Maybe the most impressive angle the show gets right is how to handle Tomoya’s relationship with his daughter, Ushio. Ushio could have easily been a pandering, gushing portrayal of a child, but the show gives her time to be a little frustrating and enigmatic. Tomoya’s Journey from deadpan, unenthused pseudo-parent into sincere warmth and commitment isn’t anything we haven’t seen before, but after watching at such a gradual pace his own resentments and piling depression, the impact of this change is given the space it needs to be fully satisfying and believable. When it finally sinks in that the protection and care of Ushio must be the new focal point of his life, Tomoya’s dysfunctional relationship with the past - while far from totally healed - buds into a deeper acceptance, and with this acceptance Tomoya is able to pass down to Ushio that iconic song: Dango, Dango, Dango… What was once a humorous signifier for Nagisa’s childish personality has become a marker for transition and tradition: a relic from a missing person’s memory passed down to her child.
Just when things are getting unbearably emotional, fan-favorite Fukko is finally reintegrated into the series, now awake from her coma and continuing to wreak havoc with her adorably deranged personality. It’s refreshing to spend time with her again, but also a reminder for Tomoya that any women he meets in his current life just… will not and cannot satisfy him the way Nagisa did.
An unfortunate flaw of this season was the lack of Kotomi. While she is given the chance to deliver some thematically resonant ho-tep wisdom about the existential mysteries of the universe, she remains absent (along with the majority of the original Clannad clan) for roughly 100% of the season. While I understand the thematic and situational utility of having these characters disappear, it would have been beyond fitting if, say, following the heartbreaking sequence in which Ushio dies in Tomoya’s arms, that the episode cut to Kotomi performing an iconic free jazz violin solo, showing off her toes, or pulling one of her classic pranks. A missed and golden opportunity if you ask a Kotomi kin like myself!
Eventually, the show spirals into high tragedy and heartbreak and the passing years leap far out of our grasp, and yet the spiritual world - a zone of shifting identities, rebirth, and mystery - never leases its grip on the show. no matter how distant the slapstick fantasies of the first season seem in the face of After Story's unexpected realism, it's this spiritual world that offers a helping hand of uplift. Despite how taxing and harsh the basic realities of adult life are and will always be, it's within the spiritual life of the city Tomoya resents so much that he's given a second chance. The final image of After Story appears after a jarring yet fitting outburst of timeline-shifting mystery; Fuko spots sleeping Ushio under a park tree: a sharply simplistic image of innocence and rebirth. In the context such a fiercely tragic season, this final frame glimmers with reassurance… Many reviewers refer to this as one of the most depressing shows you’ll ever watch, and while it’s not hard to see why, these last gasps of warmth are generously sweet and contribute in a major way to the show’s staying power.
