Wow, this was bad.
Some have made comparisons to Steins; Gate, Re:Zero or Erased for its time travel and looping elements. It borrows from a few different shows for some inspiration here, and has a solid enough premise, I guess. The borrowing from these other shows is only superficial, it takes none of the smart direction, intense emotional stakes, psychological trauma and interrogation and introspection of their respective casts from the three shows I mentioned. Anohana might be another relevant influence, at least a little, also an infinitely better show.
This show takes many of the plot hooks, mechanics and story setups from these shows, but brings
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Apr 9, 2024 Not Recommended Funny 
Never seen a show so highly regarded and begin with a solid premise only to waste at least 80% of its runtime on episodic BS, splitting up the characters for no reason, pointless external conflicts, red herrings and distractions that endlessly delay the actual plot. You had 74 episodes to weave a meaningful murder thriller story, and very few of these episodes are actually interested in anything of the sort.
If the plot isn't moving forward, are we developing the characters? No, like I said, arbitrary external conflicts or the characters just up and leaving instead of having conversations always leads the characters to being pawns ... of the plot. They never have clear motivations or goals in terms of how the story treats them--they just do things and react to Johan, Tenma's actions and movements. Emotions and feelings are never expressed that show deep character movement or progression. They just look sad, forlorn about 'oh no I have to kill Johan', humanity is bad, murder make me sadge, cri cri. The rest of the time is just filled with recap of prior events (that are also not meaningful). Is it realistic? In some ways, yes, in many ways no--it has plenty of contrivances, conveniences or deus ex machinas that any story often has. It's realistic sometimes but actively obstructs its plot and mutes its character motivations when the writer hasn't decided what to do yet. Mid at best, often worse than mediocre, waste of time.
Reviewer’s Rating: 3
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Feb 28, 2021
Wonder Egg Priority
(Anime)
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Not Recommended Preliminary
(7/12 eps)
Some minor spoilers.
I'm gonna be honest, the first 3 or 4 episodes of this show are pretty bad. Rushed, maybe? It feels like the overall concept they had for the show was clear but they didn't know how to ease into it or properly hook viewers in. So, from the beginning we've got big character moments, battles that don't really land because we don't know anything about these characters' motivations and past traumas, and what little we do see isn't enough to make sense of what we're given. (Feels like some high-budget, poor alternative take on the Madoka Magica concept in some respects) A lot of lines ... of dialogue are throwaway, certain ideas just feel like red-herrings, we're tugging our viewer in all kinds of directions! For the first few episodes, I'm regularly at a loss about how the show wants me to feel--it's hard to parse. Or, worse still, it makes the presentation of the themes, ideas and motivations feel *incredibly* ham-fisted, simplistic and childish, despite the heavy themes the show is dealing with. The pacing doesn't make sense and it's not clear where things are really going. It's groan-inducing. Of course, the animations, sound/music and voice acting were all really good from the start. But for these first few episodes, this show feels like a lesson in why performing outstandingly in all those categories is not enough to make a show good, or even passable on its own. But it does get a lot better! I don't know at what point exactly things start to click and the ideas the show has all start to work together well, but they do. Maybe somewhere in or around episode 4 or 5. Once the characters are established, their goals, motivations and personalities are clear, the battles have a lot more weight, as do the character interactions. A lot of parallels and themes actually feel like they interconnect really well. It's still pretty clumsy at parts, but it's obvious to me that by episodes 6 and 7 that the individual fights the main cast is in--trying to fight the traumas of various girls that committed suicide--actually have parallels with the main cast's trauma, and connect to a lot of other ideas the show is playing with. We get some internal reflection, some character growth. And, importantly, some sense that this is all moving somewhere with a definite conclusion. Where before the main cast felt like empty shells that some writer was clumsily trying to project deep themes onto, I'm attached to them now, their interactions as friends have grown charming and heartwarming at certain moments. There's still some weirdness--why Momoe identifies so strongly with her uncle, angers at the idea he might be shady. Sawaki himself is still yet a mystery. I assume, hope that these tensions will resolve in some way that at least makes sense. Now, depending on the ending, how the plot moves forward this could end up being a massive dumpster fire or actually pretty great. If it finishes strong, I'll bump this up to an 8. Just warning you, the start is pretty mediocre, hard to watch. EDIT: I dunno, The direction feels like it's all over the place again. Episode 9 brought us back to the mediocrity of the first few episodes by introducing a new character we as an audience feel nothing for and then made her the focus of Neiru's story. And now the gov't/bad corporation or something is coordinating with the egg-people behind the scenes? What is the viewer supposed to make of this, exactly? Am I supposed to care? The girls are back to reacting strangely and suddenly to things for no real reason again to drive momentary conflict in the dialogue. And contrasting the authentic character moments in a few of the prior episodes, we're back to dramatically dropping 'big' plot points without much context to make them interesting. To contrast with Rika's episode, which was just earlier, the central focus there was with her mom, and her learning not to hate her mom so much and accept her a little more. Family is an inherently relatable theme, it's almost like a cheat code, and it even had a parallel with Ai's own situation, so she could try and help Rika deal with those feelings. Even if we don't get a full internal monologue, they show us that she clearly hates herself on the inside, and showing us a character's feelings is the low bar you need to clear for the audience to try and understand/relate. So why are we here in Episode 9, hearing about how Neiru is part of Japanese MENSA or whatever? I don't care! I don't care that she's a child genius, conceived in a test tube or whatever. Or that she had a friend that was also some kind of genius doing strange experiments that led to her death, and now she needs Neiru to cut her life support and destroy her body. Why should I care about ANY of that? Show or at least tell me how Neiru really feels. We see that it shook her quite a bit, broke her cold facade--but that's really just a start. At least use all those other details to tell us something about her internal thought process and struggles, cause otherwise they're just filling space. I'm getting insane whiplash from the sudden changes in direction. I feel like the episode directors are actively laughing at me as I try and figure out what they're even trying to say with this show. I'll watch to the end out of curiosity now, but I'm pretty quickly losing faith that they can right this ship into a coherent story anymore. Now they not only have to make up for the time lost due to the weak start, but also explain and contextualize many overdramatically introduced mysteries, plot points and strange character behaviors. Seriously doubt that's gonna happen, they're just gonna bank on their production values, music and voice acting and call it a day with some nonsense ending. Dropping this to a 6 and expecting it to be a 4 once we're done. --I never finished this, and from everything I hear, the ending was worse. I stopped at episode 9 when I saw big flashing signs that we were getting lost in stuff that didn't matter/not focusing on the characters. Looks like my instincts were right.
Reviewer’s Rating: 4
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Jul 21, 2019
Himouto! Umaru-chan R
(Anime)
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As a critic, I'm interested in what a story communicates, what it says directly or indirectly, by inclusion or by omission. Rather than, say, my personal preference for genre or art style.
I think this series as a whole is somewhat of an unacknowledged gem. Why? Most who discuss it acknowledge its popularity, often with some degree of annoyance. The show is known for Umaru's obnoxious character and for being generally standard fare moeblob SoL packaged in such a manner to make it ripe for seasonal success but ultimately forgettable. I understand this take, I just kind of disagree with it. A good part of the show is ... standard slice of life hijinks with an upbeat tone and decently executed comedy. But Umaru gives us some more meaty substance to chew on too, beneath it all. I'll note that, additionally, the show at least gives us basic conflicts between characters, differing motivations or desires in scenes to give us an idea of where it's going or what the joke or punchline is going to be. This is more than I can say for some moeblob SoL--where the point and purpose is just to generate gifs of cute girls doing cute things and call it a day. So what is that substance? After all the silly hijinks and playing out of the usual tropes, the show gives us some space for some really genuine emotional warmth and intimacy between its characters. It hits us with OST 39, which I will link, https://youtu.be/Kunj2Uzy0Bg?t=3459, creating an atmosphere and a tone for a lot of tender kindness and human goodness. None of it feels particularly fake, it seems like a proper addendum to the silliness that makes up much of the show. It gives the characters space for a little more depth, and to characterize them as appreciating and caring for one another in a way that befits the relationships they have nominally as friends or siblings. It's nothing earth-shattering or revolutionary, but that little bit of warmth and emotional intimacy gives the show some humanity and realism that elevates it above simply being a moeblob SoL gif generator.
Reviewer’s Rating: 7
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Jun 20, 2018
Re:Creators
(Anime)
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SPOILERS, of course.
Re: Creators is a work interested in the question: what is the purpose of stories? What do they say? What do they mean? In bringing the created works to life, the created naturally ask 'Why do I suffer in my story? What is the point of the ordeal I've endured?' What a given work is saying, what philosophical work it's doing, is, as always, my primary focus. What does it say about human beings, about the human condition? Given this show's metanarrative focus, it is, despite its flaws, a very interesting candidate for dissection. My own starting perspective layers on a double meaning to ... the questions I laid out at the beginning. As a Catholic, I've given considerable thought to the 'problem of evil' -- which is a perfect mirror to the questions that the 'created' ask of their 'creators', their authors. The human being asks God, 'Why do I suffer? What could possibly justify the pain I and others endure? Why would a just God ever allow such suffering? A just God wouldn't -- there is no God. So the problem goes, and attempts to answer it have been formulated for millennia. The same question hangs over Re: Creators, albeit in parallel form. (At the outset, I'll mention that due to my Catholicism, my engagement with the problem of evil will essentially assume that the problem can be resolved, and I will resolve it as a Catholic would. I do think that the problem of evil is the strongest argument for atheism, so I'm definitely not grappling with other arguments against God's existence or taking them seriously. If you bring the attitude 'The burden of proof is on the religious person to prove God exists, there's no scientific evidence for God' -- attitudes that fundamentally mistake the purpose of science and misunderstand that science cannot touch philosophical questions -- you might find my perspective irritating, so fair warning. Additionally, do not presume that my references to fallen human nature or original sin mean that I believe the Earth to be 6000 years old, or that I disbelieve in evolution or any such nonsense.) I think, essentially though, to answer the question of narratives, of why our fictional heroes suffer is to answer the question for us -- we are the 'gods' to our fictional heroes, and as they demand an answer from us as to the justice behind their suffering, so we demand an answer from God. Of course, we aren't really gods, and fiction doesn't really come to life, there are no real ethical quandaries to grapple with when writing fiction, no one is really asking about the moral implications of our fiction coming to life, because it doesn't and never will -- and neither is Re: Creators. Instead, Re: Creators is really pushing at the question of what narrative is, and asking us to consider that question in light of the problem of evil. It doesn't always do this perfectly, nor know how to answer the questions it asks very well, but I commend it for making the effort. On the periphery, sometimes its authors answer their creations in ways that we would find unacceptable were God or anyone else to answer us in such a way. In one instance, an author tells her creation that it is just what she must do as an author -- create and create and tell stories. She is a mad god, there is no justice, no sense in the tragedy of her stories -- as she would tell it, at least. I don't think this is an honest answer, nor do I think that the show means for us to take away that it is, but I do think that this example pokes at why we can't take the actual literal presentation of the facts as the show presents them very seriously, we're not really meant to look at the worldbuilding here as a serious contributing facet of what the work is doing. This world would break down and pull apart at its seams were such things to happen. In a fascinating way, Re: Creators seems to know this, as our antagonist, Altair, says that bringing more creations into the world will lead to the world's destruction. Why does Altair desire the world's end? This is the real question, and answering it reveals something about the purpose of human narrative. All the other narratives, their stories, their characters have been made subordinate to the real-world one. All of them must work in service, in some manner or other, to resolving the story that Altair has to tell. What is her story? What evil does she cry out to God about? In as short as detail as possible, it is heartache, anger and fury at an unjust world, at evil done to her creator, Setsuna. She is a character created in response to her creator's felt sorrow, anger and grief at her own treatment. Altair carries Setsuna's grief, anger and sadness, she is a narrative remedy to it. A story Setsuna told herself to cope, for if only this created character in her mind could confront the injustices she faced on her behalf, maybe her heart could find a little peace. Setsuna's could not though, as the show begins with her suicide. The story of Altair is the story of Setsuna, for Altair's story is one created in service of Setsuna's. Human narratives, our participation in the grand act of God's narrative act of creation, are remedies of our own, albeit imperfect ones. We create narrative arcs in which our protagonists suffer, but they suffer for good reason -- so that they might come to realize greater truths and seek a greater good, their suffering becomes a necessary element that our protagonists might grow. So it must be with us, and even more than this, we must see how our narratives all exist in service of the same goal, how our stories are ultimately a form of participation in THE story, the story of humanity. Re: Creators, intentionally or not, captures this. For, in the end, all the summoned creations from their respective stories come to play a part, a role in the story of Setsuna and Altair. They all participate in the real, human story, in healing the hurt done to Setsuna's heart and thus Altair's. What wonderfully imagined and beautifully realized characters too! They invented rough sketches of various characters from a variety of stories, trying to cover as wide a breadth of archetypes and tropes as possible. A grizzled, hard-boiled investigator, a medieval knight from a harsh world, a young man piloting a mech, a magical girl, a sage-like librarian, and so on. They all have imagined arcs to their character stories, they were not made to be cheap parodies of what they imitate. She doesn't ask Altair to forgive the world what it's done to Setsuna, but what she does say of narrative, of the act of creation: "But to hug the whole world once more..including everything in it..I think that..that's what it means to create the world" Setsuna had not the strength to step forward and perform that act of heroic acceptance, of self-creation in spite of despair and difficulty. She was weak and fragile, unable to bear it, and took her own life. Altair was created, like I said, as a narrative remedy -- Altair is strong and champions the cause of those who have no voice. Strength to project itself, to right the wrongs done to Setsuna in her weakness. Stories, narratives tell us about the justice, the good that we seek, often a fantastical justice, a utopian good. Often, a justice to right wrongs now irreversible. In many ways, a final justice, a divine justice. They tell us about the good, the end to which all human beings are directed. Our stories aspire to become the divine story, to touch the act of God's creation and the long arc of justice that the human story represents, they help us realize the gap between things as they are and things as they should be. This fact, too, Re: Creators manages to touch upon in the very fact of its metanarrative structure, of stories layered upon and inside one another. In its finale, the protagonists aim to defeat Altair by presenting it to the world as a crossover-character elimination event, by presenting it as fiction, as narrative. With every swell and change in the crowds' sentiments, her powers grow or lessen in proportion. In the very end, as Setsuna is finally allowed to meet Altair, and the crowd hears her story, feels the pain Setsuna endured, feels Altair's anger at the world, the world is forgiven, redeemed. By the very fact that it is a narrative, a story that others share in. The fact of our sharing, our participating in others' narratives is key -- what redemption would there be if no one heard Setsuna and Altair's story? Sota serves as a helpful example, he is haunted by what he failed to do for Setsuna, for his role in driving her to suicide, and his narrative cannot find completion until her's does. Our stories are intertwined, bound up in one another's fates. A beautiful reflection of the fact that our good is sought with others, not alone. For the sorrow and pain in Setsuna's story, caused by those others in her life, by Sota, can only be healed by a recognition of the wrongs and sins done against her, by so many recognizing the injustice of it and wanting her story to be given a happy end. With all of those united desires for the other's good, with love for the other, such a happy end becomes possible. The specifics of it, of Altair creating worlds and melodramatically grabbing Setsuna as she falls in front of the train, don't really matter. What does matter is the thematic takeaway, which is essentially that if we all want the best for one another, if we have love in our hearts for one another, then we can heal wrongs and make things right, we can create the justice we so desire for one another. That's really beautiful. Further, narrative has the power to illustrate the good which we seek but haven't yet reached. How does that all relate back to our original question, to the problem of evil? So much evil, so much pain and suffering has its roots in human sin and wrongdoing, in the ways we treat one another. An incredible deal of suffering on the natural level can even be attributed to human failure, as were we not the fallen beings we are, science and technology could save so many more lives. If no one ever felt uncared for, if none were neglected, if all were loved and respected, then we might yet see a world without evil. In my saying so, I am thus painting a picture which assumes that present human suffering is allowed by God because we fell from grace, because we are sinful and fallen. I am not here to write a theological treatise, but it's necessary to distinguish between understanding evil that results from human sin as something God 'allows' versus something God 'punishes' us with. Why would God allow it? Wouldn't it be more just if Setsuna was never abused and pushed into committing suicide? Wouldn't it be better if humans weren't fallen? Here again we must remember the way that narrative helped redeem the world in the eyes of Setsuna and Altair. Just as with the hero in a narrative, we must fall first and suffer before we can reach a final, resolved end. So it must be with us, albeit on a longer timescale. The suffering of others', like with Sota to Setsuna, has the potential to move us to act in a way to make sure others do not suffer similarly. We rise or fall together. Setsuna's story, her pain and suffering, made into a story can teach others, whether those others are the people in the show's fictional world or real people, to treat people with kindness. Our narratives are thus, again, our participation in a variety of forms, tiny chapters in that grand human narrative, in the story of humanity slowly coming to realize its true good and creating a world where all are loved and evil has no place. At least, that's my answer to the problem of evil and pertaining to what I think human stories are. I don't think the show would ever put forward those answers explicitly, nor would I expect it too. I do think, though, that the truth reveals itself through all things. Now, it does do some things definitely wrong though, not to do with its philosophical content, really. After some early confrontations and stage setting for the finale, the show settles into a lull where basically nothing happens, and the conflicts in some of these episodes are, like, writers literally arguing about the creative process. These are near-pointless filler, and I regret that they weren't used for other character and narrative development, or just tossed aside to make for a more tight show. The music is absolutely incredible, really brings the show to life. I've heard differing opinions on the quality of the animation, but it felt pretty lively and engaging to me. I'm no expert on that topic, though. That all being said, for a show that grapples with questions like the problem of evil and the purpose of narrative, it reflects back the wonderful light of reality quite well.
Reviewer’s Rating: 8
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Apr 24, 2018
Steins;Gate
(Anime)
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SPOILERS, of course.
Steins;Gate is in many respects still a work in progress, the currently airing show, 0, essentially wrings out the character development in our protagonist Okarin that made the ending to this show possible. If anything, the original show cheats a little by showing us that development ahead of time so we can get our happy ending ahead of time. Further, as objectionable as some might think it, the movie also adds to and furnishes out an account of what Steins; Gate is doing, what it's saying -- about people, about the human condition, about free will and choice. And of course, what the show ... is doing, what its saying, what its point and purpose is, what it shows and tells in truths about human beings is what I am concerned with. I'm not concerned with whether or not a particular part here (and here I'll be looking at the original show, 0 and the Deja Vu movie) is or isn't canon, nor if it somehow 'breaks the established rules of the show' yadda yadda etc. This is a show about time travel, the innumerable paradoxes and logistical problems that would abound were time travel feasible render the concept itself absurd scientifically. Whether or not Steins; Gate follows its own rules only matters to the extent that following those rules makes the audience find the world believable, and to the extent that Steins; Gate breaks them or adds to them -- especially Deja Vu -- only matters if they are so glaringly, insanely disillusioning that they pull you out of the entire experience. One might be right in arguing that Deja Vu adds new rules, modifies old ones, and isn't always quite clear on its own internal logic with its viewers. That's okay though! In the end, like I said, none of this *really* makes sense. It doesn't have to, that isn't a criticism of Steins;Gate. The show isn't relying on the internal logic of its own time travel rules being consistent in order that you, the viewer, might remain invested. That's ridiculous. The show is simply using, as all good sci-fi does, its fictional concepts and ideas as a platform to tell a story. If rule-breaking and minor inconsistency can enhance that storytelling, or can do more for that storytelling than adhering to them could, then go ahead and break them! So, I'll be arguing that each of the three parts here that constitute the whole of Steins;Gate are necessary for it to form a coherent whole, in order for it to say what it wants to say. Deja Vu included. As such, this is basically a review for all three (Obviously not 0 yet). While most will admit that neither the movie nor Steins;Gate 0 could stand on their own without the original show, I'd like to argue that the original show would be grossly incomplete without 0 and the movie as well. In order to understand why this is, we need to understand what Steins;Gate is saying, we must understand the philosophy at work in it. We'll also need to understand what each part of the whole is doing, that is, what Steins Gate, 0 and Deja Vu are each doing respectively, what their goals are. So, let's get started! A young man, discouraged and distressed, sits on a bench in the rain. His friend, Mayuri, has been depressed since the passing of her grandmother. He feels unable to aid her in the way she needs it. A woman sits beside him and tells him the story of the great mad scientist, Hououin Kyouma. She tells him of how he is always regaling his friends with tales of the evil organization, of secret plots and sinister threats lurking in the shadows, and how his friends all found him very amusing for this outlandish persona. She tells him of how Hououin Kyouma, unbeknownst to his friends, did in fact really save them from the most nightmarish of realities, but did so alone, for they could never know -- and they laughed at his persona for it, and so he carried on alone. 'That's a sad story' says Okabe Rintarou Within the tragically comic tale, though, Okabe found the resources to take on that persona to save Mayuri, to pretend to be the mad scientist he heard of, if only to distract his friend from her woes for a moment. Okabe found himself talking of the organization, of the world order that must be destroyed, of secrecy, of time travel. In adopting this persona, and playfully demanding that Mayuri must remain his hostage, perhaps for the sake of his 'plans' and 'plots' to destroy the 'world order', he found a way to be there for his friend. Regardless, in time, Okabe came to rely on that persona more and more -- as a shield for himself and for fun. In time, the story of that mad scientist became the story of Okabe Rintarou, as he endeavored and succeeded in creating an actual time machine, in hacking into the database of a powerful organization, in changing the past and the future, in saving and failing to save his friends from the kind of sinister forces he loved to talk outlandishly of, but never dreamed of really encountering. Just like the mad scientist he heard about from the woman, he came to save his friends from very real danger, but did so essentially alone. In his moving from timeline to timeline, the memories of his friends faded and reset, so while he could lean on them for a time, while they would empathize with him in that moment, soon those moments would be gone -- no longer even in their past memories. Determined and unwavering, Okabe eventually succeeding in rewriting history, triumphing over the organization, and saving his friends. He had brought them to a world line where the world was stable, peace reigned, the organization had no plans and there was no time travel. It is worth mentioning at this point that he HASN'T really done this yet. As I mentioned, the show deigns to tell and show us the happy ending achieved after Okabe goes through the suffering and character growth necessary to get there -- but without showing us the suffering and character growth. That's ongoing, that's what Steins;Gate 0 is. In some sense, I know it never would've happened, but it would be quite the long-game payoff if Steins;Gate actually ended with episode 23b to lead into 0 instead of giving us 23, 24 and 25, which we would've only got after 0. I don't know exactly how 0 will show Okabe develop, change and grow -- but he will. Knowing the quality of all past work, and White Fox's ability, I posit it will be masterful. I like the direction it has gone in so far. Whether for better or worse, I'll update this review when the time comes accordingly. However, assuming for the purpose of my overview that Okabe reaches the point he does in 0 and successfully changes the past that would've happened in 23b to the past we see in 23, 24 and 25, we can take a look at where Steins;Gate has gone, what it's shown, and what it's said. In many regards, the show is simply using the fantasy of time travel to showcase the importance of choice, of the weight of our actions, of accepting responsibility and doing what you can to change things. Where a story that was told linearly, where time moved linearly, would show our characters develop naturally, where their ability to rise to the occasion and act virtuously or not would depend on their development, on their virtue or vice up to that moment, that isn't how things work here. In our 23rd episode, instead, what basically happens is Okabe gets a video message from the version of himself that has undergone that development and character growth, one that tells him the things he needs to know, one that shows him how to be the person he needs to be at this moment. He becomes that person, undergoing the development his future self did for him, except right now. We don't have that luxury, of course. No one ever has or ever will. Steins;Gate knows that, too. When he makes himself and his friends able to live in a world where there isn't any time travel, where World War III doesn't happen, where they're not executed by SERN, then they are finally free to embrace the infinite potential of the future. In some sense, they're finally able to step into the reality we know and understand. In many regards, all the ways Steins;Gate plays around with the choices of the characters to change the past, to step onto different world lines and seek different realities speaks to the power of human choice, to the pursuit of the good. Except, in the fantasy that plays out, that takes the form of reversing established reality and putting something else in its place, of changing past events and pasting over them with new one, of leaving behind traces and fragments of those previously existing realities in people's heads. Obviously, again, that isn't the world we inhabit, but it is in some sense a great portrait of the solemn reality of our choices, of the way that we think through, imagine and fantasize about other ways things *could be*, of he way we think about ways thing *could have been* different. Time leaping and sending d-mails are very much directly parallel to actually making freely-willed choices to affect circumstances in our reality. In many ways, it seems as though the realities on most of Okabe's traveled world lines are fatalistic situations -- this person must die and in another, this other person. No matter what Okabe does within those individual world lines -- those fates do not change. His pursuit, eventually, is to cross a barrier that will open new possibilities, so to speak. He seeks to cross over '1% divergence'. All the jargon that goes along with this, about 'divergence' from the alpha, beta world lines, about the 'field attractors' that bind the other world lines to fixed point. In terms of plain, straightforward explanation, or scientific understanding, they're worthless -- it's basically just jargon that means 'Present situation bad, fate unavoidable, do magic plot thingy to make it so fate isn't set in stone' -- and that's okay. On the level of thematic coherency, again, running toward a reality where your choices matter, where everyone's choices matter, where we aren't fated to do xyz, where we have a say in what becomes of us, that's a really great message -- I don't care how the show chooses to dress it up. For it's purposes, it's a sci-fi show, so inventing some sci-fi jargon that translates it into the language of our protagonist is exactly what it needs to do. I love, too, the way that getting to a reality where fate can be escaped involves undoing the d-mails that changed the past, involves making right the meddling with established reality. That's a nice little hint at the meaning of the main run of the show here, even our main characters can't *really* meddle with past events and change them to their liking -- they have to reckon with the reality given to them by the choices of others -- there's no avoiding the weight of our own moral agency, nor that of others. It does it well, and Steins;Gate is a beautiful work for it, I can't wait to see how 0 enriches and adds to it. But but but! I told the story of the show from the beginning according to two perspectives, one from what is presumably the show's original timeline, where he hears about Hououin Kyouma from something else, and another from Deja Vu's. I left a few threads in there dangling for Deja Vu to pick up. Okabe made his choices and became the mad scientist that he read about, he led his friends toward a world where they were free. In so living that life, though, he took on the tragic loneliness and detachment that the woman so described to him in another timeline. He had taken it all on himself, his friends unable to remember those past realities, while he did. He saw it all, remembered it all. While his friends could freely move forward, he found himself strangely stuck, pulled in all directions by those worlds he had left behind. That's how the movie tells it anyway. Just like the show, though, the jargon here is just jargon, and it doesn't matter here any more than it did there exactly how much straight logical sense that jargon makes. It matters EVEN LESS whether this new jargon syncs up with the old jargon -- and that is essentially the debate people are engaged in when they whine about Deja Vu's new jargon breaking the rules of the old jargon. It is a futile, fruitless and pointless discussion. None of it is pertinent or useful for understanding. What does matter? What matters is what thematically the jargon serves to communicate, just like before. What's being communicated here, then? Basically, that in living his self-sacrificing, lonely and disconnected life as Hououin Kyouma, Okabe Rintarou has become lonely and disconnected -- unable to move forward, stuck feeling as though he must disappear to hold the world up and let his friends move forward. It is, as all things in a sense are, a question of the heart. Who will heal Okabe's wounds and bring him back to reality? Well, that's Makise Kurisu of course. There are a fair few missed opportunities in the original show for Makise Kurisu to shine on her own, to step into the role of the protagonist as fully and as thoroughly as Okabe does. Presumably that's because the show is faithfully adapting its source material. Which, while still great, is a VN, and VN's do tend to be self-serving to their protagonists and give them the dumb harems they desire. Some of Steins;Gate's more harem-y episodes do get on my nerves, as does the strange sex ratio of the show. These factors, like Rem in Re:Zero, generally only get in the way of the show's primary objective. There's really no good reason why the source material couldn't have just had more male characters who had their own problems and arcs to go through, or had the existing female characters with their problems but no interest in romantic entanglements with Okabe. We know why it's written this way though, to please and attract a male demographic that wants that sort of fantasy. I can't entirely blame White Fox for adapting the source material as it was, I imagine market forces moved them to faithfully adapt it. Regardless, criticisms that center around the fact that Makise Kurisu could've done more, could've shouldered the burden that Okabe carries with him -- or acted on her own, are fair. They're right. It could have and should have been written that way. It would've been super cool to see Kurisu time-leaping along with Okabe, or to have Okabe suddenly discover that she had leapt back in time, much to his surprise. It would've been great for her to be the full partner to Okabe that the show portrays her as being romantically. It would've been great for her impact on the progression of the plot, on the events of the show to be at least equal to Okabe's. There're a lot of, as I said, missed opportunities there, given what a rich and brilliant character she is. Well, I guess someone heard those criticisms, or saw the opportunity for Makise Kurisu to play the protagonist as she should've before. Beyond the missed opportunities and wasted potential, the other problem with other characters being unable to play parts in Okabe's struggle, with Okabe taking on the role of the stoic, lonely crusader, is that the stoic is wrong! He isn't alone and others should, can and do play a part in his -- in their -- story. A thematic movement present in one of White Fox's other works is what's needed, and is what Deja Vu will deliver. In Re:Zero, part of the point of Subaru's character portrayal is that not only is he not alone, but he cannot be successful without others. He's just not all that great. The sentiment isn't only a comment about the quality of Subaru's character, though in part it is. It also just applies to everyone -- noone is invincible, able to do everything, able to take on everything -- we all need others, we all need eachother. Life, in all of its adventures and misadventures, is a communal story, is a story of how we rise or fall together -- it is not a story of individuals navigating those seas alone. The individual is a great modern myth. The same applies to Okabe -- he can't do this alone, he shouldn't try. He does try though, he tries and tries to hold up that world so that his friends might go on. He became the stoic image of Hououin Kyouma, not recognizing himself, his own desires, his own value, his own heart. So, he disappeared, he vanished. Just as the stoic would, just as the stoic does. Before he vanishes once and for all, he tells Kurisu not to meddle with time, not to change things, not to become like him. He tries to deny her, to deny his friends even memory of him. He tells her to forget him. The jargon the movie uses for this, is that Okabe has been pulled to the 'R' worldline which is 0.0000001% different from the Steins;Gate worldline or something, and we're shown imagery of the two worldlines flowing in unision around one another -- as if they are tied together. This is not, as I said, a mechanic in the original show or 0 as far as I understand, it's new. Again, though, does not matter, it's just sci-fi jargon used for the purpose of communicating thematic content and ideas, secondarily its purpose is to integrate the event of Okabe's disappearance with the story of the rest of the worldlines, as the imagery is familiar. If one wants to argue that Deja Vu's presentation, thrills, and explanation of how each plot point proceeds isn't up to par with the original show, that's fair. The original show sets a very high bar, and this is a format very different from that of the show. However, the thematic content, meaning and final ending to Steins;Gate that Deja Vu leaves us with is perfect and altogether needed for the entire work to be complete. The rest of what proceeds is in many respects a mirror retelling of the final arc and ending of the show, with Kurisu experiencing much of the same trial. At first, she tries to accept Okabe's wish, and forget him. She discovers that this is impossible though, not only because she remembers him more than the others do, but the others distinctly know and feel the hole he has left behind -- they all feel something missing in his absence. She at once grabs her screwdriver and orders Daru to hack into SERN, and proceeds to begin making the time leap machine again, knowing full well that it will be fruitless -- Okabe will disappear again, and again. Mayuri steps in to tell her to stop, as this will hurt her, and Kurisu remembers what Okabe said of her wisdom and maturity, assenting to her plea. That's a really beautiful illustration of the crux of the conflict here in Deja Vu. We need others. Without him, they felt the strangeness of his being gone. Without them, he feels pulled apart, torn from the world he is meant to be a part of. He thinks himself alone. He can't really disappear in order that he maintain the goods he gained for his friends, for his disappearing is a loss that they cannot recover from, a hole that can never be filled. His stoicism is a false solution, an unworkable one. For himself, for them. 'Your mightily annoying self won't disappear from anyone's heart. Even when you think you've been forgotten, our memories of you will always remain somewhere.' Suzuha has again come from the future before she has been born to Daru and her mother, this time because Kurisu invented the time machine in Okabe's absence, but sealed it away because it is 'the will of Okabe Rintarou'. A nice little mirror of Okabe's constant reference to the will of Steins;Gate, which, in truth, is only a reference to Okabe's own will, to the power of his own will to make choices and change reality. Suzuha returns to try and convince Kurisu to change Okabe's past, to tie him to reality -- and the Steins;Gate worldline is basically as real as it gets in this story. She thought that perhaps the past Kurisu would be more willing to be true to herself, to her own will, to the will of Steins;Gate! And, if we might, we should just pause and remember that Suzuha is the fucking best. She is the catalyst for so many characters growing and doing what is needed throughout the show and movie. Kurisu makes one attempt, and, like Okabe's first attempt to save Kurisu, it fails and ends in Okabe's death. She returns, shaken from the experience. 'Okabe felt this feeling of powerlessness, all by himself, all this time' She feels as though any further attempts will be equally fruitless and painful. This is actually a really great move though. Seeing the parallel to Okabe's initial failure is easy. However, what's even more remarkably beautiful about this is that her initial failure, like Okabe's so that his video from the 0 timeline might unlock, was necessary. In this case, it is necessary that she feel that same powerlessness because she must feel what Okabe feels, she must walk with him in order to reach him, in order that he might feel her presence and realize that he is not alone in this. She must walk his path. She tries to forget again, and is again confronted with all the characters feeling Okarin's absence. Kurisu, in her mental self-monologue, pleading with them not to remember. 'Listen Kurisu, do you know about 'Okarin'? You see, when I'm here, sometimes that word just pops into my head' She gives in, taking on his jacket and persona, proclaiming herself the mad scientist Hououin Kyouma before them all. They all find themselves responding as they would to Okabe, shocked at their own reactions to nonexistent memories. Mayuri's line is the most poignant of them: 'But Kurisu, you're not Hououin Kyouma, Hououin Kyouma is...' To which, Kurisu affirmatively responds 'Hououin Kyouma is Okabe Rintarou' The name reaching their ears like a long-forgotten truth, suddenly remembered. She decides to try again, the others seeing her off on the rooftop. This time, she must change the past in a way that doesn't change the past, just as Okabe learned that he must change the past in a way that still left Makise Kurisu in a pool of blood. Here, Makise Kurisu must change the past in a way that still make Okabe Rintarou become Hououin Kyouma, that still leads the young man to become the mad scientist who saves his friends -- if in a different way. She knows little of Okabe's personal history, has little to go on. The key is found in understanding her own emotional distance toward others, toward her family, toward Okabe -- I'm trying to avoid using *that* word, okay? While she is stubborn and cold toward the people she has known and been close to, she admits that she has wanted someone to call out to her, to be there for her. This is important because it is basically what Okarin needs as well, for he is just as emotionally withdrawn as she is, unable to openly admit and reach for the people he values. Just then, Okabe sits beside her, lost and confused because he cannot figure out how to help Mayuri with the passing of her grandmother. We're back to the beginning of the story as I told it. The woman I mentioned being Kurisu here. She covertly tells him the story of his future self, of the mad scientist Hououin Kyouma, telling him the story he needed to hear to help Mayuri -- not changing that past. Now, what Suzuha told Kurisu to do is to anchor a powerful memory in his mind that will tie him to the Steins;Gate worldline. This is basically just more jargon that, on a thematic level, really means 'Show him that he's not alone. Show him that the story of Hououin Kyouma isn't a sad story' That is what will really bring Okabe back to reality, past the jargon about worldlines. So, Kurisu takes his first kiss right there, and tells him to go to Mayuri. So he does. Soon, he remembers that girl who told him the story of Hououin Kyouma and kissed him, and he realized that it was Makise Kurisu, and he probably realized that she went back in time for him, that she had shared his path, that she had reached his heart. 'That's a sad story' 'Really? I think it's a wonderful story' That's really, really beautiful, and don't you dare tell me otherwise. I wish the movie would've put more effort into explicitly communicating what in fact occurred. Especially with the world line imagery, it would've been great if that showed the Steins;Gate and R worldlines, rotating around each other colliding together as Okabe came back to reality. This movie really needed an extra twenty minutes, because it took me at least an extra twenty minutes of thinking about all the details before this satisfied me as much as my words seem to suggest I was. After this, she appears before him in the cold, desolate space he's been occupying, whatever you want to call it. He asks why she is here, and she replies that she didn't come to him, he's trying to come back. No one has forgotten him, they can't. 'You were so arrogant to think that you were holding up the world by yourself! Don't forget, no matter what world line you're on, you'll never be alone! I'll find you, wherever you are!' So he smiles, characteristically holding his phone up to his ear, replying 'If that is the Steins;Gate's choice' acknowledging her will to value him, and acknowledging his own value in the process. As people fade back in, bringing us back to reality, he asks her if she'll return his first kiss to him, revealing that he remembers, or remembered -- it is not clear when that realization occurred. The presentation makes it seem like her appearing before him and speaking to him here and now caused him to realize it. Either way, it works and it's really good! The end shot leaves us similarly to where episode 24 of the original show left us, a nice track plays and the credits roll. The central meaning here, with two emotionally withdrawn hearts reaching one another, recognizing each other's value and their own, is that, as Kurisu says, we don't 'hold up the world' by refusing to acknowledge ourselves, by stoically casting ourselves aside. Each and every person, every soul, is a valuable and irreplaceable treasure. Far from holding up the world, if we disappear, if we don't acknowledge ourselves, we hold the world back by our absence, we leave a hole there that cannot be filled. On a thematic level, like, holy shit, that is so, so good. Steins;Gate uses its sci-fi platform, through all of its conceptual insanity, paradox, time travel and thrilling revelation, for the purpose of meaningful thematic beauty. It communicates the weight of moral agency and the deep value of the human person. I love it.
Reviewer’s Rating: 9
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Apr 1, 2018
Boku dake ga Inai Machi
(Anime)
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No narrative exists in a vacuum. Every story, every portrait, every poem is in conversation with the others, encountering what those tales told about the human condition, about the idea of narrative itself. To the vast array of topics that our art contributes to, the individual story adds its own account, its own display, its own version to humanity's great orchestra.
We love stories because we see ourselves in them. And it is my belief that stories and telling stories find their rightful place in telling things about us, in reflecting our own image back to ourselves -- whether it be a simple or complex message. ... Whether philosophical, religious, political, entertaining or humorous, stories must do this, and it is with the content of their reflection, what image the stories show of us that I am most interested. In so describing the way I evaluate media, I will admit at the outset that my concern is primarily with takeaway, with message and meaning. My bias is ultimately in favor of things that communicate meaning. I see meaning, themes and ideas anywhere and everywhere. As such, I'm additionally less capable of evaluating pacing, direction, imagery, and symbolism. If a show or movie on a technical level fails to deliver in numerous ways, but resonates by putting forth a meaningful message, I will love it. I'm a sucker like that. You'll find that I tend to like what I've watched more than I dislike it -- I find a way to see meaning in things. What image does Erased reflect back? What does it say, and is what it says valuable? It is! Spoilers ahead, by the way. The worst thing that could be said about Erased is that it feels rushed toward its close, that it could've benefited from two or three episodes more to flesh out a more satisfying end. This, I think, is admissible, but it is by no means a glaring problem for the show's entire point and purpose. I aim to demonstrate that whether one thinks the show succeeds or fails ultimately depends on how one understands the show's purpose, the show's telos. Further, I intend to show how one understanding of what the show's purpose and meaning are is superior to other understandings, other perspectives. Let's begin by attempting to understand what makes the ending so unsatisfying to some viewers. The show, at its beginning, throughout, and seemingly right up to the end, has all the elements of a detective story, of a crime thriller. We expect that the tale will unfold in a certain manner rather than another, that some pieces and evidence will fall into place, revelations will come about, the truth revealed, and the villain thwarted. While Erased does a lot of these things on paper at its close, it does them in a way that the viewer who is watching the show as a crime thriller will be left wanting. Our hero, after many hints at this reality, practically stumbles into the revelation of the killer's identity all while most vulnerable to him. This is the revelation that this viewer was waiting for, but not how he wanted it delivered. Worse still, for this viewer, is the fact that our protagonist is utterly helpless in this moment, there is no moment of truth, of realization, no plot armor that manifests to ensure our protagonist's outright success. He's simply helpless against the killer before him. Though, Satoru doesn't die either. The show 'compromises' and puts him in a fifteen-year coma. After he awakens and slowly pieces his memories back together, he works with his friends and family to outwit the killer who has awaited his awakening for so long in a sequence that plays out probably a bit too quickly. It can at least be said that it wraps most everything up pretty well, the average viewer shouldn't really feel like there are any dangling threads -- apart from maybe some sort of expositional or thematic explanation for 'revival' itself. Though, as I'll argue, I think it's evident enough without it. If my reader finds my writing up to this point a bit odd, I cannot blame them! It sounds as though I am pointing out various legitimate criticisms of the show, that I am saying it is indeed not as great as my score of it would suggest. Here, then, is my great paradigmatic shift for my reader: Erased isn't chiefly a crime thriller, and understanding it as such will lead you to think about it wrongly. It is not that Erased is just 'so good' in some other area that I 'excuse' the 'flaws' I've mentioned up to this point. It is, instead, that the flaws I mentioned are only legitimate from a certain viewpoint, a viewpoint I believe to be deeply wrong. What I will admit, before I go further, is that it definitely leans into criminal, detective and thriller elements in its style, but that those elements ultimately serve another purpose. I'll add that I cannot blame many viewers for seeing those elements as promises the show makes for a delivery that isn't given. Those are fair critiques, I invite you only to consider how the show might be regarded differently if we conceive of what it's doing differently. So what is it about, then? The answers lie in the show's great exploration of its themes -- courage, friendship, relying on others, having trust and faith in others. Taken all together, at its essence, it is a picture of the way that our lives are tied to the lives of others, of how our virtue -- in hope, in friendship, in kindness -- and our vice -- in cowardice, in inaction, in cruelty, in resentfulness -- will deeply impact our lives and the lives of those around us. A beautiful portrait of the way human lives are inescapably bound up with one another, how sin compounds upon sin and inversely how bravery and heroism build upon others bringing out the best in us. To that end, Erased shows the viewer -- through Satoru -- how deeply responsible we are to others, how our inaction can lead to disastrous results -- how a life lived without virtue, without acting for the sake of others when they need it, can lead to deep regret. Regrets, over what could have been done, over what could have been different, over those whose lives could have been had we acted differently form the basis for Satoru's ability to go back in time. In order to create a timeline without those regrets, in order to create a world where one's actions inspire good in others and save those around them, Satoru had to learn that his regrets were not only his -- they were the shared regrets, the shared sins of the community around him. They were not only his sins, his regrets to atone for -- but those that others carried the weight of with him. Our own story is not that of a lone individual, but that of our own story entwined with the stories of those around us. So, Erased is in part a story about coming to this realization, to the full weight of our moral responsibility and the weight of our actions. On the dark inverse of this, Erased is about the conflict between the perspective of someone acknowledging said moral responsibility and pursuing the good of others, and the perspective of someone who, reversely, understands the grave seriousness of moral agency but uses it for their own, self-affirming ends. In exploring the perspective of our antagonist, Yashiro, the homeroom teacher, we learn that he too understands the way the actions of others are bound up together, binding all in a spiderweb of sin and deceit. The key difference being that Yashiro chooses to play with and manipulate those caught in that web. The emptiness of this egoistic pursuit is revealed in the show's finale, as Satoru reveals the bankruptcy of Yashiro's choices, of his living solely to await killing him upon his awakening. How does he reveal this? Satoru shows us, in their final conversation, how Yashiro needed Satoru, how he couldn't live without him -- because he had lived a life that made him dependent on that thrill of manipulation, of believing in his ability to control and take advantage of others in their weakness. Where Satoru can fall and find himself in the company of his friends and family, of those who he built a life with, who he pursued virtue and goodness with, Yashiro is left with nothing. Such is exactly the visual symbolism in Satoru's launching himself off the roof. Even if he were to die, he could die happily, without regret -- knowing that he had lifted others up and achieved virtue. The happiness gained by pursuing the good is not an empty kind, it is whole and real. It is not an empty altruism, but a recognition of the fact that one's own happiness is bound up in the happiness and flourishing of others. One sees this meaning reflected over and over in the way Kenya involves himself in Satoru's struggle, in the way Airi chooses to believe in him, and in the way small actions change the fate of others. But! But, in so throwing himself off, to give himself up to stop Yashiro's hurting anyone else -- it robs Yashiro of all his manipulative power, of all his egoistic pursuit to control and use others. That egoism is all he had, it was all he had made himself into. How could Yashiro but leap to grab Satoru from flying off, how could he not realize the emptiness of his own endeavor and choose suicide in that same moment? Until, of course, Satoru pulls the rug out from under us and reveals that he's duped Yashiro. For all his belief in his own grand superiority, all his guile was simply a mask and no more. Indeed, Erased invites us to ask, how can such egoism be anything but such a mask? Pointedly, and now stepping out onto ground entirely my own, one can see how 'revival' helps us to realize this. When Satoru yells, just before he falls into a coma, that he knows Yashiro's future, the meaning isn't simply literal. Satoru means more than that he knows Yashiro's future actions, he means that he knows Yashiro's *fate*. He knows who and what he is at the core of his being, and he knows the emptiness, sadness and tragedy in a life founded upon such vice. Satoru reveals to Yashiro that he himself is attached to that same web, not apart from it, not standing above it -- that is what he communicates when he says 'I know your future'. Finally, before I forget, there's the show's last tie-in with Hinazuki's little story about a town without her in it. We hear, in her words, feelings of deep fear, of wanting isolation to be away from pain, of sadness and loneliness. We can think and reflect again on the way sin compounds upon itself, upon the way Hinazuki's mother was beaten by the father, in turn leading the mother to beat her child, anger and resentment in one creating it in another. One person's hurt and anguish passed down, turned into fear and self-isolation. Beautifully illustrating everything the show is about, Satoru reverses this story in on itself in the end, telling of the town without him in it, of how this time without him, his friends all alive and well, is his gift to them. Of how he would happily give up what he wants, give up those fifteen years, in order that his friends might flourish and be happy. In the first, someone wants to disappear because she cannot see herself as valuable, because she is afraid, because she has been hurt. In the second, Satoru is happy to be erased that those around him, Hinazuki included, might flourish and succeed. Where in the first there is a a fear that draws in upon itself, in the second there is an outward giving of oneself. In so giving of himself to Hinazuki, to his friends, he enables them to give of themselves to others. He inspires good in them. Neatly and beautifully, with all of its persistent themes of faith in others, in dependence upon others, in the emptiness of egoism and the wholeness of virtue, and in the weight of moral agency, this is what Erased is about -- and it tells it all masterfully.
Reviewer’s Rating: 9
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Mar 28, 2018 Recommended
No narrative exists in a vacuum. Every story, every portrait, every poem is in conversation with the others, encountering what those tales told about the human condition, about the idea of narrative itself. To the vast array of topics that our art contributes to, the individual story adds its own account, its own display, its own version to the choir of humanity.
We love stories because we see ourselves in them. And it is my belief that stories and telling stories find their rightful place in telling things about us, in reflecting our own image back to ourselves -- whether it be a simple or complex ... message. Whether philosophical, religious, political, entertaining or humorous, stories must do this, and it is with the content of their reflection, what image the stories show of us that I am most interested. In so describing the way I evaluate media, I will admit at the outset that my concern is primarily with takeaway, with message and meaning. My bias is ultimately in favor of things that communicate meaning. I see meaning, themes and ideas anywhere and everywhere. As such, I'm additionally less capable of evaluating pacing, direction, imagery, and symbolism. If a show or movie on a technical level fails to deliver in numerous ways, but resonates by putting forth a meaningful message, I will love it. I'm a sucker like that. You'll find that I tend to like what I've watched more than I dislike it -- I find a way to see meaning in things. What image does Re: Zero reflect back? Is it an image worth appreciating, a message worth hearing? I think it is. First, though, in order to understand what it's doing, which is to say, what image it's trying to present, we need to be attentive to what it's purpose, or telos, is. Inversely, our thinking on this topic, for any piece of fiction, can easily go awry if we misidentify's a work's purpose, if we fail to understand all the things it isn't trying to do. I can have the wrong expectations and evaluate a work for failing according to a standard it never should've been subjected to. So, what is Re: Zero trying to do? The answer won't be simple. Consider first this show's existence in an environment where the isekai genre has become populated by self-indulgent power fantasies. Consider, then, the way that Subaru's character, ability, and course through this series are very much a response to those power fantasies. His often revolting and difficult-to-sympathize-with behavior are entirely emblematic of the person who is watching the self-indulgent power-fantasy isekai show. Maybe worse. He is a highschool-dropout who lives entirely as a shut-in. When summoned over to this fantasy world, he is elated. He must be the protagonist, after all! So, that means, he probably has an ability that makes him incredibly powerful, and there is sure to be a plethora of cute girls who exist to fall in love with him, right? This is where Re: Zero works its magic. Subaru, smiling, his inane fantasies filling him with confidence, is repeatedly kicked in the shins, pushed down in the dirt, and brutally gutted. What does this dynamic tell us about the show and what its doing? Well, it tells us that Re: Zero isn't fond of said power fantasies and has some things to say about them. At this point I have to clarify. It's not that the show is 'grounded' or 'realistic' as opposed to fantastical or vain. After all, Subaru does possess the ability to 'return by death'. Realism isn't required, and it's not fantasy that Re: Zero is sweeping away by torturing Subaru. What the show is intent on doing is creating characters who face adversity and thus have the opportunity for development and growth. Indeed, this opportunity for progression and redemption is central. For, if the show displayed the same delusional idiot suffering over and over, never changing his thinking and never growing, then it'd be some sort of dark, tragic comedy. Or, it'd be plural 'idiots' and it'd be Konosuba instead. It is the suffering that is necessary, for if our hero never suffers, how is he going to change? And change he must, as the show makes clear by killing him over and over and over. At its essence then, what Re: Zero is doing is taking the character of the self-assured, overpowered protagonist, exemplified this time by just the kind of person who watches shows with said OP heroes, and redeeming him by making him suffer and change. That's really important, though, as some light at the end of the tunnel, some sort of catharsis in seeing him move forward from his initial delusions -- in becoming more virtuous in some way -- is what makes the show's violence and darkness more than just torture for the sake of torture, or shock-value for the sake of shock value. In redeeming the delusional, ridiculous character of Subaru -- who represents a lot of people -- the show does a few things. It says, 'Yes, your fantasies and ideals about how great, powerful and attractive you are are indeed all pathetic nonsense' but the show doesn't stop there, it makes the effort to say, in addition, that, even so, that person can still be a hero, they can still rise to the challenge -- they are still worthy of virtue, worthy of value, despite all. And, hey, that's a pretty cool message! In its essence, I think that is what this show manages to do and say through its story and character arcs, in varying and different ways. I've said little about the actual content of said stories and characters, much less this show's world. Why? I don't think it ultimately matters too much. This isn't to say that the show's characters, stories and worldbuilding are bad -- they're not, but their details aren't deeply consequential to what the show is chiefly aimed at doing. What do I mean by this? In one case, namely, the show's beginning, it accomplishes what it's trying to do by ensnaring Subaru in conspiracy to steal an insignia from someone which qualifies her to be a candidate for a royal selection of some sort. From there, his involvement in the stories surrounding and proceeding from this event push forward the story and, centrally, his development from one kind of person into another. There's nothing hugely wrong with the royal selection business or with the details about Lugnica. Point is, it could've been a royal selection -- or many other things. It could've been the Kingdom of Lugnica or some other one. That isn't really what matters -- what matters is that Subaru's childish worldview collide head-on with the complex reality of a real world, with real problems, stories and characters. That's what the show is trying to do and accomplishes. To that end, what world he encounters, whose stories he encounters, who he encounters is mostly secondary. All that matters is that he actually encounter them. This is, part and parcel, my response to critics who trash the show for the problems in its world-building, for its uninspired designs, for its lack of concern with contributing any unique fantasy world or tale. I have no problem conceding that the world is just another fantasy world or that the 'story', strictly considered, offers very little. It doesn't matter! That's not really the point of this show, right? It is about, as I said, shattering Subaru's ridiculous delusions. Another critique I've run across, on that point, is that the show is an attempt to have your cake and eat it too. It's doing a little deconstruction, but not enough! It shows mental breakdown, but not 'real' mental breakdown. He suffers, but he still overcomes it and plays the hero in the end, right? I don't find this accomplishes much in the way of criticism. Re: Zero isn't, and anyone who tells you so is pretentious, trying to do a total deconstruction. All it's doing is giving the power fantasy a little kick in the shins to give it some room for character growth. It does this very well, and while some might very well complain that doing just that isn't deserving of this score and the praise I give it -- sue me! I love it for doing exactly what others detract it for -- for trying to subvert the worst elements of similar sounding stories but still giving us a traditional arc in the end. For having its cake and eating it too. In some way or another, any good story has to do this -- you can't spend all your time deconstructing and subverting or you won't leave the viewer with much. You could argue, and I'd have no problem with it, that the way Re: Zero does it is cheap and could've been done better. Sure! What I commend Re: Zero for is bringing us to the starting line, for creating a space where character growth can even begin to happen -- and it can't when you're just creating a power fantasy and a harem like other isekai. In making the distinctions that I have about what the show is and isn't doing, we can tentatively arrive at some understanding of what Re: Zero is and what its about. It is a psychological thriller which, using its time-travel element, breaks down the protagonist's delusions and redeems him by forcing him to face adversity and encounter problems and conflicts that demand more of him. Does it do all those things well? Does it accomplish this? Yes! A key question, one which I will explore to the best of my ability, will be: how does it do this? To illustrate how Re: Zero does what it aims to do, I want to make use of the concept of paradigm shift. This review isn't a lesson in philosophical history, but to sum up, it is best described as the phenomenon by which a person's understanding or viewpoint radically changes -- the way it 'shifts' so to speak. Illustratively, when scientists during and after Copernicus had their perspectives 'shifted' from that of a geocentric view to a heliocentric one. Does this seem irrelevant? It isn't! The shift in paradigm experienced by Copernicus and others is ultimately not so far apart from that experienced by Subaru, by the viewer watching him. In the most radical cases, all this concept really means is for plain facts presented clearly to a person radically diverging from their existing perspective -- for their world to turn upside-down. For narrative, one can find application for it nearly everywhere -- it is present in those most seismic, life-changing events and in the subtlest shifts in emotion or character development. Re: Zero turns Subaru's (and our) world upside-down by leading the viewer along with forty minutes or so of typical isekai fare. There are little hints as to the true nature of the show, where at every turn Subaru expects his 'power' will manifest itself, or a cute girl will come running for him, but these things don't really happen. At Emilia's appearance, many viewers think the same as Subaru. Finally, my heroine has come to save me, as planned -- all is well in the world! The show, again, takes the effort to point out that he has no special role in this story, that she came this way of her own accord, for her own reasons. However, the viewer, like Subaru, really expect that at some point or another, things will 'turn' and his plot armor will manifest and the power fantasy will come to life! Ah, yes, then all would be right with the world! Of course, Subaru and the viewer think, his secret power isn't clear now, but he must have some ultimate, heroic part in this! And yet, and yet, that turn never comes. It is at this point, as Subaru sets foot in the loot house, only his inane, ridiculous banter about wanting Emilia to encourage him maintaining his absurd viewpoint that this is HIS story, his fantasy to partake in, that things really change, but not as we expect them to. Yes, as Subaru sets foot in that darkened loot house, and those equally ominous shots from the first seconds of the show return to our minds, his paradigm begins to shift. As he steps forward into a pool of blood, his lantern illuminating a brutal murder before him, that old paradigm, that wonderful, comforting fantasy, shatters. You can see it in his face, hear it in his voice. Everything about this is all wrong. The way Re: Zero uses music and sound cues whenever events take a dark turn perfectly accentuate these moments. It is at this moment, as we watch him fall to the ground, struck from behind, as we watch him realize the extent of his injuries, beginning to vomit up blood, that we realize that this show isn't kidding around. Our paradigm shifts too! If the viewer fails to understand, then the show isn't shy about doing this again, as nearly every episode after will shatter or shift Subaru's paradigm in some new way. The show's heights in achieving and illustrating these perspective changes are in episodes seven and fifteen -- I could write an entirely separate essay about seven! If my description of episodes zero and one has done them any justice, then I hope my reader can understand just why Re: Zero does what it's trying to do so well. Of course, evaluating it along more traditional categories, by different standards will inevitably lead to different (and wrong) conclusions. That doesn't mean there aren't many ways it could be better or missed opportunities for it to go beyond what it does. It's not perfect. I cannot lay them all out here, for that would require more minutiae about individual episodes than I am willing to include. Broadly speaking though, I can say that sometimes the show spends too much time on fluffy nonsense as filler and buffer between its more dramatic and dark scenes and that in the show's latter half, Rem becomes a distraction and a hindrance to the goal of the show. It could've gone a lot farther in forcing Subaru to face adversity and grow. Understanding it in this way and evaluating it as such, though, it's a wonderful work.
Reviewer’s Rating: 9
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