But what happens when we do bother to give ourselves a moment to question it? When all those problematic aspects that we once shoved to the wayside has now been given time to be mulled over? All of a sudden, an immersive experience can become questionable to what was there all along. As we settle down and pull ourselves out of the situation, that excitement once offered by that clump of gray mass has now been slowly revealed for what it truly was all along. We pull back slowly to see the bigger picture, to see the 90% that we ignored; and to our surprises, there it is, the puckered out rear-end of the elephant in the room. Rationality kicks in and the spell that was once hanging over our heads have now been broken. For better or for worse, our blind appraisal has now dialed back to something more rational. The enjoyment that the content offered us may still remain intact, but our assessment of it have changed accordingly. This discernment comes as a result of separating individual enjoyment from that of impartial analysis—or as we regular folks like to call it—"using common sense." We shift from living in the moment to retroactively assimilating the moment. Basically, we as viewers begin to establish our own form of quality-control standards, in more words or less; an act that's too often mistaken as "hating on something" when in actuality, it's quite the opposite. It's the act of fully appreciating and digesting the content, for both its good and bad attributes, instead of pretending those attributes don't coexist in the same body of work.
Ignorance may be bliss, but a proper understanding of the content you consume is true satisfaction.
Today, we'll attempt to do just that with Shingeki no Kyojin (Attack on Titan), as we snap out our trances, wipe the drool off our faces, and take a step back to view the elephant, or in this case, the clumsy naked giant in the room. And by doing so, we'll aim to comprehend what's become one of the most popular anime titles of all time.
Whether you adore or loathe it, Attack on Titan's prominence in the 2010s has made it an ambassador for anime-related content, both in and out of the anime community. And really, it's not hard to see why. It's a show that presented itself as a typical shounen product, but when viewed, comes gift-wrapped in the aesthetic sensibilities of a hardcore, grindhouse seinen feature. The equivalent of which is like parents taking their 10-year old kid to watch 2010's Kick-Ass or Super under the presumption that "it's just another Marvel family-friendly superhero film," only to be greeted with the grim reality that it's anything but. Their newly found realization of this fact coming in the form of bloody entrails being sprayed across the movie screen like celebratory confetti; a consolation prize offered up by the director for getting their assumptions wrong.
Keeping that in mind, Attack on Titan's marketing strategy was nothing short of a stroke of genius. In its 1st episode—where the falsehood of stability within a medieval town was instantly flipped on its head—an act that's commenced by a stampede of carnivorous giants tearing citizens apart in the most gruesome fashion possible; the anime community collectively "lost their shit." Seemingly overnight, viewing the show became something like a cultural event. As the selling point given to the uninitiated went something along the lines of "just wait for the twist bro!" An organic marketing tactic driven by word of mouth was born, the likes of which eventually led to it being in the top 5 most viewed anime titles, on all, if not most anime-database websites by the time the final episode aired. And now, after a few years have passed to see the effects of it in retrospect, it turns out we were witnessing the birth of a new gateway title in the making, as the show became an outsider window into the anime medium and how it falls into the current pop culture landscape at large. All of a sudden, there was a renewed interest for the Japanese import, made all the more obvious when you consider the growing number of companies that are trying to tap into the potentially lucrative market that might present itself to those willing to unearth it. A cultural bubble that's been steadily flowing beneath the business world's feet since the late 80s but with a modern-day face finally being attached, making exhuming it for profit easier than ever. This was no longer "our thing" fellow members of the anime community, this was now on its way to becoming a marketable sub-culture once again, thanks in large part to titles like AoT bringing back visibility to the medium, with its tentpole pitched high for all to see.
This slight removal of fan ownership may have led to the first noticeable wave of backlash for the show. The delicate bruised egos of long-time anime fans that don't want "their thing" being associated with the loud, brutish thrashing of AoT's typical portrayal. And honestly, it might stand to be the most superficial reason to dislike any piece of media as well. Anime as a medium doesn't get to decide what face it will wear in the public's eye, in the same way, no honest-to-God movie-buff like the face of their past-time being represented by any bloated Hollywood remake of a beloved classic.
Popular media, whether that be for music, movies, TV shows or books, are usually represented by the loudest, most accessible examples of their respective medium. Their credibility in these cases is usually secondary to their marketability. So whether you like or dislike the show, just make sure you're not doing so under the pretext of its popularity, because at that point, whatever you have to say will just fall on deaf ears, as this discernment of media is a very rudimentary fact that should be understood by most. With that being said, in an effort to get ahead of the inevitable shit show that accompanies the discussion of any popular anime, let me make my stance on the matter very clear: I LOVE Attack on Titan like a fat boy loves cake. As of the time of this writing, it's on my "top 100" favorite anime titles, while far more critically acclaimed works don't even make the final cut. It may not be seen as a substantive viewing experience, but let's face it, we all need our comfort food, and in the case of AoT, it's the show that serves that role for me—it's my McDonalds.
I see no reason to bastardize the title for its inherent mainstream appeal. That's just how it is. Any criticism or appraisal I will offer towards it from here on out will be based on what it had to offer and NOT the role projected onto it by outside forces. A true critical evaluation of anything, (favorites included), comes with the acknowledgment of both its strengths and weaknesses, not from pretending a work is lacking in either attribute. Now with that long-winded precursor out of the way, let's get on with the review.
The first and perhaps most prominent feature of AoT was its audiovisual output. It may not seem like it today, with the advent of consistently grander looking animated productions, but at the time of AoT's release, the show was seen as a high watermark for televised animated works. Alongside titles like 2011's Fate/Zero, AoT's visual presentation output took on, what was seen at that time, as the kind of attention to detail that was only afforded to animated movies. Before face-palming terms like "sakuga" was widely popularized for describing well-animated sequences for anime series, it was usually narrowed down to just a handful of moments throughout a show's run-time. With the rise of the aforementioned titles, that thought process changed, as well-animated sequences were dispersed throughout the entire runtime, at what seemed to be random intervals, as opposed to before where such efforts were reserved on the basis of selling some penultimate climactic act. Now, seemingly out of nowhere, moments that truly didn't need any extra flair was also getting the same attention-to-detail that would usually be reserved for the first and last episode of any other show. Whether you care to admit it or not, AoT's massive success played its part in paving the way for more flair in directing and presentation in anime shows to follow. But where titles like Fate/Zero only found popularity in the anime community's upper echelons, AoT went on to find even greater success, becoming a household name for even those unfamiliar with the anime culture altogether.
The art and animation were simply boundary-pushing. For the first time in a long time, fluidity wasn't treated as a secondary concern. Layered textures and shading weren't placed on limited supply. Choreography wasn't immediately reduced to speed-lines and the infamous "cut to black" shots to insinuate movement. Backgrounds weren't just scene-placeholders to avoid figuring out the topography of the land in order to give locations a sense of existence. Wonky character models weren't just accepted as a byproduct of "because of the budget." AoT proved that there was a better standard worth aiming for. And no, I'm not saying these techniques or shortcomings weren't found in AoT, they certainly were, but the degree to which the show relied on these techniques to avoid having to extensively animate, direct, or compose scenes, were significantly less, while at the same time, having a noticeable increase in favorable choices usually thought of as rare exceptions.
The bombastic orchestral musical selection, cleanly rendered 3D animation, well-choreographed action scenes, great use of cinematography, anatomically precise character movement, directing tricks usually reserved for live-action films; all of this and more made it an immediate hit with viewers.
It was grand, dare I say it, even "epic." A sense of scale that felt absent in too many shows at the time. Where most action-orientated anime settled for locations that didn't amount to anything but battlefield backdrops, AoT tapped into a storytelling fundamental that the shounen genre all but abandoned: worldbuilding. This may not seem all that significant for a seasoned viewer that bothers to forage through the entries of yesteryear, but for the less-experienced viewer who've only accustomed themselves to the drab landscape offered up by a limited selection of underbaked locations usually presented by this genre; effectively, what AoT did was stimulate an interest that many viewers didn't realize they were yearning for. An interest that makes the biggest difference between memorable or forgettable stories. This creative decision was perhaps the biggest reason owed towards the show's continued success beyond its audiovisual marketing.
But before we could dive into how cool those Spiderman-like web-slinging city-dive shots were or what it meant for the action scenes, we must first examine the massive undertaking that the creators dedicated towards AoT's worldbuilding that made all of it possible.
It's no coincidence that the show effectively opens up by introducing us to the walled-off city and the architectural structures of the buildings inside. Or better yet, the scale of these structures when pitted against the monstrous threat that inhabits this world. All of this was done to help start the process of setting the stage. Something the anime will continuously do throughout its run. You see, proper worldbuilding doesn't just stop with establishing shots, it's something that's supposed to expand alongside the story to help accommodate the content placed in it. And in the case of AoT, that means a whole lot of inventive action, intriguing locations, and tactile environments that feel every bit as convincing to anything found in the real world.
From the title cards inserted at the halfway point to the medieval-inspired European houses, there's not a moment where the show isn't making the viewer privy to new world details, visual landmarks, and macroeconomic world functions. It cultivated a lived-in world for its inhabitants by reinforcing the means of living, the area layout of its civilians, even things that may be perceived as trivial, like the functionality of the weapons that the military uses. You see, in order for things to feel important, you must first give the viewer a sense of existence in the world, to be able to grasp what's at stake for those within it. So later on, when this once considered "useless" knowledge festers in the back of the viewer's mind — seeing the limitations of citizen mobility, the seemingly endless maze of alleyways, and the sense of hopelessness experienced by humanity when cornered by the evil forces out to get them — all of a sudden, the viewer is now standing there with them and not simply on the outside looking in.
Many action movies like 2006's Casino Royale or 2008's Taken don't have to worry about most of this because its world and locations are already accepted as is; this is the true advantage of live-action. This is why James Bond and his antics have very little hurdles to cross to make the audience accept what's going on because the world they're placed in is our own world. It's "real." AoT, and similarly any animated feature, isn't alotted that immediate acceptance, something that's often taken for granted. If the world isn't thought out, it's hard to get enveloped in it. So when you're running your fingers across the rough surface of a moss-covered stone, creeping through the back streets occupied by the dilapidated housing of the common people; their homes built up by lumber that's slightly weathered by decay; contrasted by the sturdy, clutter-free appearance of the religious facility, with its towering structure shooting up over the houses dwarfed below. Or simply lying under a tree, as the grass and blue wildflowers surrounding you are rustled by the breeze, the endless stretch of Wall Maria looming in the background, registering no comment from the citizens, as they accept it just as much as you accept the Pyramids or Eiffel Tower as real-life landmarks; you're getting a firsthand experience of all of this worldbuilding detail at play. You may not be aware of it, but somewhere in your subconscious, these registered efforts are sinking in.
Regardless of what tonal issues the show may have towards the interaction of its world — and trust me, there are some serious issues — the actual worldbuilding itself is pretty solid.
But enough talk about the important things in the background that makes this all work, let's discuss the fun shit that everyone could comprehend; those awesome ass Spiderman-like, web-slinging city-dive shots! Tetsurou Araki, the madman behind this stroke of directorial genius, is no stranger to over-heightened, summer blockbuster-style action. Before AoT, he gave us the most unnecessarily intense, borderline comical potato chip eating scene in Death Note; the physics-defying Matrix boobs bullet-time effects of High School of the Dead; and who could forget, the booty-shorts wearing, boat-hopping leapfrog shoot-out scene from episode 3 of Black Lagoon. When it comes to directing the hell out of an action scene, regardless of how ridiculous the final outcome may be, very few come close to Araki. He's basically the self-aware version of Michael Bay/Zach Synder for anime.
But there's a lot more that goes into making these action scenes work. For one, Araki seemed to have a good grasp on capturing field-of-depth by allowing the foreground and background enough space to properly breathe. Without that discernment, the show could have easily become a muddled mess of incomprehensible motion (think most shaky-cam scenes for action movies). Where it could have turned into a nauseating rollercoaster ride of unnecessary directing techniques, Araki was able to demonstrate restraint when the scene called for it. Which may seem like an odd thing to say with a show that quite literally has people flying across cities and giant naked people trying to eat them.
Another aspect that helped give the action scenes staying power was the sheer amount of diversity given to not only the battle locations but also the titans themselves. From the claustrophobic feeling given off by the town environment to the woodland dominated by towering trees, every battlefield is given careful consideration for the fighting forces of humanity and the titans they come against.
But what good is all of this appraisal of the show's action scenes without addressing the second biggest highlight: the music. "Heavy-hitting" is possibly the best way to quickly describe what the music selection here has to offer. Like Araki, who's reputable track record has brought him fame and appraisal within the anime industry, so too is the case for the man behind the music of AoT, Hiroyuki Sawano. Sawano's musical style can best be described as a mixture of orchestral and electronic. By blending the traditional with that of contemporary music, he's able to give a feeling of timeless familiarity, while simultaneously retrofitting it for a modern audience. With booming brass instruments starting off the charge, primal drums flowing in the undercurrent like a steady heartbeat, the crooning of an incoming choir ascending from the center, and string sections that cascade into the mix with a signature snare; this soundtrack elevates the anime like a shot of pure adrenaline! Riling up the viewer for the events to come.
There's a wonderful symbiotic relationship shared between the audio and visual department of AoT; the kind of dance between elements that's rarely ever this unified. Given Sawano's work on Mobile Suit Gundam Unicorn, Guilty Crown and several other projects before getting involved with AoT, the vetting process was far behind him. What we got, as a result, was someone comfortable with his craft. A kind of swagger only obtainable by true experience.
With the directing of Araki at the helm, Sawano's musical prowess propelling it even further, and the efforts of every other crew member involved, the end result was a type of synchronicity that felt every bit as planned as it did coincidental gatherings of the right people for the job. Sawano's sense of auditory dramatics melded perfectly with Araki's pension for high-octane content, both of which lend itself perfectly to Hajime's writing style that focuses on melodrama and theatrics. What we have on display here was a perfect storm of individual thinkers all working towards the same core sentiments. And while that flare for the dramatic may have worked in the favor of most of what was presented, in some aspects, the outcome was a bit... juvenile.
Which brings me to a presentation decision that may have served as the first point of contention for most viewers of the show: the hammy, over-the-top voice-acting.
The screenplay for this anime seemed to have been composed entirely of capital letters and exclamation marks. It's the kind of absurd overacting that someone like Nicolas Cage might employ on one of his many B-movie escapades. But here, it's played without the slightest hint of sarcasm. And while I found this to be an amusing attribute, and honestly another reason why I enjoyed AoT, given my soft spot for schlock/B-grade content. For most not acclimated into that realm of entertainment, scoffing at these performances may be an involuntary reaction. And for those that do find this annoying, I completely understand.
The general approach taken went something along the lines of this:
-Any other anime: "Let's come up with a plan to get out of this situation."
V.S
-Attack on Titan: "OMFG BRO, LIKE WTF, WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!!! LET'S THINK OF SOMETHING WHILE SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF OUR LUNGS, EVEN IF WE'RE SURROUNDED BY TITANS AND TRYING NOT TO DRAW ATTENTION TO OURSELVES AT THE MOMENT!!!! OK!?!??!"
I wish I was being hyperbolic here, but this is what AoT does on constant repeat. The concept of "inside voices" was completely lost in this universe. So while I may laugh hysterically at the sheer madness of the voice actors seemingly being prompted to "unleash their inner crackhead," I'm in no way condoning this as some positive aspect.
And since we're addressing the issues of AoT at this point, I guess it's time we address the clumsy naked giants in the room: the story and characters.
For every appraisal I've lobbied at AoT for its worldbuilding, the same number of issues can be found with the story that takes place in it. In the process of picking up the ball dropped by many other shounens, AoT accidentally tossed the story down a flight of stairs, where it seemingly suffered a concussion on its long way down. AoT's story was plagued with several issues, one of which may perhaps be one of the worst kinds of narrative conceits: the mystery box. And what I mean by that is that you're watching 25 episodes of "stuff" happen, but nowhere is there a conclusion, or better yet, a sense of purpose or finality to any of it. Cohesiveness is missing, instead, what we have is a series of "and then" plotting choices, as is usually the symptom of anything relying on the mystery box appeal to sell its feature.
If you're reading this, you've either seen AoT or heard enough about it to understand the general idea, so I won't waste my time regurgitating information you could simply find in a synopsis. What we will discuss, however, are the ways these narrative decisions ended up hurting the show. And if that means exposing the number of calories in my unhealthy comfort food as a result, so be it.
AoT is erratic. Having nothing to truly say or no insurmountable goal it's trying to get to means that it could, and did, become one hell of a journey. When your story becomes akin to an unpredictable roller coaster ride of happenings, all to reach an elusive mystery that's ill-defined, yet naked to all those paying attention to it; the sheer level of sensationalized theatrics that the creators could tap into is bound only by their ability to imagine it. This, as a result, ensured that every episode of AoT was marked off with a huge cliffhanger. It basically became voluntary visual entropy. Like the genius behind its organic viral marketing, this scatterbrained approach to "just go with it" storytelling, under the guise of knowing what exactly you're doing, ended up creating some truly spectacular firework displays. It worked in the past for live-action TV shows like Lost, is currently the reason that One Piece can span onward for eons, and will be the reason that AoT will carry that baton into the future.
Success in the eyes of the business world breathes this dilemma: make a true-to-self statement or appease others for personal benefit. You could try to have it both, but that's a goal rarely obtainable; compromise is almost inevitable. If this wasn't apparent enough, AoT's creator, Hajime Isayama, has also gone on record many times admitting to several changes he's made to his original idea for the material, all of which correlate with the reaction given by outside forces. This wasn't done out of an artistic effort to give the "true" experience he envisioned, but simply because the studio heads and newfound fanbase surrounding the project started yelling "we need more!"
It's this same kind of push for more, regardless of what it means to the original vision, that was expressed out loud from the likes of Kazuhiko Torishima of Dragon Ball fame, where he openly stated in an interview that "-it should’ve been wrapped up with the Frieza Saga.” but cited the commonly expressed truth that when something becomes so big and popular, at some point, your vision becomes much more than simply "your thing." Eventually, everyone takes selfish ownership. In the public domain, self-entitlement is an ugly beast that's yet to be tamed. Hundreds of episodes later, and clearly "ending it at Frieza saga" wasn't the case.
"George Lucas is selfish because he won't give the public distribution rights for the original Star Wars screening. Marvel "sold out" because they gave up their movie rights to The Mouse." — there's really no winning this argument either way. The power of the dollar trumps all. The power of demanding fans trumps all. And sometimes, that also includes artistic integrity. AoT became another statistic.
But now we're starting to enter a morbid place, so let's get back to that fun shit! Time to address one of AoT's most talked about features: the shock and awe of its excessive violence.
The violence is the feature that links the "characters" to the story. I use the term "characters" loosely, as its mostly just a wide range of stock-piled cannon fodder; where only being characterized enough to only get a cast mention would be the equivalent of a death sentence. And I'm not talking about any beautiful send-off, as the music slowly swells into a crescendo, I'm talking some really heinous shit! You don't just "die" in Attack on Titan, you are torn limb from limb! You become the center attraction of abject horror! By the time one of these "characters" leave this earth, their arm is stuck somewhere ontop a rooftop, while their torso is halfway down the throat of a naked giant with down-syndrome eyes, munching down without a care in the world. AoT is high caliber schlock. Schlock that transcends to the upper echelons of Tarantino blood-splatter. Schlock that rides the coattails of exploitative media. Cannibal Holocaust would be proud.
It's honestly one of my favorite aspects of the show, but let's just be clear, being a favorite aspect doesn't mean it's a good one. This is my McDonalds after all, let's not forget that. You see, the problem with reducing your "characters" into a Russian Roulette spin of "what person can we brutally kill next?" is that it divides them into two exacerbated sides:
1.) plot armored to gross extremes
2.) expendable to gross extremes.
When main characters are shown surviving death-flag incidents against all odds, despite what the universe shows you about said chances for other characters involved, it renders their upward mobility to success charitable. Even contrived at times. The screenwriter's pen begins to leave creases into the product. There's a clear line made, as clear as their heavy marker-like character outlines. And once you notice who's in the safe zone, it's hard to unsee it. It becomes a blemish for those taking the show seriously. Me, not so much, I knew my McDonalds wasn't nutritional from the moment I purchased it. But for the ones who bought the snake oil, expecting more, that absence of care would be frustrating, to say the least.
And on the opposite side of the creased-outline, we have the fodder. People who are made solely for their eventual deaths. It's like watching people lined up before a gun firing squad. You start remembering them for how they died rather than who they were. They become a part of the blood splattered decoration, their remains paint the walls, the rest, a pile of bodily fluid, covered in stomach acid, left out in the sun to bake, (Did I mention that the deaths were gruesome?) In all seriousness though, AoT's characters are not good in the slightest. They're there to facilitate either cool fight scenes or cool death scenes; there's really no in-between.
And when death becomes a party trick and character success a hand-out, the tension, the stakes, everything, suddenly means so little.
I love AoT, but at no point can I take it seriously, because it's a show that's shown me time and time again that it doesn't even care about itself enough beyond spectacle. For AoT, integrity is a secondhand concept to theatrics. It's schlock entertainment with an A-Grade budget, an as such, some of the best in the medium. But that's where the appraisal begins and ends. Because when the momentary high is over, when I recline back in my couch, settle in, swallow the last bite of that comfort food, my stomach immediately growls and I find myself on the porcelain throne, purging that "good-time" out with projectile accuracy, while simultaneously dispensing a can of Febreeze, creating an artificial cloud to cover my nostrils.
And you know what's the fucked up part? I'm sure I'll still be coming back to have second helpings. There's more to life than veggies, we all need our comfort food, whether we choose to openly admit it, or shamefully hide behind terms like "guilty pleasure." So go ahead, bite into your BigMac and do it without shame, because I'll be the last person to ever cast judgment.
