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I don’t consider myself easy to impress, and harbor a considerable amount of skepticism when it comes to anime in particular. The state of the industry and Japan’s own questionable ethics more often than not lead to incomplete adaptations, overreliance on tropes, tendency to pander, and plenty other undesirable practices in the medium.

Suffice to say, anime as a medium has yet to evolve to the level of films or literature, and as such I choose to keep my expectations rather low with every coming season. Sure, you have your hard-hitters like Vinland Saga and Demon Slayer, but then there’s the expected boatload of isekai, or ... series with potential but fall into mediocrity--for me and plenty of others, To the Abandoned Sacred Beasts was one such show. And even then, the hard-hitters often are not something I personally find enthralling, since they tend to fall under specific tropes palatable to very young teenagers; or as we call them, shounen. Don’t get me wrong, I’m onboard with that every once in a while, but there’s only so much of it I can take before a medium of seemingly endless potential and imagination begins to feel surprisingly safe and sterile.

To be clear, I’m not trying to diss anime as a whole. Plenty other mediums have their own problems, especially in their infancy period. Anime is a medium I love and support, and as such I’m all too aware of the drawbacks I’ve come to expect while digging my way through the depths in search of anime that are true standouts. And it’s because of this that the level of enjoyment I had watching Cop Craft is truly precious. If you’re like me, you’ve certainly had reservations or mixed feelings about Cop Craft’s reveal, particularly in the context of Japan’s ever-so-uncomfortable liking for small girls. Some of those same people went on to be pleasantly surprised, just like I was, at its first episode. As for me alone, I kept watching to where it would become one of my most cherished anime in recent memory.

My love for crime-focused shows and films akin to Lethal Weapon, The Sopranos, and the like had sold me on the show within minutes. After some more time of watching, I was then engrossed by the character chemistry and splendid dialogue. And with wild supernatural elements, fantastical concepts, and bizarre sci-fi all welded cohesively into a thrilling buddy-cop drama, Cop Craft stands as another showcase of what anime as a medium, compared to live-action, is truly capable of pulling off.

Before I go any further, however, I must address the elephant in the room. Yes, this show has serious problems with its production, which many people are aware of due to the damaging effect it's had on animation and pacing. Cop Craft's overall quality undeniably suffers as a result, but I feel like people should know the whole context of why this show is the way it is. I’ll go much deeper into this later on, but the basic story is this: this show was made with the passion of a driven and talented team in a very small studio with budget constraints and scheduling issues; a project far too ambitious for what the team is capable of doing. As a result, the animation quality is a horribly mixed bag, but this should not be attributed to laziness of the staff, as tempting as that is. As pressing of a topic as this is, I want to save it for later in this review. As of now I want to make the point that poor production is a tragic reality of what is otherwise a fantastic experience.

The dynamic between Kei Matoba and Tilarna Exedilika is the essence of what makes Cop Craft such a worthwhile experience. The incessant passive-aggressive remarks between the grouchy nihilistic cop and the spoiled, ill-tempered young rookie is one of few aspects of their interplay that makes their first several hours together so immediately riveting. Not only is their interplay superbly written, varied, and sometimes comedic, they’re highly fleshed out characters whose relationship evolves from a bitter incompatibility to a dubious comradery. In general, Kei is someone who doesn’t get along with people, which is understandable since he’s one of the last people you’d ever want to hang out with. He’s a callous and largely inconsiderate man, making rude or judgemental comments towards people regularly with no signs of remorse. But he is not without a heart, as much as he tries to hide that fact from Tilarna. A man of few words, his sparse acts of kindness and courtesy are often dubious, with his true intentions left concealed in his own frigid mist of a personality. Even his most notable good deed, rescuing and adopting a stray cat after pursuing a perp, is reasoned with the idea of it being selfish instead of altruistic, saying he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if he left the cat there.

While ostensibly uncaring, Kei clearly has humanity as shown in his outrage over the death of his partner, Rick (which, by the way, happens within the first few minutes of the first episode, so no spoilers there), and the fact that he views his chief, Jack Roth, as a father figure. Likewise, it’s made obvious that in spite of his bitterness towards Tilarna, he does grow to care for her. His dialogue with her later on walks a fine line, making it uncertain which of his lines are playful, complementary, sarcastic, or tough love. In general, Kei appeals to the part of us that wants to be spared of the nonsense and get the task out of the way. His cold attitude is admittedly hard to tolerate at points, especially when he shows no gratitude whatsoever for when Tilarna saves his life, but that’s just part of what makes him so endearing. Kei and Tilarna’s rough interactions are what makes their sparse cases of growing closer all the more meaningful.

Tilarna is always aiming to uphold her dignity and her moral code, making sure to never stray from either goal, excluding particular circumstances. Yet she’s also prudish and naive compared to Kei, often used to great comedic effect and is crucial to her development in much later arcs. Similar to Kei, her abrasiveness towards him isn’t exactly reflective of her actual feelings. More than anything, she just wants to feel respected by Kei and not be treated like a burden, which is an understandable frustration for anyone having to work with the man for so long. With such an entertaining banter between well-realized characters whose bond develops with every few episodes, topped with brilliant dialogue, Kei and Tilarna end up being one of the most compelling duos in anime I’ve ever had the pleasure of following.

On another note, it’s strange and disappointing to see the stereotypical depiction of gay characters that plagues Japanese media appear in Cop Craft--by which I’m referring to Tony. Funnily enough, I initially approved of his character as I assumed *he* was a transgender woman. Because transphobia is just as much of a problem in Japan, my first impression of Tony was a pleasant surprise. And I was let down upon finding out that Tony isn’t a transgender, but a very effeminite and flamboyant gay man. Generally, his appearance and character alone isn’t all that big of a deal. But it does get a lot more off-putting with that one scene of Tony subconsciously feeling up a teenager only to be stopped by Aleks; and wiping drool off of his face as an added bonus. Although Tony is portrayed more tastefully than the likes of Puri Puri Prisoner from One Punch Man, they're both still sad reminders of how long of a way Japan as yet to go in terms of proper LGBT representation in media.

This is a real shame since Tony is generally a good character apart from this, alongside his detective buddy Aleksandr, both of which are a treat to watch thanks to Cop Craft’s sheer aptitude with dialogue and comedy. And then there’s police chief Bill Zimmer, who is just about the closest to an anime Samuel L. Jackson since Afro Samurai. Although his spitting rage and humorous lines are a joy to witness, and with how respectable he was in speaking favorably of Tilarna towards a racist subordinate, Zimmer isn’t one of the more fleshed out characters of the show, unlike the doctor and ex-girlfriend of Kei, Cecil Epps. While it’s shocking to see someone actually put up with Kei’s rudeness, and even remain friends with the man, the main draw of Cecil’s character is how easily she befriends Tilarna. The friendship between the two feels genuine, with Cecil consoling Tilarna about difficult tasks and personal woes. Their playful dialogue about Kei also leads to one of the funniest moments I’ve ever seen in an anime. A lesser writer would simply use Cecil as a plot device or to flesh out Kei’s history, but she’s given the humanity needed to make her truly feel like a person with a physical presence in the overall narrative. With such an engaging main duo alongside almost equally great side characters, Cop Craft boasts one of the strongest casts of characters of any anime I’ve seen in recent memory.

This setup for a buddy cop show is hardly a unique one, especially to those well-acquainted with Western TV and films, but it does stand out in the anime medium among its contemporaries at the very least. And besides, execution is everything. And Cop Craft’s execution in its story is as great as one could ever hope.

As we’re welcomed to the fictional city of San Teresa, we venture into the unknown as well as the familiar. Conflict is abundant here as any Earth-dweller would expect a city to be, but the presence of the Semaani race brings forth a plethora of surprises among the crime scenes and detective cases, imparting a fantastical and arcane flavor to the adventure rarely seen in a police drama. With roughly 15 years of interaction with humans, the Semanians and their world is still largely alien to its human neighbors, with many discoveries to be made about them and what bizarre occurrences and fields of magic, or ‘Latena’ as it’s called, could be at play. To be a policeman in San Teresa means to expect the unexpected, a mantra that would benefit the viewer just as well.

Of course, constantly throwing surprises at the viewer runs the risk of making the world feel incohesive and random, but these ideas are well-developed and properly built up to thanks to some impeccable world-building and (for the most part) remarkable pacing. The true depths of Semaani reveals itself little by little in the human world, pacing out these discoveries in such a way that provides intrigue and tension in a near-perfect manner. It also helps that Semanian arts have a logical presence as opposed to simple magic. Aside from the admittedly far-fetched “strong feelings create Latena” thing, practices and contraptions of Semanians operate on rules of their own, much like our technology. Perhaps the author, Shoji Gatou, was given a freebie by age-old concepts in Western fantasy when creating the Semanian race, but this world is so fleshed out to where it’s given an identity of its own. Semanians even have their own language, which when spoken sounds remarkably elegant and refined, unlike numerous other fictional languages such as Parseltongue of Harry Potter which sounds vague and almost like gibberish. To show just how refined this language is, aside from apparently being learnable, it’s worth considering Tilarna’s uttering of “Boliceman.” This is made to be an endearing quirk, but it also gives the implication that the Semaani language likely lacks a ‘p’ sound, with ‘b’ as a common substitute.

After some time, the role of exploring a foreign world is passed over to Tilarna. Here we have the pleasure of watching Tilarna trying to cope with and adapt to facets of our planet Earth--specifically, pornography and vehicles of transportation--all bundled into an episode’s worth of hilarity, enticing chaos, and a grace of character bonding at the very end. It’s easily one of the most enjoyable episodes of anything in recent memory, as well as the few cases of anime humor making me laugh out loud. This is an episode that lingers in my memory continually, which is a very high honor to hold.

A prominent facet of the setting is how the world of Semaani interacts with that of Earth. The many fields of Latena originating from Semaani unsurprisingly can accomplish certain tasks in a way that human technology cannot. And surprisingly, the opposite is also true. Coding, hacking, firearms, automobiles, photography, and night vision goggles are what the world of Semaani lacks, and play an equally vital role in snuffing out the perpetrator.

Obviously the aptitude of your arsenal means little if the one using it lacks competence, as evident in many shounen and seinen that get away with artificially stretching out their arcs by having characters fumble around or arbitrarily bringing forth a greater power to stall the action. Cop Craft is the exact opposite case. The policemen of San Teresa are intelligent and capable as policemen are expected to be, using any strategy or asset at their disposal to gain the upper hand. I think anyone could remember a time they watched or read a piece of media, getting aggravated at characters for not seeing the obvious solution or making moronic decisions leading to their downfall, taking you out of the experience. Cop Craft almost never stumbles upon this, and crimes are dealt with efficiently through the use of Latena magic, Earth technology, and competent storytelling.

That said, as praiseworthy as this is, it comes with a cost: conflicts in Cop Craft are dealt with relatively fast, and arcs can feel frustratingly brief and even anticlimactic as a result. Some could frame all this as a negative, but it ultimately depends on what you look for in an action show. I for one couldn’t be happier with how Cop Craft chose to execute this. The overall narrative of Cop Craft is akin to that of Cowboy Bebop and Samurai Champloo, and not just with its Western influences. It spends a brief enough time on an idea so as to throw a new one on the table. Cop Craft never gives anything a chance to get boring (excluding the fan-hated episode 8). Each arc is expounded upon enough to be satisfying in its own right, with the resolution feeling authentic and plausible rather than climactic.

Apart from human tech and Latena, the interaction between Semanians and humans leaves sociological effects that are intriguing and applicable to reality. Heavy politics are in full force as would be expected in a city of mixed races, and Cop Craft is incredibly bold and proficient with this direction, especially for an anime--granted, it involves a fictional race, but the point stands. Multiple points of view regarding the presence of Semanians are touched upon and come into play during a much later arc, lending more weight and authenticity to an already fascinating world. A simple biased aversion towards Semanians or humans for what they are is obviously just racism, but one character in particular has a far more elaborate and justified viewpoint that comes from a similar place, whose quote is written below:


“Coexistence, peace...just lies idealists tell. Earthlings and aliens can’t ever get along. We must keep apart.”

“Some of them are getting by just fine!”

“And their ability to adapt is what scares me. Look at their strength, their vitality; in three generations they’ll usurp us and rule the Earth! The invasion will be over before anyone notices. Yes, not even the invaders are aware of what they’re doing. The world needs to wake up and see just how dangerous these Semanians are.”


If you’ve watched Cop Craft up to a certain point, you definitely know who these quotes are from, and where this exchange transpires. For spoiler reasons, I won’t say, but the crux of the matter is the ideology of what is said here. This is clearly in line with most conservative views regarding immigration; a fear that there is more to lose than to gain, and results can be disastrous. Obviously there are different viewpoints on immigration and I don’t wish to have this sort of discussion at the moment when it comes to real life issues, but Cop Craft is commendable in bringing this predicament to light in a setting where it fits like a glove.

For a 12-episode season, it would be wrong of me to say that these issues are explored to their fullest, but that’s all the more reason to consider the ongoing status of the source material, and to acknowledge that the anime only covers a portion of what is, or will be, in the full story. If anything, this is a positive way of looking at the studio’s size. Since their budget is so small, there’s a relatively greater chance of Cop Craft making a good profit, thus hopefully leading to a second season being made.

What’s really admirable in regards to the studio’s size is just how well the team could do in spite of such meager production. While Cop Craft’s animation is limited, the overall aesthetic is a feast for the eyes. While the show lacks in frames, it excels through well-directed framing and glorious attention to detail. The open nocturnal suburbs are coated in a softly-lit patch of neon colors, contrasting with the grim and subdued tones of the alleyways where conflict is sure to erupt. Bloom lighting is applied constantly in places to accentuate the bright urban life. Most indoor areas are rendered in modest colors where bloom lighting is sparingly used, creating a calm environment where the brutality of police work is given a rest. With such limited resources, the team has made a show that is not only pretty to look at, but with effective theming for different environments. All of this is to say, Cop Craft is one of those cases where the art is superb, but the animation is lacking--hopefully the anime community will finally know the difference between the two.

When it comes to Cop Craft’s visuals, there’s no getting by without mentioning the action scenes, which are of particularly low quality past the second episode. This is where the studio’s size is made all too clear. However, lack of animation isn’t exactly the only thing holding back the action scenes, and this is an area where people are most inclined to blame the director. So here’s the way I see it: is the director, Shin Itagaki, at fault for Cop Craft’s shoddy action scenes?

My answer is: yes and no.

Shin Itagaki is an enigma of the anime industry. You might construe that as a word of praise but that’s literally what he is. Shin Itagaki is the director of shows like Basquash!, Ben-To, Teekyuu, and of course the infamous Berserk 2016/17. On top of being a director, Itagaki is also a freelance animator, sometimes doing his own work during production, and an extreme perfectionist. When discussing the animation quality of Cop Craft, an important thing to consider is that Shin Itagaki has a rather unusual way of directing fight scenes, putting more emphasis on impact than spatial awareness. This sort of style favors very dynamic camera angles and frames of impact, constantly breaking the 180-degree rule of cinema which all results in an action scene that feels visceral yet lacks sense of place. Cop Craft is consistently animated in 3s, and most of its action scenes are animated similarly to the likes of Studio Trigger, with limited frames, heavy smearing, and very dynamic pose-to-pose action facilitating impact in a way that fluidity cannot. However, with such wild storyboarding and constant breaking of the 180-degree rule, higher frames are a must for the scene to flow properly, and Cop Craft is proof enough of how much this can backfire.

To see just how well Itagaki’s action can turn out, look no further than Ben-To. Fight scenes in Ben-To, as well as certain ones in Cop Craft, are evident of just how much increased frames make the difference with this style, creating enough flow between scenes that would otherwise end up disorienting and drain the scene of its tension. With the current state Millepensee is in, it seems most wise to ditch such strenuous methods and stick to basic, conventional fight choreography to make do with what little frames there are to work with. In the case of Cop Craft, this would have been the better approach in plenty of cases. Many scenes would have worked much better with the same amount of frames but different storyboards, but it seems that Itagaki is hellbent on sticking with his vision no matter what, making demands that the studio just isn’t able to meet.

This really hurts the anime in the long run, and it’s incredibly tragic. But there’s a reason I’m not putting so much scrutiny on this front. And it’s that I fully expect the DVD releases to amend this. Itagaki is clearly a very ambitious, passionate individual, and along with his team would love to take any opportunity to make this project exactly how they wanted to. For some episodes it’s not a huge deal if not many changes are made, but as for episodes 3, 5, and 10, Millepensee would be insane to not give them a makeover when the chance comes. Those episodes are infamous for containing some of the worst action in the series, with episode 3 commonly remembered as one of the most shocking dips in quality an anime has ever suffered. But I have faith in Itagaki and all of Millepensee, and wish them nothing but the best.

Cop Craft, you deserve better. You deserved a bigger budget, you deserved better management, you deserve more attention, you deserve more support, and above all things else, you deserve a second season. This fascinating world, these splendid characters, the intriguing storytelling; Cop Craft is a project that is clearly too ambitious for what the studio is actually capable of, and it’s my earnest wish that the BDs improve upon this significantly, as it’s their one chance at polishing this product into what they truly wanted it to be. The heart is there, the team is competent, and the tremendous quality of the source material is for us to experience on a small screen. While I hardly ever excuse poor production, this is a team that deserves our sympathy and support. The story of Cop Craft feels like it’s only just begun, and I’m fully on board with what more adventures await our duo, as well as how much higher the studio will go from what is their biggest project yet.

***THIS REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS; READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION***


To the Abandoned Sacred Beasts, which I will be calling ‘Sacred Beasts’ for the sake of brevity, is much like a young aspiring student, bursting with ideas yet lacking a proper way of expressing them. This student also suffers from the faults of poor time management and a shoddy work ethic, treading through obstacles that hinder the reach of his or her full potential. Sacred Beasts can be thought of as a big project of said student with such great ideas presented, but a far cry from a professional effort, and one that mainly exists as a ... stepping stone for something greater in the future. If we put aside such a liberating outlook, this show is really an unfortunate result of what should have been much more. Enticing concepts are held within a product that lacks confidence in itself, with none of its concepts being properly fleshed out.

With its first episode, Sacred Beasts starts off with a bang, kicking off with the beloved Incarnates unleashing their might on their helpless adversaries, with a majestic and opulent soundtrack to applaud and accentuate their heroic endeavors. In terms of presentation, the first episode is a success in many ways. So much so, in fact, that you’ll likely manage to look past the numerous writing issues. Consistent storytelling is something that Sacred Beasts struggles with constantly, but it’s Mappa themselves who managed to compile so many of these problems into their own anime-exclusive introduction. The writing in this episode is so shot full of holes that it’s a shining example of why you should proofread your own draft well before your deadline.

It begins with a horde of soldiers, equipped with nothing more than a rifle, charging towards a gigantic stone wall that is the enemy base. Behind them is a squad of cannoneers firing at the wall seconds after. In real life, no squad in their right mind would even think of doing this, as it’s a fast ticket to a mass suicide of your pawns. If this episode cared at all about logical consistency, the least it would do is have the cannons fire first, and have the soldiers charge once a breach is made. Even then, breaching a major fortification in the Civil War would realistically take days with siege artillery and engineers, none of which are seen here. This scene was obviously a gateway to introducing the Incarnates, presenting the enemy base as a powerful force with normal soldiers being wiped away in its territory, contrast to the Incarnates who come to annihilate it like nothing. But there’s not much comparison to make with soldiers stupidly throwing their life away with no apparent plan.

The arrival of the Incarnates itself also begs the question of why they were never shot at despite being well into the territory of the base. This scene veers into the level of B-movie writing where any and all logic is disregarded to make something look cool. Plot armor this horribly blatant only degrades the weight that this sequence holds, and is not worth the epic arrival of these heroes trekking along the battlefield like it’s become a stage auditorium.

As if this isn’t enough, a third major issue presents itself in a scene where Abi, the Hydra Incarnate, talks to Elaine about his apprehension that he might be losing control of himself; foreshadowing his own role as the first apparent case of an Incarnate going berserk. So what lets this incident follow through? Abi says “just kidding” to Elaine, and thus this suspicion is left unattended. No researcher in her right mind would ignore a potential disaster like this, especially not the one and only researcher on these lethal experiments.

And this is within the first eight minutes, showing little or no concern with a logical setup and throwing us headfirst into the second act. This first episode excels in generating hype and selling the experience, but with the demand of a robust suspension of disbelief. These issues would be egregious in any story, and perhaps wouldn’t matter so much in a series with such an emphasis on spectacle. Yet it’s beyond this point where Sacred Beasts’ true ambitions are made clear.

Ostensibly, the story of Sacred Beasts mainly exists as a scaffolding for epic battles between the Incarnates. But Sacred Beasts wants to hold the honor of being more than this by posing as a character drama, enacting the monumental tragedy of bestial war heroes meeting their end at the hands of those who fear they have lost their humanity. This story-driven approach is something Sacred Beasts is confident in pushing mindless spectacle aside for, and to its credit, its narrative concepts could have really elevated the series to its aspired heights. For this reason it’s a shame to see these manifested in what’s ultimately a safe product; one that’s too simplistic and short-sighted with its storytelling to really leave an effect.

As we follow Hank Henriette and Nancy Schaal, their difference in characterization is clear: Schaal connects easily with others and surmises the supposedly soulless Incarnates to have some humanity. Hank on the other hand passively endures Schaal’s protests as he carries out what he believes to be the only solution with the Incarnates: death. This is the basis of their interplay, and Sacred Beasts sadly doesn’t make the most out of their chemistry. Most of their interactions are interchangeable from the outset to the turning point in episode 6. Hank and Liza locate their target, Schaal protests through conjecture, Liza intervenes in Hank’s defense, Hank reaches his destination, and the Incarnate is inevitably slain. A repetitive structure can work so long as the main leads are engaging enough to uphold it, and these characters sadly aren’t, as the story is far more focused on delivering that one emotional gut-punch with its Incarnate-of-the-week setup.

That said, these characters aren’t completely static, as there’s a significant point where Hank and Schaal get somewhat more comfortable with each other. It’s comforting to see Schaal act kinder to Hank than before by sewing his clothes and making good company with him, and Hank being friendlier with her and opening his nearly impenetrable shell. After two episodes of working together, this is the kind of development they needed, and it’s a valuable moment for this reason. However, valuable as it is, it’s a shame that the dialogue is just as flat as ever, written more like a description of these characters and their histories than a genuine human exchange.

Bland dialogue is something that Sacred Beasts is plagued with. A majority of exchanges between characters are woefully lacking in personality and wit, divulging information in such an inorganic manner that makes the events all the more distant. With how much time is spent on military negotiations, plans of action, and other things in place of spectacle, the least they could do is provide some engaging dialogue to spice up the experience. Instead it’s just a case of enduring our way through tedium to the next predetermined outcome, hoping that something meaningful will come of it in the end.

That ‘something’ is obviously the emotional or cathartic finality of an Incarnate. We insert into this story as Hank, who already has a strong attachment to the comrades he dispatches, but as viewers we have little reason to care. While Hank’s company with these people during the war comes to a tragic close, we don’t experience that company ourselves outside of a brief flashback. This is a major factor in why Hank’s turmoil feels so distant, and is also perhaps the biggest missed opportunity in Mappa’s anime-exclusive introduction.

It’s made all the worse when Sacred Beasts tries to compensate by dramatizing the Incarnates’ plight to a groan-inducing level. For a show that wears moral ambiguity on its sleeve, it’s quite hellbent on telling us how to feel, with the worst offender being the death of Daniel Price. If this scene only relied on the Robin Hood-esque motive and the mourning of his loved ones, that would be enough to sell the ordeal as morally ambiguous and heartbreaking, especially to an outsider like Schaal. The melodrama and shoehorned flashback intended to tug harder at the viewers’ heartstrings is doomed to backfire with a character having less than 3 minutes of screentime before death.

However, I’d be lying if I said I felt no connection to these Incarnates, although it’s hardly an emotional one; it’s more of a fascination. For instance, Theodore’s fear of death had manifested into the making of an entire fortress, and what’s interesting is that this is what he was taught by Hank. There’s also the revelation where Theo’s incoming death happens to wash away his fear at last, something that’s true to the character and separates him from other Incarnates. Additionally, the Behemoth’s want to see the ocean with Hank trying to lead him there is a pretty great end twist, with a merciful lack of hamfisted drama. And thirdly, Trice’s belief that she’ll never be human again is one many of us can connect with. Sacred Beasts is at its best when it draws on this aspect rather than nearly drowning itself in its liking for melodramatic sob-story deaths. It’s fortunate that every once in a while it comes up for a breath, notably with Topher the Gargoyle in episode 5. Sacred Beasts is determined to make each major Incarnate engaging, and to an extent, it was successful. It’s just a shame that formulaic plots and flat dialogue weigh their respective episodes down. These resolutions certainly shine on their own, with Behemoth’s arc being my personal favorite, but that hardly salvages the episodes that hinge so much on those conclusions to be worthwhile.

Distant characters is hardly the only major problem with the story, however. There’s a frustrating pattern with the writing in which it neglects to found a logical setup for the events that follow, which makes it harder to take the the events seriously. Much of this is apparent in the first episode alone, but the problems only begin there. The Incarnates perhaps wouldn’t be running amok to begin with if the military thought for a minute about how lethal they are. A competent authority would have these living weapons confined or at least under strict supervision to ensure that what could go wrong doesn't go wrong. Additionally, it’s quite uncharacteristic of Hank to let someone as defenseless as Schaal to come with him into Theodore’s trap-filled fortress. Considering his goals and his position, you’d think the last thing Hank would be fine with is to put an innocent life at risk. Sure, he asks Schaal if she’s sure about coming with him, to which Schaal promises that she won’t cause him trouble. But that shouldn’t be enough to sway anyone with a sense of responsibility, let alone someone as sentimental as Hank.

To be fair, there are moments where Sacred Beasts avoids these drawbacks. Episode 2 for example handles the villagers’ suspicions of William Bancroft rather competently. William is suspected to have killed livestock, yet the villagers acknowledge that they don’t have tangible evidence. Because of this, they take the safe measures of putting a cowbell on William and taking the children to a distant location. On one hand I applaud this scene for having characters behave realistically in this situation, yet on the other I lament that villagers are sadly more sensible than those in the military.

In fact, plenty of these other moments show how just a simple fix could make all the difference. Certain plot points disregard how stringent the military should be with their assets, and once you bring those moments to light, it can bring forth many ideas that probably seem obvious in retrospect. In episode 4, for example, Schaal makes her way to a confined Behemoth to converse with him, but we never see her actually getting permission to do so, when logically those in charge would be selective in who is allowed to get in close proximity to a large untamed beast. We don’t see the military having any issue whatsoever with letting Schaal, a civilian, walk up to a monster that the people were fearful of to the point of strapping down in place. For all we know she could’ve gotten permission off-camera, but it’s not a good practice of any writer to have viewers assume something improbable to fill plot holes themselves.

This particular oversight would have an easy fix. Just show a scene of Schaal getting permission to come close to the beast with a solid reason for them to let her in, and suspension of disbelief would largely remain in tact. A good step further would be having someone assist Schaal during her visit and perhaps even a prolonged exchange of the guards being convinced by Schaal or each other to let her pass.

Better yet, instead of seeing her get permission, we could have a scene where Schaal sneaks out at night, stealthily making her way past guards to get to her business with Behemoth. This would not only be a simple fix, but also one that could provide a tense and engaging situation where Schaal steps out from the back seat and acts without the help of Hank or Liza. It’s the perfect scenario where someone as inexperienced as Schaal could take action. There are plenty of ways to iron out these kinds of issues in your draft. You just have to get a little creative.

For some people, this sort of creativity would have really uplifted the 7th episode with the zombified William Bancroft, or Nidhogg. It’s a common opinion that simply bringing him back to life is an incredibly cheap way to develop Schaal. To an extent I agree with this, but it’s not something I’m personally bothered with. An “asspull” it might be, but we’re given an explanation on why this particular Incarnate has revived. Honestly, in a world where myths are made real through science, I’m willing to accept much of anything related to it, however outlandish as it may be. There are very few rules shared by each and every Incarnate, as they’re all unique in some way. So learning that William has some sort of regenerative ability isn’t going to weigh down the experience for me. Perhaps from a writing standpoint, it can be seen as lazy, and there are likely much better ways to enact Schaal’s change of heart in a similar manner, but it serves its purpose well enough to where I can let it slide.

However, in that same episode is something much, much harder for me to let slide, and that is Liza casually handing to Schaal the Godkiller bullets, ammunition that is very rare and isn’t supplied to the regular soldiers battling Nidhogg. This is something that myths-made-real cannot excuse. It’s clearly done by the writer to give Schaal the chance to face her father, yet Liza has no reason to value Schaal’s growth over her own duties as a lieutenant, and the preservation of these bullets. It’s yet another case of the writer’s hand being all too visible, taking contrived or illogical routes to construct a scaffolding of plot points rather than a fully realized narrative.

The resolution of this episode leads into one of the smallest yet significant changes I would make to Sacred Beasts that takes place right after Schaal kills her resurrected father for good. We’re to believe that this event will go on to affect Schaal’s character in the future, but as it is, she acts too similarly to her previous self to truly signify a change. She behaves as merrily as ever and shows practically no signs of distress after seeing her father die by her own hands. There’s more to character development than just the events they go through; a change in personality should be there to show that Schaal is not the same person she was two episodes ago. She can act perpetually glum over past events while still upholding her proactive attitude. This emotional state could be temporarily alleviated with her meeting Trice, making this anime-exclusive subplot all the more impactful, where she befriends the type of monster she had pledged to exterminate. These are elements that go a long way to improve viewer investment; depicting these characters as living, evolving people rather than vessels made to spout themes and exposition. It’s sad to see such potential in characters who, while not dimensionless, don’t have much more humanity to them than the brainless beasts the Incarnates are feared to have become.

Some might think these complaints to be petty, but Sacred Beasts’ emphasis on story is what makes these flaws so damaging. If Sacred Beasts was primarily about spectacle like that of Attack on Titan, Pacific Rim, or John Wick, I’d be more lenient on these sorts of drawbacks. But considering what Sacred Beasts chose to uphold itself as, it should be held at a higher standard in regards to its plot, and especially its characters.

It’s all the more unfortunate when even the spectacle loses its value as the animation quality drops considerably with each episode, to a level that’s pathetic even for what’s expected of a usual 12-episode anime at its midway point. In-between frames are seemingly forgotten about and inconsistent models are shockingly abundant. After the glamorous first episode, this is a huge slap in the face, and hardly excusable with 11 animation directors.

Apart from the awe-inspiring presentation from the first episode, the cinematography of Sacred Beasts is also quite lacking overall. There’s nothing truly unappealing or jarring, but nothing that really shows a passion beyond just pasting the content onto the big screen and calling it a day.

Liza herself is a sore spot on the tone with her character design alone, made worse with frequent jokes about her sex appeal, even in mildly tense situations. When a negotiation occurs between characters focused on warfare, tactics, or emotional hangovers, chances are that Liza will be there to shatter the tone with her massive knockers, doing things like teasing Schaal or flirting with Claude. It’s moments like these where the hand of Sacred Beasts’ male illustrator really shows, and invites wonder of how the Sacred Beasts’ female writer could ever be content with scenes like these muddling the tone.

Thankfully the visual quality gains better footing right around Hank’s confrontation with Roy, taking place at an arc that I consider one of the more fulfilling parts of the narrative. The showcase of Hank becoming softer and more sentimental while Schaal has grown tougher is a satisfying progression, bringing them on closer terms. This is certainly a highlight, but it’s a shame yet again that the show hasn’t done much to bring us close to their struggles.

Throughout all its attempts to make me weep for the fallen Incarnates, To the Abandoned Sacred Beasts made me feel most sorrowful for its wasted opportunities. With every chance to do something great, it instead takes the easy way out. As the novelty wears off, the numerous flaws make themselves more and more clear. With all this considered, it certainly serves as a passable viewing experience, but it's a tragedy all the same.

Bloom Into You is an embodiment of pleasantness, constructing a wholesome narrative about finding oneself and what lies ahead. This series is best described as a slice-of-life with romance as a primary narrative. While the setting is somewhat like Citrus in terms of character archetypes, Bloom Into You approaches storytelling much differently than most romance stories. The show is far less about dramatic tension between the characters, and instead focuses on evaluating their relationships with one another, whether it’s affection, ambivalence, admiration, or animosity. The story takes form as a series of conventional moments and activities in which characters interact with one another in a ... practical, level-headed manner. Bloom Into You has a notorious aptitude for presenting these characters in such a way in which they are acting upon their own accord, rather than bending to the will of the narrative. The daily life of Yuu Koito is followed by us as we witness the changes in her everyday routine as well as her own views, watching everything blossom and mature as nature takes its course.

The melancholic tone that pervades much of Bloom Into You comes from conflicts within the characters’ own selves, but rarely between characters. Yuu struggles to feel love and ponders about her future, Touko is lonesome and fixated on her duties, and Sayaka is jealous and keeps her feelings bottled within her. These are character arcs that rarely end up in dramatic confrontations, and rather are pursued by their own accord. The cast maintains a positive rapport throughout much of the story, largely shielded from dramatic complications that would negatively affect their relationships. Hostility between characters either occurs very rarely or is short-lived. Viewers who want to steer clear of serious drama will feel right at home with Bloom Into You. But those looking for drama will be somewhat dissatisfied by this aspect.

Even as someone who has a strong bias for dramatic, emotionally driven narratives such as Octave, Citrus, and Aoi Hana, all of which are about lesbian romance as well, I can certainly say Bloom Into You has plenty going for it either way. The characters have just enough personality to give life to these situations. They emote, interject, pout, and elicit various other responses true to their character. Even the most mundane of character interactions feel very alive, and due to how likeable everyone is, this really emulates the pleasure of genuine socialization between good friends. The plot itself is largely unaffected by anyone other than Touko, and the cast succumbs to this as they wind up in various moments of recreation, discourse, and determination. In a way, the plot is the cast itself.

Yuu is an endearing character to follow in how her internal feelings slowly mature and develop as she interacts more with Touko and ponders over her feelings about her. Her attitude ranges from curious, to longing, to content, to frustrated. Her development, as with everything else in Bloom Into You, is taken slowly, but is done with nuance and purpose.

Touko is unfortunately a less engaging character, and dare I say Bloom Into You’s biggest missed opportunity. Her conflict is very sensical, but her background isn’t expounded enough to really make her dilemma feel genuine. Conceptually, she is a sympathetic character. Making decisions that only affect how people see you with no benefit to the self is unhealthy, and Yuu is both wise and respectable in trying to draw somebody away from this line of thinking. So this works well on paper, but Bloom Into You doesn’t fully commit to this. Touko doesn’t appear to be suffering nearly as much as the story wants us to believe. A person with low self-esteem shows symptoms, such as social withdrawal, hostility, and sensitivity to criticism,, hardly any of which is apparent with Touko.

Her one quality that's consistent with self-hatred is putting up a facade to impress others and consequently, her attraction to Yuu, who holds nothing against the true self which Touko hides from everyone else. But even then, the difference between these two versions of Touko is almost negligible. Being timid and somewhat pushy are really the only traits of her that we see that aren’t of the ‘perfect’ self she puts on around others. Additionally, we hardly ever see her truly distressed about her whole charade, or just how negatively it affects her. Any sort of behavior she displays around Yuu, apart from her romantic attraction, isn’t symptomatic of being under pressure or constant stress, which are logical effects on someone in her situation.

Funnily enough, this is actually commonly declared to be where Bloom Into You succeeds Citrus, which is odd to me since Citrus was far more successful in depicting a mentally broken love interest, by which I mean Mei Aihara. Mei is a truly broken individual, and the story accentuated this by having her act unfavorably in many situations. These scenes were off-putting to many viewers, but you should expect nothing less with this kind of character. Rather than telling us constantly about how broken and misguided she is, Citrus instead showed us what years of neglect and abuse have on someone, to where Mei can truly be believed as the character she was written to be. We’re shown how she doesn’t value her own body and has a horribly distorted perception of relationships.

The characterization of Touko is extremely tame in comparison. When I hear a specific quote from Yuu along the lines of “Touko has so many flaws I don’t even know where to begin,” all I can think is “What flaws?” At most, she’s pushy around Yuu and tends to lean on her during emotional hangups. These traits alone aren’t characteristic of a broken person. Bloom Into You teases you constantly about what Touko is really like without her perfect persona, and the most it can offer is having Touko telling the audience about her conflict and history. This isn’t enough because human beings aren’t that simple. If Touko really is suffering so much, why not show how this affects her general behavior and interactions, rather than the constant “I hate myself” or “I love you because you expect nothing of me”?

There’s a pretty obvious answer to the question above: it’s because Touko needs to be likeable. Likeable she is, however, it’s hard to get invested in her plight because her character is so artificial. If Touko’s character was explored better, I’d have a reason to believe that she truly is damaging herself or Yuu with her mentality or by trying to become her sister. Her personality would be more than just lip service to the audience and comedic blushes around Yuu.

As much as I praise the character of Mei Aihara, I can admit that this sort of approach isn’t for everyone, and there’s certainly a mindset encouraged to take in this story. Mei’s terrible communication skills can be onerous and frustrating to viewers, which is a sentiment I can understand. Theoretically, a heavily flawed love interest with such a troubled background can offer an appeal of her own if not taken to the same extreme as that of Mei; someone like Mei but more morally grounded and accountable to make a love story that is wholesome yet emphasizes the dysfunction and grit we love to see in our messy romance tales.

Touko Nanami as a character has the potential of striking that perfect balance, a reconciliation of Mei’s toxicity with the dramatic overlay that Touko offers in her own dialogue. Bloom Into You was Nakatani Nio’s first attempt at writing a story outside of a Touhou doujin, so you can’t expect everything to go perfectly. But apparently, she was so passionate in writing Touko’s character to where she was originally the main character of Bloom Into You until that role was taken by Yuu.

If the character of Touko falls short, then the romantic pairing is less captivating as a result. That said, Yuu and Touko have interactions that are comedic and charming, with Touko being pushy at times while timid at others, and Yuu being cheeky and somewhat playful, as well as being occasionally snide in response to Touko’s mannerisms.

Even if Touko isn’t as emotionally captivating as I’d like her to be, the nature of the relationship between her and Yuu is what sells the experience. The time they spent with each other is sublime, The dynamic between them makes for what I consider the best character moments in the entire series. Their interactions can be comedic, heartfelt, or introspective, and deliver in all these. Furthermore, that one exchange between them in episode 6 might as well be a series highlight, and those who have watched the show will know exactly what I’m talking about.

This pairing also has a depressing nature to it, thanks to Touko’s pessimistic view of love. Touko has essentially shackled Yuu into remaining in a state where if she were to develop romantic feelings for Touko, then Touko would no longer want to be in this relationship. It’s especially disheartening to see a character you really like confined in such a way out of her own volition, with the feeling that she may never live the dream she wanted for so long.

As worthwhile as all these characters generally are to watch, Bloom Into You really doesn’t have all that much going for it in the way of depth. The character exploration is there, and the themes about love are quite engaging, but with the exception of Yuu, the personalities aren’t exactly complex, as they’re quite limited in traits. I honestly struggle to describe any character of Bloom Into You with more than a paragraph. The fact the Bloom Into You will outright explain things that are already implied, draining the narrative of its subtlety, certainly doesn't help matters either.

Yuu’s inner thoughts are strongly comprised of fanciful metaphors which, while they may effectively portray her immature, derivative line of thinking, it makes her conflict feel less involving. With that said, these sort of scene-by-scene diary entries effectively sells the mood as we vicariously experience these events flow one after another and the significance they hold.

These monologues are the main drive in which Bloom Into You sells the experience, as the dialogue in Bloom Into You is unfortunately lacking in the way of a character drama. Much of the value comes from the meaning and implication of the dialogue, not so much the dialogue itself. For example, Yuu and Touko’s first couple of days as a pairing demonstrate the lack of emotional correspondence between the two, signifying the fruitlessness in Yuu’s acceptance to go out with Touko hoping to acquire that feeling of love she’s longed for. While this is all fine and good, and is well in line with Yuu’s character arc, I have little desire to ever revisit those several scenes because the emotional connection is so meager.

Sayaka herself encapsulates this priority in making a statement rather than making the most out of character investment. On one hand, it’s commendable how Sayaka’s character arc emulates the hurdles of an LGBT making their way through a conservative society, with her own subtle homophobia and dilemma in whether to believe her sexuality as something genuine or the adolescent phase it’s sadly viewed to be. However, when taking out the context of this liberation, Sayaka’s overall character leaves much to be desired. Apart from her dialogue with Miyako, and the liberating feeling one is bound to have with this long-awaited progressive attitude towards LGBT, this arc sadly doesn’t offer much in the way of character investment. Take away this true-to-life struggle, and what’s left is an unfortunately bland character.

After watching Citrus, which had lively interactions between characters with great emotional dynamics, Bloom Into You feels like a huge step down. Even Yuu, who I consider the most engaging character in Bloom Into You, shockingly pales when compared to Citrus’ protagonist Yuzu who has far more personality, often acting reckless yet possessing a sharp mind when feeling the need to, as well as having layers as a character. Arguably, Citrus’ biggest weakness was its overall plot, relying too much on contrivances coupled with a breakneck pace which makes plot points less impactful than they should be. But what Citrus has in place of its somewhat messy plot is highly endearing characters and interactions that don't rely on incessant monologues and soliloquies to be engaging. Bloom Into You is the exact opposite case, with a solid narrative and a more authentic series of events. Yet the characters and their interactions are what’s lacking in comparison. With both series having different strengths and weaknesses, I suppose it’s up to debate as to which is better. However when it comes to a character drama, I’m sure as hell more in favor with better characters.

What makes the experience so worthwhile is watching these personalities cross roads with one another. The characters of Bloom Into You are not what I would call complex or even deep, but their development and general traits are woven into the narrative with such nuance and at a steady pace to where it feels authentic and wholesome. Each personality is a piece of a larger whole, working like organisms in an ecosystem giving function to a wholly pleasant and mesmerizing experience. Coupling this with the serene presentation and sensitive, nuanced animation sells the splendor all the more.

This adaptation of Bloom Into You has effectively displayed what TROYCA is capable of, with lovingly rendered backgrounds and moving color direction to effectively frame the events that transpire. Lush flora and vegetation is detailed in its texturing and accentuated with the shot composition, emphasizing the theme of nature by enveloping scenes in a breathing, changing wilderness. TROYCA has crafted a product in which art and technology work in harmony bringing the presentation to a commendable level in every regard.

...Or so they would have, if not for many of the hamfisted and borderline infantile choices in directing.

For some reason, in episode 4, it’s essential that a black, blotchy effect with a raucous splatting sound is put within a showing of Yuu’s apprehension of what would happen to Touko’s reputation. The first episode also decides to disrupt the soft and somewhat mellow tone in the classroom by evoking Yuu’s feeling of indifference with a visual of water gushing into the room and submerging her, then displaying her to be located far away from her deskmates.

Let’s also consider the scene right after Touko apologizes for her...mishap, let’s say. Transition is made with a well-composed shot of Touko and Yuu walking in opposite directions with a pillar in between them, in an environment of subdued greens, yellows, teals, and dark greys effectively contrasting with the previous scene. Yuu then makes her way outside, thinking about why she felt nothing when she was kissed by Touko. In order to emphasize her feeling disappointed and forlorn, there’s plenty of ways the environment could have been used to pull it off. Maybe she stands in a shaded area. Maybe a cloud passes over the sun and obstructs the light everywhere around her. Maybe she stands in front of a grey stone wall with nature out of sight in the shot. So what does Bloom Into You end up doing?

It instead puts her in a shot with color removed completely, over an abstract background with no resemblance to the tangible location she was in previously. This amateurish technique is used once again in that same episode during a group photo, where Yuu holds Touko’s hand hoping to finally get “that feeling,” as the color inexplicably fades out. This is then followed by flashbacks with an obnoxious film scratch overlay and the end of each to convey the point even further.

Bloom Into You’s presentation is at its best when it isn’t so artificial, with episode 6 being a standout example. Shots are framed naturally to convey distance and relation with scenery, with no abstract, artificial filters or effects to disrupt the harmony. Water is again used as a motif, but in a manner that is much more subtle and respects the attention of the viewer. All of this combined with gratifying music and strong voice acting makes for an exceptionally memorable scene.

Utilizing natural assets from the scene to create a more authentic mood is not only a great fit for the theme of nature, it’s also good practice in general. The use of warm light which glares through the window to evoke intensity between our main leads is also well in line with this practice, even if its contrivance makes it less than ideal. Dare I make yet another comparison to Citrus, which almost never enters the same directing pitfalls Bloom Into You does on occasion. Takeo Takashi made sure to always ground situations, how theatrical they may be on their own, in authentic, non-abstract environments where natural symbolism and character acting take precedence, with camerawork and editing on par with even some of Bloom Into You's most impressive scenes. Let's also not forget about the trip to Kyoto which, even at its more intense moments, retains the sort of natural atmosphere Bloom Into You is notorious of.

A prominent virtue of reading fiction is the idea that someone else's mind is being delved into; peering into an author's own philosophies and worldview depicted as a narrative. Nakatani's Nio's Bloom Into You is an elaborate culmination of ideas that are awe-inspiring and take form in captivating ways, yet is seemingly shy of taking more daring approaches with its narrative. Nio seems more keen on expressing her own ideas and self than anchoring them to a more austere, grounded, double-sided reality that said ideas would realistically come with. This mentality was shared with and carried by the production team in the making of this adaptation, for better or worse.

Our world is certainly not a completely grim, harrowing, cesspool as reflected by some self-indulgent writers out there, but it's not quite as amiable as Bloom Into You seems to imply. People like Touko generally have more layers to their personality that are more unpleasant than we see here. People like Sayaka usually aren't as easygoing or quick to forgive. And don't count on your luck to have someone learning your secrets to be as good-natured as Maki. Now, a more pleasant version of life is always welcome in the realm of fiction. However, Nakatani Nio's choice to implement more cerebral themes into a high school drama, and a lack of commitment to this direction, leaves the end product feeling dishonest and overly safe.

Bland characters and gauche directing aside, Bloom Into You displays illustrious writing skill accompanied with equally eye-catching presentation. Everything falls into place creating an experience unlikely to be forgotten by me or anyone else in search of a very solid and wholesome romance story between girls and a tale of self-realization. It’s sure to offer something special to those who have been in a place similar to that of Yuu, and its ideas are sure to enthrall those itching for out-of-body experiences through a solemn, angst-driven romance.

Darling in the FranXX is best described as a failed experiment, although that might not be entirely true in the sense that it certainly achieved widespread appeal and amassed a considerable following of its own. Through my own viewing experience, I can surmise that there was in fact no other goal in mind. Darling in the FranXX feels like little more than a vapid and desperate attempt to harness the influence and legacy of other anime, and does so clumsily with seemingly no intent of creating its own identity. Much of its elements are thoughtlessly replicated from successful shows such as Evangelion and Gurren Lagann, ... without an understanding of what made these elements work in their own respective titles. It handles these elements so incredibly poorly and with such naivety that it could almost serve as a parody of the material it takes after.

The main character Hiro in particular faces an internal struggle relating to self-esteem and a desire to be needed, not dissimilar to that of Shinji Ikari from Evangelion. But while Shinji was given a thorough introspective on his character to make him feel like a real human being, Darling in the FranXX makes no hesitation to skip over to the drama, expecting viewers to buy into it the moment it’s established. Hiro along with all the other characters doesn’t feel human in the slightest because his conflict is conceptual. Conflicts are not character traits; incessant monologuing on how Hiro wants to be Zero Two’s partner is not substantial enough to take priority over the action or, better yet, actual story and character progression. This is just one example of what Darling in the FranXX does wrong compared to the works it takes after, specifically Evangelion and Gurren Lagann. Both these shows did what was necessary to flesh their characters out before opening the floodgates on the drama. There was drama in those instances of course, but it was in relatively small doses and was mostly a side effect of character interaction and certain other events. It’s as if the writers of Darling in the FranXX wanted to take inspiration from Evangelion and to a lesser extent Gurren Lagann without having watched either of those shows to discern what made them work in the first place.

Much of why Darling in the FranXX fails as a character study or drama amounts to the basic issue that the characters are sorely lacking in depth, and likewise fails to so much as come close to the monumental standard Evangelion had set in stone. Evangelion arguably contains some of the most human characters in all of anime, for reasons that are apparently lost on Darling in the FranXX. Character interactions felt genuine and grounded, effectively fleshing out these characters as well as their relationships with one another. Much focus was put on how they each operated in the grievous environments they were confined in. No such introspective or chemistry is present in Darling in the FranXX despite there being similar conditions. Hiro and Zero Two’s want for each other, Ichigo’s jealousy, and the Parasites’ discovery of love all remain conceptual without any complexity or dynamic whatsoever. In other words, the show’s focus lies squarely on the destination with hardly any focus on the journey, which flies directly in the face of basic story writing.

The character interactions in general are often completely mundane and are taken more seriously than they have any right to be. Most of the time they hardly evoke anything that isn’t already known by the audience and are overblown to a sometimes cringe-inducing level. Once a singular concept is made apparent by a certain dialogue or monologue, subsequent interactions relating to this concept serve no purpose to the narrative apart from artificial drama. Ichigo’s fixation on Hiro in particular has no effect on Hiro’s arc nor his character, and only serves to spur more dramatic tension. Ichigo herself has no depth apart from her love and concern for Hiro, and the drama involving her once again remains conceptually the same with no complexity to warrant its screen time. It’s also funny how quickly her mind changes once things turn out to be fine in the end, as sees Zero Two “for who she really is”. There’s hardly any dynamic present with any of the characters in Darling in the FranXX. Their traits all boil down to love or concern for one another or a singular goal of their own. There’s no events in between to further characterize them or challenge their beliefs. If you were to assemble a plot chart based on the events in each individual character arc on Darling in the FranXX, it really becomes apparent how barren the story really is, even compared to first-grade-level writing.

The characters in Gurren Lagann were hardly complex themselves, but the show excels in other areas which make moments with its characters so worthwhile compared to FranXX. For one thing, Gurren Lagann doesn’t excessively pile on drama where it doesn’t belong. It recognizes that it isn’t fit for any sort of cerebral commentary or psychological analysis, and instead focuses on making its characters charismatic and endearing, only prioritizing the characters’ internal conflicts when it was deemed necessary. Circumstances were introduced at a steady pace to keep viewers in tune with the adventure and understand the characters’ struggles. And the drama in the second half, although it had mixed reactions from viewers, is still arguably more plausible and impactful than Darling in the FranXX could ever manage. The show effectively set these characters as it let other elements run their course as the simple character arcs were left in the back seat. What results is very likeable characters within a captivating series of events which is all executed tremendously. Darling in the FranXX is too focused on its futile effort on making these characters sympathetic to make them appealing in any other way.

What Darling in the FranXX holds in place of natural story progression is its world building. Much of the motivation held by the characters is the dark truths they find about their own world. This kind of story isn’t uncommon, and The Matrix is perhaps the most well-known example of this particular setup. This was also the case with other anime like Ergo Proxy and Shinsekai yori which, unlike The Matrix, take the form of a long, continuous narrative. Where both these anime succeeded where Darling in the FranXX fails is how they made these narratives captivating as an actual storyline. Discovering these disturbing secrets had an effect on the individual characters. Their views on the world changed substantially, and sometimes even considered giving up because they didn’t want to have to endure more pain. Nothing of this sort ever happens in Darling in the FranXX. These discoveries don’t add to their character in any interesting or dynamic way. They just pile on more reasons for the characters to act against their society. Their goals remain exactly the same and they seem to persist without hesitation no matter how much of their anguish is displayed. The most it ever manages is short-term shock of the characters only to be brushed off immediately after.

The world-building itself doesn’t fare much better. It’s a mish-mash of cliches and borrowed ideas that fail to surprise anyone with at least a moderate experience with sci-fi. The show also seems to be more focused on whipping up surprises and twists about its world than maintaining any cohesion. Many elements of its world remain underdeveloped as though they were hastily thought of as production deadlines were drawing near, which is honestly my exact impression.

Even as flat as she is, Zero Two is the closest thing to an interesting character that this show has on offer, but fundamentally she doesn’t act the way she should in the first act. All throughout she’s been portrayed to be lonely, distrustful, and longing for someone who will give her comfort. And yet despite all this, she acts like a jolly, flamboyant, promiscuous exemplar who is far more easy going than any of the other Parasites in Squad 13. This was presumably done to make her more likeable, and possibly to juxtapose her descent into anxiety later on. But this comes off as artificial because of how illogical it is, and rendered completely implausible the moment an attempt is made to give her a tragic backstory. Consistent characterization is worth sacrificing a facade of a personality such as this. It's easy to see that if Zero Two wasn't like this at the start she wouldn't have the widespread appeal she does now, which I think ultimately reaffirms how poorly-thought-out her character really is overall.

This goes to further display how Darling in the FranXX is at odds with itself in regards to its tone as well as plausibility. It’s pretentious take on sexuality is just one example; the show is littered with other things like this. Dr. Franxx is presented as noble, powerful, and ambitious individual with a lot of importance to the storyline. And yet the very first scene he’s in is a comedic moment where he molests a co-worker, and with no repercussions I might add. Additionally, puerile sex innuendos run rampant in a show that clearly wants to be taken seriously in nearly every instance. They have a place in Kill la Kill, where they clearly mesh with the overall tone. And in Evangelion, symbols relating to sex and birth were deliberately nuanced, attributed to the varying conditions of the characters and evoking them indirectly, just as symbolism should. Darling in the FranXX’s approach on this routine is designing the cockpits in such a way that puts both pilots in doggy-style intercourse. It’s a frivolous stylistic choice far more inane than anything in Kill la Kill and adds nothing of worth to the sort of themes it wants to get across. This image is seen frequently throughout the show, and makes it harder to get invested in whatever dire situation is in play. Whether it’s possible to collide the styles of Evangelion and Kill la Kill successfully and seamlessly, I can’t say. I can say however that this is certainly among the worst ways of going about it.

Sexuality is supposedly a theme with the story and characters alike, but the way it’s handled feels a lot more like a means of falling back to basic anime tropes than any sort of meaningful take on the matter. Anyone familiar with the medium can understand what I’m getting at here. Flustered male characters, embarrassed female characters, beach episode, you name it. One episode in particular encapsulates a pitifully juvenile boys vs. girls affair, which is handled quite poorly and serves as nothing more than a bare-bones teamwork lesson with fanservice thrown in the mix. What’s also preposterous is the fact that, despite that they don’t know what sex is or what a kiss represents, they’re somehow aware that nudity is inherently sexual. As it stands, Darling in the FranXX’s take on sexuality is about as cerebral and nuanced as your usual harem. The very implication of a theme relating to sexuality has no place here whatsoever, other than to seemingly mask its intentions as something greater than what you’d find in a harem.

Many people seem to think that Darling in the FranXX had lots of potential, and had the ability to easily achieve much more with what it had. Personally, I disagree with that sentiment. While I won’t say there was no hope for it to turn out better, I can’t say that much potential was wasted. Almost every element of Darling in the FranXX feels bought off from other shows. It uses the visual design of Kill la Kill or any Trigger anime for that matter, the concept of fusing mecha pilots taken from Gurren Lagann, and the existential journey from Neon Genesis Evangelion. The only remotely novel concept in the show is how the FranXX’ take on the form of the pilot, which is little more than an aesthetic design and a rather uninspired one at that. Most elements in Darling in the FranXX are already present in many shows before it, and are handled much better. Much of the apparent potential within Darling in the FranXX has already been manifested elsewhere.

I imagine most of the effort made in the production of Darling in the FranXX was put into the action sequences, which I can say are rather impressive. They’re well-choreographed, fluidly animated, and have lots of energy to accentuate that trademark Trigger aesthetic. This is one of the few departments of the show which doesn’t feel as though it was soullessly bought off, but seems to have some degree of skill and diligence put into it. This quality might have amounted to something if any ounce of value in this department hadn’t already been bested by earlier shows, namely those made by Imaishi himself. In this regard you’re already better off flocking over to those anime instead, and with much better story and characters at that.

The artstyle on the other hand is nothing more than a passing grade, and feels like a spinless compromise between that of Evangelion and Kill la Kill, topped with A-1 Pictures’ own flavor of blandness. The designs of the Franxx’ are quite standard and ordinary, contrary to the enigmatic and daunting look of the Evas. The character designs are reminiscent of Kill la Kill, only trimmed of any unique or endearing quality and reduced to an SAO-level of creativity. The only environments that look even remotely striking are the Plantations and the labs within them, which take an obvious inspiration to that of Evangelion. Their scheme of yellow and red lighting along with how well they’re animated certainly looks appealing, if not a weaker effort compared to Evangelion. Overall, the aesthetic department is a case of hit-or-miss. Whatever styles it takes from other shows, it just drops aimlessly hoping that at least a few pieces will fit well.

The best word to describe Darling in the FranXX as a whole is “superficial”, from the very idea of it all the way down to its execution. Its ideas are already outclassed from the start and the end result doesn’t even serve as a lesser alternative. There doesn’t appear to be any thought or consideration towards most of the elements, which presumably goes to show the thought process during the show’s creation. I see little to no signs of this being made as a work of imagination instead of a means of garnering an audience through controversy and artificial drama. It’s pitifully boastful about its tacked-on themes, has fanfiction-level story writing, and completely disregards logic for the sake of viewership, with Zero Two yet again being a perfect example. Regardless of how shamelessly derivative its core ideas are, Darling in the FranXX was not beyond salvaging. It had its material, which could have been utilized to uplift itself from the mangled state it turned out to be in the end. It might not have been the best at any of what it had to offer, but at the very least it could have delivered a serviceable experience with possibly a unique flavor of its own. As it stands now, Darling in the FranXX has exhausted almost any reason to justify its own existence. It’s an effort, or lack thereof, that I feel nothing but contempt for. I don’t exactly bear resentment or malice towards this show like so many others. I see this show as little more than a tragic accident, which I can only hope will fade away in the near future.

An unfortunate truth that many fans of this medium can agree on is this: anime is generally not especially keen on addressing topics like social anxiety or giving them the respect and nuance they deserve. This is not to say this sort of thing doesn’t exist, just that it’s particularly hard to find. WataMote is an outlier, in how it confronts a legitimate issue and portrays it with utmost honesty, while utilizing comedy as a source of amusement and coping, not to make light of the situation. Through a collection of gags conjured in a fundamentally bleak scenario, WataMote finds amusement and humor in ... a portrayal of anxiety which rivals that of Evangelion. Perhaps one of the worst, cruelest things to be imposed on someone is the feeling of isolation and loneliness. Shyness can look cute on the outside, but the same can be said about an animal trapped in a zoo. Both sheer hilarity and blistering tragedy ensue in Kuroki Tomoko’s cavalcade of mishaps, exploring the multiple facets of her character which speaks to the hearts of those who have had the displeasure of feeling invisible to society.

Various monologues, delusions, and fantasies are at play here as we follow Kuroki Tomoko in her quest to become popular. Having almost no social skills whatsoever, much of the action takes place within Tomoko’s own thoughts, from scheming on how to approach a situation to conjuring an ideal fantasy where all her desires are met, sometimes referencing an anime or manga she knows of. Tomoko is genuinely a fun and endearing character to follow, partly thanks to how vividly and creatively her thoughts are presented. Her point of view is depicted in a litany of wacky and comical ways, with each affair being executed in a way that wouldn’t look out of place in a battle shounen; exaggerated and dramatic. To say that WataMote plays out like a battle shounen undersells it however. Unlike many manga adaptations which tend to have uninspired camerawork and lazy implementation of dialogue, WataMote is always exercising creativity in how to present her thoughts. New visual elements are constantly brought to the table so that the experience never grows stale. Inventive visual work, snappy pacing, and Tomoko’s constant narrations work in unison to bring this character to life.

Despite depicting these situations in a goofy, comedic light, WataMote presents one of the most accurate depictions of social anxiety I’ve seen in an anime. This portrayal is not limited to simply being nervous or shy in public interactions. Tomoko’s thoughts, perspectives, and attitude all personify that of a socially awkward and anxious high schooler, serving as a basis for her actions. The way her anxiety dictates what she thinks and how she behaves is exploited both comedically and narratively, leading to events which highlight the tragedy of the situation while providing some degree of amusement. All of Tomoko’s delusions and insecurities are welded into a series of gags and humorous moments to exploit the absurdity in her ways of thinking, while eloquently demonstrating what exactly is crippling her in these situations. Feeling nothing but fear and distrust in social situations, Tomoko almost always assumes the worst in people. Internally, she’ll often scoff at or antagonize anyone who isn’t some hot guy she met at a store, and impulsively puts the blame on others for any misfortune that comes up in her day. She’ll desperately gravitate towards any method that is said to make one more popular, attractive, or whichever else, even if it involves purposely getting molested on a train. And yes, she does actually attempt this. The various incidents she pulls herself into are presented in a wacky, hyperbolic manner, to the point where Tomoko comes off as downright maniacal or demented in certain cases. This particular style does a lot to make Tomoko a very endearing character, but she’s made all the more captivating by how she fully encapsulates what social anxiety is really about. It’s a harrowing dilemma to face especially in your high school years, and it’s one that many of us can admit to have had around the same period as Tomoko has. Almost all of us who have had social anxiety can relate to many of Tomoko’s ordeals, which can possibly bring back painful memories of our own. WataMote subjects us to the bleak and dreary realm of social anxiety and the consequences of having it, amplifying the absurdity of the situations that stem from it to soften the blow. In spite of this glossy exterior, WataMote is made fully aware of the situation and gives it the integrity and nuance it deserves, just as a black comedy should.

The primary method of which WataMote delivers its humor is by stressing the dichotomy between how Tomoko perceives the world compared to how it actually is. This is the format which pervades the entire show; the reality, often lukewarm and indifferent to Tomoko, is twisted in such a way to abide with her own insecurities. Tomoko constantly deludes herself into believing that she is above everyone else, and it’s portrayed to be rather pitiful, yet still funny and amusing. Consider this scene as an example: on a rainy day, when Tomoko finds that her umbrella is missing, she instinctively assumes it to have been stolen. She then has an internal rage about how she is an innocent victim whose day was ruined by this abominable crime. Then, she stops to realize that her umbrella was just a few feet in another direction. This is a funny moment on its own, but it’s also a perfect example of how Tomoko operates outside the comfort of her own home. When something seemed to be wrong at first, she instinctively assumes it to be another’s wrongdoing, without taking even a second to consider any alternative.

Things that seem relatively mundane and trivial to us are made into a much bigger deal than they need to be. This exact way of thinking is what leads Tomoko into numerous awkward situations involving other people, which is exactly what blocks her off from others. Her rationale is purely based on knee-jerk suspicions rather than logic, some of which are understandable to at least some degree, such as worrying about what classmates will think about the sight of you eating alone. Others can be quite outrageous or downright unfathomable, such as the notion that wearing certain underwear makes you friends more easily. Both of these can be attributed to how someone with social anxiety really operates. Tomoko’s antics come in a seemingly endless variety, as new situations arise after another and more inspiration is attained. Because we are given a thorough introspective on what possesses her to take these actions, it’s made easy to gravitate towards Tomoko and understand what she does, as irrational and ludicrous as they are most of the time. The sad truth of the matter is, as over-the-top and balls-to-the-wall as it’s all portrayed to be, it’s conceptually accurate to how some of us behaved in our adolescent years. Both these factors are what effectively put us in her own shoes, making it all the more uncomfortable to watch when these actions actually follow through, there to be witnessed by outsiders. This discomfort is a large part of what makes it funny, yet oddly impactful on a personal level. I for one can admit to have operated along the same lines as Tomoko in my own school years, and I imagine plenty of others are the same way. Whether you have fully grown out of this phase or are still in the process of doing so, laughing at yourself is a good first step towards moving on with your life.

This is even the case with her own family as well as her best friend Yuu-chan. Even though they, particularly Yuu-chan, are relatively close to her, they are not exempt from witnessing the crazed antics Tomoko stirs up on a daily basis. Her brother Tomoki serves as a test subject of sorts, as Tomoko uses new bizarre methods of communicating to see how they play out. Tomoki, like everyone else, has no idea what the hell goes on in Tomoko’s mind, and thus wants nothing to do with whatever nonsense she subjects to him. Tomoko’s interactions with her mother go about as smoothly as those with anxious teens who feel as though nobody understands them would expectedly play out with their parents. Yuu-chan, being the only character besides Tomoko’s parents to give her unconditional support and attention, ends up being one of the most likeable characters on offer. Tomoko even still projects herself into Yuu-chan and holds her on the same standards. Yuu-chan’s presence, compared to how she once was, as an attractive, well-endowed specimen with many healthy relationships is an abhorrent sight to Tomoko. What Tomoko feels could be described as a feeling of betrayal, or rather severe envy. Tomoko’s twisted and misguided view on people erects yet another barrier around even her best friend. Luckily for her, most of anything Tomoko would usually do comes with almost no repercussions when around Yuu-chan. Tomoko’s company with Yuu-chan is relatively painless and refreshing compared to that of other people, as Tomoko is rarely wound into such humiliating incidents. In a way, seeing these characters together is somewhat euphoric. Nonetheless, there is still much awkwardness to be be found among their interactions, as Tomoko’s insane ideas run amok even still. Tomoko’s interactions with these characters are very distinct from one other, which makes Tomoko feel more like an actual person and makes each encounter with them very unique. As a result, WataMote is given plenty more sources of comedy at its disposal and makes Tomoko’s moments involving them varied and original.

Even with all these shenanigans at play, WataMote doesn’t shy away from providing full, unfiltered attention to Tomoko’s dilemma when it needs to. Whenever Tomoko is legitimately hurt or grief-stricken by what happens, the show seizes to pull any punches at that point. The limelight is positioned squarely on her humiliation and anguish, often laying a somber melody upon the scene; she even sheds tears at some points. These moments might as well be climaxes, as she is in a position where no ounce of delusion can divert her from the crude reality of what she’s led herself into. WataMote understands this disorder which Tomoko is bound by, and knows full well when it is no longer a laughing matter. The absence of comedy during these moments is enough to draw attention to how affected Tomoko really is; yet another factor of what makes her so easy to feel for. Of course, once these moments pass, the proper course of action is not to dwell on those past situations, but to shrug it off, move on, and hope tomorrow will be better. And this is exactly what WataMote does. The moment follows through, the whole arc fades into a somber close, and the cycle begins anew.

Although the show’s structure is based around repetition, WataMote is not exempt from providing actual character development. The actions Tomoko takes do in fact affect what she does in future events. Additionally, as the show draws into its later half, Tomoko’s denial lessens while she gradually becomes more accepting of her dilemma. Her life concurrently becomes more bleak and hopeless as a result. This is the point where her actions, while still less than ideal, become significantly more reasonable, as she makes a conscious effort towards amending her newly found flaws. This development comes across very naturally; there’s nothing drastic or sudden about this change. It comes in minimal pieces as Tomoko retains what she has experienced through her mishaps. Of course, she never truly unbounds herself from the self-destructive tendencies we see throughout. As we all know, it’s incredibly easy to fall back to old habits.

It’s easy to see that if Tomoko was a person in real life, she would not be a fun person to interact with or be around, but that doesn’t make her struggles any less real. Despite how abrasive and hostile she is portrayed to be overall, Tomoko is a character who is easy to sympathize with, because the full context of her troubles is made very clear. While not exactly universal, experiencing this kind of distress is something very many people can identify with. Because of this, we immediately understand her actions, even if we don’t find them to rational in any sense. Her life is very empty and miserable, affirmed all the more through her constant denial and acts of desperation. We want her to succeed, and thus seeing her get into humiliating situations through her own doing is genuinely an unpleasant experience. It just goes to show how coming out of your shell is never an easy task for anyone. Whatever Tomoko suffers through, we are forced to suffer through with her.

This leads into what is perhaps the most common criticism towards WataMote. For many people, WataMote is a very uncomfortable, cringe-inducing experience. I would be one of the first to agree that the show is certainly uncomfortable at many points, but I would also say that it is so for the right reasons. Some say it’s uncomfortable for the reason that Tomoko is unlikeable, which is obviously something I disagree on quite strongly. Others say it’s for the reason that they don’t want to see Tomoko go through these miserable affairs. As mentioned previously, despite how frequently and badly she fucks up, there is change in her character to be found along the way. While not always necessarily positive, it’s still change nonetheless. These small changes show that there is legitimate hope for her. For this reason, it’s made all the more cathartic and heartwarming when Tomoko really does manage to find a fair bit of comfort towards the end of the show.

Not only does she reflect nearly every facet of the usual social awkwardness that resides in many high schoolers, she’s also a funny and charming character independent of that. Her antics are unpredictable and she’s endearingly quirky through each passing episode. She is voiced extremely well in the Japanese audio as well as the English dub. Of course, a considerable factor in what makes Tomoko so appealing to many is her visual design itself. Her small stature and baggy, half-open eyes make her look rather cute with an element of mischief, which is perfect for the character. The way she constantly and drastically changes into different expressions is a huge factor in what makes this character so funny and loveable through each of her schemes and shenanigans.

Despite how commendable the design of Tomoko really is, it’s a shame that her design is the only memorable one in the entire show. Almost every other character is rendered to a bland default anime design with very little distinguishing qualities. This is excusable for background characters, but the more important characters don’t fare much better. Yuu-chan’s design has only her yellow hair and well-endowed physique to make her stand out from the rest. Even Tomoko’s own family suffers from a lack of inspiration in their design. It’s unfortunate that this is how it turned out to be, but it could also just further affirm how remarkable the design of Tomoko really is.

Apart from that, the visual department on the whole is something to be admired. The backgrounds are bold and daring, which makes the scenery very eye-catching and vibrant. The animation is very fluid, especially when it really needs to be. Never did I feel as though the animation quality was ever lacking through any of my viewing experiences. Perhaps the most unique and notable aspect of the visuals is how the lens flares are designed. Light sources like the sun always produce flares that take the form of angular shapes. There isn’t a particular rhyme or reason for this design choice, but rather it serves to further enforce the cartoony nature, which is perfectly welcome in my book.

So when you think of “self-insertion” in anime, there’s a good chance that conjures up images of an ideal fantasy world in which the protagonist is blessed with numerous desires and conflict is trivialized; basically your typical harem or isekai. WataMote is self-insert in a different way, where you connect Tomoko’s various mishaps to that of your own. Once this happens, WataMote provides an experience few other anime could hope to emulate. It’s hellbent on reaching that one specific audience it’s directed towards, and does so marvelously. The “thorned rose” analogy is perhaps more applicable here than it is with any other show in recent memory. It is shame however that WataMote covers only a portion of its source material, meaning that an ideal conclusion for Tomoko isn’t present here. This leaves the only hope of getting one to the manga itself, or perhaps a possible anime sequel. Regardless of this shortcoming, I for one am glad to have laughed, cried, cringed, and cheered through Tomoko’s endeavors.

Citrus is a series that is tragically misunderstood; a story with far more substance and depth than word of mouth would lead you to believe. Not long after this show started airing, it’s become easy for people to write off any element in the story as a means to arbitrarily wring out some voyeuristic lesbian action, rather than stopping to think of the purpose it actually holds for the narrative. When a sexual assault occurs, viewers assume that it’s romanticizing such an action and therefore condones it. When an emotional barrier props up, it’s assumed to be nothing more than a way of piling on ... more drama. These premature assessments are commonly made when shows like this are perceived as simple fetish material, framed as horribly misplaced criticisms that leave Citrus in an undeservedly contemptuous light; as a guilty pleasure unworthy of further analysis or appraisal. Citrus is not mere fetish material, does not promote or romanticize sexual assault, and provides layered and well-developed characters whose actions are realistically influenced by both internal and external conflicts. A bittersweet feeling perpetuates as we follow naive teenagers consistently characterized as those who are lost and confused, behaving in ways that are less than ideal, but are hurdles along the way of a gripping and emotionally compelling tale that is certainly rough around the edges, but well worth the ride.

There’s a common conjecture about Citrus saying that it treats sexual assault as a form of love and the blossoming romance is in the form of Stockholm syndrome, neither of which are true in the slightest. Firstly, while the actions of Mei Aihara undeniably walk on the borderline of sexual assault, none of these instances are framed as romantic or mutual in any way. The first of these depicts Yuzu struggling while Mei lashes out her aggression. Following this is a low shot with Mei, spitefully uttering “that’s what it felt like” in response to Yuzu’s innocent curiosity about Mei’s romantic affair. Nothing about this is painted in a positive, approving light. Subsequent events like this are blatantly shown to be a byproduct of Mei’s misconception of how relationships work, or a means to vent her frustration. The sheer discomfort is emphasized through both the cinematography and the expressions of the characters involved. This does not mean nefarious actions like these are excused, as the story never does. Yuzu always retaliates to these actions once she regains control over herself during these events. Depiction and endorsement are not the same thing, a fact that should always be considered with regards to a story like this. Another thing to address is this: the assaults are by no means the foundation of the leads’ romance, and that is a myth that should have passed long after this show had aired. Yuzu develops feelings for Mei long before the first assault occurs, which is most evident during the scene where she is lost in thought about witnessing Mei being kissed by Amamiya. Her focus is squarely on Mei’s behavior and what kissing must feel like for her, with Yuzu’s own attraction to Mei not even apparent to her. Overall, when proper attention is brought to the characters’ actions as well as the framing, it becomes clear that the criticism of Citrus romanticizing assault holds no truth whatsoever. I'd like to make a point here that not all opinions are equal, and opinions on Citrus based on the conception that it romanticizes or normalizes assault and abuse are invalid and therefore wrong. A valid opinion doesn't require high intelligence or sophisticated taste or anything like that. It requires a correct interpretation of the content, one that is often not taken through first impressions or face value.

Citrus and its content is highly reliant on context and characterization. Just as these confused adolescents struggle to understand each other and themselves, wondering who and what to believe, viewers are left on their own to base judgement on characters’ behavior and what they say, save for some frequent monologuing by Yuzu. And even then, her own thoughts aren’t always reliable. Content that comes off as questionable or discomforting to certain viewers is perfectly explainable through indirect characterization, a method of storytelling that challenges the brain beyond just relying on narration and monologues to provide answers without viewer effort. Viewers share frustration and confusion with the characters themselves, and the payoff is all the more rewarding because of this. The character Mei Aihara exemplifies this most of all, as she is a person whose subtle mannerisms bring light to a personality misshapen by the worst of circumstances, and very applicable to reality.

Mei is a character with practically no conception of right and wrong, let alone the idea of consent, and has never been shown, or had any experience of, what a true romantic relationship is like. The only proper relationship she has ever had in life was with her father. After he left, Mei felt as if she was being abandoned by the only one she was ever truly close to. It’s clear that prior to where the main story begins, Mei has had no emotional support ever since her father’s absence. She is used and neglected by her grandfather, is constantly taken advantage of by her fiancée, and is under perpetual social pressure to follow her duties accordingly for days on end.

As a result, Mei’s attitude towards romantic and sexual relationships is completely distorted. Her one and only understanding of love relationships is through physical contact, of which she uses to control people just as she has been controlled herself. This is symptomatic of being in a sexually abusive relationship like she had with her first fiancée; she doesn’t value her own body and is incapable of interacting with people normally. In many situations, whether it's a love relationship or otherwise, Mei passively accepts everything that is piled on her with no concern for her own well being, a trait that is consistently apparent over the course of the story. On the other end, her way of taking control of situations is her sexual advances towards Yuzu, who understandably objects to these actions. The main point is that Mei only acts in the way she knows how. This conflict of hers isn’t a singular matter, but numerous elements about her past and how she was raised which come together creating the version of Mei we see throughout the story. Mei is depraved, misguided, and some could even say mentally ill. And again, none of these elements are used to justify Mei's behavior. It's merely a case of cause and effect, one which leaves morality out of the question entirely.

Being so used to her strict upbringing, Mei frames every scenario as a bargain or exchange rather than a desire, even if she doesn't necessarily intend it. Her feeling obligated to follow in the footsteps of her father to gain his affection encapsulates this quite well. Having received no unconditional love since her father’s disappearance, this is the way of thinking which governs almost all of the decisions she makes. For this reason, she’s perplexed as to why Yuzu bothers to do all these unconditional favors. The answer to this is simple: Yuzu cares about Mei. Unconditional love is a foreign concept to Mei, and this trait continues to subconsciously affect her even long after she has experienced the true virtues of a genuine human relationship. (*cue the beginning of episode 10*)

The psychology of Mei is one of the main things which the story lives through, and is one of Citrus' most fascinating aspects. As frustrating as her actions can be at times, the consistency of her character and the relatability of her plight makes her highly sympathetic, and as such Yuzu’s efforts to make things right for her, however reckless and brash, are very admirable. When you consider everything I've previously stated, it turns out that Mei has every reason to act and behave the way she does. Her attitude and behavior are both realistic and morbidly consistent when acknowledging this perpetual turmoil she lives through.

Mei’s problematic, manipulative behavior is not only addressed as such, but is also a conflict in itself. Discomforting scenes that people insist to be mere sleaze and titillation always leaves a negative effect on characters involved. Mei’s first assault turned Yuzu’s pending lust for and curiosity of Mei into a maelstrom of confusion and hysteria. Repetition of these acts behind the scenes gave us Mei Aihara as we know her. A certain character who does this to another results in the victim avoiding that character extensively.

The way Mei gradually becomes more open to Yuzu about her feelings and personal issues, is a cathartic and satisfying affair in and of itself, and it’s kept at natural pace throughout. Not only this, her behavior changes for the better the longer she spends time with Yuzu. Little by little she displays improvement and development as she makes decisions of her own, acting beyond her mental protocol. It’s rather easy to see why Yuzu is in love with Mei, besides her beauty and status. Hiding behind this cold exterior is a frightened and lonely young girl that Yuzu wishes to nurture and protect.

What’s truly commendable, however, is how many instances of her development are deliberately presented for us to infer on our own, rather than being told directly and explicitly. Here’s one particular example of this:


**SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 7 AND 8 BEGIN HERE**
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The moment Mei truly develops romantic feelings for Yuzu is at the end of episode 6, and the exact moment she realizes these feelings is episode 7 when Matsuri forcibly kisses Yuzu out in the open. This is all indicated through her sudden change in behavior compared to before. She is now less grim in her expressions around Yuzu, and looks slightly more sentimental. Her actions convey this even further, such as the way she compliments Yuzu for the meal that was made. The day after that, Matsuri is shown to be envious of Mei continually deriving attention from Yuzu at the expense of Matsuri’s, causing her to shove off. This causes Mei to feel guilty, having created distance between Yuzu and one of her closest friends. This is where she first experiences the baggage that comes from being in love.
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**SPOILERS END HERE**


The reason this works in service to the narrative is so viewers are put into the perspective of Yuzu herself. She struggles to understand Mei, using signs in her behavior to understand what she feels. Mei is deliberately presented just as enigmatically as she is to everyone else.

With so much about Mei already covered, it’s only fair that the other heroine, Yuzu, is given the same treatment. Yuzu at the start has an idealistic view of the life that lies before her. She acts with unrelenting confidence in almost all occasions, expecting everything to go smoothly and perfectly in line with what she envisions. I think I speak for most people when I say that when we were young teenagers, our ways of thinking were hardly any different. We’ve had strong ambitions of our own, believing we could achieve them all without entirely knowing the reality of certain situations. Of course, like most teenagers, the decisions that Yuzu makes are not always wise. Quite rarely so, in fact. She often does things, with or without good intentions, unperturbed by any potential consequences they could raise. Her greeting with the chairman is a particularly good example of this. Having become a new addition to his family, she approaches him expecting to be welcomed with open arms. Instead she’s scolded for her meddlesome behavior and unruly fashion choices.

On the flipside, while she makes unwise decisions, Yuzu is not completely unintelligent. She shows a degree of rational thinking alongside her impulsive behavior, which is an important distinction from a character who is near hopeless in their stupidity. Yuzu eventually does mature past her idealism yet retains an optimistic outlook which drives her to do better in her more realistic pursuits. Yuzu is shown throughout the story to be a very capable individual thrusted into situations she’s unprepared for, often falling back to impulses or superficial goals. Despite this, she’s quick to bounce back and make things right through the best of her abilities, learning from past mistakes and focusing on what matters most in the long run.

One of Yuzu’s strongest and most prominent traits is how empathetic she is. While she’s often self-absorbed in her appearance and overall image, she’s quick to understand others and wants to be on good terms with those around her. She’s the type of friend who would listen to your problems, forgive you for whatever quarrel you had with her, and be willing to keep any reasonable promise you ask of her. Amidst a locale of people’s misdeeds and the oppressive dominion that is her school, Yuzu is someone who is incredibly easy to root for and would be an overall great person to hang out with. It’s easy to see why Harumin became friends with her so quickly, and also why Mei eventually fell for her.

While Yuzu is a highly good-hearted individual, to say she’s only ever kind and generous sells her personality woefully short. She can be irritable, snarky, jealous, and is overall more insecure than she lets on, using Harumin as an emotional crutch when she finds herself in a quandary. She often lets these emotions get the better of her, as teens typically do. The bubbly, boisterous personality of Yuzu, while oftentimes funny and endearing, can also come off as irksome and frustrating. Rather than being portrayed as an all-loving angel, Yuzu is a lovably flawed individual with a good heart and poor self-control. Compiling all these traits together results in one of the most compelling, lovable, sympathetic, and relatable main leads I’ve come across in all media.

As for her relationship with Mei, Yuzu is on a constant struggle to comprehend her feelings. She knows that something is amiss about Mei, invoking a feeling of concern. At other times, she wonders if what she does hurts Mei more than it helps. This confusion is a result of their inability to communicate with each other effectively and coherently, mimicking typical romance between teenagers more than people seem to realize. Yuzu doesn’t understand Mei, and by extension doesn’t know how to act around her. The two of them had been raised in completely different conditions, and thus operate and communicate differently from one another.

It’s obvious that Yuzu has an unfaltering love for Mei, but one obstacle she must overcome is resisting the urge to give in to her superficial desires, and pursuing what is realistically best for Mei in the long run. At one point her only choice is to put her love for Mei aside and to treat her as a sister. Although she does all these things selflessly she still has a degree of self-preservation, in stark contrast to Mei. What Citrus does well is distinguishing the superficial aspects of love from the emotional aspects. Crushes aren’t developed through logic, and our own real life experiences prove as much. What this series explores is the multitude of consequences that come with loving someone. In this case, it’s dealing with the complications of being in a love relationship with your step-sister.

Differentiating perceptions of love are what pervade a majority of the cast in Citrus. The students at Aihara Academy all knowingly grew up in an environment where sexual experimentation is a normality. Of course I can’t speak from experience, but to my knowledge this mimics reality in Japan. Referred to as Class S, it’s common for girls in school to have crushes on other female classmates, forming bonds with them. These bonds could be described as romantic, but the sexual aspect of the attraction is out of the equation entirely, assuming they’re straight. It’s telling that a Japanese audience would have a far better understanding of this kind of story, and the positive reception of Citrus in Japan compared to the west is evidence of this.

Harumin really emulates this concept more than the others. She is essentially a direct foil to Yuzu in how sexual relationships are perceived. For Harumin, particular actions between couples are a source of curiosity. By contrast, Yuzu thinks about what these actions mean for the relationship. The most obvious example is arguably when the two eavesdrop on Amamiya’s phone call. However, one other particular moment drives this home more than any other. Harumin discovers the yuri incest manga Yuzu was reading. Fascinated, she puts herself in a scissoring position with Yuzu. She’s so confident in her heterosexuality that doing this means nothing to her. Yuzu on the other hand recognizes this as an expression of love, and thus is highly discomforted by this scenario. This is largely presented as a comedy moment, but it does a lot to signify the differences in their characterization. It also benefits in a way from being depicted in such an over-the-top manner.

Harumin acts as a companion to Yuzu all the way through to the end, but in reality she isn’t able to truly understand what Yuzu is going through, regardless of how much she thinks she does. This is also the reason Yuzu decides to take on these tasks by herself, because she’s the only one who truly understands. We can also assume that she keeps it to herself in fear that Harumin wouldn’t accept her for being in such a taboo relationship. After all, this is why she keeps it a secret to Matsuri and anyone else outside the school campus.

Moving on from the characters, I bear no hesitation saying that the plot of Citrus is undoubtedly its weakest aspect. Although the events it strings together can catch viewers off-guard, maintaining a dash of unpredictability in the whole adventure, it all too often relies on contrivances. Coincidences in fictional stories aren’t inherently a bad thing. The coincidental reveal of Mei as Yuzu’s new sister is rather far-fetched, but it's tolerable enough to leave investment unimpeded. However, the numerous contrivances beyond this point become harder and harder to swallow as they come by. The way that some situations are arbitrarily resolved through circumstance, rather than on behalf of a character, doesn’t do the plot much favors either.

A widely-used, yet reasonable, complaint about Citrus is its continuous introduction of characters to move the plot along. The way I see it, this is at least as much a problem with the pacing than the actual inclusion of these characters. When these subplots are coupled with Yuzu and Mei’s progressing relationship, then focus becomes a problem here. Tone shifts are frequent and occasionally jarring as a result of having to constantly switch priorities. The interpersonal affairs between Yuzu and Mei are heartfelt and down to earth, whereas dramatic confrontations with outsiders are tense, frantic, and somewhat theatrical. When meaningful interaction between Yuzu and Mei is abruptly followed by these sideplots, that can challenge one’s ability to stay invested in either plot.

However, while pacing and tone is certainly an issue here, to say that these subplots serve no purpose is untrue. Each story arc in Citrus presents a barrier in Mei’s psyche which is resolved with every passing conclusion. Every resolve is satisfying in its own right as it brings Mei further out of her shell whilst bringing her and Yuzu closer together. It’s apparent that new characters are introduced to fill a certain role in these affairs, but the focus on Yuzu and Mei is unrelenting and the characters serve their purpose quite well. To start with, Himeko "Twindrills" Momokino at first appears to be quite the villain, but she actually shares traits with both Yuzu and Mei, and even has strikingly similar motivations. Like Yuzu, she has an unfaltering love for Mei, arguably in a “romantic friendship” sort of way as opposed to sexual attraction, and goes to great lengths to claim her affection. Like Mei, she is both dedicated to her job and remarkably strict with school regulations. Her intentions are what make her a rival to Yuzu, and then later bring them to a resolve. They wish the best for Mei, but are oblivious to her true feelings. Matsuri is a character acting as a parallel to Mei. Only instead of closing herself off, she seeks attention. In the worst ways. Her rebellious nature and sinister antics make her a worthy addition to the cast. It’s not done just for the sake of it though. It’s a situation where Mei sees her own self and is willing to make amends for someone Yuzu is close to.

The arc with the Tachibana sisters is considered by many to be the weakest arc in the series, and I am no exception. While it serves its purpose well and the payoff is rewarding, it isn’t put together nearly as well as the others. I think what it sets out to do doesn’t warrant new characters to be introduced into the middle of the whole dilemma where their intrusion can be seen as more frustrating than serviceable, especially when those characters lack depth. The situation between Mei and Yuzu at this point is already complicated as it is, so piling more characters on top of these complications is more of an annoyance than anything else. I think other less irritating methods would have served the function of this arc quite well without having to bring the sisters into the mix. It also doesn’t help that in this arc, conveniences pile up even more than in any other, even attempting to sidestep this with “fate” and “destiny.”

As I said before though, the payoff is largely worth it in the end. It’s not necessarily a case where the abundant problems in this arc can be forgotten, but rather forgiven. This arc is an unfortunate blemish on an otherwise great story overall.

The dialogue of Citrus is also worth commenting on. It’s no Shakespearean writing, but it feels natural and works in service to whatever is going on. The characters’ lines are filled with personality and subtext which makes conversations feel alive. Characters are also quick to point out irony in another’s lines, making the exchanges even more human. Certain moments in dialogue are quite significant and memorable for how expressive they are and how it piles emotion into the situation. The scene where Mei and Yuzu are on a bench on a cold winter day is a good example.

With all that said, I think it’s finally time to traverse into how Citrus fares in the audio/visual department. Regarding the visual front of the Citrus anime adaptation, it’s an overall solid effort, albeit with a moderate amount to be desired. Obviously it would be unreasonable to expect the level of quality in the manga’s art to be fully translated into a costly animated product, especially with a studio like Passione. To compensate for this, the adaptation uses character models that are simplified versions of the exquisitely drawn renditions in the manga, and does so successfully. These character models would’ve been a satisfactory page-to-screen translation if not for one caveat: one of the main things which I believe gave the manga so much of its charm and made it so appealing to many, was how expressive the characters are. Characters, especially Yuzu, would regularly emote and make different facial expressions for many situations. This also happens to the anime to some degree, but not frequently enough to where it captures the manga’s original charm. It’s much rarer in the anime for characters to deviate from their default expressions, making the experience somewhat more sterile. Perhaps this was to cut down on budget costs, or it was a design choice on behalf of the director. Whatever the case, it’s a compromise which I can only feel detracts from the viewing experience. Manga and anime are different mediums, so of course compromises should be expected. But various scenes only stood to lose by omitting so much of the vibrance the characters displayed. Even the many chibi moments in the manga wouldn’t need to be adapted, as simply varying the facial expressions of the characters would be enough. Anime-only viewers probably won’t see this as a huge problem, as it’s rarely a sheer detriment to the visuals (save for a few lamentable instances). Scenes between characters are delivered well and there is plenty of emotion to be found in the visuals. The problem is that the adaptation, by not harnessing the kind of quality seen in the manga, wastes its potential as an adaptation and as an animated product. As it stands, it could be a hell of a lot worse, but it also could have been a lot better.

Additionally, the animation quality is a department that ranges between average to well above average. There are various moments where I was very impressed by the animation, such as certain comedy moments, intimate scenes, emotional engagements, and characters’ body language. But there are also a select few times where I was dumbfounded by just how low the quality could really get. Overall it’s a pretty decently animated show with some flukes here and there, and thankfully it can only improve with the BDs. One of the fronts I was most impressed by in this adaption was the soundtrack. It genuinely surprised me with how good the music was in this adaptation. Using a mixture of graceful orchestral performances with vivacious electronic beats, the music of Citrus is vibrant, diverse, and well-suited for the exuberant and bittersweet tones that the story delivers.

What’s lacking most of all in the visuals is the background art, a case where access to technology seems to have expended a team’s creativity. Several shots will display setpieces with little to no detail or texturing. Perfect cuboids and stainless steel populate much of this world. This is most prevalent in Yuzu’s own house, with walls that are solid colors and doors looking less like wood and more like metal. The school grounds also display a disgustingly high amount of textureless objects, falling short of selling this environment as something that could exist in the real world. This is not even mentioning the many issues with lighting, of which environments are either evenly lit or disregard physics altogether. One shot in particular takes place under a night sky with a lamp post in the left, yet with shadows directly underneath every object. What’s frustrating is that this shot looks great in about every other aspect, from coloring to composition, and falls short of perfection thanks to the team not willing to amend such a simple yet glaring issue.

This also extends to background characters, which often consist of CG models walking awkwardly and robotically. Once this is noticed, it’s impossible to ignore, and immersion struggles to stay in tact. All of this is the mark of a bare minimum effort on the part of Passione, and fans of the source material aren’t nearly as scrutinous of this as they damn well should be. Incompetent decisions like these are one of the main reasons we as anime fans are so desperate for ideal adaptations of the manga and novels we dearly love.

Fortunately, the shoddy effort in the backgrounds is alleviated through great shot composition and luscious color directing, for which we have director Takeo Takahashi to thank. This is a director who excels at visual storytelling and framing, emphasizing certain moods when applicable. Climactic scenes are sold effectively through this as well as character animations which, as previously stated, are well-done when they really need to be. This adaptation of Citrus is overall very well-directed, save for the aforementioned faults in production which Takeo should have been more mindful of. In an ideal world, the production of Citrus would be on par with Hanasaku Iroha, a show that I hold as a high standard for animated melodrama. The end result here is not without its faults, but is a satisfactory effort all things considered.

So that concludes my review of Citrus. The story at large is quite rough around the edges with its frequent use of coincidences. It’s also arguably flawed in how many things are framed as a formulaic routine. With a new girl continually intruding on the situation, it’s admittedly easy to feel some degree of frustration. The core story however, with the two main leads, remains very strong. Various facets of their character are explored well and brought to a satisfying resolve. That said, there are many loose ends in the story yet to be tied up, in which case I can only hope a second season will be made eventually to adapt the rest of the source material to complement the anime-viewing experience. All things considered, however, Citrus is a great anime overall. One of the things which motivated me to write this review was to address the criticisms this show had been receiving. If you have already seen this anime, and anything I’ve said gave you something to think about, then perhaps it deserves a second viewing. For a show so widely shunned as being a lesbian fanservice show, the story of Citrus is one that anyone, gay or straight, male or female, can relate to on any level.

One Punch Man was quite a unique and refreshing experience, albeit quite far from a perfect one. It’s flaws are apparent and certain points of the show can be rather mundane at times. In spite of this, One Punch Man is a show that rarely fails to put a smile on my face while watching it. It’s intent is to lampoon the absurdity of overpowered characters and superhero tropes in general, and in doing this it manages to craft a new path of its own that is filled with style, flashy spectacle, and endearing quirkiness. It may have its shortcomings in terms of maintaining everlasting ... appeal over its course, but it nonetheless does all it needs to do to stand on its own two feet.

Our hero for fun, Saitama, is the center of attention as well as the selling point of the show itself. He is the embodiment of everything One Punch Man represents and what it has to offer. He fights not on the behalf of others, but because he can. It’s unfortunate for him that he’s so damn strong that no villain has a chance of making him flinch, or holding any sort of fight, and this makes Saitama both fatigued and rather bored of his daily routine. This alone is enough to sell the experience to viewers, and to propose an underlying wonder of various instances in most other stories involving superheroes. To start off, the routine of arrogant and ostentatious villains meeting their demise by the hand, or should I say “fist”, of a mellow, half-eyed bald guy in a cape is done in such a comical fashion that is not only humorous, but immediately envelops Saitama as a character, as well as what One Punch Man intends to evoke. We have to wonder if the strongest superheroes we know and love have ever fallen in the same boat as Saitama, deprived of any challenge of exhilaration, and ultimately questioning the point of it all. This is a concept which is both humorous and a breath of fresh air in regards to superheroes, making for a very suitable approach on the topic. However, the question that lies now is if this one concept is enough to carry the show all the way through its duration.

The answer is no. Because it is a one-note gag in where the outcome is pretty much the same in all instances, it would become repetitive and exceedingly mundane to rely on that one gag entirely. One Punch Man luckily manages to refrain from this trap. It refreshes itself by introducing various new characters to add more flavors to the experience, and building on that of Saitama’s. The first character to come to mind is Genos, who serves as a foil to the main character. In contrast to Saitama, Genos is dedicated to his work, and is extremely loyal to Saitama in hopes to achieve his own agenda. This also paves way for some rather funny and amusing interactions between the two. Saitama often gets sick of Genos leeching onto him and blabbering about his ambitions, while Saitama himself tends to silently dread over his own problem. This makes for a great chemistry which keeps the viewing experience alive, proving that One Punch Man has more to offer than a single gag repeated over and over.

With that said, it’s a shame that some other characters don’t get that same amount of fleshing out as our two main heroes. For other characters, we have Tatsumaki, a petite, ill-tempered girl with psychokinetic powers. There’s also Puri-Puri-Prisoner, who is the standard and generic stereotype of a homosexual male: being very feminine. These two along with many others don’t receive a significant amount of development and are seemingly only there to fill in the gaps with more personalities and flashy action scenes. This isn’t a bad thing though, far from it in fact. But I still feel as if this is where the consequence of One Punch Man being a premature adaptation of its source really stands out. Variety is always acceptable, but not to the point to where it feels like padding.

Thankfully there are certain side-characters which stand out from the rest. One example is Speed-o’-Sound Sonic who, after his humiliating defeat from Saitama, labels him as a rival. He actively pursues Saitama on a frequent basis in hopes for vengeance and redemption, which leads to plenty of rather humorous and amusing moments, not even limited to the fight they had which started the whole dilemma. It either leads to a trivial but endearing face-off, or into another situation entirely. In addition there is Mumen Rider, a hero on a bike who pedals to the face of danger, only to get his ass handed to him in the process. What’s significant about his character, however, is that he is ironically one of the biggest sources of inspiration for Saitama. Mumen Rider’s dedication to keeping everybody safe despite how weak he is, puts Saitama in wonder of what true heroism is. Saitama’s significant development as a character highlights that the show isn’t merely a vessel for simple jokes, but provides an actual story to get invested into.

Saitama himself is a notoriously well-rounded character, contrary to what his appearance might imply. In addition to his apathy towards saving the day, his personality is like a normal human being in nearly every relatable way. He has a routine of chores, plans for the day, and plenty of personality and subtext in his dialogue. In fact, if most other characters in the show received the amount of attention as this, I feel like One Punch Man would be successful in offering the completely polished experience it deserved.

With all of this said, how well does One Punch Man live up as a parody? To begin with, to parody means to imitate a particular concept or style, and to exaggerate it for comedic effect. It goes without saying that the existence of Saitama himself fits this idea quite well. The exaggeration comes from Saitama defeating villains in a single punch, and his boredom with the whole concept of being a hero. The comedic effect comes from both the absurdity of the bad guys and Saitama’s apathy. But where does One Punch Man live up as a parody beyond this? Unfortunately this is where the whole attempt to parody typical shounen falls short. The show predominantly revolves around Saitama’s character arc, his frequent encounters with villains, and verbal exchanges with different characters. The whole purpose of being a parody is seemingly gone to waste once Saitama encounters his first epiphany. Many of the jokes from there on out feel rather arbitrary, as if the writer had lost interest in writing a parody and decided to write very standard jokes which offer no insight on the concept of heroism in general. Saitama’s arc is a good thing by itself, and other characters are certainly a joy to watch as well. But after the first few episodes, One Punch Man really feels like it took some steps backwards in terms of what it could have achieved.

The visual department of One Punch Man is good enough in and of itself. Animation is very fluid and well-choreographed as expected of Studio Madhouse, and has the added benefit of being very flashy. Additionally, the character designs manage to look distinct and capture the extravagant nature of the show without looking overly simplistic. There’s plenty of flair to be seen in the designs from Genos’s cybernetic anatomy to Sonic’s sleek attire. By contrast, one-note villains are given a relatively simple and goofy design, indicating that they won’t be seen for long. More prominent villains are more complex in appearance, yet colorful enough to stand out. The characters’ personalities and roles in the story are clearly reflected in their designs, which is the perfect approach for the kind of show One Punch Man is, and so I truly commend the original artist for his work.

The artstyle beyond this is lacking, however. The backgrounds have very little to no flair in how they’re designed, being little more than average photorealism. They’re crafted in such a way that mimics real life, and are actually somewhat appealing visually. But the problem is that it conflicts with the more cartoony designs of the characters, thus resulting in a fairly lackluster presentation. Particularly, the city which Saitama resides in is a rather dull and boring sprawl of grey hues. With how much flair is put into the character designs and action sequences, this area sorely lacks creativity or vibrance, and comes off as a lazy choice on part of the producers. Other shows like Space Dandy and Gurren Lagann are wacky in roughly the same vein as One Punch Man, and manage to have a far more polished visual presentation with backgrounds that fall in line with the proper visual style, and at certain times looking far better than One Punch Man ever manages. Even Boku no Hero Academia, a show with notably more similarities to One Punch Man in concept, displays some creativity and polish by giving its backgrounds a comic-book feel to them. With how tonally consistent these shows are, I don’t see much reason for One Punch Man not to conform to this approach. It gives me the impression that the team over at Madhouse put a strict focus on how to make the character models and animations dazzling, and just ended it there.

And so with all of this said, One Punch Man may not evoke anything particularly meaningful throughout its runtime. And it certainly falls short of being a parody as mentioned earlier. However, the one major question regarding One Punch Man in spite of all this would be: is it worth watching? As far as I’m concerned, the answer is yes. The humor, likeable characters, and exhilarating action sequences are sure to keep viewers satisfied, and at the very least makes One Punch Man ultimately an entertaining and worthwhile experience. It has steps forward and steps back, but the overall product is a success in my eyes and is feel-good watch that I would warmly recommend to many.

ERASED is the most tragic kind of failure to witness. To put it simply, it is an anime full of ideas that it doesn’t know how to use. Forging an engaging premise with many mysteries that are yet to unfold, the ideas it had initially presented are suddenly shoved under the rug, only to be pulled back out when convenient, as if they were nothing more than a mere afterthought. And so without the support it needs, the story loses its way and tumbles down into an abyss of mediocrity. There is nothing more saddening to me than the failure of something that could have ... been excellent if handled some other way.

For a show that comes off as a mystery anime, not much mystery is to be found here. After such a meticulous build up to what would be an exciting murder mystery thriller full of mind games and plot twists, ERASED doesn’t make good use of this. The show suddenly shifts its main focus from the murder mystery tale onto how Satoru will get Kayo rescued, and stays that way throughout the majority of the show, leaving all other aspects of the plot underdeveloped and unexplored. With the amount of mysteries from the beginning, little to no progress is made from there. Satoru rarely considers coming closer to the mystery or making any kind of plan, for he is unable to get Kayo off of his mind. He doesn’t come in contact with any of the suspected individuals nor does he suspect anything along the way. In the end, Satoru confronts the killer through nothing but convenience, making the payoff measly at best. I never felt involved in the mystery up to this point and I was given little to think about. To make matters worse, the identity of the killer is so thinly veiled it’s downright insulting. If you think you’ve guessed the identity of the killer by the third episode, trust me, you guessed correctly. And the show continues to make it more and more obvious to the point where you might as well ditch the mystery entirely. This kind of thing would have worked if the show was intending to mislead the viewer through this method, but assuming this was the case would be giving the writer and the director too much credit.

And now on to the time traveling aspect. Time travel has always been a risky choice when it come to writing stories, due to how difficult it can be to handle. But nonetheless, the “Revival” power beheld by Satoru is an interesting story element that makes way for possibilities. Sadly, this power turns out to be little more than a convenient way of getting Satoru in and out of certain situations, and is neither experimented with nor fleshed out beyond that. In writing, any consequences spawned from the use of time travel is the least of the show’s concern when ERASED doesn’t even bother to take any kind of risk with it. On top of this, the rules on how it operates are unclear, and it only seems to activate whenever convenient for the plot. At first it activates when a tragedy occurs, but then it activates based on Satoru’s emotions. Not only does this create more holes than a colander, it eliminates any kind of tension taking place in the story, which is the biggest kick in the nuts for a thriller. Without the necessary knowledge for any possible outcome, I’m unable to feel any kind of investment. The Revival power is yet another aspect with could have delivered if only the story knew what the hell it was doing.

There are plenty more elements of the story that the show refuses to take advantage of. Jun Shiratori is a close friend of Satoru’s who was falsely suspected prior to the main plot, and yet we don’t ever hear of him again. We are given info on Satoru’s career as a mangaka, and yet it contributes absolutely nothing to the plot. The core plot of ERASED feels so disconnected from the initial premise, that it might as well be only written as a simple story of a child’s mission to rescue his abused classmate. Satoru doesn’t act like a 29-year-old as he should, the Revival power has little involvement in this plot, there is nothing thought provoking about the mystery, and numerous other elements stick out like a sore thumb.

The plot with Kayo Hinazuki wouldn’t be as much of an issue if it held some merit to warrant being the main focus. But this sadly isn’t the case. Kayo is not a bad character, but she isn’t a very interesting one either. She is little more than an ordinary child who suffers from abuse, and is yet to be murdered. Her development is scarce throughout the story. For these reasons, this particular plot would be better off being little more than a few episodes long, which would also clear some room for the mystery and the Revival power to be tampered with. In addition, her parental abuse gets an unnecessary amount of focus, in spite of how insubstantial it really is. Kayo has no psychological struggle we can relate to other than simply needing friends. ERASED fails to realize that the negative effects of parental abuse extend far beyond being lonesome. When a subject such as child abuse gets as much focus as it gets here, I expect it to be fleshed a whole lot more than a mere concept of emotional appeal.

To make matters worse, Satoru is incompetent as hell when it comes to protecting someone, let alone solving mysteries. He never plans things out, and instead dives headfirst into any situation in front of him, never thinking about anything that might go wrong. Why not take a picture of the evidence of Kayo’s abuse when you see it? Why not put a lock the RV you're keeping her in? Why does he try to perform a sneak attack on Kayo’s mother instead of...I dunno...spying on her? Disregarding how bland of a character Satoru is, it’s difficult for me to root for him when he doesn’t even have the thought process of a human being.

It’s worth mentioning that ERASED tries its darndest to have empathy given to any character, whether they be an ally, or a villain. Even the most heinous acts, whether they be child abuse or a murdering spree, is given a motive to show that these characters were actually good people who just did some bad things. But little insight is given to their psychology or their character, and so I remain disconnected, and unable to believe these backstories contribute to any theme or story element other than superficial empathy from the viewer.

ERASED does have strengths. As little meaning as the interactions between Satoru and Kayo hold, they are certainly entertaining to watch. With Satoru being timid and Kayo being composed and dominant, the moments between these characters are most certainly the strongest aspect of ERASED. It gives some life to the story and as such is the main selling point of the show.

The cast of characters in ERASED ranges from being a mixed bag to forgettable overall. Satoru’s introverted nature serves little to the story and his personality isn’t fleshed out beyond a simple good-moraled hero. And yet again, it’s a damn shame his career as a mangaka turned out pointless. Kayo is little more than a plot device whose arc is unworthy of having so much time spent on. The cheerful personality of Anri perhaps serves as a light in Satoru’s dark night sky, so to speak. Too bad that her involvement in the plot or effect on Satoru’s character is minimal. Satoru’s mother is the bomb. She is easily likeable due to having a sense of ration along with her being sincere and practical, as well as being an awesome mother. She is a good character, even if she doesn’t really develop. Every other character is either defined by only their struggles, or is just a blank slate. While some are entertaining on a surface level, pretty much all of them are as bland as a rice cracker in terms of character dimensions. Drama is forged through victimizing rather than actual relatable, human struggles.

Moving on to the visual aspect, it’s rather hit-or-miss. Not necessarily in terms of how it looks, but by how it conveys things. It’s generally a good-looking show overall. The backgrounds are rather lovely and the animation is fluid enough. The character designs, although generic, are very appealing and are well-fit for the characters’ personalities. The directing, however, is handled like a child. Suspenseful and emotional moments are so ham-fisted and over-the-top it’s almost laughable. When I have pretty much gotten the point of what a scene is trying to convey, the directing then takes extra steps to make full certainty that I understand, which only serves to hurt more than help. An example is how inhumanly spastic Kayo’s abusive mother behaves. As far as I’m concerned this isn’t how abusive parents really act. The directing also overuses stylization with its use of color and obvious symbolism, which is often borderline immersion-breaking. Any character with a feeling of malicious intent will be given red eyes, because apparently the viewers are too incompetent to get the point otherwise. On the other hand, the 1988 sequences are given a nice atmosphere to them, making it easy to feel involved in each scene. So while the director seems to be headed in the right direction, he has not proven to be skillful enough based on what we find here.

ERASED is not a bad show. It has its moments, and some deal of entertainment can be found. But the end result of what it was initially hyped up to be is nothing short of a disappointment. With no idea of what it wants to be, clumping numerous underdeveloped plot elements together, along with irrational behavior of the characters, and what we’re left with is a Frankenstein’s monster of a storyline. It is easy to say that the premise of ERASED had overpowered the writing, and would have turned out better if it had been handled by a different author entirely.

Sword of the Stranger is not a groundbreaking or innovative dish you would find in a five-star restaurant, but rather an average dish with all your favorite ingredients which you love to savor day after day. This film doesn’t fall into the trap of constantly trying to be what it isn’t, that being a frequent issue with many shows and movies alike. It knows its limits, explores the possibilities within the boundaries, and milks every bit of essence out of it making a simple, yet delightful experience. It is neither groundbreaking nor the pinnacle of story telling, but it was a whole damn lot of ... fun nonetheless.

Our two main characters, the young boy Kotarou and the lone samurai Nanashi whom he hires, are identified by their roles in the story, as well as their own personalities and morals which happen to be different from one another. It is because of these differences that they don’t get along at first, but they eventually grow a bond and accept each other. This is a simple yet engaging tale thanks to the delivery and how it’s handled.

Nanashi is a cynical, no-nonsense kind of guy. He mainly acts according to logic as opposed to emotion. This makes him a rather arrogant, and frankly annoying person, which is mainly why he has such a shaky cooperation with Kotaru, who acts mainly on emotion. The only reason Nanashi bothers to help Kotaru is because of the reward he receives at the end. But Kotarou’s dog, Tobimaru, who was poisoned by Chinese soldiers, was healed all thanks to Nanashi’s knowledge and act on logic, as well as Kotarou’s cooperation. Through a series of events and compelling dialogue, Kotarou learns to cooperate better with Nanashi, and the two even grow a valuable friendship. This kind of resolution was immensely satisfying to watch. Nothing feels forced or overdone, it all feels natural and well handled.

We also get to know about Nanashi’s past as a samurai, which is where his change of heart through Kotaru comes into play. This leads to his development and growth as a character, coming to realization of his emotions and inner desires later in the story. After a long history of working for numerous military organizations without a care in the world, he learns to act on his own volition and to find who he truly wants to protect as a samurai. This results in a climactic part of the film that is wonderfully and beautifully executed. Great directing, beautiful atmosphere, and overall satisfying conclusion.

Unfortunately, the other aspects of the story aren’t quite as engaging. I frequently found myself zoning out whenever a dialogue scene between the Chinese militia popped up. They just aren’t all that compelling when compared the main plot. On top of this, our villain, by the name of Luo-Lang, is a villain you would typically find in a Saturday morning cartoon. He is pretty much exactly what you’d expect to see in a “tough-guy, I-fight-alone, always-looking-for-a-good-fight” kind of villain. He keeps his eye on Nanashi in hopes that he will give him the battle of a lifetime, and betrays his team as a result. While it works and is handled well, practically no unique trait is to be found. Of course one could say that he doesn’t need one, considering the kind of approach this film is making. That is indeed understandable. Though while Luo-Lang is a charming character in his own right, I can’t really help but have asked for more.

Supernatural elements are also introduced later in the story. They just kind of come out of nowhere and feel like a cheap way of operating the plot. It feels rather out of place especially considering the strictly historical aura the film had at first intended to capture.

Moving on, a major contribution to one’s enjoyment of the film is an audio-visual experience. Not only in production value, but in execution. The film looks gorgeous from a technical standpoint, as expected of Studio Bones, but that’s not where it ends. The artwork mostly consists of dim colors, bringing the Sengoku period to life. Each shot is filled to the brim with atmosphere. The lovely backgrounds, the soothing music reminiscent of historical Japan, the attention to detail, and the clever camerawork will immerse the viewer in nearly every scene, making them feel as if they really have been brought into the Sengoku period, witnessing every event from the length of a hair away.

Another thing we'll get into now is what this film is vastly praised for: the sword fights. Once again, they already look spectacular based on technicality and animation fluidity, but what really makes them so special is the thought process put behind them. The choreography is brilliantly done, carrying one shot to the next in such a natural and fluid way that is guaranteed to bring the viewer on the edge of their seat. What’s also worth noting is that the battles are not only limited to the clashing of swords. One scene in particular will have Nanashi evading an attack, and swinging a pot of hot water with his hilt right onto the enemy’s face. A variety of weapons are also used including arrows, throwing knives, a whip, and even Tobimaru’s canine teeth. You can see how the creators took the effort to expand their imagination beyond simple sword clashing, making each battle fresh in its own way. An example of a nice touch in the film is how the beginning of a fight and a man fishing are put in the same shot, coincidently moving 1 on 1 right as the fight starts, for added effect. This kind of clever directing is worthy of praise, and a huge part of what makes Sword of the Stranger such a blast.

The soundtrack is also a job well done. Not only are the tracks beautiful on their own, they are executed wonderfully and implemented right where and when they need to be used, ranging from calming and atmospheric, to epic and fast-paced. However, most of these tracks contain a very similar theme used again and again. That can be a little annoying to some, but regardless the work and effort put in is still worthy of admiration.

So in conclusion, if you are a viewer looking for something new, original, and groundbreaking, then I honestly think you would be better off looking through the works of Masaaki Yuasa. But if you don’t really care about originality, and just want something standard, with numerous great elements bunched into a nifty little package, then I would not hesitate to recommend you this film. And if you’re a fan of samurai, then this film is most definitely for you, because you’ll find pretty much everything you want. Lovable characters, atmospheric historical setting, brilliant cinematography, fluid animation, and memorable sword battles. While not innovative, and in spite of its shortcomings and flaws, Sword of the Stranger is truly a remarkable experience to behold and remember.