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Similar to Kakumeika no Gogo (“A Revolutionist in the Afternoon”) or Yuretsuzukeru (“Keep on Vibrating”), Zenryou naru Itan no Machi (“A City of Honests and Heretics”) is a collection of short stories. While fairly mature and graphic, each story also sees its fair share of Matsumoto’s twisted, black humour. A rating, summary, and impression of each short story can be found below, with my views on Matsumoto’s art and overall thoughts in the final two paragraphs.

Short Story 1: My Daddy (9/10)
A young, upbeat girl tells a story of her father during a formal class presentation. Oddly enough, there’s a prideful gleam in her eyes ... when she speaks about her dad, despite the fact that the story supposedly involves elder abuse in the delinquent pastime of “old-man hunting”. She recounts the story with cheerful, childlike innocence, contrasted with keen observation and a bit of wit, fostered while living with her dysfunctional family. However, an unexpected twist turns this somber tale of a dissolving family into utter hilarity, guaranteed to make you “b’aww” by the ending.

Short Story 2: Camilla (8/10)
The second chapter takes place in a rural, South American town. It’s a short story of lust and obsession as Camilla, a young woman, attempts to uncover the past of a beautiful yet senile lady residing in a mental hospital. As Camilla continues to read the old woman’s letters love letters, she becomes increasingly enthralled with her, becoming both physically and mentally obsessed. The connection between the two is accompanied by a sudden shift in narrative perspective – from first to third person, and later back to first person – which brings in the idea that it isn’t the first time a girl has been caught in this lustful craze…

Short Story 3: Far Away (8/10)
An incompetent, cowardly samurai is tasked with delivering his teacher’s letter. Along the way, he runs into an obstacle in the shape of a revenge-crazy woman, which resolves in a messy, moral lesson for the young messenger. Set during the Meiji Restoration of the late 19th century, the story involves as much irony and debauchery as the Restoration itself, with not-so-subtle criticism to the Western reforms.

Short Story 4: Parlor31 (7/10)
In a twisted world where high school girls are eligible to carry firearms and wage violent wars with their neighbors, an “autonomous armed force” of students embarks on a whorehouse crackdown. It’s the most action-heavy of the seven short stories, but the message, if any, was inexplicit. One of Matsumoto’s other one-shots, Hiroko at After School, is set in the same world as Parlor31, whereas Matsumoto revealed a great interest in pursuing a long-running series with these two stories as pilots.

Short Story 5: Fehde in the Desert (6/10)
The fifth short story is where Zenryou naru Itan no Machi takes a turn for the bizarre. Set in a lavish school that somehow borders a vast desert, a group of students challenge each other to knife fights (Fehde being the German word for “feud”) for control over the desert’s large, abandoned tower. The story revolves around two androgynous children, who seem to be connected by an ambiguous affection towards each other, the mysterious tower, and collecting insects from the desert. There’s a vague theme of obscured sexual identity, but it’s far from being fully realized in the one-shot.

Short Story 6: Female High School Soldier (4/10)
“In order to survive, we have to abandon our humanity. But unless we regain that humanity, there will be no point to survival.” Since this was the first and only quotable line throughout the manga, short story 6 started off with high hopes. However, these expectations were run aground by the fact that chapter 6’s “female high school soldiers” were actually giant mecha high school girls, piloted by Japanese soldiers. So what was the point of this?
… Well, the majority of chapter 6 involves a gory bloodbath of said giant high school girls being dismembered, disemboweled, and horrendously disfigured. It’s a scene straight out of an eroguro manga, but it’s totally okay, since you know, they were just giant mecha and all, right?

Short Story 7: Family Restaurant (8/10)
The final short story is unique in that, unlike most manga, it adopts an even 2x4 panel layout without any gutter space. Furthermore, all of the dialogue goes one way, whereas the audience is only able to read the thoughts of the family restaurant’s sole female employee. We follow this waitress through a seemingly normal workday, until it becomes apparent that, well, she’s absolutely batshit crazy. It’s an interesting snippet of a delusional girl’s psyche, and Matsumoto’s styling shows a mangaka who’s obviously adept at depicting the clinically insane.

Matsumoto is incredibly capable of matching the vibrancy of his characters with diverse and lively facial expressions. Moreover, his settings are as immensely detailed as they are varied – from quiet Latin villages, feudal Japanese towns, war-torn urban landscapes and deserts, Matsumoto takes the reader all over the globe with his artwork. At first glance though, the artist’s use of etching instead of solid shading might look jarring. Nevertheless, the sheer detail put into every panel is astounding, and Matsumoto’s eccentric art style can only be described as “fitting” for his equally outlandish stories.

If you’re looking for Matsumoto at his best, defer to his other two one-shot collections. Zenryou naru Itan no Machi is by far his least memorable anthology, showing neither the artistic restraint that made Kakumeika no Gogo so brilliant, nor the ingenious surrealism and dementia that captivated readers in Yuretsuzukeru.

Becchin to Mandara is best described as a psychological slice of life. Set in a ruined, post-war Japan, the manga shows the bizarre day-to-day lives of two girls, Becchin and Mandara. However, unlike other stories with a post-apocalyptic setting, Becchin to Mandara isn’t a story about survival or adventure. Instead, it completely defies the genre’s conventions by being utterly abstract. Constantly shifting tones between twisted humour, disturbing imagery, and zombie-killing action, Becchin to Mandara will have the reader wrapping his head around its story (mainly, lack thereof) in the most unpleasant fashion possible. The manga is grounded (or ungrounded) by the twisted interactions between Becchin, ... Mandara, and the anomalies (namely, swarms of ladybugs, large, flying insects, and fully sentient corpses) surrounding their countryside abode. To give you a little taste of the manga, here’s a description of its two main characters:

Mandara is as batshit crazy as a girl can get. Energetic and always referring to herself in the third person, she constantly shows sporadic behavior and thoughts. Of this behavior, she seems to be fond of imitating things – hillbillies, animals, and “crabvaders”? She also has a peculiar obsession with tape recorders, whereas any mention of this specific object leads to Mandara flailing her arms and breaking out into hysterical, tear-filled fits. If her dialogue doesn’t consist of incomprehensible rabble or delusional ranting, then it probably has something to do with the repetition of the words “tape recorder”. Like a broken tape recorder herself, another quirk in Mandara’s speech is that she tends to speak in loops, repeating her thoughts endlessly until interrupted.

“Who is Bill Gates?”
“The first man who succeeded in reaching the South Pole.”

Although a bit more mentally sound than her schizophrenic friend, Becchin suffers from a mild case of paranoia. She’s shown to hallucinate, and have conversations with herself on a regular basis. It’s through these hallucinations that we also see glimpses of Becchin’s pre-war life, as fragmented and far in-between as they may be. Although she takes pills to mitigate her hallucinations, the reader is left to wonder how much of the manga’s world has been distorted by Becchin’s mind, as we see it as Becchin does… Floating pianos, swarms of ladybugs, and all.

At first glance, Becchin to Mandara has all of the makings of a subtle, anti-war allegory – a post-apocalyptic setting, the defense of a dried out riverbed against “invaders”, and socially dejected, mentally unstable main characters. However, a complete lack of narrative, a scatter-brained introduction and conclusion, and failure to maintain a consistent plot made the manga almost incomprehensible, let alone able to convey any sort of message. Even the tidbit of social commentary introduced towards the ending seemed arbitrary, given the incoherent nature of the manga. Well, where does that leave the reader? What were the intentions of the author when writing Becchin to Mandara, if the story itself lacks any meaning or coherency?

Welcome to the twisted world of Jiro Matsumoto.

Ever wondered what it’s like to peer into the mind of a potentially insane mangaka? Well, Matsumoto’s stories will take you beyond the fine line of dementia and lunacy. Like all of his manga, Matsumoto doesn’t hold back on disturbing and graphic scenes. This is a man who will pull out all the stops for the sake of shocking readers, and he’s as unflinching as he is… Imaginative. On the milder side, the girls are often shown nude, or having vivid chats about sexuality and sexual acts. Or, in the middle of a conversation, another character will suddenly reveal a fully drawn, flaccid phallus. However, at its most brutal moments, the author doesn’t even bat an eye at, say, a teenaged girl wearing a school uniform, laughing maniacally while getting violated by a hoard of zombies in a horrific scat orgie.

… What? Yeah. Unfortunately, this is just senseless shock value. There’s little context behind these acts, and they exist simply to appall readers.

Becchin to Mandara isn’t without its black humour though. Throughout the manga, Matsumoto throws around not-so-subtle allusions to popular anime: Princess Mononoke, Evangelion, Gundam, My Neighbor Totoro, Nausicaa, and even Full Metal Panic. There are also comedic elements in the manga’s styling, such as the use of a game’s inventory system when one of the characters was taking stock of her belongings, or the appearance of a JRPG battle menu when the same character later encounters a zombie.

Like all of Jiro Matsumoto’s manga, Becchin to Mandara’s artwork is… Unique, to say the least. The artist manages to make each panel highly detailed, yet crude at the same time. Matsumoto makes great use of etching, but these details create two effects. At its best, and quite often, these etchings create diverse facial expressions and highly intricate environments with fantastic shading. On a few rare occasions though, Matsumoto’s etchings can make for overly clustered panels.

Overall, Becchin to Mandara left me disappointed with a half-realized story, poor flow of narrative, and thoughtless imagery. Nonetheless, don’t let this manga deter you from reading Matsumoto’s other works. I was lead to Becchin to Mandara by Freesia (which is fairly underrated, yet highly praised by some), and Yuretsuzukeru, one of the few erotic works that isn’t overtly smut. It’s a dark collection of short stories that deals with psychology – what Becchin to Mandara could have and should have been with a little more care and restraint.

If there’s one, obvious theme that connects all of Makoto Shinkai’s works, it would be “distance”. As a bittersweet love story, The Garden of Words carries similar expectations to Shinkai’s other popularized works, Five cm per Second, The Place Promised in Our Early Days, and Voices of a Distant Star. Shinkai uses beyond-gorgeous animation to tell a modest yet believable story, and The Garden of Words is as bare-boned as a love story comes.

The movie takes place over a summer, where a 15 year-old aspiring shoemaker meets an eccentric and mysterious 27-year old woman. Their backstories are hardly touched on, but the boy ... is seen as wise beyond his years, independent and seemingly forced to grow up prematurely. On the other hand, the woman is more aloof, and clumsy in behavior. She feels as if she’s unable to move past her youth, but reveals little else otherwise. As in other Shinkai films, the dialogue exchanged between the two characters is minimalistic, and for the most part, inconsequential. However, the frequency of silence is what best represents Shinkai’s abilities as a storyteller, and therein lies the significance of the movie’s title, “The Garden of Words”.

Despite being a character-driven story with first person narration, the movie devotes a great deal of time with scenic shots. Shinkai has drawn a fully realized yet enclosed setting, and the details he’s put into this literal garden are nothing short of gratuitous. Shots of a cicada shedding its shell, raindrops dancing on the surface of a pond, and a tree branch dipping into a lake boasts an almost over-bearing attention to detail, but these gratuities do more than show off Shinkai’s talents in animation. Due to the differences in age and personality between the characters, the garden is supposed to express what the characters themselves cannot – a “Garden of Words”. The two characters are all-too-happy to see rain (which is usually a heavy-handed symbol for sadness or isolation), because of the shelter that the garden provides and its ability to emotionally connect the two beyond words.

… Which leads us to one of the film’s biggest issues: a 46 minute runtime. While it wastes little of its prohibitive length with contemplative monologues of the characters’ ambitions and awe-inspiring displays of setting, a romance that’s fostered over silent meetings can feel superficial. Furthermore, the film’s climax is a sort of departure from Shinkai’s usual endings. Breaking the subtlety and slow pace at which the characters’ relationship develops, the film’s climax shows an uncharacteristically forceful and crude confrontation. As an outburst of emotion with a fair bit of yelling and crying, it’s less powerful than the silent, emotional climaxes of previous Shinkai films, but not awkward enough to be dismissed as melodrama. The film even ends with the same unrequited love as most of his previous works, but the lack of fulfillment didn’t share the same effectiveness as it did in 5 cm per second, being a lot less ambiguous yet ending with the same, physical distance between the two characters.

In the sound department, The Garden of Words consists mostly of ambience, with the exception of a handful of beautifully composed piano solos. Both were done with great effectiveness, with the sound of rain meticulously matching each droplet appearing in animation.

The Garden of Words is probably the most visually appealing anime I’ve watched, but story-wise, it may not be as memorable, nor can it avoid comparisons with Shinkai’s other works. That said, its subtleties in storytelling and flawless visuals makes it absolutely remarkable, and a veritable visual feast for fans of the romance genre.

Unlike most short anime that I've seen, Ame to Shoujo to Watashi no Tegami (The Rain, the Girl, and my Letter) is more narrative-heavy, with its art being second in priority. It puts an interesting twist on the "love confession in a shoe-locker letter" setup, but its subpar art was distracting, and it was too short to convey anything meaningful. There isn't really any subtle symbolism or greater message, but anyone who's ever felt heartbroken over a rejection will probably relate well to our protagonist, and find appeal in her reaction.

Despite some mediocre drawing, the style in which the environments were crafted were unique, if ... only because they seemed so out of place. The conversation in the classroom looked as if the room were afloat, almost like the inside of a flying zeppelin. Most of the story passes in a book store, and if not for the fact that it was, well, lined with books, the store itself had the architectural stylings of a feudal Chinese palace. Even the clock, whose ticking the anime devotes quite a bit of time to, is absolutely bizarre in appearance (looking more like an ancient compass than something that's actually readable). The instrumental track playing in the background contributes to the outlandish setting. Over the sound of clockwork and heavy rain, the music goes from a standard strings piece to a cacophonous mixture of steel pan drums and xylophone.

As previously mentioned, the anime's short length prohibits any sort of meaning, despite being riddled with dialogue. Towards the end of the short film, an interesting character appears, only to contribute little to the story itself. However, this little girl, dressed in a traditional chinese outfit and living out of a suitcase (which seems to have its own sink, bed, dining table, and shelves) could probably have an anime adaptation of her own.

The following review is essentially a salty rambling involving a show no one's watched and a particularly egregious cinema sin: "quote dropping".

Nothing grinds my gears more than a highly superficial anime that pretentiously throws around Shakespeare quotes with no apparent purpose or meaning. No, it doesn't emphasize the show's dramatic storytelling, nor does it contribute to the themes (or lack thereof) that the show attempts to present. Rather, shows that arbitrarily drop quotes from popular novelists, psychologists, or philosophers (e.g. Psycho-Pass and Perfect Insider) for no other reason than to feign intelligence are simply insulting.

Zetsuen no Tempest, a 2012 anime purportedly inspired by Shakespeare's dramas, ... bases its characters and plot on plays such as The Tempest, Romeo and Juliet, and Hamlet. However, if you take away the frivolous and out-of-context quote dropping, you wouldn't recognize the resemblance. Strip away the superficial "homage" entirely and you're left with a trope-heavy and mediocre "save the world" plot with some far-fetched fantasy elements.

Bear with me for a while as I try to make sense of Zetsuen no Tempest's cluster**** of a plot. It's spoiler-free, and one of the most contrived scenarios I've ever seen in a shonen title.



Plot

From what I gather, there's a group of magi attempting to bring about the end of the world through a pandemic that turns everything to metal. In order to do so, they're summoning a giant tree that causes "fruit", or giant eye-ball covered things attached to chains, to bear from the ground. These mages have exiled their leader, Hakaze, an omnipotent teenage girl with a God-like command of magic, on a desert island. She was opposed to the group's actions, but one has to beg the question… How did they manage to capture and imprison their leader if she's shown, on multiple occasions, to overpower them? Hell if I know! In any case, she's somehow managed to establish contact with the outside world, bestowing her powers in talismans that she's spread around Japan. Wait… If she was able to do this, doesn't that mean she foresaw the betrayal? Isn't there a more effective method of seeking help than throwing magical walkie-talkies across a country? Again, the show doesn't really explain these conveniences. They're plot holes, but extremely contrived ones at that.

But wait! That's not all of it… The main plot actually revolves around the mysterious death of the protagonist's sister. The viewer follows our two teenage heroes, Yoshino and Mahiro, as they unravel this conspiracy, while the hectic apocalyptic background attempts to brings it all together. Thankfully, the show isn't as hard to follow as I've made it sound. If anything, the slow build-ups and incessant, heavy-handed expositions make the plot seem completely arbitrary in nature. Moreover, the setting is centered around a post-apocalyptic event, but the way Zetsuen no Tempest mishandles and neglects its impact makes everything seem inconsequential. Half of Japan was wiped out by a magical, unknown epidemic and the parents of the main protagonist were in a city known to be affected by said epidemic? Well, we'll just show a single, 10 second scene of the destruction and be done with it. The action falls under a similar pattern, with the majority of confrontations being entirely mindless and serving no purpose. For example, an entire episode was spent showing the fight between some random henchman with a spear and the main protagonist - almost 20 minutes of senseless fighting without any sort of context. At least the audience can find humour in the fact that the main protagonists constantly used teleportation to fight, but when overpowered, the fight simply ends with the protagonists running away... On foot.



Characters

Perhaps the biggest plot hole was the "Romeo and Juliet" forbidden romance between Yoshina and Mahiro's sister, Aika. Love at first sight is a rather aggravating occurrence that plagues all of Shakespeare's romantic tragedies, and like many Shakespearean plays, the coupling of Aika and Yoshino was mostly born out of convenience. Despite being Yoshino's motivation for joining the quest to save the world, his entire relationship with Aika and their attraction was largely unexplained. It's understandably difficult to establish or depict a relationship with a dead character, but there really needs to be some substance behind the character's death and their relationship with the living cast if the entire plot is be grounded by it. If the viewer isn't given any reason to care about the show's central characters, why should we give a damn about a conflict that's propelled by them?

One of the few redeeming aspects of the show was the fact that its protagonists had unclear motivations for "playing the hero". Their relationship with each other isn't really expanded beyond "childhood friends, one delinquent and his well-reasoned buddy that tries to set him straight". However, it's interesting to speculate as to why they're trying to save the world (beyond the obvious justification of their inevitable destruction). Neither protagonist, Yoshino or Mahiro, seems to have a particular attachment to the world they're trying to save, but they can't be accurately characterized as "nihilistic". Every aspect about the characters beyond this feature, however, was largely uninspired. Mahiro's characterization is as flat as revenged-crazed siblings come, but Yoshino was particularly disappointing in that he's introduced and constantly remarked as a sly, manipulative person. Despite all of this exposition, he never appears to be anything more than a well-intentioned, level-headed character for more or less the entirety of the series. Zetsuen no Tempest is a frustrating case where the show continuously tells the viewers about its characters rather than building characterization through the plot and context. In fact, almost all of the character traits revealed throughout the show were given through observations by other characters - Hakaze is revealed to be powerful only through the praise of her followers, Yoshino is supposedly manipulative because Aika introduced him as such, and Mahiro's brashness comes from all of the characters frequently calling him out on it.



Art and Animation

The artwork is passable, but not spectacular by any means. Zetsuen no Tempest does get kudos, however, for a successful depiction of post-apocalyptic environments. The colour palettes were dark and earthy, with most of its settings lying somewhere on the grey scale. Similar to the manga, the pseudo-bishonen/bishoujo design is somewhat hit-or-miss and prevalent on each and every character. Every male character has an overly exaggerated hair style and colour, but it isn't overly bothersome. What is bothersome, however, is the repeated use of certain scenes. Practically every episode reminds viewers of the overarching "ritual" plot by showing the same scene of robed, chanting figures.



Sound

In the sound department, Zetsuen no Tempest mostly relies on dramatic, classical pieces. Befitting, but hardly memorable.The first OP stands out though, being an English rock song sung by an entirely Japanese band. If there's one thing about the show that I can wholeheartedly recommend, it'd be the music of Nothing's Carved in Stone's.



Overall Thoughts

I can't really recommend this show to anyone, despite the fact that it's being praised as one of the best mystery/thrillers to recently air. Hell, I could hardly find any reason to finish this show myself. If you're looking for something thoughtful, then I highly suggest you give this show a pass. There really isn't any "heavy-dialogue" in a good sense, except the frequent info dumps that result from a really contrived (and ultimately unsuccessful) plot. All in all, Zetsuen no Tempest is a highly mediocre shonen title, with enough inconsistencies and missteps to make any informed viewer scratch their head with frustration.

"Grown-ups working like a dog. Children fawning like a cat. Grown-ups having money. Children having love."

"Sing in my own Way" (or "Korekuraide Utau") is an original animated music video (AMV), animated by Kousuke Sugimoto and featuring lyrics by "Handsome" Kenya Tanabe. Sing in my own Way is, by far, Sugimoto's best work, and may well set the standard by which one can quantify "perfection" in AMVs.

Before one attempts to justify a perfect rating to naysayers of perfection in art, I have to ask, "what makes a successful AMV?" To me, a good AMV manages to convey a message - a combination of beautiful animation ... and music - to craft a thoughtful story. In the same way that the AMV "Furiko" (or "Pendulum") told a tear-jerking story without any dialogue, a brilliant music video involves stripping down the animated medium to its most raw form. While Sugimoto's stunning animation is anything but uncomplicated, the teenage coming-of-age story in "Sing in my own Way" is impressive in that it doesn't require a lot of the audience's focus to be entirely engrossing.

Like many of us, our blond-haired, bespectacled hero seeks solace in music. He's an aspiring musician attempting to balance all of his day-to-day activities and job with his passion. However, through the animation, his passion truly comes to life. The narrative is entirely driven by the song it represents, and it essentially follows our protagonist through his journey to become a professional musician. From finding love during his mundane day job, attracting attention by playing on a street-corner, to selling out as an idol, "Sing in my own Way" tells one of the most captivating stories possible in a brief span of seven minutes.

The protagonist's hectic daily life and routines are represented by multiple, coloured "personas" appearing alongside the present story. At every moment, the frame is alive with every possible reaction the protagonist might have to a given setting or scenario. As such, every re-watch becomes interesting, if only to recognize the small details one might miss the first time around. For example, while the boy is walking down a street corner, the focus shifts to the window of a nearby restaurant, where he's on a date in an alternate timeline. In the background, however, there's a giant flat-screen TV showing his success as a pop star, while a surreal, giant robot is attacking the town in the boy's daydream. Every second of the music video is dynamic and alive, and every nook and cranny is detailed with stylistic awe. If you've seen any of Sugimoto's previous works, you'll recognize that he's improved on his unmistakably inventive artstyle, and this music video might possibly be the culmination of his experience.

"The morning attacks grown-ups. The night gives pleasure to children. Dreams rule over grown-ups. Dreams liberate children." Fitting is an understatement to the animation behind Tanabe's musings of hesitatingly leaving adolescence behind. The tune's also surprisingly catchy, in a "non-mainstream", tasteful sort of way. It's a light piano/strings rock, but not entirely poppy. In any case, the song itself was worth a download - which is impressive, since I haven't really bought into many J-pop tracks.

It's charming, visually remarkable, and, if you're still unconvinced as to whether to watch this or not, it's only about seven minutes long. You have my guarantee that this little gem will brighten your day.

Enjoy!

It's unfortunate that so many brilliant animated shorts in Japan are largely obscure to western audiences. It's also unexpected that a Japanese comedian, going by the pseudonym "Tekken", was able to capture the hearts of millions with two short, dialogue-less, and crudely drawn animations. The following covers the first of the two, entitled "Furiko" (otherwise known as Pendulum).

You don't need words to tell a beautiful story. It's such a rare thing to see in recent anime, but Takefumi Kurashina takes the medium and strips it to its rawest form - basic animation, simple music, and an uncomplicated plot. Telling the story of a man's journey ... through life and love, the narrative is done beautifully and flows effortlessly, and is an entirely silent affair. That being said, Furiko plays on its simplicity with great success, with the emotions of its characters pulling through in every fleeting scene. The narrative is pushed along with the frame being captured in a swinging pendulum, only stopping when the man pauses to realize the beauty in his life. Like a swinging pendulum, life moves on, and these realizations are far and in between life's tragically brief existence.

The music accompanying the man's story is perfect. It's a vague statement, but one that isn't really given out lightly. The lyric-less song begins with four piano chords, which repeat themselves throughout the entirety of the story. With the repetition of these chords matching up with the incessant swinging of the "pendulum", violin melodies are added as the story progresses, similar to Pachelbel's Canon in D. Like the story, the melody's buildup has a beginning, a climax, and an end, bringing everything back to the same four chords used at the beginning of the piece. Ashes to ashes, so to speak. It very much reflects the whole aspect of life as a journey, marked at the beginning and end with life and death.

I'm not a big fan of the word "tearjerker", but in Furiko's case, tearjerker is most definitely an understatement. In three, short minutes, Furiko accomplishes to do what dozens of long-running episodes might not - emotionally captivate you with simplicity, subtlety, and an endearing story.

Slowpoke Code Geass fan here, who just got to watch the new OVA. I was in total hype for this when I finished R2 around December, so I kind of went into this with unrealistic expectations. That being said, the following review is neither a rant of disappointment, nor is it a blind praising of Geass fanboyism.

I get that it's supposed to be an introductory episode, but what's with all the characters they introduced!? With the exception of the main heroine, EVERY character is a freekin' sociopath. There's a fine line between badassery and being a total sadist, but almost all of the new ... cast falls under the latter. I mean, it's not great that Akito himself is introduced in the first 10 minutes of action shouting nothing but, "DIE! DIE! DIE!" Moreover, it’s difficult to justify Akito’s homicidal ravings when he himself acknowledges that there’s little explanation for his enlistment in the war. While he was able to show glimpses of empathy while (sort of) mourning his fallen Eleven comrades, Akito’s odd bloodlust and general lack of charisma makes him seem like a watered-down Lelouch (oh, like fans of Code Geass didn’t see that coming!) He’s not a revolutionary, he’s not a genius tactician, and he’s certainly not a revered leader. Rather, Akito’s just an overly vicious, “strong yet silent” soldier. Albeit, an unnaturally talented pilot that’s conforming to the Jesus Yamato archetype.

As for the rest of the Eleven knightmare unit, we’ve somehow managed to round up a group of equally nihilistic soldiers: Ayano (a katana wielding, pseudo-Yandere), Yukiyo (an “evil-genius” tech-wiz), and Ryo (the group’s brash leader with fairly noble ideals). They aren’t really more than their clichéd descriptions sell them as, but what the Eleven squad represents is an interesting theme that really anchors down the OVA’s conflict: the assimilation/discrimination of Elevens and their role as conscripts in the European Union’s army. In the opening sequence, the unit’s original commander used an interesting tactic to match Britannia’s overwhelming numerical and technological advantage - self destructing knightmares. To morally rationalize the use of Eleven suicide bombers, he brings up the following cultural prejudice: “It’s okay if the Elevens are dying for us - it’s in their blood. With ethos like “kamikaze” and “seppuku”, they’re descendants of a race that loves to die.” For the most part, dialogue in Akito the Exiled doesn’t stand out compared to the original series, being somewhat tacky in how bold the characters are trying to sound. However, what the series succeeds in doing is the way they’re depicting the dehumanization of Elevens, mainly through the way our protagonists and the characters surrounding them perceive the treatment of Eleven refugees.

The aforementioned heroine, newly appointed commander Leila Malcal, is reasonably likeable in that she's rational, collected, and a decently competent commander, despite her inexperience. Although, with how Code Geass is building up certain knightmare units to be one-man armies, that isn't saying much. Strategy has long since lost its place as the deciding factor of battles, and while mecha confrontations aren't as exciting without the psychological interplay behind them, the way knightmares have become exceedingly mobile makes the OVA's battles seem much more fast paced. However, the revamped action of the OVA is a bit of a double-edged sword, bringing us to the next issue...

Realism and the mecha genre seems like a massive oxymoron, but the attempts of R1 to make knightmares conceptually viable have been completely thrown out the window. Now drawn in CG (which, to my surprise, I didn’t gripe over as much as I did before), the knightmares of Akito the Exiled have experienced a complete overhaul. With heavier usage of their roller-blade mechanics, even early-generation knightmares (such as the Glasgow and the Sutherland) show a ridiculous amount of acrobatic nimbleness. This makes combat much more quick-paced, but the newfound sense of choreography in the way these unrealistically agile mechs move is a love-hate affair. It’s completely detrimental to the continuity of the parent story in that their knightmare counterparts are nowhere near as fast and powerful, but the action itself (while lacking a strategic overtone) is a bit more fun to watch.

On to the art, animation, and sound.

The most noticeable change is that mechs are now rendered in CGI, which caused a lot of commotion for die-hard fans. With it though, the animation quality’s certainly improved (which shouldn’t be a surprise, seeing that Code Geass originally aired more than half a decade ago). While most of the action in the original series took place in Area 11 (Japan), the OVA introduces a new setting: the European front. The posh Parisian designs that the EU’s architecture takes after is a nice addition to the CG universe, and scenes taking place in Eleven ghettos provide a fantastic contrast. They’re two different worlds that exist in the same setting - a representation of the growing divide between the oppressed Elevens and the nation they’re seeking refuge in.

The voice acting is surprisingly standard, despite featuring a cast of well-known VAs. This is mostly attributed to the fact that the OVA’s characters aren’t outstanding themselves, but the vocal work isn’t anything to be praised. The biggest change to sound, however, is its change in musical direction. The pieces themselves were fine, but I’m not sure if jazzy tunes are the best fit for large-scale, heart-pumping mech battles. The background music is something that you’d expect in Cowboy Bebop’s OST, but it doesn’t quite fit in to the explosive nature of Code Geass.

Luckily, with this introductory episode out of the way, Akito the Exiled is now able to move on to the thick of its story. I was completely ecstatic to see glimpses of some beloved returning characters in the preview, but I'm hoping that the OVA continues to play on its strengths - visceral action, throwbacks to the original series, and exploration into the conflict of the Elevens.

As for whether knowledge of the parent series is necessary, I'd say it's highly recommended (but then again, who HASN'T seen Code Geass?) It’ll help in understanding the struggles of Japan as a conquered colony, but I can also see someone new to the series starting on the OVA as well. In that case, the disappointment from initially watching the parent series can be avoided. I may take this back with the release of the following films, but until then, I’m holding firm that it’s near-impossible to accomplish the same epic that Code Geass was so loved for in six hour-long movies. At the very least, fans of Code Geass can’t really complain. I can definitely say that we were much more deserving of this OVA than the Nunnally in Wonderland special.

Here's my 30 second review and immediate afterthoughts, limited to the 50 word limit in the "tags" box in my anime list. This is NOT a full review.

"Too short. Its stoic but caring hero and his bubbly companion make up a likeable cast, and its plot has potential. "8" may be overrating it, but the desire for more than just the taste you've been given makes this a possible redeemer for GC's disappointment."

Notes on the art, sound, and characters:
+ Redjuice's art doesn't disappoint. The same budget obviously wasn't poured into this 11 minute OVA, hence the CGI'd mechs. Otherwise, the slightly downgraded animation in Lost ... Christmas reminds us of one of Guilty Crown's best features - jaw dropping visuals.
+ A fantastic ending theme, courtesy of the fictional band, Egoist. Beautifully composed piano ballad accompanied by great vocals. Hats off to supercell and Ryo!
+ Recurring characters. I've always wondered how our uber-creepy Major Segai started on his plight to insanity.
+ A fantastic new cast. We all know that the audience loved to hate the ultra-whiny, indecisive blubberfest Shu. Lost Christmas's protagonist "Scrooge" is much more no-nonsense, without coming across as overly stoic. More importantly, the female lead "Carol" had personality! Sure she and Inori shared the resemblance in that their odd outfits were overly sexualized, but the fact that her role involved more than being eye-candy to be used by the protagonist makes the MCs in Lost Christmas much more likeable.
- Too. Damn. Short. However, even if you're not a fan of being teased with content that might never be produced, Lost Christmas is worth a look. Hell, even if you didn't like Guilty Crown (or became disenchanted with it like I did), I recommend watching this prequel. It definitely lights up the imagination to what Guilty Crown could have or should have been.

All in all, a great teaser. It's a shame that there's no news of a follow-up (considering those cocky producers had promised two seasons before airing). Guilty Crown may have been a huge let down, but I would absolutely love to see more of the visual novel content presented in Lost Christmas animated.

Eagerly anticipating a sequel after a month having watched Steins;Gate, I was pleasantly blessed with an OVA special.

After the fantastic concluding scene of the original series, viewers probably shared my curiosity of: "what happens next?" The OVA certainly isn't something that I can recommend to people who haven't watched the series, as its plot (although considered a side story special) is a short continuation of Steins;Gate's aftermath. But since it carries the title of an OVA episode, it wasn't meant to include the familiar emotionally stressful setting in a 25 minute timespan. Rather, the Future Gadget Lab gets into a few comedic antics while ... reuniting with the principal heroine (Makise Kurisu) in America - mild fan service and all.

What set Steins;Gate apart from typical OVA specials with a generic and carefree plot are the interactions between its characters. The wonderfully written chemistry between Kurisutina and Okabe is still very much alive, and their on-screen hijinks lead to a touching development during the OVA's climax.

Each character is given adequate screen-time, which was also pleasant. Oh, and you briefly meet the Part Time Warrior's mum! Special shout out to the familiar looking taxi driver.

The OVA didn't present anything new that wasn't already in Steins;Gate's OST. What did surprise me, however, was the recycling of the original opening theme - how nostalgic! The animations and visually stunning art style haven't changed much since its predecessor. It may look a bit sharper, but that may just be my giddiness from waiting too long!

For Steins;Gate fans, this is a must. Heck, you probably wouldn't be checking out its OVA if you weren't a zealous devotee already. If you were desperately awaiting more after the original series, then you won't be disappointed with Oukoubakko no Poriomania, which provided fresh new material to an amazing series. Keep your heads up for the movie!

Thanks for your time. I hope you enjoyed my very first review.
El. Psy. Congroo.