The animation and visual direction of Hibike interconnect with each other to create a naturalistic setting. Taking place in the spring, its palette emphasises soft and warm tones, particularly in the shots that include reflections and openings from the sunlight as it peers into a building. There is a meticulous level of detail on display, with interior designs that use wide shots to reveal rows of chairs arranged in uniform to the edge of the room, coupled with empty cups and disorganised stacks of paper months in the making that give its world a real lived-in feel. Much as these wide shots give a comprehensive view of locale, this naturalistic presence is frequently suggested in its closer compositions, creating a distinctly recognisable aspect of design. In a manner evocative of the more restrictive camera setups of an older director like John Ford, the camera further emphasises this naturalistic feeling by embedding its camera into the environment itself, including background details of its architecture or of extras stood inside the frame, which appear with a level of closeness highly unprecedented for an anime production. This naturalistic positioning of the camera is exemplified in the shots where it is blocked by the environment, as in the cases where cars will drive past and block the view of the characters, or the way that falling sakura petals will fall through and obscure the whole frame, sometimes coinciding with a full screen wipe as the scene changes. Through the addition of these extra details, it creates a level of crowding on the frame, which compounds the level of atmosphere, and it is through such a focused and naturalistic use of detailing that the series manages to capture that specific feeling of going to the convenience store or taking the train late in the evening and noticing how the artificial neon light and the absence of other people create a level of palpable emptiness.
Although the visual direction is routinely excellent, Hibike Euphonium 3’s approach to location appears to have a much narrower scope when viewed alongside its predecessors. For a slice of life series, the amount of scenes inside of Kumiko’s home are rather limited, only used in selective, calculated instances where another family member will speak to her to illustrate a point in service of the narrative. This makes for an approach to location that lacks that Yasujiro Ozu quality common to many KyoAni works, an aspect of design that would give its characters much more room to breathe and advance the emotional underpinnings of the narrative in a more pronounced way. It’s not just the home, but scenes exploring the parks, bridges, cafes, and other miscellaneous places in the city (as in previous entries) adds a lot of depth to the setting, but this is an aspect which is utilised sparingly and, much like with the cases with Kumiko’s home, only by plot necessity.
The approach to location is one that devalues the naturalism created by the art direction, and this issue is exasperated in the handling of new characters. Recalling side characters from previous seasons such as Kanade or Yuuko, they are effective as supporting characters that are complementary to the overall class balance. By having an established presence, they then develop an interesting situation when the plot trajectory puts them into the forefront, giving them a level of recognisability and substance. By comparison, the new characters introduced in Hibike Euphonium 3 exist not to add life to the class dynamic, but more out of pure necessity – the most memorable of the new kohai is the one who likes to talk about the Yayoi period, and as to why exactly someone who likes history so much is in the band and not the history club is a mystery that goes unaddressed, but it isn’t very important.
Mayu, a third-year transfer, is uniquely important, but is distinct from all the other side characters as her presence in the story is as a plot device first, and as an actual character second. Her arc, as a mirror to Kumiko’s earlier, less confident self, is established early on, which manifests itself in Mayu constantly asking Kumiko in the lead up to the Kansai competition if it’d be better if she resigned. This really doesn’t enhance the viewer’s understanding of Mayu as a character, it doesn’t recontextualise Kumiko’s understanding of herself, it is, in the plainest of terms, Mayu asking the same question every episode, and Kumiko responding in the same way, and this leads to Mayu feeling rather hollow as a character. They establish various behaviours that indicate her lack of confidence, but it’s never really used for any significant narrative function. Apart from being tedious, this results in the season feeling like it suffers from a misuse of resources, so much of it is centred on the Kansai competition that by the time they actually have to practice for the Nationals, there’s barely any time dedicated to it, and the narrative threads that would normally be in place to provide extra depth or weight to this moment were all used for Kansai instead. They seem to have gotten it backwards, giving large surrounding circumstances to the small event, while the actual large event feels small, almost an obligatory presence. Of its 13 episodes, only 2 are dedicated to the Nationals, while close to 10 of them are dedicated to Mayu’s hesitancy. At its best, Hibike raises a whole class of interesting characters to produce interweaving and interconnecting dramas throughout the series, but this is not Hibike at its best. It only produces one real source of conflict, and it is one that is so static as neither side chooses to concede that it reveals nothing, it is more obnoxious than it is dramatic.
Kant said that “The sublime is to be found in an object even devoid of form, so far as it immediately involves, or else by its presence provokes, a representation of limitlessness, yet with a super-added thought of its totality.” This is what an orchestra should invoke, and this is why so much of the series is dedicated to the idea of finding a way to interconnect the feelings conveyed through music with those that one feels, but struggles to adequately convey to others. The issue with the central conflict of the series is that it avoids any real development in allowing either side to produce an emotional idea, dedicating more time to this narrative thread in lieu of allowing Mayu and Kumiko to develop a relationship in which they would both be able to explore their respective feelings and find ways to learn more about each other, and by extension the music they perform.
Although there is a lot of emotional investment generated by Hibike Euphonium 3, a lot of it is misapplied through such a focus on its singular Mayu-Kumiko issue, which manages to detract from the comprehensive experience – certainly, for something that is so naturalistic on the visual plane, it comes across as distinctly unnatural that Mayu wouldn’t just stop bringing it up after a while. In a world of Alien 3, Godfather 3, Rambo 3, or =3 by Ray William Johnson, historical precedent does normally dictate that the third one ranges from mediocre to abysmal. So, in a global historical context, Hibike Euphonium 3 is actually impressive for its level of achievement, but in the context of its own series, it does leave a lingering feeling that while each individual episode’s direction and design is excellent, the overarching narrative is below its own standard.
