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If you’ve been around online animanga communities, chances are you’ve happened upon a dark-haired, smug anime girl with a prominent flesh fang at least once. It’s become almost unavoidable with the surge of profile images featuring the titular character. At the same time, more than one viral post has been made, sometimes decrying the show’s “bullying” gimmick, but most of the time about the fanbase it supposedly attracts. The idea of this light rom-com being under so much scrutiny, to the point of crafting artificial controversies around it, is a pretty amusing one.

Even so, despite its flaws and rather loud detractors, I find myself ... fond of Nagatoro.

The premise is simple: the titular character Nagatoro teases and messes with Senpai, a timid and unsociable student. Aside from a couple of gags, what is “teasing” rarely crosses over to “bullying”, and wholesome moments of genuine connection between the two characters are sprinkled in more and more as the story progresses. It’s a pretty simple, straightforward, and even unoriginal idea of a dynamic. So what exactly makes this one work? What managed to hook so many manga readers for dozens of chapters?

The obvious answer, as with any other romcom, is the main couple as characters, both individually, and in the sense of how these two complement each other. If you don’t understand why some people enjoy this kind of story, then the next couple of paragraphs might answer your questions.

Senpai is, through and through, a spineless and quiet one. He deals with his surroundings by simply shutting himself off – and though he’s often seen as a “victim” by the average viewer, the anime highlights his negative sides along with his positive ones. As the “quiet kid”, his internal monologue as he sees the main girl squad for the first time is defensive and exaggerated – while, at the same time, self-inserting as the hero who gets the girl in the manga he is drawing (art skill being one of his positive sides). In any case, what’s behind that quiet façade is a kid who’s socially stunted, especially when it comes to his thoughts towards women at first. That’s where Nagatoro comes in. Through his interactions with Nagatoro, who makes sure to call out and mock his more “incel” or “loner” sides, Senpai learns a thing or two about how to interact with people, and forges a bond with this bothersome kohai – a kohai who encourages his strengths (supporting his drawing and art) while (rather meanly) pointing out his weaknesses, and offering him to help work on them (like helping him get fit). One could discuss the healthiness of such a dynamic at this point, and the concern wouldn’t be completely unwarranted – but I won’t go on a tangent about that here, and simply point out the clues that Senpai is more than consenting to it.

What about “mean girl” Nagatoro? What is her appeal as a character? In many ways, she’s the opposite of Senpai. While his flawed side and negative traits are hidden deep within, she wears hers on her sleeve – that is to say, her constant need to tease and bully, masquerading as one of the “mean girls”. The fact that she stops when it gets too much (and many other clues) denote how she has a certain level of awareness about how unpleasant she may potentially be to someone. With that being the case, I believe the main draw of her character to be, for many viewers, the steady progression of her learning to be both more honest with herself, and more pleasant with other people through her interactions with Senpai. The anime, early in the story as it is, even hints at causes of such behavior by drawing sharp contrasts between her and the rest of the mean girls (for instance, in typical anime fashion, her insecurity regarding her modest chest compared to her other “mean girl” friends – a sort of visual disparity).

Of course, that isn’t to say Nagatoro is a perfect romance (a far cry from it), nor a perfect story. It makes as much fun of tropes as it indulges in them, partially due to the manga being, undeniably, a reflection of the mangaka’s interests. This is more of a “self-expression” work of fiction rather than one of “communication”, where the mangaka is (at this stage) less interested in getting across certain themes and messages, but moreso in simply expressing his own desires. That doesn’t make for an inherently bad story; however, if you come wishing for a more thematically rich throughline than what I stated earlier, you will be sorely disappointed — except for the last few episodes, where the narrative takes itself a bit more seriously, and where you might start actually thinking about these characters and their development. That is why one’s enjoyment of the Nagatoro anime hinges mostly on how attuned the viewer to that kind of duo/dynamic on a surface level. I wouldn’t blame anyone for disliking this premise or this kind of characters (though trying to frame this dislike in different ways, like unfunnily portraying Nagatoro as “the face of racists” in a repetitive manner for no real reason, is to say the least in bad faith).

The art for this anime is impressive, with occasional atmospheric shots that made me double-check if I was really watching Nagatoro. It would’ve benefited from some thicker linework, as with the manga, to make the characters look a tad better but this is only a minor nitpick. The OP is very catchy and well-made, the sound design is mostly fine. I don’t think I have many gripes with the show on a technical level.

If you’re wondering whether you would enjoy this anime, ask yourself first if you would enjoy the kind of dynamic between two very flawed people as described above. If your answer is yes, and if you don’t mind the occasional romcom anime shenanigans, do give this one a shot, and maybe you’ll enjoy it more than you thought you would.

Life, land, legacy: all reduced to a number.

Discrimination, privilege, pride and unlikely bonds form the basis of Eighty-Six. The story revolves around the French-coded nation of San Magnolia, a state which, cornered in its war effort, turns on its own minority citizens in a dehumanizing way similar to WWII era Germany. In the first three episodes especially, no punches are pulled to show the extent of the dehumanization of those minorities now branded as “86”, and the depravity of those stationed above letting it happen. It’s a deeply unsettling premise showcasing how easy it is for humans to justify cruelty once backed in a ... corner, and avert their eyes from it. Slapping a label or number on the oppressed makes it all the more simple to distance oneself from atrocities committed onto fellow human beings.

Writing a story about discrimination is easy: sympathy is easily gained when you depict one side as the oppressor, mercilessly beating down on the poor oppressed. It’s a formula that worked for most of Code Geass. However, Eighty-Six takes it a step further, delving into the dynamics of oppression and privilege, in a nuanced manner rarely seen in these types of anime.

Eighty-Six mainly follows the story of Vladilena Milizé, an idealistic officer within a rotten system that forces the “86” into internment camps and out on the battlefield to fight for their sake. She constantly apologizes to the “86” that she commands from behind the safety of her country’s walls, talks nicely to them, and overall seems like an angel among the Alba (San Magnolia’s majority race) oppressors. My first pleasant surprise was Eighty-Six’s treatment of this kind of character. The narrative acknowledges that no amount of niceties on her part make up for the fact that she is partaking in the system that actively oppresses people. It doesn’t validate her or put her on a pedestal for merely being nice. Lena’s attitude, similar to the “white savior” phenomenon, is called out – the story aims to deliver the message that acting nice and setting oneself apart from the oppressors, like “one of the good ones”, isn’t enough: if one is in a position of privilege, they must rather take action using said privilege. Anything less would be fulfilling one’s own ego, and not much else.

This more nuanced treatment is also seen in other Alba characters like commander Karlstahl or Annette Penrose, representing the privileged people who acknowledge the injustices in a system but simply deem themselves too powerless to do something against it, or fear the repercussions on their own privilege should they try speaking up or taking action. Sadly enough, Karlstahls and Annettes in fact form the majority of the public in such cases of blatant societal injustice within the real world.

On their end, a fair amount of characterization is devoted to the “86”, with a particular focus on Shin. They live in a completely different world compared to the Alba cast (one much less artificial), and the story doesn’t fail to make that clear with its visuals or directing. Eighty-Six takes care not to represent the oppressed minority as “victims” ; the focus is rather on the pride that keeps them going, their individual bonds, and their conflicts not wholly related to the situation of oppression at hand (Shin’s goal comes to mind). Similarly to how the narrative doesn’t treat every Alba as racist devils, the Eighty-Six aren’t angels – though rare, implications of conflicts and evil within the Eighty-Six are present, though difficultly spotted. I recommend paying close attention to Anju’s character in that regard. That being said, if the average named Alba character is grey, the average “86” character is presented a lot more positively, save for one or two instances. Part of me wishes that conflicts and evils within the “86” weren’t only left in implication (and just one direct scene), as humans are complex creatures – but I also perfectly understand that showing too many negatives in regards to the oppressed would be counterintuitive.

What opposes these human characters is the mechanized Legion. Tying into the Bible in ways I can’t explain without delving into spoilers, these foes are terrifying, and I must applaud A-1 Pictures’ competent CGI for bringing these mechanized monsters to life seamlessly. They exist to set up the overarching conflict of the story, but also tie into the more personal arcs of some characters. The directing is often spot-on when it comes to Legion scenes.

I’ve been very pleased with the sound design of the show, although sometimes an ED playing in the back may not fit with the scene at hand, and the J-Rock OP song hardly matches the visuals (nor, in my opinion, the quality of the story). Storyboards and directing are consistently good, with some kinks here and there. I have no reservations regarding the animation or voice acting.

There are a couple of scenes that I will criticize (both of which are anime changes or anime original moments): the very first minute of the anime, and a later lecture hall scene, do more harm than good to the messages the story tries to convey by being rather caricaturized. I should also say that at times, also owing to the source being a novel, where information is delivered through prose rather than dialogue, the dialogue in the anime feels inorganic and expositional. These aren’t deal breakers, but I felt them worth pointing out.

All in all, though, my experience with Eighty-Six was a very positive one – and emotional, too, at certain points. Characters like Lena, Annette, and Shin, aside from the themes I mentioned above, all possessed endearing traits that made me invested in them. In such a seemingly depressing premise, Eighty-Six doesn’t fail to provide moments of levity at the right instances, and I even found myself stupidly attached to a robot dog thanks to such moments. I will also praise A-1 for setting a great example in regards to novel adaptations; adapting only one volume within 11 episodes allowed not only some much needed breathing room for the story, but also space for extended or additional scenes. In an industry where publishers would rather squeeze 3 or 4 volumes into one cour, at the cost of major cuts, this sets a very good example. I am grateful for the extra foreshadowing and characterization these extensions provided.

What does it mean to sing with your heart?

Time and again, this question echoes throughout VIVY: Fluorite Eye’s Song’s 13-episode runtime. Neither the story nor the setting are particularly unique: whether through movies or retro anime series, we’ve all been familiarized with futuristic settings, the concept of A.I. and the imminent human-A.I. conflict plotline. Yet, I will make the case that what this particular series accomplishes with this toolbox is something of note.

I confess that I came into this show with high expectations. Before I became engrossed in the fantasy genre, sci-fi used to be the type of fiction I was most invested in ... — whether it was dozens of Star Wars Expanded Universe material, Doctor Who series, Asimov short stories… There’s no wonder something that focuses on A.I. would have me excited.

The story follows Vivy, an A.I. songstress, on her journey to define something as ambiguous as “heart” — a seemingly impossible undertaking, given her robotic, non-human nature. Her companion A.I. Matsumoto and the threat of a future A.I. revolt serve to establish a framework for what is, at its core, a deeply personal character journey for our songstress protagonist. The narrative is a ruthless one; throwing multiple dilemmas towards Vivy, questioning her — sometimes to the point of trauma, although the story never gets gratuitous with its darker aspects, saving them for key, memorable instances.

Let’s talk about Vivy for a moment, since while each arc is filled with colorful side characters almost equally worthy of scrutiny, she is the one that forms the heart of the narrative. I loved Vivy. I could talk about the small things that endeared me and kept my attention — like her gradually developing, close companionship with blabbermouth Matsumoto, or her tendency to pick up tiny habits from those she encounters throughout her 100-year journey — but what mostly stuck with me were the greater themes and struggles of her character. From her choice to give up her initial identity as “Diva” to embrace “Vivy”, voluntarily stretching the definition of her given mission as a songstress A.I., to the narrative unexpectedly slapping her in the face for her righteousness around the middle point, the twists and turns her character takes are infinitely engaging. I could go into the way the story explores how certain individuals deal with trauma through her in the latter half (in an exceedingly unique way, given her inhuman nature), but the point here isn’t getting into spoilery details. I also had fun tracing her development according to the “Hero’s Journey” structure. Combine all that with a cool demeanor that nevertheless lets moments of emotion (yes, even for an A.I.) slip, and a charismatic design — Vivy’s character was a recipe for success from the beginning.

Of course, the side cast more than lives up to the main character, each as conceptually enthralling as the last and equally well-executed within the short timeframe of each arc. The story doesn’t allow you to forget that all these characters aren’t human, with demeanours unique to A.I., and yet managed to draw emotion from me for these inhuman beings. Be it a sibling dynamic that’s about showcasing that feelings of inferiority, familial love and compassion can still be wielded by the inhuman; a tragedy where one who wants nothing but the simplest things in life is forced into a destiny greater than her; a take on dependence and twisted, yet also paradoxically purest love… watchers may know who each of these ideas I’m mentioning is attached to. Vivy’s songs play a key narrative role in every one of these situations and story arcs.

Speaking of the songs: they constitute one of the main charms of this show, with character or plot significance behind each insert. Songs like A Tender Moon Tempo wowed me with the way their impressively written lyrics both connect with the characters and offer something more, while delivering an incredibly pleasing melody, that I found myself listening to them long after the episode’s airing. I’ve felt similarly with most of the songs, save for rare exceptions.

If you come to VIVY expecting A.I.s to be a form of racial commentary, or anything of the like, you will find yourself disappointed. The story doesn’t subscribe to any politics and its societal commentary is mostly part of the framework for the focus on the characters; from the beginning, the ideal notion of A.I.s being equal to humans is scrapped. VIVY is, above all, about the question of humanity’s dependence on A.I.s, and whether they can co-exist in such a state.

I couldn’t finish this review without talking about the stellar production. With gorgeous still shots, clever directing and framing choices, and fights that may very well be some of the best animated of the year, Studio WiT adorned this story with some of the most breathtaking visuals.

Of course, as with many other pristine-looking shows, detractors who pay little attention to everything being presented above will try making arguments along the lines of “style and no substance”, or try picking convoluted CinemaSins-level plot holes (easily explained away by a second watch). I’ve even witnessed odd attempts to conflate VIVY’s world with Asimov’s laws of robotics for his own fiction, or claims that Vivy is dull as a protagonist due to the anime not slapping you in the face with her development and quirks as most others in the medium do. I pray that you do not form preconceptions based on such comments – although there is a small caveat to the show that I must point out. The show is hindered by its 13-episode limit; while it manages to flesh out its ideas well in every arc, sometimes there is little breathing room left for the viewer. Had this been a 2-cour show, with slightly longer arcs, I believe its emotional peaks would’ve hit even harder – perhaps enough for me to elevate it to the 10/10 it probably deserves.

VIVY is a show that, without a doubt, benefits most from rewatches. Whether it is spotting details initially missed, recontextualizations, or simply understanding the (quite hefty) story better, I couldn’t recommend it enough. In fact, I would recommend the English dub after watching the original, as I am more than satisfied with the performances in both languages, although some slightly different characterization may be spotted in the dub. I wouldn’t recommend VIVY: Fluorite Eye’s Song to those looking for an easy watch, as its writing style demands more than casual attention; however, if you are willing to invest yourself into this science fiction epic, you will be more than rewarded for it.

“I love who I am.”

The final line of the opening’s chorus, as well as the ending’s titular “Believe in you”, form the thesis and backbone of this season of Re:Zero. This cour shifted its focus away from the usual Subaru character study, delving more into worldbuilding, developing its side cast and delivering its core messages.

Why does Re:Zero, within the abundant sea of modern isekai, stand out like a shining beacon of light 5 years later? Some will argue it’s the breadth of its “best girl” selection, others will say it’s the impactful thriller elements. Re:Zero’s true strength lies, if you were to ask me, in ... the humanity of its characters and the messages it imparts. These aspects are in the limelight in this cour. The previously established Trials mechanic is used to explore characters’ histories and motivations, all the while sprinkling in setups upon setups leading up to the grand picture of the series. Subaru, as the protagonist, takes a back seat; he lends a hand to the other characters, gives them a push, and yet it remains up to them to make a choice and save themselves. Yes; Re:Zero Season 2 is about self-reliance — but it is also about the fact that when you do decide to take that first step, whether it’s to change, to save or improve yourself, there are people out there who will cheer you on. The message of this cour is a deeply positive one, hence the show momentarily forsaking its usual gimmick. It’s also a very satisfactory watch, after the feeling of deadlock within the first cour, as the characters smash through insurmountable odds set up by the charismatic villain of Part 1.

Due to the nature of the show, some spoilers will follow.

Cour 1 revealed the antagonist for this season to be Roswaal, behind both the Sanctuary situation and the mansion attack. I would, however, say that beyond specific characters, the true antagonist in this arc is a symbolic, or abstract one — the idea of “stagnation”, which happens to be behind every obstacle of the arc. Roswaal is stuck in 400 years past, believing in the permanence of feelings and chained to the past, intent on fostering that same weakness which he believes exists in others to manipulate them; Elsa is on a desperate hunt to recapture a feeling of warmth from her past; Beatrice remains bound to a 400 year old contract; Garfiel is terrified of the world being too big for him to protect everyone and decides that the Sanctuary should remain closed off. Re:Zero acknowledges that the status quo is attractive — is it not normal to stay attached to the beautiful Witch who saved your life, to want to recapture a feeling of relief from one’s past, or to want to keep your world small where you can control and protect everything? — before pointing out that it is also deeply self-destructive and dangerous, from the impending doom in the form of a carnivorous rabbit horde to the mental degradation of Roswaal and Elsa’s characters. All of these ideas are conveyed with no shortage of symbolism, the most striking one for me being the use of Beatrice and Roswaal’s Gospels.

In order to overcome these barriers, Re:Zero asks its characters to find the balance between “dangerous self-reliance” and “toxic dependence”. Subaru, unable to overcome anything by himself despite his abuse of Return by Death in the first cour, realizes something in the second thanks to a friend; the gears of victory start spinning only when he reaches a hand out to his allies and starts valuing his own life. The main heroine Emilia takes the opposite path, beginning her growth only when her dependence on Puck and Subaru is broken. From there, this hero-heroine duo constitute the heart of the anime, spurring everyone else into action. Characters argue and fight; ideals clash, sparks fly. This would be around the part where the average viewer would call the dialogue overlong and repetitive, without any effort on their end to connect with, or at least understand the situations at hand.

I couldn’t disagree more.

The dialogue forms the heart of the arc; when a character speaks, their lines aren’t artificially tailored for some 3rd party viewer. The core ideas, themes and motivations aren’t spoonfed; they’re inbetween the lines, asking a degree of investment and attentiveness from the viewers. Camera angles assist the viewer in finding meaning, if not to simply immerse them into the scene, like the series’ iconic eye reflection shots that convey “understanding” or “trust”. The argument between Subaru and Emilia in EP40 is probably the strongest display of that particular strength of the series, from the sheer rawness of it to how real it felt as an unreasonable clash of emotions, all the while allowing the two characters to overcome their emotional hurdles. It wouldn’t be difficult to argue that the Sanctuary premise, and the mansion situation at hand, are only present to allow all of these clashes and character explorations to take place, and the attentive viewer will most definitely appreciate this setting that goes beyond the isekai fantasy norm.

From a purely script-writing perspective, a lot of these moments overshadow the first half of Season 1, and come close to even the legendary, all-dialogue episode 18. This is all, sadly, from a purely script-writing perspective. While the directing throughout the show is generally good (with sadly more dips than usual in this cour — and no, this isn’t referring to the liberal use of filters, which I didn’t find too bothersome as someone used to such things), the animation is insufficient to carry the weight of certain moments. Anime is, first and foremost, a storytelling medium, but even the best story will fall flat if poorly translated on screen. While Part 2 certainly doesn’t fall to that level, the feeling that something is *missing*, or to be more precise that the characters are too static to properly elevate the scene is certainly there. It also certainly doesn’t help that the downgraded character designs, making most of the male characters hard to look at compared to Season 1, have carried over from S2P1. Re:Zero has had segments even heavier in dialogue than this cour before (again, the pure dialogue-heavy EP18 comes to mind), but a lack of dynamic animation on top of the increased complexity of the writing will inevitably lead to some false perceptions for the average viewer. These production-related issues, along with some cuts to the source that may negatively affect the flow of scenes for some, make it so that I cannot give this a perfect score; nevertheless, White Fox persevered admirably, trying their utmost to stay faithful to the source with consistent 30-minute episodes, this entire season reaching up to 33 episodes disguised as 25. While cracks in the production are present, series director Watanabe managed to balance out ambition with a schedule that didn’t require a crunch to the finish line like other popular gems of this season. But I digress.

Making up for the more static animation is a soundtrack that may just match AoT in its movie-like feel; the “fantasy” aspect of the series shines through in almost every track. The voice acting is stunning, from Yuusuke Kobayashi’s emotional performances to Rie Takahashi’s more and more confident and energetic voice, matching the arc of her character. Let’s also not forget to praise Takehito Koyasu, who managed to convey every facet of Roswaal’s character with skill. To top it off, this season came with two character insert songs, both used fittingly and beautifully. In a season as focused in fleshing out its cast through numerous backstories, character arcs and climactic moments, these are some of the most essential components, and I can only be glad the production remained stellar on that front.

Overall, if I had to sum up in a sentence what this arc of Re:Zero imparted in me, it would be, once again, “when you finally decide to take the first step to make a change, there will be people willing to help and encourage you along the way”. Subaru isn’t strong, he isn’t even cooler, but he isn’t alone anymore— just that fact is enough to change the tone of the series into something more positive. You cannot remain dependent on others, but avoiding human relationships with those around you will also get you nowhere.

If nothing else, I think what Re:Zero Season 2 does is worth lending an ear to.

Every season as of late, I can’t help but find myself on the lookout for fantasy stories to sink my teeth into. Oversaturated as the genre may be, sometimes, only sometimes, among all the manufactured shlock you’re likely to find a single gem rising above. Gems in which the fantasy setting is often merely used as a backdrop for a greater purpose, while also fully exploring it without getting caught up in the numerous tired tropes.

You can see why the promotional poster alone of Majo no Tabitabi sucked me in.

Majo no Tabitabi started out strong. Not held back by lazy tropes, complemented with sometimes breathtaking ... visuals and a couple of OSTs that captured the magic of the genre, it wasn’t hard for it to capture my interest and had me expecting more. The lack of tasteless fanservice and the way the characters were written (in the earlier episodes) almost made me think the series’ writing had a distinctly female touch. But decently-executed fantasy often isn’t enough: it’s the focal point of the show that distinguishes it from the rest.

The show is about Elaina. This is her story, her journey, and other characters are only anecdotes, mattering only in the extent of how much they relate to her. Putting aside my grievances with the series which I’ll list later, I enjoyed Elaina as a protagonist. It’s not often that a more self-centered, immodest character takes the focus (excluding the overly loud and cocky shounen protagonist trope) -- Elaina feels real, unexaggerated in her demeanor and deeply human. When Majo no Tabitabi is at its best, the show uses her journey and its magical setting to deliver certain ideas with its episodic adventures. For the first four episodes, that use of the setting pleasantly surprised me and kept me coming for more -- the show had not only subverted my expectations of a light novel-based fantasy series protagonist, but also the morals we’re used to in the medium.

It is up to the individual viewer whether some of the episodes’ unusual, seemingly anti-idealistic nature feels heavy handed and edgy, or whether it’s a nice breath of fresh air. Majo no Tabitabi doesn’t indulge in edginess or try to “be different” -- while the contrast between some of the more horrible scenes and the cutesy art is a pleasure to watch, even the seemingly grim episodes have satisfying endings, and their messages are often much less edgy and more grounded than given credit for. There is one particular episode where the “edginess”, however, does undeniably stand out — and it comes after a series of more whimsical and light-hearted adventures. I think most viewers will know which episode I’m referring to. Although it’s hailed as the peak of the series, I could only find it jarring and overly shocking after all the light-heartedness that preceded it (despite the terrific job in imagery, I commend the animators). There is little point in having a shocking encounter to break the protagonist down, only to completely forget about its events in the next episodes onwards. I’m not a purist who thinks development is everything a character needs (characterization is great, people!), however, beyond that episode, even directly following it, we barely get to see how Elaina was affected (in fact, her character remains mostly static throughout the series, with some effective characterization sprinkled here and there) -- this wouldn’t have bothered me as much, had the episode not possessed the trappings of a “cathartic” episode for her.

If you’ve made it this far, you’re probably wondering “how can that description be anything less than a 7?”

I almost feel bad writing this part, after having such high expectations and good faith on the show, but the more I watched, I found myself realizing that too much good faith was wasted on Majo no Tabitabi.

It’s hard to pinpoint when exactly my excitement for the next episode turned to mild interest, and then hope that maybe, just maybe the next episode would be better -- though if I had to say, it’d probably be after episode 4.

I mentioned how natural and grounded Majo no Tabitabi feels, despite some of its more grim episodes. This only goes for the first few episodes. After a certain point, the show derails to the point of indulgence -- and I’m not talking about amped up edginess. We get a character who reminds me of Demon Slayer’s Zenitsu -- who continually follows and harasses the protagonist, takes away from whatever conflict the characters are involved in, and generally is a nuisance to watch. The gag may be funny to some the first time -- it wasn’t to me, and certainly not the second, third or seventh time. I made the Zenitsu comparison, though I feel that may’ve been unfair to him, when he has a variety of different dynamics with characters other than his love interest -- Majo no Tabitabi being focused on Elaina alone, this tomboy character’s sole intrigue is in her insistent love for Elaina, and little more. That's one weakness of the show's inherent structure, as if you can't make other characters lovable or interesting from Elaina's perspective, then they won't be lovable or interesting to the audience, either.

But I could bear through a horribly-written and aggravating cast member every couple of episodes. This show had, after all, a lot of qualities I looked for in fantasy. "It will get better!", I told myself. I think it was around when the show indulged in the typical sister-incest gags that I came to terms with the fact that I’ve been giving it far too much leeway for what it was, a fantasy light novel -- with all its tropes, flaws and failings, only disguised differently and unique enough not to be a waste of time.

If you enjoyed the first few episodes and expected more, you're setting yourself up for disappointment. If you haven't, then you probably won't like the rest it has to offer, as it's only an inconsistent plummet downhill from there.

Few shows in recent memory have been the center of as much controversy as Re:ZERO. While one side claims it to be an indisputable masterpiece, basing themselves on arguments like “Subaru’s realism” and the “deconstruction of the isekai genre”, the other is often of the opinion that it’s more spectacle than substance, repetitive shlock that often relies on shock factor more than anything. This division combined with 2016’s infamous “best girl” discourse has served to turn people off from any future installments of the series, and perhaps few can blame them for that.

Now, taking all this controversy around it into account, is this franchise still ... worth a shot after these 4 years? Absolutely.

The first season focused on a deeply personal character study of Subaru, his savior complex and his eventual self-awareness, with one overlapping character arc in the form of Rem’s. Delivering on every front from visual directing to its creative use of the episodic format, along with its thriller aspect, it’s no wonder it became such a phenomenon in 2016. But Subaru’s arc has concluded; his entitlement and attitude have been addressed, his character arc seemingly finished. So where does the story go from here? Does it turn into—perish the thought—another standard isekai fantasy adventure, the very thing fans claimed it to “deconstruct”?

The answer is, thankfully, a firm no. Instead of going down that path in the next arc, the writer instead builds a complex web of mysteries and events, making use of foreshadowing laid down all the way back in the show’s first arcs. Every episode answers questions while bringing up newer ones, all of it leading to what might possibly be one of the most satisfying payoffs in the medium.

But while the solid plot and mystery form the backbone of this arc, along with the more history-oriented worldbuilding, the characters are its true highlight. Each character has their own agenda, their own struggles and weaknesses explored across different timelines— and for such a large cast, each one of them is handled with care and has a strong reason for being part of the narrative (...okay, except Petra.) Without limiting itself to Subaru, Re:ZERO doesn’t hesitate to turn a character’s world upside down and challenge their worldviews. In Subaru’s case, this comes in the form of exploring the mechanic of Return by Death to its limits, with multiple twists and revelations regarding the ability shaping the way Subaru approaches it, allowing him to go through multiple phases of development. As for the rest of the cast, each loop allows the exploration of different facets of characters, in such a way that a single timeline wouldn’t allow, with special care not to lose important moments of development in “failed” realities. Different circumstances lead to different reactions, and sometimes a character’s reaction is different even in seemingly similar circumstances, throwing both Subaru and the viewer for a loop.

That is one of the stronger aspects of Re:ZERO. It asks the viewer to think, hands them new pieces of the puzzle every episode and instead of outright giving every answer whenever a question is raised, it takes things gradually for a satisfying payoff in the end. It isn’t the kind of series you can sit down and turn your brain off to watch; you would still be entertained by the surface-level presentation, as it is in no way boring, but you’d be missing what the story really is trying to tell you. The amount of theorycrafting I see for Re:ZERO across different platforms, now and back in 2016, reminds me of the early days of the Attack on Titan anime and manga. These are the kinds of series that demand your attention, and if you’re willing to give it and engage with the material, you’re rewarded with layers upon layers of character work, foreshadowing and worldbuilding.

The cynical proponents of “Re:ZERO is spectacle and no substance” would be half-correct; the spectacle is there, which allows the show to be entertaining even on a surface level. Who doesn’t love a femme fatale with an attractive design and a disturbing love for intestines? Who doesn’t like dramatic endings to timelines, even ignoring the subtext and meaning behind them, if any? Who doesn’t like perfect cliffhangers and title card drops? And yet, all that said and done, the spectacle doesn’t make up the main appeal of the series. Re:ZERO isn’t lacking in climaxes, and while undiscerning viewers may write them off as mere shock value, every one of those more powerful scenes serves a narrative purpose, whether it be to introduce a new factor to the narrative, showcase a certain character’s mindset and goals, or set up foreshadowing and new stakes to face. In the past, critics would often deem moments to be “suffer porn”, while ignoring what those moments mean to the overall narrative, the characterization or development they offer to the characters included within; central themes like loneliness, stagnation, self-reliance and twisted love are lost on some viewers, hung up only on the superficial layer of dark fantasy that adorns Re:ZERO. Those strengths almost make me want to forgive the existence of Petra, a minor character whose role is entirely limited to establishing stakes for Subaru in this first cour.

On the more technical side of things, for the most part, Re:ZERO hasn’t lost its touch. While I have some reservations, big enough to prevent it from attaining a perfect score, the production is impressive on many levels. Yuusuke Kobayashi delivers a visceral performance as Subaru once again, with an astonishing voice range as he conveys moments of despair, relief and banter to near perfection. Rie Takahashi is another exceptional actress, from a kind voice that embodies the character of Emilia to a bone-chilling soft voice that almost feels like a twisted take on ASMR. Of course, Maaya Sakamoto as Echidna and many others deliver incredible performances as well, but the voice work isn’t the only triumph of the series’ audio presentation: the music is also what helps sell most scenes, from low & frightening bells amplifying moments of horror, to strong and dramatic instrumental pieces that immerses you into the scene in moments of action or tension. I’d even argue that in terms of sound, this season ranks above the first, even with the latter’s legendary production value.

The directing nails important scenes and doesn’t hold back the emotional peaks and gut-punches; the rest of the season is decent, still keeping the deliberate and clever framing choices the first season is known for, but also stumbling at times, unlike its predecessor. I feel like the adaptation could’ve done more justice to a couple of villains— thankfully, these misses are limited to a couple of scenes in the earlier parts. Director Watanabe’s ambition truly shows this season, his time in KyoAni once again showing through his use of soft colors in certain scenes, reminiscent of the famous 8th or 11th episodes of the first season.

Everything I’ve pointed out were fairly minor nitpicks in an otherwise solid production; however, what isn’t a minor nitpick is the apparent downgrade in the art department. The unshaded ears discourse aside, this season feels like the characters’ designs have lost a lot of their flair and unique characteristics. This is especially felt with Emilia, as you’ll notice the contrast when you transition from the first season to the second. The new noses for the male characters are unnecessary unfitting, perhaps even ugly to some. Along with the simplified designs comes a loss of shading in general and a minor downgrade in animation (nowhere near AOT season 3 or, god forbid, SDS) which undermines a few scenes and characters, to a small extent.

The reason why I hold this season’s production in high regard still, despite it not reaching the levels of Season 1, is simple: Re:ZERO is a passion project by White Fox. The studio doesn’t hesitate to skip OP and ED sequences to include more content in the episode, leaving as little as possible on the cutting room floor. Episodes are extended far beyond the usual time slot in the medium (and yet still feel far too short), up to half an hour to give more content, at the cost of ad revenue on Japanese TV that week. It’s an unusual, astonishing effort, especially given the current work-at-home circumstances. The first cour is 13 episodes, but amounts to over 16 episodes of content for any other series thanks to extended runtimes and skipped OP/EDs. I can only applaud director Watanabe for his special effort and dedication to faithfulness to the source, even if some cuts are inevitably made.

Don’t go into this Part 1 expecting a complete exposition, climax and denouement. Arc 4’s is a complex plot with many overlapping character arcs, events and moving parts to keep track of, and it isn’t something to be resolved in 13 episodes. Mysteries are established, character motivations are hinted at or revealed, stakes which truly challenge the protagonist’s Return by Death are set in this Part 1. Everything else is reserved for the second part of this arc.

Re:ZERO impressed me. After my disillusionment with the genre, an impactful and layered character drama that doesn’t hold back its punches, with a talented writer and an ambitious director to back it up, was the last thing I expected from the “isekai” craze. In very few series have I seen tweets about people calling or hugging their parents after an episode.

For all the misunderstandings and controversy around it, Re:ZERO is a special series, one well worth the investment. I, for one, can’t wait for what’s to come.