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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.

This review contains spoilers.

Madoka Magica is a series that has carved a niche for itself among anime fans with its adult take on a genre that is typically catered towards children. So much so, in fact, that the previous sentence has become a redundant thing to say about the show, and anyone planning to watch Madoka Magica has long been aware of what to expect from it. Was this niche, however, established as a result of presenting entertaining and compelling ideas, or was the mere novelty of its concept and the technical marvel of Shaft enough to explain the reputation and acclaim that it has ... garnered? As I see it, the latter explanation proves to be the more plausible, as the series has far too many faults, and I am of the opinion that these faults tarnish the experience Shaft has set out to create with Madoka Magica.

Lets start by talking about the characters, as a large portion of this show focuses on the drama between them. You essentially have a group of middle school girls who largely act like middle aged adults that have every which thing to say about topics such as the nature of wishes, the meaning of responsibility, and morality; This is a direct and jarring contrast to how we see them act when its time for them to provide their service to the plot (more on that soon). The former matter would not even be a problem if an explanation as to why middle school girls were specifically chosen did not exist, and the character demographic was a mere aesthetic choice (Thus taking the magical realist approach of other mahou shoujo). The reason, however, does exist (that reason being """Science,""" which, as an aside, is part of a lore dump that makes no sense considering that a certain being's wish-granting powers are just as capable of bending the laws of physics), and so its imperative that middle school girls, well, act like middle school girls.

And so, when they're not busy spilling their tired philosophical musings (Forget consistent characterization, ever heard of showing and not telling?), and to accomodate the vague, unsubstantial idea that any wish will inevitably bring about some sort of distortion and despair (The notion on which the entire plot is built), characters act in the most confounding ways. One, for example, despairs because of certain circumstances that spring up surrounding the subject of her wish. This could have easily been avoided through simple, straightforward communication, and yet despite the fact that this character seemed to be, up to this point, the most outgoing and altruistic member of the cast, she lashes out at her friend and is set onto a downward spiral for a reason that should not have bothered her that much to begin with had she truly been as charitable as the series made her out to be, and thus the true nature of her wish is revealed. This would have made sense if she was secretly self-serving all along, but it is later revealed that this is not the case and that she was ultimately accepting of the way things turned out, which is a direct contradiction to her earlier feelings. Another character becomes keen on hunting this girl down and killing her for the reason that she is repeating the same mistake she has made in the past and is not fit to be a magical girl. Just days later, without having attained any new perspective on said girl, this character develops an inseperable bond with her, and her perspective becomes infinitely less crude in what seems to be a completely magical case of character development. The way that this character despairs is entirely nonsensical and is truly head-scratching for such a pragmatic girl who had already suffered far more serious consequences regarding her wish.

For a vast majority of the show, Madoka feels like little more than a plot device put in place to constantly ask questions and provide more of the previously mentioned philosophizing and exposition from other characters. Needless to say, this is a very lazy and unnatural method of character and worldbuilding. Besides this, she's a very archetypical "nice girl"-type character who is mindful of her friends. While this makes her rather bland, this also ironically results in her being the most believable character because she does not engage in the same outlandish dialogues and actions as the other girls. She also exhibits the most believable development of any character in the latter half of the series.

A character making poor decisions obviously bears no connection to how well they are characterized. A good character will almost always make bad choices. The problem is that these decisions should be consistent with who they were before making them and learning from the consequences that follow. In Madoka Magica, the most pivotal decisions are also the ones that make the least sense, and the excuse that they are pubescent schoolgirls seems far too slippery and convenient (especially considering they don't act as such for the majority of the show!) to explain behavior that borders on bipolar. This is all to service a plot built on the collapse of hope, because apparently no matter what kind of change you envision for the world, whether big or small, there exists the stipulation that you are never fully capable of bearing the consequences of that change, and you succumb to despair. Yikes.

More logically, the nature of the wish being called upon would determine whether it becomes distorted or not, and not the act of wishing itself. But of course, Urobuchi needed a device that that would consistently breed the same result in order to establish a cyclical mechanism of despair, and so I imagine his thought process was something along the lines of "Hope is a common theme in mahou shoujo, and twisting it in this way fits way too conveniently with my agenda to pass it up, even if it is entirely diminutive and unrepresentative of reality in this state." The series tries to be as gritty and "adult" as possible in its deconstruction of the genre, and thus fails to properly decontextualize magical girl tropes by making a similar, tonally antithetical mistake in oversimplifying its concepts. This often borders on utter indifference or nihilism, as dialogues (and not events, because that would be far too nuanced for this show) explore ideas such as the fact that gratitude does not beget responsibility, that your good deeds will bring about an equal amount of suffering to cancel them out, and that the only way to end the suffering of a cycle is to give into the natural process.

The next paragraph contains major spoilers regarding the finale.

This persists until the finale, which hardly improves things, essentially implying that humanity cannot move forward without the guidance of an omnipotent presence to bear the burden of despair born from hope (This concept continues to be extremely clumsy and hackneyed to me, but there's an obvious parallel to Christianity here). This isn't the only time the show actively insults the power of the human will and autonomy, as in the alternate history of Madoka Magica it is suggested that humans would have never their cave dwellings were it not for the involvement of an alien race. The flip side of this ending has to do with a girl's choice to sacrifice herself in order to end an endless cycle of despair, for both the world and for her invisible friend, but the way this is presented is as a choice done both in service to and in spite of a world that is inherently bad, rather than one that is a mix of both. If in the world there exist countless magical girls throughout every age that are ready to sacrifice their freedom and well-being to improve humanity, why is the world as miserable of a place as the show wants you to think? What separates these girls from Madoka, besides some mumbo-jumbo plot device in "Karmic Destiny" (which, symbolically doesn't represent much more than the hopes and expections Homura has for her; Are we supposed to believe that everyone else in the world of Madoka Magica is completely alone?)? The disappointing truth is that there is no answer to these questions, because Madoka Magica's worldbuilding is a miserable, skeletal affair. Beyond the preconceptions of its own misguided philosophy, the show does nothing to display the various dark facets of humanity, as literally nothing evil or cruel actually takes place (if you can believe it!). The one exception to this, which involves a certain train scene, is so on-the-nose and exaggerated that it's extremely difficult to take seriously. And believe you me, this is a show that wants you to take it quite seriously.

To the very end, Madoka Magica is a series that adopts a jaded and reductive view of humanity which gives little to reflect on besides the sheer gloom and cheapness of its psychological horror and shocking images.

What of the plot, then? If thematically it fails as a deconstruction, does the structure of Madoka Magica's plot elevate the show to reasonable enough heights that match the praise people so often heap onto it? My answer is a readily articulated, resounding "no". It's actually amusing how trite the story ends up being. The entirety of the plot is practically built on two twists that follow one another towards the end of the series; both are incredibly predictable, and the second of these is heavily foreshadowed, so you have no choice but to watch as the show descends further into mediocrity and it employs an overused narrative device in what ends up being the most unimaginative way possible. The end result is anything but original outside the context of magical girl shows, which is apparently the standard by which people judge this series (Even then, it fails to meet that standard in every other way). You could, in fact, parallel the first 11 episodes to a particular, significantly popular series and the final episode to the finale of a certain cult classic without losing much nuance in the process (I will obviously refrain from naming said shows to avoid spoiling them). In the end, the story of Madoka Magica serves as little more than a genre curiosity for adult fans of Mahou Shoujo and break-the-cutie fetishists. Besides the finale, which I discussed in the above spoiler section, there is little more to discuss in the way of plot because the rest of the series is largely spent on exposition and character drama.

I've been highly critical of the show up to this point, so why the average score? Well, this has much to do with Akiyuki Shinbo's distinctive visual style of direction which has long since set the high standard of animation for which Shaft has become known. Abstract, geometric room designs, highly aesthetic symmetric shots, fish-eye effects, closeups and head tilts, mirrors and their reflections, it's all there. Adept at visual storytelling, Shinbo really knows how to set a scene to make it feel empty, tense, serene, halcyonic, or desolate while also including subtle symbolisms to reflect the character's emotions or subjects of conversation. Inside witch's barriers in particular are quite intriguing with their feverish, dark cabaret-style abstractions that make the series' battle sequences very memorable and unique. Additionally, Yuki Kaijura's score is as titillating and atmospheric as you would expect it to be, and I found that none of the compositions here ever reached the excessive bombast that I occasionally have problems with in her soundtracks. The cast of seiyuus do an excellent job conveying the various extremes of emotion that the characters experience in the show. All of these technical triumphs serve to create a compelling, immersive experience that is largely betrayed by poorly written characters, themes, and a highly clichéd plot, which is why I can unfortunately not speak well of this series despite its strengths.