Reviews

Jun 30, 2021
Hanamonogatari's frequent malignment, or perhaps indifference, within the Monogatari series is always something that has puzzled me. It is without a doubt my favorite entry, one that is characterized by the profound, inexplicable feeling of melancholia that is left in the wake of what is perhaps the most tense, oppressive atmosphere the series has established.

Hanamonogatari, like many other arcs in the second season, is a fairly serious character deconstruction which highlights facets of the new narrator's personality that were hitherto mostly obscured. I would say this is a good thing, because as much as I often enjoy Monogatari's stream-of-consciousness banter, fourth wall breaks, and inopportune lechery (which, let's be real, quickly lost its impact/appeal no matter how tongue-in-cheek it was, but alas became a key aspect of Araragi's character and relationships), these things, as I see it, often hurt an arc's pacing or mood and actively degraded the viewer's suspension of disbelief, which sometimes made it difficult to enjoy my favorite things from the series, which, from a writing perspective, are namely the compelling characters and their growth/relationships as well as the poignant and clever arcs surrounding them. It isn't that I inherently dislike Monogatari's humor, as I in fact enjoy it more often than not, but the timing and moderation of its many gags are often handled poorly and are not always welcome in context. Many people don't feel this way, which makes it easy to appreciate how people can enjoy Isin's writing on different levels. Some call this a product of his subversive genius, at which point I am very inclined to call BS as you can extend this argument to pretty much anything given enough effort.

At any rate, this is Hanamonogatari. It is free from these potential trappings, and it is masterful. I definitely consider this to be Itamura's best directorial work within the series (and, as far as I know and expect, outside of it) and would argue that it is more impactful than either of Oishi's projects; Hanamonogatari is one of the less "eventful" arcs, and yet every scene is handled in such a way that you can feel truly feel the weight of Kanbaru's emotions and interactions, something that is facilitated by the transportive, symbolic images and deliberate pacing by which you can categorize Hanamonogatari. The cold, mathematical imagery and use of suspended objects (i.e basketballs, water droplets) that are presented as Numachi leads Kanbaru around the school, dragging her (and us viewers) into the depressing abyss that is her psyche, represent her more cynical, pragmatic nature, as well as the stagnation of her state of being (it is no coincidence that she is referred to as a swamp). By contrast, the cherry blossoms outside Kanbaru's house, from which the story takes its name, symbolize the ephemerality of Kanbaru's youth, and life itself; what could have happened to Kanbaru had she taken the same path as Numachi. Certainly an appropriate symbol for an insecure third-year who misses her seniors, but as a token of spring, the cherry blossoms also represent new beginnings, Kanbaru's humble diligence and the hope that she has for her future. I will refrain from elaborating any further to avoid spoiling specific events, but the way the importance of such simple things as Kanbaru running or falling and scraping her arm is accentuated through visual and auditoryl direction are a sight to behold, even compared to the rest of the Monogatari series.

Hanamonogatari's music was composed by Kei Haneoka, who was also responsible for the score in Tsukimonogatari and the Owarimonogatari seasons. Compared to Kousaki's scores in the rest of the series, Haneoka adopts the same style of moody ambience mixed with more jangly, upbeat television music. His compositions, however, feel more involved and progressionary, as opposed to Kousaki's more riff-based, "ringtone-y" pieces that are used throughout the majority of his soundtracks (Kizumonogatari being a notable exception). This makes individual songs less memorable, but they serve as a more appropriate backdrop, giving scenes a more immersive and dynamic emotionality that is missing from much of the series, and which no doubt contribute greatly to Hanamonogatari's intoxicating atmosphere. The opening song by Mito is standard-fare j-rock that is in line with the rest of the series, but the animation stands out as one of the most bittersweet and memorable that Monogatari has seen. The closing song is not particularly noteworthy, but has some excellent lyrics.

At its core, Hanamonogatari is a coming of age story, and includes such themes as the absurdity of youth, the transience of memories, regret, the ambiguity of good and evil, identity; our hopes and dreams and how they are molded by the people around us. It shows how close the things we love are to us, and how we all too often take them for granted. We forget, only to later remember when it is all to late. In a sense, the inexplicable melancholy that I mentioned earlier can perhaps be attributed to a sorrow-tinged feeling of deja vu, and yet Hanamonogatari is not a story that likes to dwell on the past. In fact, it places no particular importance on its own events: Kanbaru did what she wanted to do, and the punchline is that there is no punchline. The things we do in our youth are as transient as youth itself, and will ultimately be forgotten by our strongest critics. Time often does heal all wounds; maybe Numachi was wrong because she was hurting herself, but she wasn't completely wrong. At the same time, Kanbaru wasn't wrong either. She couldn't explain why she did what she did at the time, but she felt so compelled to do so that she stood at risk of losing her identity had she not. Ultimately, nobody will remember who was right and who was wrong. Of course, that is not to say that there is no right or wrong, no empathy or morals, but rather that it is a case of assigning triviality, lazing in on the the things important to us, and acknowledging the effective transience of things that exist outside of ourselves. Even Numachi, when confronted with serious issues from her clients, would refer them to the proper authorities. In a way, her circumstances are a direct parallel to the story of Hanamonogatari itself. The cruel twist to her character, however, is that she could not extend this same empathy to herself, and suffered greatly for it. She represents the ugly underside of the same coin comprised of Kanbaru and herself, the quintessence of regret we could find ourselves in at any moment. If there is a punchline, then, it would be to love yourself. A common theme, to be sure, but one that Monogatari, and especially Hanamonogatari, handles in a very nuanced and convincing way. As someone who was not particularly fond of Kanbaru's character, this is definitely the most invested I've been in the series and I would readily consider this arc my favorite.

"The only ones who can claim that regretting what you haven't done is worse [than what you have done] are immature outsiders who have never experienced the regret that comes with what you have done. But, you know, the best by far is not regretting what you've done."

Brilliant.
Reviewer’s Rating: 10
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