending is too understated to leave much of an impact.

Shorts ranked:

great-

1) "World Record"
2) "Beyond"
3) "Kid's Story"

good-

4) "The Second Renaissance Parts I & II"
5) "Detective Story"

mediocre-

6) "Program"

bad-

7) "Matriculated"
8) "Flight of the Osiris"

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"Misato, let's just call this a win for now."

Whatever you say Ritsuko. Does anything of significance even get accomplished over the course of EVANGELION 3.0 QUICKENING/YOU CAN (NOT) REDO (good lord!) that justifies itself in the grand scheme of the franchise? Not particularly. The movie ends the same way the last one did, without giving us much more insight in the process. Director Hideaki Anno's Rebuild series has been an interesting gamble. 1.0 and 2.0 are more or less an abridged retelling of NEON GENESIS's story up through Zeruel's devastating assault on the GeoFront. The ending of 2.0 came with the promise of exciting new horizons for this story and its character. It's uncharted territory from this point forward.

How disappointing it is that 3.0 immediately sucks the oxygen out of the room by bringing us back into the fold a baffling 14 years after the events of 2.0 rather than more urgently dealing with what happened. The state of everything is totally inexplicable. A comatose Shinji and Unit-01 have been locked inside Dali's Corpus Hybercubus, floating in orbit for this entire period and unaware of anything that has transpired. Once freed from the tesseract, he learns that the "near" Third Impact (near enough for everyone to have the Fourth Impact marked down on their proverbial calendars) he inadvertently caused has virtually destroyed the world... again. In this post-post-apocalypse, the entire NERV crew sans Gendo and Fuyutsuki are in open rebellion against their former employer under the banner of WILLE. Neither the reasons for this dissent nor the logistics of how just two people could continue running an organization like NERV are ever explained. We are just supposed to go with it. Despite the passage of time, Asuka and Mari haven't aged a day. Again, this is hand-waved away. Oh, and everyone hates Shinji.

For these reasons, the opening act of 3.0 is disorientating and bizarre. Shinji would seem to be an appropriate audience surrogate in these moments, but no one is willing to talk to him or explain damn-near anything. Anno is much more interested in a quick succession of action scenes against drones than providing any meaningful context to what's going on. Thankfully, the quieter second act is much stronger. Shinji's and Kaworu's yaoi relationship provides some emotional anchoring to the proceedings. This was ground covered by the original series, but is wonderfully realized here. Anno's knack for artful visual repetition (second only to his skill of showing laser beams cleave high-rises in two) is also strong during this stretch of the film.

Unfortunately, the rest of the cast is completely left by the wayside. Rei's reset button has been hit. Gendo speaks all of three sentences to his son. We get no insight into Asuka or Misato. Ritsuko is but a background figure. Ryoji is M.I.A. Mari is just... there, epitomizing of all the ways in which the Rebuild series will likely fail to pay dividends on its new additions. This is understandably Shinji's story, but the strength of EVANGELION is in its full cast of psychologically complex characters. To see them relegated to such tertiary roles is wasteful.

The action scenes are spectacular and dumb in equal parts. The trifecta of Anno, Maeda, and Tsurumaki give us beautifully animated scenes of utter chaos with the help of some CG. But none of it is grounded enough to have the same impact as the franchise's previous iconic battles. I'm never exactly sure what it is I am looking at or what's happening. I mean, there's a flying battleship that rams into a robot as it ascends to godhood in the midst of a cosmic maelstrom. Moments like these are just barely saved from the claws of hilarity. The sound work is fantastic, with the mechanical clangs of machines and alien sounds of laser beams being crisp as ever. And Shirō Sagisu provides mostly new material for the OST that is sure to get your blood pumping.

3.0 brings the Rebuild series to its knees instead of making good on the forward momentum it had going in. It mostly raises new questions rather than building on old ones and then proceeds to largely not answer them. Did Anno really go into this Rebuild series with a new story he was inspired to tell? Or is he just a perfectionist in the vein of George Lucas, forever tinkering with his magnum opus, obsessively adding in more halos, rainbows, and cross-shaped energy beams wherever he can? I don't know. What I can be sure of is, no matter how awesome 3.0+1.0 (ugh) might be, it will never fully realize the potential of the Rebuild series. But for whatever it's worth to you, this is still unmistakably EVANGELION.

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If anime is notorious for anything, it's the the jigsaw puzzle plot. And BOOGIEPOP PHANTOM is the ultimate puzzle plot. That's saying something considering the show doesn't even give you all of the pieces. Set against the backdrop of Kouhei Kadono's larger multimedia project of BOOGIEPOP (of which I cannot claim any familiarity with beyond this program), one can be forgiven for coming away from PHANTOM feeling like they are missing the bigger picture. The context for the events within the show and many of its characters, especially those named in the OP, is at best merely hinted at and clearly can be made sense of only through engaging with the larger franchise. Still, there is more to be deciphered from the scattered fragments of PHANTOM than can initially be parsed from a first-viewing.

Supernatural occurrences begin to plague a nondescript Japanese city after an ominous pillar of light disrupts the power grid one night. The story explores this series of sepia nightmares through mostly episodic vignettes of the lives of high school students. Their personal stories are conveyed in a non-linear fashion; title cards with numbered "scenes" and labeled times/locations help to provide some indication of transition (although even this device is occasional used in cleverly deceptive ways). If that wasn't enough, each story often intersects with others, with some scenes even repeating themselves. This network narrative requires attentive viewership, as one must get a sense of the timeline of events and each scene's relationship to it in order to follow along.

Through this complex structure, BOOGIEPOP PHANTOM explores themes of time, innocence and its loss, memory, and escapism. Beyond the mere power of editing, the show finds other ingenious diegetic ways to drudge up the past and, in some spectacular cases, cause it to collide furiously with the present. Likewise, PHANTOM has no shortage of metaphors to cash out: rust and overgrowth, butterflies and abandoned theme parks. And what better subjects to follow than youths on the cusp of adulthood?

With the exception of the prestigious Madhouse studio behind it, it is surprising how little notable talent there is attached to this masterpiece. While the rather minimalist art and animation aren't exceptional by any means, they are effective when they need to be. The hazy and muted visuals make the entire show play like a flashback or memory. PHANTOM gets much milage out of static shots and looped frames. The direction is so assured and well-framed as to never need much in the way of movement from characters or otherwise. The industrial/ambient soundscape, perhaps the most talked-about aspect of the show, is what really brings the whole production together. Much like SERIAL EXPERIMENTS LAIN (and it's cousin TEXHNOLYZE; both of which are sources of endless comparison), the distorted sound makes the urban setting come to life. One can't help but feel like the horrors on display have been etched into the very concrete fabric of the city, like a haunting memory.

Perhaps the best thing that can be said about BOOGIEPOP PHANTOM is that it's truly scary in a way few anime are. It knows how to build atmosphere. It knows how to use violence as punctuation. It knows that rumors and whispers can be more bone-chilling than witnessing everything first-hand. It knows how to make sense of terror through the lens of more pedestrian and relatable anxieties. How the upcoming BOOGIEPOP AND OTHERS compares will be interesting to see, although the promotional material suggests we are in for a more conventional affair.

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How does one even properly begin a review of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood? By discussing its legendary status? By laying out the tricky relationship with its 2003 sibling? One thing is for sure, Hiromu Arakawa created something special when Enix began publishing her manga back in 2001. Brotherhood's top rating here MAL is not difficult to understand in the slightest. It is arguably the most accessible anime program to ever grace the world. The characters are indelibly likable, with strong personalities, distinct appearances, and well-defined goals. The setting is both immediately familiar in its parallels to early 20th century Europe and intriguing with its underlying mechanics of alchemy. The story is straightforward and never devolves into the confusing, bizarre, or abstract jigsaw puzzle-plotting so common in anime despite expanding its scope to cover many characters and a political conspiracy. Both Japanese and English VAs are top notch. And while the blending of drama and comedy can often be abrasive (notoriously so), I find that it only adds to the endearing qualities of the show. Brotherhood is some of the best YA fiction around, with a little something for everyone, and offers what I consider to be an almost perfect entry point into the universe of Japanese animation.

I say "almost" because there is a catch. Brotherhood can only barely be considered a stand-alone work. The figure of Studio Bones's first FMA adaption, which began airing in 2003, looms large over Brotherhood. Whereas the older adaption only managed to cover part of Arakawa's story before catching up to the source material, forcing the writers to take things in their own direction, Brotherhood tells the mangaka's version of the story in its entirety. Needless to say there is much overlap between the two and the consequence is obvious to anyone who has seen both. Brotherhood more or less assumes its audience is familiar with the ground covered by FMA 2003, condensing ~28 episodes worth of material into 14.

Nowhere is this flippant attitude towards the viewer more obvious than the first episode. With original content not found within the pages of the source material, Brotherhood's first episode plays more like the beginning of a movie in an established franchise (no different than Conqueror of Shamballa or Sacred Star of Milos really), than a proper introduction to its world and characters. Many characters are introduced. Specific events and plot points are name-dropped like crazy. Even the true evil nature of an important character, which is supposed to be a major plot reveal, is less than subtly foreshadowed. Clearly there is an expectation that we already know all this.

Brotherhood proceeds to quickly plow through the redundant material from here. While this is understandable, and serves as a decent refresher for the already initiated, it makes for a less than ideal experience for first-time watchers. Granted, there's nothing missing from the early parts of the story. Everything anyone needs to know is covered. But it's done at the sacrifice of real impact and character development. These early parts of the story are key to understanding who the Elric brothers are, how they think and approach problems, what their strengths and weaknesses are, etc. Such clarifying moments are abridged, or even cut out entirely if they don't serve an understanding of the larger story. Worse yet is the execution. Watching FMA 2003 and Brotherhood back to back reveals how much better the former handled these moments. Brotherhood's direction is often flat, with excessive use of odd visual gimmicks like splitscreens, fish-eyed perspectives, and dutch angles. The music can be insufficient or even inappropriate. Brotherhood just lacks the subtle atmosphere of horror and gut-punching impact of its 2003 counterpart. This is a deal breaker, especially when the most dramatic and heavy hitting moments come in this part of the story.*

Thankfully, Brotherhood quickly finds its footing with the introduction of a few new characters unfamiliar to 2003 veterans. It's clear at this moment that Brotherhood is more interested in a bigger picture. Whereas FMA 2003 never gave the country of its setting a name or any geopolitical details, Brotherhood gives us Amestris, a map, and bordering neighbors with a history. This is a bigger story, a more political story, and (for better or worse) a less tragic and Elric brothers-driven story. The climax is wonderfully epic, finding clever ways to work in the enormous cast, but one can't help but feel some dramatic absence in the mix. While 2003 Ed and Al never lose sight of their goal to get their bodies back, as the motivations of companions and enemies alike converge on its central rule-breaking Philosopher Stone, Brotherhood's dual protagonists get caught up in the whirlwind of conspiracy and cosmic threats. I prefer the persistent and intimate tragedy and horror elements of FMA 2003 (along with its more classic art and storyboarding) than the more traditional machinations of Brotherhood, but the latter can certainly pull it off like no other. Studio Bones manages to do so with gusto thanks to some stellar production values carried across an impressive 64 episodes.

*Honestly, I strongly recommend watching the 2003 series first. It can make the viewing of Brotherhood more fuller with the characters already being fleshed out. Plus, it's refreshing to see how the story diverges, where mysteries that were solved by the 2003 series are revitalized as they take on new tantalizing intrigue.

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"Made in Abyss" drops its young, precocious protagonists in a bizarre and fascinating world with undercurrents of mystery, danger, beauty, and subtle horror, placing it in a similar class of shows like "Shin Sekai Yori" and "Hōseki no Kuni" (along with the much anticipated "The Promised Neverland" I suppose). Unfortunately, MiA has yet to use its mysterious world to tease out personal growth and themes of ignorance/revelation from its innocent adventurers like the aforementioned shows. The plot is catalyzed by way of amnesia after all, so it has mostly just been a generator of intrigue thus far.

But oh how intriguing it is! Right of the bat we are introduced to Riko and her companions scavenging near the mouth of the gaping abyss for relics of a lost civilization. Sights such as pairs of skeletons locked in prayer occupy quiet forgotten nooks and crannies and are apparently mundane discoveries for even the most green of spelunkers given their reactions. This place is just dripping with atmosphere. The small island city that has been built around the abyss like a 19th century California Gold Rush town is a marvel unto itself. Everything has a literal elevated dimension to it. Desks are arranged vertically on the back walls of classrooms. Children tell disturbing urban legends one can only suspect have some truth to them. Ships of ambitious prospectors from all over the world are docked just offshore. We really get a sense that life in this place literally and figuratively has the abyss at its center.

Such qualities extend down into the abyss itself. There are various layers as our two explorers descend, each with its own unique look and details. This gives the show a nice sense of pacing, structure, and progression as it moves from one locale to the next. The art stunningly realizes these locations. The character designs are obviously childish in appearance with their round features and huge eyes, which is perhaps a bit too on the nose (pun intended considering our characters virtually don't have any). Likewise, the sadism aimed at some of the characters in the latter half of the show is perhaps in poor taste and I'm not sure is necessary for selling the dangers of this world and the struggles Riko must face. Either way, here's to hopping season 2 can continue delivering these goods while giving the characters a little more dimension (again, pun intended) and moves the story beyond mere table-setting.

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