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Popee doesn't really play by anime's standard rules, so it's tough to score it by traditional metrics. Is the animation bad? By traditional standards, yes, it's horrible - think CGI a huge step backwards from Toy Story - but that's kind of the point here. Similarly, you can't really rate the story by traditional means since there isn't any to begin with.

Popee clearly draws inspiration from the classics of slapstick animation - it resembles nothing so much as Tom and Jerry - but puts a decidedly surrealist twist on it. The show follows a small troupe of circus performers out in the desert, whose only ... audience appears to be nothing more than crudely-painted figures on a wall (and the occasional frog or alien). Each brief episode begins with around the titular Popee attempting to practice his daring feats of strength and skill, and usually ends with him either killing his troupe-mates, himself, or even the entire planet.

The characters on the show are deranged and brutish manchildren (with the exception of Kedamono, the noh-masked purple wolf), and a lot of the humor comes from their exaggerated reactions to failure or jealousy of another troupe member outperforming them.

The show evolves from strictly slapstick humor in the first dozen or so shorts to a much more surreal and mind-freaky style as the ideas presented become more complex. Throughout the whole thing runs an undercurrent of anarchic glee, though, which is really what makes the show work. The show is at its best when seeing its cartoon logic through to absurd conclusion, especially in episodes like "Dark Side" or "Mirror."

There's really not much else to say - if you've an appetite for completely surreal, dark comedy using really low-grade CGI, this is your huckleberry, but otherwise, I'd steer clear. But if you can stomach the insanity, there's a lot to like here. Several small details are actually excellently done, in particular Kedamono's seemingly endless steam of noh masks which show his emotions as crudely drawn faces that fall from his head as his emotions change. The sound design must also be noted as being particularly clever in its usage of only two or three tracks, twisted and distorted to suit the mood of the particular scene.

Note: The show is best watched in short bursts - only two or three episodes at a time - or you run the risk of the music and humor growing stale.

I'll say this up front: Kiznaiver is essentially a collection of anime tropes, well-worn plot points and generic character archetypes. The thing is - that might be the point.

Studio Trigger really pulled a fast one on me with Kiznaiver. Based on the premise, as well as Trigger's previous works (including Kill la Kill and Gurren Lagann (yes I know that's technically Gainax, but it's the same crew)), I had expected this to be a high-concept sci-fi romp with increasingly ludicrous scope and stakes as the show went on. The first episode did nothing to dissuade me of this belief, as we're introduced to a cast ... of characters who, it seems, VERY INTENTIONALLY recall Trigger's previous hits (don't tell me that's not Kamina. That's definitely Kamina), who are bound together by some pseudo-science mumbo-jumbo so they share each others' pain, and apparently also gain superhuman resiliance. Sounds like a setup for a pretty good techno-dystopian adventure, right? Throw in a sinister organization with limitless resources apparently led by a stonefaced, long-haired high schooler, and I'm ready for Kill la Kill 2: More Clothes.

But that's not what Kiznaiver is. What Kiznaiver IS is a high-concept slice-of-life in which a group of high schoolers are bound together by some pseudo-science mumbo-jumbo so they share each others' pain, and then we learn a lot about their feelings. There is still a sinister organization with limitless resources apparently led by a stonefaced, long-haired high schooler, but the show veers away from the insane stakes of Kill la Kill or TTGL and instead focuses nearly entirely on the bedeviled pain-sharers and their growing relationships. It's Kill la Kill 2: More Feels (and also More Clothes).

I can't help but feel that Trigger played we viewers' expectations of their own work against us. The similarities between Sonozaki and Kill la Kill's Satsuki, for example, or Tenga and TTGL's Kamina are too strong to be mere coincidence. Even Niko is basically Mako with a bit of Nonon thrown in. The fact that this is "only" a slice-of-life show, albeit one with a sci-fi bent, seems to intentionally be a bit of a surprise, especially considering Trigger's body of work to date. They knew we would assume this was going somewhere crazy (possibly to the center of the galaxy, possibly to the planet of the life fibers), so instead they subverted our expectations by keeping things very intimate.

Somehow, Kiznaiver manages to play to Studio Trigger's strengths while still being somewhat of a departure compared to their previous work. The animation is, it should go without saying at this point, gorgeous (this IS Trigger, after all), and the character designs are well-executed if extremely unoriginal (a bit more on that later). Through clever management of this limited cast and a reined-in storytelling style, Kiznaiver manages to tell a story that is at once personal and has far-reaching implications without getting lost in its own ambition. That alone is commendable, but doing that while also making the characters so darn likeable is impressive.

The interesting thing about those characters is that every one of them is not much more than a classic anime archetype (with the notable exception of Hisomu) - you've got your gutless protagonist, the cute neighbor/friend, the meathead with a heart of gold, etc. etc. There's even an estranged childhood friend! Early in the show not-Satsuki even shows a little slide deck with each of the main characters and their archetypical nicknames. This shows that the use of generic character archetypes is completely intentional, and instead of detracting from the quality of the show, contributes to a metatextual theme.

And make no mistake - Kiznaiver IS a metatextual show. In most slice-of-life shows, we watch a group of characters live, love and laugh with little or no "greater" conflict - and generally the characters are all close friends by the end (if they weren't already). Kiznaiver actually writes into the plot itself a REASON for why all these mismatched archetypes would even spend time together in the first place - not an after-school club, but a sinister science experiment that literally binds their feelings together. There are characters that manipulate the main characters' relationships - just like the writers of an anime. There's even a plotline about writing a manga that intertwines with the authors' real-life romance! If it were any more metatextual, it'd be FLCL. Kiznaiver is postmodern in its approach - this is a show ABOUT SoL anime - just like Trigger's other show this season, Uchuu Patrol Luluco, is a show ABOUT silly sci-fi adventures.

But all this high-falutin' literary trickery would just seem like masturbatory fluff if the show didn't also have a strong emotional throughline. Kiznaiver has a real heart, and I was moved quite strongly by the show several times. The characters are so well written that even though they're essentially tropes, you come to care about their relationships and the strength of their group friendship.

All in all, Kiznaiver is an impressive little show with a mean postmodern literary bent and a liberal dose of feels. The animation, voice work and overall sound design are excellent, and while the plot isn't terribly deep, it's all pulled off with so much confidence and skill. Kiznaiver is very good - maybe just shy of the greatness Trigger's previous works achieved. This season, Studio Trigger boasted that they were going to "save anime" - if Kiznaiver is any indication, they might just be the heroes we need.

First things first - if you've seen Inferno Cop or Ninja Slayer, you basically know what you're getting yourself into here - this is Studio Trigger's "B-team" at work again, and I don't mean that as an insult. In between their meatier shows (Kill la Kill, for example, or this season's Kiznaiver), Trigger seems to enjoy blowing off steam by making extremely silly, extremely fast-paced ONAs.

Uchuu Patrol Luluco does have an overarching plot, but it's barely visible through increasingly ludicrous visual gags and callbacks to other Trigger properties, all crammed into tiny seven-minute episodes. It's kind of like if you put Kill la Kill and ... Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann into a blender and poured the resulting slurry through an FLCL sieve. In fact, Luluco's embarrassing transformation into a human gun ("Fight for Justice!") recalls nothing so much as FLCL's puberty-adjacent head robots. Both shows touch on themes of first love and growing up, and the struggle of just wanting to be "ordinary" in a world gone mad. But whereas FLCL digs into and subverts these themes, Luluco mostly just plays them for laughs - which is fine, given its ultra-short runtime.

There is little substance in this show, but its irrepressible personality and endless conga line of self-referential material is an enjoyable treat for those who are familiar with Studio Trigger's corpus. Even if you aren't, there's a lot to like here. The visuals are impressive and the plot, when they bother cramming it in, is serviceable. If you've seen and enjoyed Panty & Stocking with Garterbelt, Kill la Kill, TTGL or any of Trigger's previous ONAs, you'll find familiar enjoyment here.

The introspective among us have likely all had this same wish at some point - what if we could get a second chance? To paraphrase Cher, what if we COULD turn back time? Boku dake ga Inai Machi ("Erased" in English) initially purports to be an exploration of a failed mangaka who has exactly this ability, but rather than being an episodic series about a man using his powers to save innocent passerby, the story makes a dramatic jump early on and focuses on one decade-spanning mystery.

Many viewers may be unhappy with the way time travel is handled in this show - Stein's Gate this ... ain't - and the show wastes exactly zero time on explaining how "Revival" works or why our introverted protag has been given this ability. Ultimately, this was a smart choice for the show that has a lot to say about OTHER subjects in a short 12-episode span. Satoru can travel back in time (to his own, younger self), just because he can, and because the show doesn't take time to explain or justify this ability, it takes a backseat to the much more interesting themes of nostalgia, friendship and memory. There are anime that handle time travel in much more detail (the aforementioned Stein's Gate, among others), and in this show, Revival is nothing more than a plot device and a means to an end. This in itself isn't a bad thing. In this way, the show strongly resembles the literary genre of magical realism, a key tenet of which is that life is entirely ordinary except for one or two inexplicable magical elements, which are treated with the same matter-of-factness as anything else. This is just the way things work.

With the time-intensive task of justifying time travel out of the way, the show is free to focus on the characters and their relationships. For such a small cast, admittedly several characters are somewhat underdeveloped, although given the show's short length this isn't surprising. Supporting characters like fervently optimistic Airi and 11-year-old Columbo Kenya don't amount to much more than personality archetypes, and don't get their own arcs, but again, this isn't really an issue. They exist to serve as foils to Satoru, and in that sense they are very successful. Airi, adult Satoru's bubbly coworker (with just a hint of a tragic past), provides him with the courage to try to save those he cares about. Kenya, child Satoru's impossibly perceptive friend, serves as the voice of the audience and more clearly illuminates Satoru's arc as he learns to appreciate the friends and family he has always had around him.

The main characters are handled with much more nuance. Satoru in particular shows the best kind of character arc - a subtle one. We see him as an adult (and as a child) as a detached, aloof loner. He has a kindness that draws others to him, but as ever-wise Kenya points out, it's like he's pretending to engage with others because it's what he thinks he's supposed to do. Over the course of the show, as he's given a second chance to live his life again, we see him engaging more authentically with his friends and family. Speaking of family, Satoru's mother is a delight - whip-smart, caring, and not willing to take anyone's shit. She's an investigative reporter and its clear she's instilled in Satoru a strong sense of justice and responsibility for the well-being of those around him. Kayo, the "subject" of Satoru's attempt to change history, is initially withdrawn and melancholic, but as Satoru and his friends reach out to her, we see her realistically react to kindness in a life where it's been in terribly short supply.

The animation and direction in this show are, not to oversell it, phenomenal. So much of the characters' emotions are shown, not told, through environmental storytelling and well-designed character expressions. This is especially impressive in a show that by the very nature of its plot has a lot - a LOT - of internal monologue. Internal monologue is a dangerous crutch that runs the risk of overexplaining a character's emotions and motives, which in turn can make the viewer feel talked down to. A good show should be able to convey these elements without just having the character say them out loud, and indeed, Satoru's internal monologue sticks mostly to telling us what he's planning, rather than how he's feeling. It walks this fine line really well.

The environmental storytelling, as well, is great. The town - in the past as well as the future - is gloomy and blanketed in always-falling show. It's a cold world, but cold in a quiet way, this tells us; and the footprints of evil men are quickly obscured by the snow. Human kindness is clearly echoed in the moments of warmth shown throughout the show - the warmth of Satoru and his mother's homely kitchen, the warmth of the stove in the classroom and the portable heater they bring to the hideout. In contrast, Kayo's abusive home is chilly and dark, and the killer's MO literally involves freezing his victims.

The attention to detail shines. Seemingly throwaway lines and scenes come back in surprising ways, and no shot seems wasted or unnecessary. Small details like recurring references to Satoru's favorite superhero anime help flesh out characters and their motivations. Little flourishes really add to the show, too - especially the characters' facial reactions. In particular Satoru's incredibly awkward smiles as he inadvertently voices his inner monologue ("I said that out loud?") show how strange it must be to be an adult, with an adult's mind and an adult's thoughts, suddenly thrust back into a child's body, with its impulsiveness and lack of tact.

Boku dake ga Inai Machi is an emotionally evocative show with incredible art direction. While some plot elements might be a bit out of left field (particularly toward the end), and sci-fi fans may not love that the time travel is solely a plot device, it's all done in the service of focusing on the characters and themes. Overall an excellent show and well worth your time.

(Disclosure - at the time of writing, I have not yet seen R2, this show's second season)

Code Geass is an amalgam of nearly every popular anime genre - mecha battles, supernatural mystery, brainiac rivalries a la Death Note, alternate (future) history, high school slice of life, romance, pizza hut commercial. What's even crazier is that, in many ways, the show actually succeeds in each of these genres. However, given the breadth of subject matter and the large cast of characters, ultimately we are left with a show that lacks focus, and suffers as a result.

To handle the most obvious things first, the art style of ... this show is... conspicuous. While this is the first CLAMP show I've seen, I had been aware that they had a characteristic style. While the show's impossibly tall, thin characters aren't poorly designed, as such, it's definitely an acquired taste that I never quite acquired. Often I found the clearly deliberate choice to make the characters gastrointestinally impossible beanpoles off-putting - the tone of the show is quite a bit more serious than the lanky shounen dreamboats would suggest. Zero especially suffers from this, as it's hard to take seriously a military mastermind who looks like he'll roll up and blow away at any minute. I realize that this is a matter of taste, though, and it's not all bad. In particular the facial expressions are excellent and do an even better job of conveying the characters' emotions than the script does. The mecha battles are also fast and fluid, but never hard to follow. The battle choreography is top-notch and really expresses the speed at which the battles take place.

The show's biggest issue is the scope. As mentioned above, it manages to shove nearly every major genre into one show, and while each of these elements of the show, taken on their own, actually hold up pretty well, the show simply isn't long enough to do any one aspect of it justice (other than perhaps the mecha battles). Right off the bat protagonist LeLouch is given a mysterious supernatural power, with the requisite "ground rules" that govern its use, but the how and why of this is not really explored. The power comes with a mysterious cutie named C.C., and we're given tantalizingly few glimpses into her past and the nature of this power, but the series can't commit to exploring this (or her) further, because it's too busy having the president of the high school student council dress up like a cat and then bake the world's largest pizza. The result is that the show feels disjointed and tonally inconsistent. I would much rather the series have focused on Zero's ambitous grab for power and the fallout of his actions. When the show is focusing on these elements it is at its strongest, but too often it is interrupted by the aforementioned pizza worship.

Another element that further bifurcates the focus of the show is the massive cast of characters. This is something of a double-edged sword, as while the characters themselves are actually pretty interesting and manage to each be fairly distinct and memorable, there are just so many of them that almost none are given enough screentime. They each have their own plots, too, which further eats into the amount of time available for exploring the show's themes, but Code Geass actually redeems itself here by having each of these plots, no matter how small, drive the plot forward in some pretty ingenious ways. I actually almost gave up on the show midway through because it seemed to get completely lost in its own cast, and subplots were introduced and rapidly concluded without seeming to lead anywhere. Impressively, the last few episodes tie together nearly all of the different plots and characters, and in particular the later story beats justify the amount of time spent on setting everything up.

Pacing and scope issues aside, Code Geass is a solid show for fans of mecha combat and complex plotting, or skinny, skinny dudes and dudettes. It's often billed as "Death Note with mechas," but besides the intelligence of the main character, there's really not that much in common.