“To ride, shoot straight, and speak the truth,
this was the ancient law of youth.”
For Kino, the riding and the shooting come easily enough. But in a series of encounters with strange places and people, she quickly learns that the truths of the world are far harder to grasp than the motorcycle's handlebars, or the grips of the revolver.
Kino's world is an attractive wash of natural pastels, with earthy yellows, greens, and browns taking the center stage. The backgrounds aren't highly detailed, but they match the tones and colors we associate with nature, and they're striking in their consistency and the impression of a vast world that they manage to convey. It's all lovingly lit, and the show occasionally shows off a highly realistic reflection of sunlight off of standing water or snow. The animation is fluid and smooth, with not a stutter to be seen even during scenes of quick action. The editing follows the trend of simplistic beauty set by most of the show's technical aspects, with the visual focus often lingering appropriately on items that are important to the underlying themes.
The same could be said of the sound. This is the facet of the show that's the least obvious; what little music there is is soft and understated, typically consisting of a series of slow drum beats or simple chords played on a stringed instrument. On its own, the score isn't a blast to listen to, but I can't imagine one that would have better fit the tone of the narrative. More often than not, the series is content to rely on light atmospheric noise, such as the wind whistling in the trees, the sound of snow falling from branches, the rush of water, or the labored breathing of the protagonist. Artificial sound effects are used sparsely but superbly, with the echo of a lonely gunshot often carrying surprising weight and meaning. Often there is complete silence, and as an audience member, I did not yearn for more noise. The series is one of quiet contemplation, and that suits it.
Kino's Journey is episodic; with the notable exception of a two-episode plot, all of its entries are self-contained, telling one story in twenty minutes. This is both a strength and a weakness. On the plus side, it allows the series to tackle a large number of themes and ideas without them all blurring awkwardly together, as they might in a single larger story. It would be difficult to have a continuous thirteen episode story do justice to the themes of censorship, tradition, the nature of kindness and evil, imagination, faith, and many others, but through its ability to contain each of these within one story, Kino's Journey arguably pulls it off. The price paid for this is consistency in the quality of the episodes, which suffer from a little bit of hit-or-miss. A lot of them are great stories, and there's at least one that I wouldn't hesitate to describe as a masterpiece, but there are several others that simply don't stack up to the high standards the series sets for itself early on. Adding all of the episodes together, the result is a pleasant viewing experience, but one that's a little uneven, flickering back and forth between “brilliant” and “decent.” Some shows are greater than the sum of their parts; Kino's Journey has parts that are greater than its sum.
Characters? Well, the obvious starting point is the enigmatic dead-eye, Kino. An inherently interesting character for many reasons. She's perceptive beyond her years, often noting things about people that they might not even realize themselves. She appreciates life, be it human or animal, and in spite of her reputation as a sharpshooter, she won't pull the trigger unless it's unavoidable. Despite having a decidedly checkered past, she's opted to look at the world as a beautiful place rather than tread the path of cynicism or self-pity. An excellent counterpoint is provided by the talking motorcycle, Hermes. A childish pragmatist with a simpler view of the world, he often asks Kino the kind of difficult questions that children ask, as if curious about why her moral compass works the way it does.
As memorable a character as Kino is, the series ultimately stops short of building her up as much as it could have. What little we know about her is precious information. She often wears the mask of the stoic observer, content to calmly watch the actions of the societies she visits, and not get involved. She's an interesting character because of that stoicism, but the strongest moments of the series are when it breaks down and she's profoundly affected by something that she does or witnesses. Those moments, unfortunately, are few in number. Her journey is a veritable tapestry of great and terrible things, but what's missing from the equation is the knowledge of how those things affect her in the long run. A personal note, something to tie the two halves of the show's title together, is what was needed, and the experience suffers just a little bit from its absence.
All of that being said, this is an excellently written and lovingly animated series that raises several insightful questions about life and the world around us, and obviously series like that aren't common. Mature in its themes and compelling in its execution, Kino's Journey is an admirable venture that I have no problem recommending.
