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Aikatsu! - Sigil of Second Wind (Updated 8/3/2022)

You know the drill. As usual, this is not exactly a review in the conventional sense, as it mostly focuses on analyzing the series as a whole rather than acting as an advertisement or recommendation to entice somebody to try the series out.

**This “review” is SPOILER-HEAVY and is recommended for those who have already completed the series. A large number of events will be referred to and may be used as examples in various ways.**

**This “review” will never be “complete” and I may be continually updating it in the future as I better collect more of my thoughts.**

This ... analysis may be somewhat messily written or seem to lack any sort of overarching structure. It is merely my personal thoughts and things I've realized while watching the series. Everything is subject to change as my perspective towards the media I consume continues to evolve.

Aikatsu! is unquestionably among the most refreshing titles that I've encountered in a long time, shattering my expectations as for what I envisioned it would be as overall possibly the most enjoyable anime I've ever completed. After stagnating in regards to anime consumption for quite some time, I felt that I had nearly entirely lost the ability to follow something continuously, though upon cleaning up my plan to watch list, I was struck with an epiphany in how only takes the correct title to get going again.

Right off the bat, something of note is that while the series boasts neither the greatest visuals, nor the most complex narrative, the original Aikatsu!, standing at a colossal 178-episodes with the added bonus of movies and whatnot, is a rather ambitious title to say the least, originating on a much smaller scale as a simple rise-to-the-top story at first glance, following Ichigo and her best friend, Aoi, their embarkment on the road to become top idols, yet as the series progresses, the cast dramatically expands to include dozens of faces, the focus distributed between both the many main and side characters alike, nevertheless without ever compromising the journey of its primary protagonists. It's a children’s show that largely succeeds in impressing me, even in spite of my appreciation of other strong titles geared towards the same demographic, and hence being less impressionable.

The series’s greatest strengths lie with its characters, their interactions and development over a long span of time. This isn't to say that Aikatsu! has the most complex characters, as many do not particularly stray from common tropes and archetypes, but over time, many have their individual struggles both highlighted and explored while remaining ever-present throughout its run. I found myself growing to enjoy the occasions when characters that I initially didn't even like were centered then upon to unveil a new side and hence create a new sense of appreciation. As follows, at this point, I don’t think there's any singular cast member which I can point to and say I dislike. Of course, not every character is explored to an equivalent extent, but most of even the secondary protagonists are given some spotlight and maintain their own following, if not already affecting the series’ universe in some notable way. Even characters as minor as Yuu, being Akari's initial roommate, have been utilized in multiple ways, an example being her exchange student experience playing a role in shaping her to become a travel idol, allowing both Miyabi and Kotone to come to Starlight as a secondary implication, with Yuu’s newfound motivation to further herself derived from the aforementioned experience of having Akari as her roommate. I essentially mean that even characters that appear uncommonly are hardly wasted, or at least feel like they could assume some believable position in the Aikatsu world. Once again, the cast is massive and the series does a fairly good job of using members to exemplify different potential paths for idols within the same industry, not even specifically limited to the type of idol they represent in terms of “cool” or “cute,” but in regards to the different branching routes sprouting from the same root, displaying a divergence between skillsets such as acting, modelling and comedy, and even specialties in regards to Sumire’s singing and Rin’s dancing being their emphasis or even having Yurika epitomize the idea of idols taking on a persona and sticking to it with utmost diligence. “Everyone moves at different paces” is a common motif present throughout, and additionally, everyone also comes to move in their own direction. The way that characters continue to evolve and how their screen presence slowly gains weight over the years are part of what makes the show work so well.

The “journey’ of Aikatsu! is, in itself, much of the point, and by this, much of what appears as tangential manages to merge together in memory to formulate said journey, which in turn assists in fleshing out the characters’ own experiences. One could say that some loose ends arrive nowhere in regards to the long-term, bigger picture, yet it's precisely because Aikatsu! dedicates such a massive sum of episodes to focus on such a variety of activities concerning myriad characters and encompassing an array of messages and experiences that the journey is formed as a cohesive whole to begin with. There is an episode leading up to graduation which emphasizes the memorable experiences of the previous years as Ichigo and company are entrusted with the organization of pictures. This is only enabled by the abundance of seemingly one-off episodes and the multitude of experiences accumulated by this point to allow for recollection to hold weight, and this is even further supplemented by references to events which occur “off-screen,” allowing the viewer to fill in the blanks themselves as for how additional shenanigans would play out, adding to the believability of the immense stack of photos and mountain of experiences the cast has undertaken. Something as simple as Aoi composing a collection of the numerous pictures of Otome falling into the fountain for example, serves to illustrate the long span of time that has passed, given the lengths it would take to assemble such. Similarly, the way that characters are able to actively reminisce on past experiences underlines the gravity of this time to them. They themselves demonstrate a degree of self-awareness of both memories and the trails they have undergone, and experience isn't simply forgotten. It instead accumulates, much like the series' good episodes do to form something larger than the sum of its parts. In this regard, Aikatsu! certainly isn't the only show which does this, as other works which manage to feel like an actual journey are composed mostly similarly, but I find Aikatsu!'s entire attitude towards its progression to be particularly special. There are no tricks or traps here, no catches, simply large-scale, wholeheartedly straightforward, earnest progression and development.

Characters are humbled, frequently acknowledging just how long of a way ahead they have yet to go, in turn, often being shown in situations in which they attempt to improve upon themselves, frequently taking drastic measures for even marginal advancements as with the case of Akari attending Aikatsu Bootcamp. The show never skimps on its training montages; characters are always given ample quantities of scenes detailing relevant preparatory work and exercises ranging from dancing and choreography to vocal practice to concert planning as well as physical exertion. There are also many episodes in which characters attempt to acquire premium dresses, sometimes going to great lengths for such given how Ichigo scales an entire cliffside without safety ropes to meet with Amane, revealing both dedication and desperation. Many struggle with even basic training from the get-go, but over time, one can note how much change has occurred, as formerly difficult tasks are longer a struggle and are instead natural integrated into a standard day's routine without breaking a sweat. At one point, Soleil notes that they instinctively all break into training upon meeting up with each another due to the sheer frequency of their practice. As a result, these numerous segments of characters improving their physical abilities really lend weight to their progress; after a while, the viewer can undoubtedly realize the impact of this progression, with character development simultaneously feeling earned and realized.

There is a certain self-awareness of one’s own progress, a shared spirit if you will, of characters always seeking to further themselves, even in cases of where one has already seemingly risen to the pinnacle of what's conceivable in their profession as with Mizuki. Her role in the second season highlights the aforementioned desire to transcend, and after carrying the status of top idol for years on end, keeping up with her activities and continuously defending her position, she is motivated to move beyond prior accomplishments to not only be the current number one idol, but upstage past figures, namely Masquerade, for the spot of number one idol of all time, through executing an event on an even larger scale than her predecessors. This persistent desire to improve is once again shared by essentially every other cast member as well, characters almost never passing up any opportunities to get their name out and perform, taking every chance they can get in order to elevate themselves to the next level. Akari tries and succeeds at being a weather girl, and in this fashion, allowing her to shed the status of nameless rookie to become somewhat of a public figure, to the point where even elderly and non-idol enthusiasts are able to recognize her. Even in cases of skepticism regarding one's own ability to win a position or take on the role of an idol, as with Kii in her transition from holding a producer role to actually performing on-stage alongside her friends, characters are able to find their footing, Kii gaining confidence and passion through victory as the poster girl for Pon Pon Crepe, and take on tasks they previously wouldn't be motivated to attempt. This is a major factor from which enjoyment can be derived, the series more akin to a pseudo-sports show, characters competing against one another in what resembles a rivalry while also holding on to a sense of communal friendship, boosting each other up and wishing for others’ success even when it means they, themselves would need to try harder in response. In fact, this dynamic of having to work harder to catch up to the very individuals that one is pulling up is extremely significant as it creates massive chain reaction feedback loops in which characters are motivated and inspired by each other, resulting in a nearly boundless rise up the ranks for many.

In line with the physical regiments that the characters undergo to improve themselves, I feel that Aikatsu! is at its best with its more reflective segments. Within most episodes, there is usually a point in time, be it a thoughtful conversation at the end after a performance, or a revelation that acts as a catalyst to bring upon newfound strength, which complements achieved physical development with psychological growth as well. The small epiphanies, lessons and conversations over the years pile up to gradually affect how characters' behavior and outlooks, and in the same vein, these realizations are always diverse, tackling subjects that would be relevant and sensible for the characters to consider. Often, Aikatsu! may not necessarily give a clear-cut solidified answer to a specific problem, but its resolutions feel sincere and greatly assist in providing catharsis. There is usually a moment, frequently towards the end following a performance before cutting to the ending theme, in which everything just seems to click together smoothly and said catharsis is emerges. The feeling is in a similar vein to the small hints of beauty present in something like Aria, to which on that note, there are plenty of anime which may manage to provide similar catharsis at certain points over their run, yet something that separates Aikatsu! is how it manages this consistently on a seemingly regular basis. This ties back to what I mentioned before, of the “good” accumulating to form something greater, and the series is the prime example of a series that epitomizes this idea; its journey is composed of the combined experiences and everything gained along the way.

Something else that Aikatsu! excels at is capturing the passage of time. The show has a special talent for having time pass in a matter of seconds with that time still holding a real sense of weight behind it. Even short montages of the cast training or playing around over a matter of seconds are able to communicate far more in terms of how much time would have elapsed. The series has habitual performances nearly every single episode, and if not at the end of the episode like most often, they could take place in the very beginning. With this in mind, Aikatsu! can consistently illustrate endeavors spanning matters of days within the same singular episode, the act of establishing the conflict to begin with, exhibiting all the preparation work that comes with what has been established and display then the conflict or event itself in how it turns out. There were many cases where I would expect events to take on more of an arc structure to be spaced out over the course of multiple episodes, they do occasionally such as with the Starlight Queen Cups or other important concerts, but generally, Aikatsu! wastes no time in cutting straight to the chase, largely having everything wrap-up within the episode that it's established in, even Star Anis's tour passes in a flash without at all sacrificing its relevance. The fact that Aikatsu! can cover entire days in a single episode is something that I feel is crucial for conveying the aforementioned gravity of their activities, to where the audience can really feel that time is moving by. The calendar itself also plays into the passage of time, very fitting for a show with an ending called "Calendar Days." Considering that it seems to have been airing in real-time, the series has four distinct Christmas episodes and a nearly equal number of episodes dedicated to New Years’ yet none of them ever feel wasteful nor redundant. By establishing these sort of landmarks as well as how seasons and semesters pass on a regular basis of every 2-cours or so, it causes the viewer to feel as if they actually been watching the show for four years even if they happened to binge it over a few weeks in actuality, and this also contributes to making the show feel absolutely massive in terms of scope and scale. This too, serves to make the journey feel even more like an actual journey.

This far into the review already and I haven't even discussed specifics regarding the protagonists themselves. Ichigo and Akari are both excellent protagonists who undergo significant development throughout the show, albeit Ichigo’s may be less immediately noticeable as she juxtaposes Akari in certain respects. The most significant of disparity is her seemingly natural affinity for being an idol, as sniffed out by Aoi in the first episode where she recommends Ichigo to join her in applying to Starlight. With the blood of a former Masquerade member running through her, Ichigo feels almost superhuman in comparison to Akari, and while she does still struggle, she does so in different ways and a lot of it may be a bit less blatant, often touching more on the mental side of the implications of becoming an idol and progressing on that front rather than being limited by baseline physical abilities. This is not to say that Ichigo does not demonstrate any physical struggle whatsoever, as episode eleven highlights her difficulty of staying in shape and restraining herself, but much more plays into as previously mentioned consequences of both her aspirations and those surrounding her. The core of her character remains one in the same as her spirit and energy shines through in her every action, but by the end of the saga, it is evident that Ichigo has matured and grown. Comparing Ichigo from episode one and episodes following the first movie, there are noticeable changes in demeanor and confidence. She has risen to achieve many feats, becoming memorialized as a legendary figure in the industry, eventually dethroning Mizuki and claiming the prestigious position of top idol for herself. She has also continued to influence the myriad people around her, reaching the point where characters essentially worship her, the most obvious example being Akari of course, and the effect of this legacy is felt all the more because the viewer has accompanied her throughout her rise to the top.

It's an interesting sensation to reach the third season since many works more or less come to a standstill when characters achieve their primary goals, yet to go beyond that and see how their achievements have influenced things from thereon out is fascinating, and with this, Akari, the second main protagonist, is one swept up in the whirlwind that Ichigo initiated, definitely falling into the camp of worshipping of her, specifically being motivated to become an idol after watching her on television, and going as far as to introduce herself as Ichigo while applying to Starlight for the second time. Unlike Ichigo however, Akari lacks the natural idol affinity of her predecessor, something that Johnny Bepp outright explains to Ichigo in the second season, resulting in her significantly lower baseline abilities which calls for drastic improvements. Akari demonstrates far more in terms of physical struggle, forced to completely work herself into shape from nothing, practicing running single everyday, her singing and dancing abilities leaving much to be desired while also taking an eternity to be able to perform a special appeal. Akari showcases a fair amount of doubt regarding her self-confidence, quickly skeptical as to whether she was actually making any meaningful progress. She certainly eventually does, but over a believable amount of time with many tribulations. Akari slowly eases her way into being an idol and in the process learns to “shine with her own light” and not simply copy her mentor. Being influenced by Ichigo, Akari is without a doubt similar in terms of attitude, though without apparent the initial extraordinary ability to jump into and succeed at seemingly anything, she is forced to face things with pure resolve and determination, a characteristic noted by her parents at a young age. While never coming to officially dethrone Ichigo (even if she does surpass her in some way in the final episode), Akari’s ascension also comes with a uniqueness of knowing that she began at rock-bottom and has climbed such a long way. There is incredible emotional weight behind having both protagonists reach their landmark aspirations and by these points, the payoff always feels deserved.

The other characters also add flavor to interactions and, disregarding exaggerated elements, feel real enough to empathize with; for example, Johnny Bepp will likely stick in viewer’s minds with his trademark broken English and over the top attitude, but he even manages to have some episodes dedicated to him, and he, along with other characters, provide the show with a very specific flavor of energy. Given his goofiness, it may be easy to forget that Bepp is actually a master of his craft; he is fleshed out his own past as a choreographer and teacher for Masquerade, Mizuki and the many students at Starlight, as well as formerly being part of a dance group with Sonny. Orihime is fleshed out with her past being rooted in being part of Masquerade and moving on to raise idols to populate the idol scene as the headmistress of Starlight, her approach and philosophies contrasting Tiara’s with the formation of Dream Academy in raising only the selected few on a strict path towards being an idol as opposed to the openness of having even options to become a producer or designer open to anybody, even those who normally wouldn't meet the minimum skill bar. The majority of the main cast is largely populated by numerous idols who of which provide unique directions for the show to focus on while adding some semblance of spice in their own way, with much in the way of character chemistry. Most of the time, even while embodying common tropes, characters stick to grounded struggles and have secondary attributes and circumstances, for example Mikuru pursuing gardening on the side, which causes them to feel more believable as characters to sympathize with. On the other hand, various family members and supporting cast members provide much needed, well, support, for their respective idols to further help them feel closer to believable people with actual lives rather than machines that exist in a vacuum. The many top designers also assist in making the universe feel more like a living, breathing entity, featuring the diverse tastes and sensibilities that various brands would tackle, even showcasing the struggles of an upward climb towards being a top designer in the case of Sena, and labors to continue to churn out great work in the case of Amahane. The show dedicates a number of episodes to these designers, who many of which reappear in locations designers would logically go to seek inspiration, and in this way, they too feel like actual people to an extent even despite the spotlight being put on the idols themselves.

I feel that eventually allocating the original cast to supporting roles in favor of raising new protagonists is one of the most interesting writing decisions the franchise has taken upon itself. The dynamic between the original and new cast comes with the former acting as mentors for the younger generation in a baton pass-esque manner. For the old Starlight students, this forces both those who they mentor, as well as themselves to continue growing to even further heights, with Ichigo substituting the role of Mizuki to Akari just as Mizuki had been a model to herself. Akari is hardly only new character who benefits as, sharing the same brand, even Mikuru acts as a sort of mentor for Hinaki to some extent towards the end of the series leading up to the finale. There is a sort of "giving back" on part of the original cast who have by this point succeeded, in helping the new blood rise up, just as they themselves had been supported by others. Another implication of designating the old cast to side characters though is that it increases the “weight” lent to their screen time going forward. It's easy to get used to the original protagonists being onscreen after following them for over a hundred episodes, experiences all they have gone through alongside them, to which, by that point, viewers should reveal some level of attachment to them. Having less frequent appearances causes the times when they actually do emerge onscreen again to feel like special occasions. I could distinctly feel the weight of characters’ appearances as this was an extremely rare case in media where I genuinely missed the old cast. The distance makes all the difference and having them continue to exist in the background though simply provides the show with an extra weapon in its arsenal that it can utilize to enhance episodes and reward viewers later down the line. It's just such an interesting choice to have the series move in this direction as most shows would essentially stop and conclude upon having their protagonist finish their main story, yet Aikatsu! runs with it and decides to keep going.

Another facet of Aikatsu! that I greatly appreciate lies in its continuity and general tendency to remember itself. The show manages to capitalize on the most minor details, leaving them to be referenced on later occasions or in some cases further expanding upon them in meaningful ways. One standout example is the first Aikatsu8 selection, a real poll which also takes votes from actual fans of the show, in which Ichigo cements herself a position, but both Aoi and Ran are excluded in favor of other Dream Academy participants. I found it particularly interesting that the show remembers this detail as it resurfaces in an episode of season three, used to reinforce the aforementioned idea of how everyone moves at their own pace in having Luminas’ situation somewhat mirror what happened to Soleil, and in turn simultaneously provides unexpectedly greater catharsis when the other members of Soleil are finally able to take part in the Aikatsu8 later on, all within the same episode. On another occasion, a scene where Sumire is shocked at the sight of dead fish, something easily blown off as a mere comedic reaction, suddenly becomes a relevant detail when the show loops back around to reference it in yet another later episode as something that Akari and Hinaki take advantage of in an attempt to surprise Sumire on their hidden camera show. Milestones such as the Pon Pon Crepe audition, an achievement that Mizuki had previously won and one of the first trails that Aoi undertakes and succeeds in are brought back with Kii, and later with Akari, who manage to participate in them as well; with this, a sense of continuity over a long period of time is achieved. Another example is the Angely Bear, which Ichigo stars in an advertisement for. Vieweing the first season standalone, one would think the episode to work as a simple little one-off; Ichigo stars in a commercial and furthers herself by doing so, to which it does. However, the bear in the commercial is later linked to an episode of season four, where Akari and company work with Dandai (real-life Bandai) to produce a new line of toys, Akari herself influenced by the Angely Bear commercial that Ichigo starred in, inspiring her to create idol dolls as well as have Dandai include the bear in the commercial. Akari’s experience derived from engaging in a talk show with Maguro is referenced again as she attempts comedy upon encountering Nina, and Maguro himself appears more than once accompanied by Ichigo. There are countless examples of show the remembering small bits of itself, and these moments demonstrate the chain of influence between characters as well as the show’s self-awareness of itself, and the fact that characters and their actions continually come back, serve to better establish the Aikatsu universe. Mikuru’s promise to Mizuki isn't forgotten and neither is Ichigo’s statement of “waiting” for Akari in the first film. I love the ever-present self-consciousness in the show being able to remember itself, to where even things that seemingly go nowhere on the surface have opportunities to be tied back to, in contrast to how other titles may have events play out and then simply move onto the next thing.

On a similar train of thought, there are myriad small instances and recurring gags that the show seems to continue, further demonstrating its capacity to remember itself and all in all just act as a nice touch. The axe becomes a running gag after being used in episode twelve to fell a Christmas tree, and from there it is brought up four more times in reference, with Akari assuming Ichigo's mantle and even in the final episode marathon. In fact, the idea of cutting and bringing back a tree for Christmas is transformed into somewhat of a tradition in how in the third Christmas episode directly builds upon the first. In a similar manner, there is a specific smirk that Ichigo keeps making in her performances, initially established somewhere in the second season, which pervades throughout the show to also appear in the final episode while performing Calendar Girl.

There are also the nicknames that Bepp uses, “Starmiya” being incorporated into the “Great Starmiya Ichigo Festival” and more specifics like a conversation between Rin and Madoka towards the end of the final season where the two end up playing shiritori, a Japanese word game in which the player has to say a word which matches the final kana of the previous player’s word, to which previously established catchphrases are assimilated and entire passages of dialogue between the two still manage to follow the rules of the game, even after it seemingly ending. These are just a few examples that come to mind of course, but the show is chock full of stuff like this upon closer inspection.

Moving on, Aikatsu! is far from the visually strongest work out there, but I wouldn't say it looks terrible either. On one hand, some of the backgrounds, especially indoors when there are particularly dull-looking stock-image-esque walls, can be rather unappealing, though there are cases when characters are outdoors where backgrounds can look more vibrant, colorful, and even storybook-esque, though of course it's largely dependent on the given location and surrounding scenery. On the other hand, characters themselves and foreground can look rather solid with lines dark enough and thick enough to stand out, though sporadically appear off-model such as with episode 51. CG performances can be a mixed bag, as earlier ones leading up to around episode nine can look cheap and downright atrocious. From thereafter however, Aikatsu! demonstrates a willingness to attempt to improve upon itself, the overall quality of models and expressiveness of even minute gestures cause said performances to drastically improve over time. To the show’s credit, characters go through an abundance of costumes, which are all showcased in their respective performances. In terms of animation, Aikatsu! isn't the strongest candidate, many scenes more on the static side as characters talking with fluid full-body animation being less common when the show is in 2D, unless we're talking about one of the movies, where some sakuga is present. However, Aikatsu! supplements limited animation with character expressiveness, applying facial expressions, smears and constant reactions shot to its interactions to never feel truly boring.

I feel Aikatsu! to be tonally perfect, straddling the line between lighthearted and austere, wholly unafraid of diving headfirst into jovial character interactions and routine chaos, but simultaneously holds itself to also having its cast sincerely consider their own circumstances and self-improvement in a serious manner just as often. The show feels like a nearly equal split between both, with numerous episodes dedicated to acting out plays or movies with everything going crazy serving to balance out the segments with heavier emotional weight, most notably in the Imaishi space mecha episode and magic card movie production which are both absolutely insane. It does things such as reference Ichigo/Akari's introduction lines at the beginning of each episode as a joke, and continues to do things in the similar vein throughout. Typically though, Aikatsu! maintains its positive upbeat attitude in some form throughout, regardless of what type of episode pops up next. Just as much enjoyment can be derived from observing the casual banter between individuals and how effectively they rhythmically ricochet off one another as it can from watching over the cast as they work towards and achieve their goals. With this, the series offers the best of both worlds without compromising in either respect once again.

Surely, for a show centered on idols and their performances, music should be a rather important element, and while I don't love every single song (looking to the song used at Johnny's sister's wedding), I would say that Aikatsu!’s music is generally very pleasant. The performances themselves have some degree of variance in terms the style of music chosen, slower songs to contrast faster ones, rock to juxtapose pop and whatnot. Some of Yurika’s and Sumire’s songs take on a more ominous feel while Madoka’s are bouncy and upbeat. Anyhow, the point stands that Aikatsu! doesn't fully embody or stick to any singular brand of music, though generally much of its score pushes for its underlying positive energy. I actually love the general soundtrack outside of the show’s actual performances even more, which generally do a great job in enhancing the emotional intensity of key scenes, aside from a few instances in the second season, playing the appropriate piece during important moments and providing much needed catharsis. The background music goes hand in hand with its character interactions to greatly influence the tone of its scenes, a component that can't be understated in regards to making the show function.

Overall, Aikatsu! may as well be the most worthwhile experience I've had with anime, a joy to watch as a character journey over such a massive span of episodes. The accumulation of not only good episodes, but of these small albeit thoughtful elements, are what makes Aikatsu! such a memorable show. It is admirable to observe not only the characters within the show attempting to improve themselves, but show itself doing the same, especially concerning its presentation. Even the characters who I didn't originally care for, I grew to appreciate, and even episodes that I had expected to be boring based on the episode preview came out of surprisingly enjoyable with what managed to be accomplished. Though not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, Aikatsu! is a series that offer a lot and impresses me with its ambition and genuineness.

Hibike! Euphonium - Wholehearted Sincerity

WILL PROBABLY REVISE AFTER I FINISH MY REWATCH

**SPOILER ALERT – THIS “REVIEW” WILL CONTAIN MAJOR SPOILERS**

**This “review” serves to cover both the first and second seasons of the series.**

**This “review,” as always, is permanently incomplete and from time to time I may edit and update my thoughts on it.**

... **Once again, I have no real apparent structure to my “reviews,” as they are all primarily stream of consciousness writeups.**

I have always been slightly biased against Kyoto Animation, and aside from Clannad which I had actually enjoyed to some degree in prior years, none of the studio’s work had really stuck out to me. While being fully aware that many others have held Kyoto Animation in high regard, I had been unable to see what was so special about it. Hibike! Euphonium serves to destroy my perspective of the studio by being a wolf in sheep’s clothing, leaving me open to going back and revisiting their works that I have discarded. My approval of this work may come off as strange considering how picky I am, as well as the fact that Euphonium is not generally placed upon such a pedestal. It does not contain a grand, sweeping narrative, nor does it come off as especially philosophical. On the surface, it may appear as another nameless seasonal and initial impressions may leave the viewer confuzzled as to how I can manage to place it within the same list as Texhnolyze or Legend of the Galactic Heroes. MAL users thought I had lost my sanity upon yielding such a high score to it. At its very core however, the series is a character journey, one of pure passion, more specifically one to both be true to self and understand the concept of both, “I like it,” as well as unmasked emotional expression.

From a more technical standpoint, the series is not anything to really brush off either. Generally, the aesthetic found in the majority of modern anime irks me. Euphonium however, pulls off a mixture of sickeningly cute and grounded realism which allows me to take it seriously when it tries to create drama as well as enjoy more light-hearted moments in which the characters perform their various antics and running gags. The animation though, is certainly something to take note of, Euphonium really serves to capitalize on the skill of Kyoto Animation’s animators. There is plenty of movement, usually multiple characters moving at once and not remaining completely still during conversations. More subtle gestures such a character’s sitting position, a hand tensing up and kicking off shoes to go into a more laid-back mode assist in providing essential characterization. The audience can get a better sense of each character by their body language, even aside from Kumiko’s reactions previously mentioned. Visually, it can be gorgeous with breathtaking cuts to scenery and in other cases clever, hiding visual metaphors that can be too easily dismissed. In the background of many scenes, the extras are not still, seen walking or moving, vehicles and animals moving serve to give an impression that the world is more “real,” a place where things are constantly happening in some form. During performances, there is a great attention to detail in what is being played, musical fingerings are mostly ENTIRELY correct, not done randomly. Corners are just not cut with this series.

Even more impressive however, is Euphonium’s attention to sound. The music varies from horrible to extraordinary, in some cases music is purposefully poor, to highlight how unskilled the band is at the start of the show. With this though, comes massive musical complexity, the feat of the band’s playing heightening as episodes pass; later, after Mizore’s oboe solo is described as emotionless and robotic, resolving her character arc, her solo becomes expressive and genuine. The band plays more in sync and it is apparent through the viewer listening. We are not directly told “why,” specifically Reina’s solo is more impressive than Kaori’s solo, but it is something that can be detected, by how notes are drawn out, or have sharper tone and etc. There are so many details that add to the complexity of the characters’ playing. When a character listens to a piece played behind a wall, be it another room or outdoors, the sound becomes more muffled, as to reflect that change. It changes depending on the setting, and the change is noticeable to fit to how the playing would actually sound under such specific circumstances. When there is an announcement made in an area with mountains, the sound reverberates to reflect the mountainous terrain. It also differs depending on the camera angle, music played can feel softer as the camera is farther away and intensifies as said camera zooms closer. The parts that the characters practice in myriad episodes is revealed only in small chunks, never all at once to make the full song, which will only be fully featured in their competition performances where it is played entirely. This creates catharsis during such a scene when everything is played and the sections each individual had been working on all come together. There is clearly so much care put towards the attention to sound throughout the series.

To add to this is Euphonium’s greatest strength, its expansive cast; for a series of this length I was honestly surprised by how many notable characters there are. They are not just cookie-cutter stereotypes; they have struggles, faults and personalities, and many actually show a deal of development. Mamiko has essential struggles which lead to Kumiko’s development and emphasizes the conflict of balancing other’s vision of satisfaction with one’s own. Hazuki and Sapphire may seem like more one-note comedic relief characters at first glance, but they really help give personality to the show’s lighter moments, and Hazuki especially shows instances of growth, not just her playing ability, but in how she takes rejection, from both Shuuichi (who performs a similar role to these two and further fleshes out Kumiko’s character) and the competition group, yet still sticks around and remains dedicated to her friends. Along the same note, I was moved by how Natsuki takes things in the show, one of the final episodes of the first season has her cheering up Kumiko, taking her cut respectably, not being a sore loser, but cool about it. She furthermore has her development in later instances during Asuka’s absence and in Mizore’s arc in attempting to have Nozomi rejoin the band. Only adding to this is her dynamics with Yuuko which give even more personality to the show, which just would not be the same without them. Speaking of Yuuko, Euphonium is the rare instance of a show that, created a character that I had initially despised, and turned my perception on its head, having her later be someone I hated no longer, a character with another side revealed. Yuuko is shown to be a very loyal friend, resolutely making an effort to cheer on Kaori and is a cornerstone in resolving Mizore’s arc. Mizore and Nozomi also fall into the same vein of characters that I did not particularly like initially, but who grew on me as they became increasingly fleshed out. Their existence helps as a callback to the band’s history, but more importantly, represents a contrast between investing and not investing effort; the seniors in prior years taking it easy compared to characters in the current year shattering their facades and Kitauji making it to nationals in the following year, actually “reaching for the moon.” Haruka and Kaori hold the club together as leaders along with Asuka; Haruka obtains courage to later transcend her cowardly exterior and rally the club in support of Asuka, and Kaori accepts loss and concedes her solo to Reina in spite of having to lose her final chance to ever play it. Asuka on the other hand, is the “final boss” of the series and is layered with barriers, just as Kumiko is, has her own reasons to play and act the way she does. Reina contrasts Kumiko, an interesting thing about her being how she can actually be extremely openly expressive; she screams on multiple occasions, yet remains quiet most of the time, two characteristics which uniquely contrast each other. She helps with Kumiko’s very development, pushing her to dedicate herself; in some sense, Kumiko even grows to be more like Reina. Taki is a key component to the band’s success, giving Kitauji the opportunity to make it to nationals in the first place. While he is often serious, he has character, dedication to fulfilling what his wife could not, and shows great care for his students. There are scenes in which Kumiko and Reina enter the office only to see Taki analyzing videos of rivals, or out cold from planning their curriculum. He even has his own friends in Hashimoto and Niiyama, which add their own perspectives to the band’s playing to enhance their performance. Both voice expression in playing, to not put up a façade and openly reveal how one feels, and often urge band members to play their parts in accordance to how they feel about said part. Even the multitude of other band members that lack major screen time, serve to help create a sense of unity within the cast. The members of Kitauji concert band are a team and they work towards nationals. Sense of achievement for the larger group would certainly not be the same if the band was composed of only a dozen members or so. My point is, the characters of Euphonium are honestly impressive, in that series does just so much with so many of them and they mostly all remain integral to any degree.

The development through the series is very gradual and characters are shown training every step of the way. When the cast plays in an ensemble, they play, but not whole-heartedly; many are still not completely devoted to music. Through rigorous practice, the characters become more attached to it and gradually become more serious towards achieving the goal making it to nationals. This in itself serves to give the show a strong “sense of achievement.” In a story, a character can come to achieve something, but achieving such only feels worthwhile if the audience is shown the build-up towards that point. Revealing the struggles of the cast in the process of achieving something acts as a way to ground their struggles and generate weight. They have impact because the development and investment can be felt, and this is certainly the case with Euphonium. There are many instances of the characters practicing, engaging in breathing exercises to expand lung capacity, humming to notes to hone tone, and undergoing more unique training, such as playing directly after running to work on stamina. The series even exhibits practicing precise marching in response to the Sunrise Festival, and as a result of such, the performance feels coordinated and worthwhile. Kitauji’s playing feels merit-able directly due to prior efforts.

However, most significant of all is our protagonist of course. The series boasts, surprisingly, one of the most respectable female protagonists I’ve seen in Kumiko. There is something that separates her from the seemingly endlessly multitude of mass-produced characters in recent years. She feels “actualized,” genuine and real. She has character, quirks and imperfections, and simultaneously develops majorly throughout the series. Her voice acting plays a major role in this. Admittedly, voice acting is not something that I especially emphasize or take not of unless it is atrocious, but Kumiko’s voice acting is integral to breathing life into her character. Lurking behind every corner of the show are countless instances of “reactions” that she performs which serve to give her personality. The difference between Kumiko and other female protagonists is that she actually feels like she could be a “real person.” This is strange because she feels this way despite the series including many instances of characters temporarily taking on a more chibi-esque visual style used in some of their reactions. Kumiko is a character which initially appears nonchalant and to some degree, even cynical. She is not overly optimistic, has worries and faults, overall raining on people’s parade with a more skeptical train of thought, even described to have a “terrible personality,” by Reina. Something interesting about Kumiko is how despite the cases in which she wears her emotions on her face, she tries to conceal them. There are many instances in which she blurts out what she is thinking, potentially offending others by accident. Kumiko’s “control” over her emotions is a major choke point of Euphonium as throughout the series, she begins to lower her guard on them, allowing them to fly more freely. Despite playing music throughout middle school, after losing out at making it to nationals, she seems more indifferent towards the activity. She puts on an air of not caring about what she does, not exactly in the sense that she does everything lazily, but in how she never wants to commit to anything and remains mostly unexpressive. The first scene contrasts the emotional expression of two of the main protagonists. Kumiko is able to be satisfied with being able to play in her middle school competition, they have received dud gold, but that is enough for her. She had never thought that they would make it any further to begin with, the result had merely met her expectations. The idea of working one’s hardest towards something, only to be wholly disappointed causes her to not express full genuine attachment to her music. Kumiko does not externally reveal her care for the competition, but with the success in episode 13, she comes to recognize this issue, how ideologically, she has kept herself on the periphery this entire time, and now would be a chance to “apply” herself. Reina, on the other hand, greatly contrasts Kumiko, breaking down in tears with words of, “I am frustrated.” Kumiko is dazed by Reina’s response, aforementioned cynical mindset shining through to comment on her naivety, which only serves to create further aggravation. It is clear that Kumiko has experience with band, given how her shelves are littered with CDs and guides on how to play better, and also by the fact that she can acknowledge how poor Kitauji’s High School concert band sounds, but Kumiko tries her best to attempt to break away from music; she tries to avoid joining the band, and even when she eventually does, tries to cut her ties to the euphonium by taking up another instrument. When Taki asks whether the band wants to play casually or pursue the national competition, Kumiko takes neither side, partially out of worry of Reina’s response, but also due to her uncertainty regarding music as a whole. She acts that she does not care, hiding how she feels to some degree, while internally, she still clearly does. A major part of the first season is dedicated, not only to the cast finding passion in playing, but Kumiko breaking the walls she has set up regarding this contradiction between how she expresses herself and how she sincerely feels.

As the series picks up, the practice further intensifies. An important instance of development is when Kumiko decides to become serious about practicing, she goes outside and practices long hours alone in the hot sun, to the point where she becomes dehydrated and gets a nosebleed. This demonstrates the sheer dedication that she has come to, initially seeming to not care about how well the band would perform, but now finally caring about putting in effort. Her façade is shattered as she now feels a more genuine attachment to music. This is a major turning point however as simultaneously, this is the moment where, for once, she is left out of playing the part she was working at. She has witnessed various peers criticized on their playing, but never before has she been directly singled-out in this way. This infuriates Kumiko and she finally recognizes how Reina felt when she asked whether she thought they would actually make it to nationals. In a brilliant running sequence, Kumiko resolves to wanting to improve, something that she had never before felt so adamantly. This is the moment where she opens a larger connection to music, that it is blatant that she cares about the activity. Kumiko grows from being a more dubious, unconcerned individual to someone more hopeful and honest. The performance in the final episode of the first season highlights just how far the band has come, the musical quality of their playing immensely improving as the commitment everyone shows in both foregoing and following episodes as they show up to practice earlier and earlier. As the results are announced and Kitauji passes on to the next competition, Kumiko finally solidifies her dedication regarding music; experiencing the joy of achievement, her façade finally begins tumbling down as she admits how she was scared to ever fully invest into something causing her to continue on haphazardly. She thought it would be, “stupid to get your hopes up and work hard towards something, only to be made a fool of and let down in the end.” With this though comes the recognition of exerting oneself in order to get anywhere at all. To progress, one has to wholeheartedly both “want” and “try” to progress.

Regarding Kumiko’s journey however, there are two specific moments in particular which both serve as the nail in the coffin, solidifying that at the end of the day, Kumiko DOES care. The first case follows an exchange with Mamiko, who has greatly developed within the prior few episodes. It is evident that Mamiko is gradually opening to being more honest with herself. In the sixth episode of the second season, she is seen wanting to drop out of college in favor of attending beauty school. She criticizes her parents for pushing her down a road that fits their view of happiness without taking her own view into account. Here, she admits that she never wanted to quit concert band, but being the eldest, she is pressured into setting an example and following instructions as to be “good daughter.” In another instance, Kumiko is out with a fever, and attacks Mamiko’s declaration concerning how she never wanted to quit. This broadens Mamiko’s perspective, to begin to acknowledge the road that Kumiko is taking, in sticking to her passion in spite of expectations, simply because she “likes” what she is doing. Kumiko acts as a foil to Mamiko to some degree in taking the opposite path, unwaveringly keeping up with concert band, in spite of her struggling grades, having no obvious ambition in life and not prioritizing attending college regardless of how strongly it is emphasized to high schoolers. Where Mamiko truly demonstrates her genuineness though, is in the tenth episode of the second season, where she openly confesses her faults. Her supposed jealousy of Kumiko’s situation implies that internally, she wants to tear down the screens she has put up, and she does this by revealing her flawed perception of what it means to be an adult. An adult, she thought, was supposed to simply, “suck everything up,” all the expectations placed upon her, put up walls and act mature, even if such behavior is unnatural. Mamiko’s statements here act as her reconciliation. Evident by her warmer attitude in conjunction with how she decides to watch Kumiko play at nationals, Mamiko is annoyed with her no longer. She resolves to leaving home, departing on her own journey and investing into what she sincerely wants.

Mamiko’s reconciliation is important as a catalyst for Kumiko’s own reconciliation. Kumiko, while obtaining a passion and becoming truer to self throughout the series, still holds up her own barriers. As Reina states, “you act like a normal high school girl, but you see beyond people,” Kumiko still has not completely dropped her façade. When Mamiko asks whether Kumiko would be sad with her departure, Kumiko replies with “not really.” This is contradicted in a following scene however, which demonstrates that Kumiko DOES care. On the train, she bursts into tears with, “I really am sad.” With this, Kumiko breaks down her barriers, she is experiencing her genuine emotions in the face of putting up an act to conceal them. This is a major turning point which causes Kumiko to more greatly act upon how she actually feels. The second case is her confrontation with Asuka. In this case, Kumiko is caught in her web, Asuka refuting her points about everyone wanting her to return to the band. Does Kumiko really know what “everyone” is thinking? How can she come to represent “everyone?” Asuka points out that Kumiko is also always hiding behind something. She acts like she wants to help, but never fully invests herself, “in fear of hurting both oneself and others.” As a mere bystander, she simply watches things play out, as with Mizore’s arc which Yuuko resolves, not Kumiko. Asuka walks off as if she has won this argument, but here though is the moment where Kumiko finally breaks down her barrier, entirely. Kumiko has certainly expressed emotion in many instances throughout prior episodes, but no other scene in the series has her moving and speaking quite as frantically. SHE genuinely wants Asuka to return, SHE wants to play with her in nationals and SHE wants to hear her play, all of that is true. Kumiko has changed from her initial state. Remember the unfeeling Kumiko in episode one, satisfied with dud gold, showing nonchalance at her middle school band not advancing in contrast to Reina clearly expressing her emotions, now Kumiko openly demonstrates her own feelings and ability to care. By the end of the series, Kumiko has progressed from nonchalant to wholly sincere. She likes playing the euphonium with her and the rest of the band. Kumiko is honest with herself.

Now then, we must move onto Asuka, another star of the second season. Like Kumiko, she wears a mask to conceal her actual thoughts and struggles. Asuka puts on a playful façade within the band, which causes the people around her to see her as “perfect,” and with the initial season especially, Asuka seems to hold the solution to many of the band’s problems; she pacifies the ensemble in cases of turmoil, does not take sides, generates a fun, light-hearted atmosphere within the band room, has excellent grades and is an excellent euphonist. A natural leader she seems to be, and these characteristics cause many of her peers to admire her. Yet, the Asuka that they admire is merely the show that she puts on and they are oblivious to her individual struggles beyond her façade of perfection. She is not perfect; perfection does not exist after all. While she gets along with her bandmates, Asuka, at this point, does not form particularly strong connections with them as they still see her only as her image. Her investment in the band, stems from her desire to play for her father at nationals, and in her conversation with Kumiko, she spells out how she is using the band merely as means to connect with him. This is the rare instance in which she unveils her actual self, but instead of being disgusted, Kumiko comes to embrace Asuka’s motivations, regardless of whether they are self-centered or not. SHE wants to hear Asuka play. Going back to their encounter in episode 10 of the second season, while it serves as an important instance in which Kumiko breaks down her own walls, it is simultaneously a major turning point which breaches Asuka’s as well. Her bandmates may say that they want Asuka back, but do they mean the “Asuka” they are familiar with, or the Asuka which Kumiko later comes to acknowledge. Kumiko, for once, approaches Asuka, not as a classmate or representative, but as a “person” who accepts her actual self. Asuka is stunned by this, as it is the first time someone has genuinely tried to reach her, revealed in her trembling legs and hidden face. Someone sincerely wants the “real” her back, the Asuka who has made herself vulnerable and exposed the fact that she is indeed not flawless. This is paramount to allowing Asuka to tear apart her mask and commit to her genuine thoughts, returning to the ensemble and playing at nationals.

As I mentioned previously though, Euphonium is not merely about discarding masks, but is also a character journey to discover how one “likes something.” If we jump back to the initial season, at one point, Hazuki reveals skepticism regarding her continuing band, and the gang goes around asking tuba players about the benefits of such an instrument in hope of finding a reason Hazuki can latch herself onto. At first glance, the tuba does not seem to have that many advantages. It is heavy to carry and a lot of the parts that it gets are rather slow, long and boring. This, coupled with the fact that Hazuki is a complete beginner, serves to question whether she actually enjoys playing. A later response from Gotou acts as an answer as to why he can continue to play the tuba in spite of its apparent cons. The tuba helps carry the piece and at the end of the day, he simply, “likes it.” Hazuki discerns that she “likes” playing in an ensemble. She had never done so prior, so in playing a song as simple as, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” with Midori and Kumiko, she realizes that she helps in supporting the piece and enjoys playing music. Despite being a newbie, unskilled enough to make the cut for the national competition, she tries hard to support the band because she likes being in it. This is it, the first instance of “I like it.” The concept of simply liking something serves to outweigh whatever drawbacks an activity brings, and this is heavily emphasized throughout the show.

There are many other instances where the concept of “liking” something comes into play. An exchange occurs in season one between Kumiko and Taki in which she returns to school late at night to retrieve her cellphone. It concludes with Taki telling Kumiko that he remembers that she made a promise to perfect the part she was struggling with and this causes her to bleed with determination from thereon out. Beyond that though, the final lines of this exchange have Kumiko ask the question of, “to like something, that’s all you need right?” This serves as a branching off point in Kumiko continues to question the nature of liking something. Liking something is displayed in other instances as well like in the first episode of the second season, Kumiko joins Reina in watching fireworks, and the question comes again as she asks Reina, “do you like the trumpet,” and additionally in another instance when Nozomi states that she “loves the flute.” However, the most important scene in expressing the concept of “I like it,” is when Mamiko grills Kumiko on why she continues band instead of studying to get into university. Kumiko only replies with, “I like the euphonium.” This is important because it begins the build-up to Mamiko’s development as well, beginning to ponder whether she actually “likes” her own current position. She is stunned when Kumiko gives her answer, only able to reply with “good for you,” because she has no other answer. It is clear that she is beat and had not thought of in this manner before. Kumiko’s proclamation overrides any sort of philosophical discourse or counterargument proposed. It should sound so simple, but it seems that people seek more complicated answer to justify why they do things. It need not be. The concept of “I like [insert]” is so honest and something that cannot just be taken away or disclaimed. You can argue all you want concerning how something can be a “waste of time,” we are all going to die anyway and all of our efforts will fade to dust. This does not at all take anything away from me liking it. Euphonium serves to justify “action” in its entirety, its message is surely not limited to music alone. It can be applied to hobbies or seemingly extraneous activities of any sort. Why should anybody do anything to begin with? The series provides the simple, yet easily forgettable answer of, “because I like it.” This greatly plays into the reason I hold the title so high up there as well. Beyond its technical feats, character development and message, “I like the show.” There is nothing else I really need with this.

The show’s ending has the cast only winning bronze at nationals, but this only serves to reinforce what the characters have gained. Winning gold at nationals would not have added anything to the show, the characters play, yes, for the overarching goal of making it there, but in the end, it is not the type of metal that matters. They have had the experience of working hard collectively to achieve something, to burn themselves out practicing day in, day out, form friendships and support one another, simultaneously peeling each other apart layer by layer. Kitauji may not have won gold in a literal sense, but they are gold in their hearts, many have found the passion to play and their relationship with music has further developed. Hashimoto believes that music should not be judged with just gold, silver and bronze, and Taki recognizes that music should not be something done just to show off to others. Kumiko recognizes an equilibrium regarding playing. The activity can lose its enjoyability if done purely to compete technically, but at the same time, it feels wrong to play too casually without trying hard at all. Everyone has differing perspectives on music and everyone has a variety of reasons to play. Reina plays to become special, Mizore plays to be connected to Nozomi, Asuka plays for her father and as a way to rebel against her mother, Taki conducts for his wife, Kumiko plays because she likes the euphonium. The series does so much that it is almost sad how it gets discarded in more critical circles. As a whole, it was an extremely refreshing experience which provides me with hope for anime in years to come. Being frank, I am generally not fond of modern anime, or most anime at all for that matter, but Euphonium reminds me that I can somehow, just pick up a show, one that is not even THAT especially well-regarded, and still come about to finding something special to appreciate about it. It helps me “care” about this medium. It could be said that, at the end of the day, the act of watching anime in itself is pointless, but in some cases, “I like it,” and that in itself makes it worthwhile enough. This is why Hibike! Euphonium has somehow solidified a special place in my favorite anime of all time. :)

The Tale of Princess Kaguya - Ebb & Flow

**This “review" is SPOILER-HEAVY and is recommended for those who have already seen the film**

**This “review” is also FAR from complete and I will be continually updating it in the future as I better collect more of my thoughts.**

This analysis may be somewhat messily written or seem to lack any sort of overarching structure. It is merely my personal thoughts and things I’ve realized while watching the film.

As one of the more recent additions, “The Tale of Princess Kaguya,” may not be the first title to come up with when you think of Studio Ghibli, yet I’m ... convinced that it is among said studio’s greatest works becoming my personal favorite in such a short amount of time. First off, it goes to say that the film is a mostly faithful adaptation of the legendary piece of Japanese literature, “The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter,” dating back to 1592. The story has had innumerable adaptations over the years, but I think Studio Ghibli helps breathe life into the tale. Supposedly, Takahata longed to work on such a project for over 50 years, and anyhow ended up churning out an amazing piece of work. I found it to be far more than just a simple coming of age story touching upon subjects such as life’s duality, materialism, genuineness and enlightenment.

The film depicts Kaguya from her birth from the bamboo on Earth and solid amount of corresponding development throughout the years. I honestly think that she may be anime’s greatest female protagonist since Kemono no Souja Erin, fleshed out in far more detail than most of the protagonists of other Ghibli films, with few exceptions of course that could come close. Once born, she is found by an old woodcutter who takes her in to raise into a princess and from there on, Kaguya grows extremely fast, from the size of a thumb to the size of a normal newborn child, quickly learning to crawl and walk at a pace far faster than a baby generally should. The phrase “time flies when you’re having fun” comes to mind in regards to her rapid growth as Kaguya seemed rather happy during this period, roaming free, discovering new things and hanging out with the other children. With this, it can also play into how children grow up so fast and how the perception of time seems to fly for her parents. Parents in the real world watch their children grow up at what seems to be an unbelievable rate. Kaguya is naïve as can be and is convinced that her life would remain this way. It is here where she begins to enjoy the daily toils of life, in one case learning to steal and in another learning to hunt. This demonstrates that even despite being princess, she is unafraid to dirty her own hands and this plays a major role in her characterization rejecting customs imposed upon her later. “A meal tastes better after working for it.” This is one core motif that runs throughout the film.

It can be important to take note that Kaguya was sent to Earth initially as a form of punishment. The gold and robes that the old woodcutter receives can play into making her life miserable and could very well be a plan on part of the celestials, the woodcutter convinced in his heart that making her a true princess would bring her ultimate happiness. In the context of punishment, it could also be said that her rapid growth and moving away could also very well play into her misery. In this case, it’s similar to giving candy to a child and then immediately taking it away, Kaguya gets a taste of what a happy childhood can be before it shatters all too easily. Out in the wilderness, she is free to express how she feels running wild, but when she awakens in the palace, the first thing that she does is prance around and explore, and this serves to demonstrate her current emotional capacity before it is suppressed. The people around her attempt to shape her into a regal princess, at Kaguya’s dismay and she rejects these customs because they inhibit her emotional expression. As a princess, she is not allowed to laugh, she is not allowed to cry. She cannot run and to ever move or pick anything up, she must do it gracefully. She must always be polite and act nobly. Kaguya rejects these customs in many instances, commonly running off in the middle of lessons and giving her instructor much difficulty. It is not that she is incapable of acting "proper," as in one scenario, she demonstrates how she can perfectly play the song she was trying to learn, but rather she purposefully decides to act the way she wants. She disguises her true nature from her “father” to some degree, yet occasionally it slips out, such as when she crawls around on her knees and tries to play with a cat, something that a princess would not be approved of doing in such a context.

As time passes, Kaguya begins to recognize that she is simply given everything. She does not have to work and she does not have to struggle. The robes that she was once happy to have as well as magnificent palace she is allowed to live within, lose their value and become worthless to her. She later speaks less frequently to others and brushes aside the gifts and letters she receives. It is here that she recognizes that much more lies beyond material wealth. Inside, she wants to truly express how she feels uninhibited, yet sacrifices said expression to please her “father” and others around her. Her “mother” in this case serves to be much more understanding and notices that Kaguya is unhappy with her life as a princess, towards the end to a much greater degree. She is allowed to use a piece of the garden to plant and tend to whatever she wants and to some degree, she ends up recreating the bamboo grove where she grew up, signifying how she still misses her childhood days. A scene where she once again encounters Sutemaru also serves to support such, tearing up as she remains powerless, unable to express her want to save him. At one point, she undertakes a celebration in which she receives the name “Kaguya,” as prior she was simply referred to as “the Princess,” yet at this celebration, she begins to start growing more jaded. She simply sits completely behind a small curtain while everyone else enjoys the celebration. In this state, she is unable to engage with mostly anyone as the princess is not supposed to be seen by others during the ceremony. She questions whether she even needed to be there and this highlights her anxiety surrounding her place in the world. It is precisely this moment where Kaguya takes on another change, in that she finally realizes that she is sick of it all.

It is perhaps this scene that completely sold the film to me. About 50-minutes in, there is a running sequence in one of Kaguya’s dreams, in which the animation grows frantic and messy, perfectly encapsulating her emotional state as she withdraws. In a frenzy, she returns to the lands where she grew up. Here she witnesses conditions that greatly contrast from those in the palace. She wanders a barren landscape and here, we can see a complete difference in treatment. Out of pity, a woman leaves out a piece of bread for her and a man talks with her casually, not so formally for once. In the palace, she is honored and carefully safeguarded, yet here, she is not treated so nobly with upmost respect as a princess, and is rather humanized, being treated as a regular person. She comes to discover that the people she knew had moved on and by this point, she believes that her happiness is dead, never to return and symbolized by the decline of the landscape. However, the man reassures her to some degree, about how the forest will revive after some time, and this gives her hope that she could still potentially enjoy what’s to come.

Conflict strikes again when suitors take interest in her, all from noble backgrounds, yet Kaguya does not want to marry. She is already torn by all her restrictions, yet her interactions with these five accelerate her skepticism. The men brashly fight over her, yet soon we discover that they don’t exactly value “her,” but rather the image of her that they have created. They all compare her to legendary, supposedly even nonexistent treasures, and Kaguya cleverly has them attempt to receive such treasures to demonstrate their resolve, yet most of the men falter. In the two cases, the suitors attempt to dupe her with fake items and this merely adds to Kaguya’s understanding of her objectification. She is viewed as a prize to be one, regarded for her beauty and skill at playing music, not exactly for the individual she is. In another case, one suitor actually embarks on an expedition to obtain the Dragon’s Jewel, but his resolve proves to be weak after he is intimidated by hallucinations. Another occasion, Kaguya almost falls for another suitor’s proposal, but acknowledges his shallowness after he witnesses what he supposes is her, and turns her away. Considering the dedication some of the suitors have undergone to deceive her, she would expect them to still love her regardless of her appearance. The one that truly changes her however, is the final suitor who dies in an attempt to grasp a Cowry Shell. It is here that Kaguya recognizes the implications of her actions. Her attempt to turn away her suitors and act as a princess serves to take a life, and in this she becomes aware of what she is doing, merely being a fake. Simultaneously though, she is disgusted by how all she knows is fake, herself as an actor on the stage, and everyone else in valuing her for such shallow reasoning. Her father believes that he is bringing her happiness while the opposite could not be any truer. Here could lie the conflict of interest, in the case a parent and child have different visions of which is best for the child. The parent may think that one thing may be best for their offspring and would push them to become happy that way, yet the child may feel towards something else, yet is inexperienced with the world and sometimes goes along with their parents as the guiding route, even if it does not lead to their true happiness. Kaguya is heading in the wrong direction regarding her own vision of happiness, a princess, yet why should a princess be treated so differently from everyone else? She is unable to exhibit her full emotional capacity, and is not permitted to live as a commoner and survive on her own. In a rage she wrecks the Eden she had created. Another scene is also important in which she leaves the palace to see the cherry blossoms, but immediately turns back to the palace once a child reminds me of her fonder days, herself realizing that she cannot ever fully return to them. By this point she has become cynical and it may be here where she finally hits rock bottom in calling out to the Moon. Only after the Emperor later departs though, does she recognize this.

Another important moment that stresses Kaguya’s character is her encounter with the Japanese Emperor. This scene truly makes note of how strong of a female lead she has become, rejecting said Emperor without hesitation and shuttering and vanishing at his embrace, which the Emperor every woman thus far has loved. Dismissing the Emperor himself valiant as most wouldn’t dare try it, he wielding unbelievable power and authority, yet Kaguya now doesn’t care, committed to her own beliefs of expressing her emotional capacity. However, now she has yet another issue to address, in the Celestials are returning. Her calling out to the Moon previously serves to symbolize the want to commit suicide, but even now regretting it, it is no longer reversible. Towards the end of the film, her hesitation to return to the Moon reminded me of the anxiety people feel when they know they are going to pass away, like a patient with a fatal disease waiting to pass away and in such a case, one has to simple cherish the time they have left. With said limited time, with what is later made out to appear as a dream to Sutemaru, she reunites with him and enjoys a few final hours in living out her childhood days once again. Here, she is able to express how she feels without the restrains the palace grants her. The scene with Sutemaru goes to represent an alternate possible path that Kaguya could have taken in living as an ordinary person rather than a Princess. Though too late, as Sutemaru has already married and moved on, Kaguya enjoys a few moments which later vanish like a dream. However, she now fully registers that she would have been happier living out her life the way she initially had, daily endeavors of being poor, and stealing just to survive. Her fascination of the commoner’s life lies with her having to “work” and “try” to gain anything, the invested effort itself making something more valuable. Here draws the dualistic connection between pain and pleasure, in which the contrast magnifies each. Suffering in itself, is its own aspect of life, to not completely discarded and turned away from. It allows an individual to change and makes the more pleasurable moments of life all the more worthwhile. This contrast is later shown with the celestial’s descent.

Kaguya’s return to the Moon is honestly now probably one of my favorite scenes in the entire medium. The celestials descend in a grand procession to retrieve Kaguya. The defenses installed by humanity prove futile against the power of the Moon, and her return is inevitable. With this grand procession however, lies something especially important, the soundtrack dissonance. Upbeat, joyful music is played throughout what is supposed to be a rather depressing, sorrowful scene, in turn, creating a varied emotional reaction and here once again, lies a major point and underlying motif of the film in its entirety. As summarized perfectly by someone in a Youtube comments section, “It’s all the juxtaposition of emotions. After all, that’s what makes Kaguya’s vision of Earth compelling: she sees the beauty in earthly life, even with its trials and tribulations. The celestial beings only have eternal bliss, and no valleys to make the peaks meaningful.” The celestials view emotions as baggage and are hence refrained from expressing them, as to why Kaguya desired to descend to the Earth to begin with, captivated by the ability to express a wide range of feelings. As previously mentioned, the celestials know only bliss and play a tune completely inappropriate for the context, representing just how distant and ignorant they are to earthly endeavors. Not only that, but said tune goes on and on and on, as if to represent the "eternal" and "everlasting" aspects of celestial existence. Human pleasure is transient, not everlasting, which runs contrary to that of those of the Moon. The difference here is that the other celestials choose to live ABOVE the suffering, in contrast to Kaguya who chooses to live WITH it. Kaguya is constantly haunted on Earth by the same struggles as the ones on the Moon, restriction regarding the capacity to feel. She wishes to live a commoner's life, embracing what life has to offer, rather than in an ascended, enlightened state, wholly divorced from suffering.

Kaguya's return to the Moon metaphorically reminded me of death in how her wearing the cloak would erase her memory like death and Moon itself being a place where one cannot express or "feel," (the celestials seem to be "above" the pain and suffering) once again, a null state like death. Life begins as an escape from nothingness, pre-conciousness, much like Kaguya’s journey, and then becomes what we know as "life," in experiencing daily struggles and pleasures, memories and adventures, then ends with a return back to the state of nothingness in death, much like the aforementioned procession. As Nausicaä says, "all things are born from the darkness and all things return to darkness." Reinforcing such an idea, I quote yet another individual, "This whole movie is about the human condition. Princess Kaguya arrived from nowhere in a flower, like conscience born from the nothingness that preceded it, suddenly produced by a brain, or a result of the soul. It is welcomed and raised and ponders on life, on happiness, on others, on human relations. But it finds nothing to answer itself. It echoes in nothingness again. When Kaguya destroys the garden, she realizes all happiness around her is "fake". Nothing is persistent. All is destroyed. Such a mindset finally makes her emit a desperate death wish when the Emperor attempts to assault her. Calling the moon is drinking a slow poison. Calling for oblivion. Calling for an eternal death. This is why the people of the Moon have no feeling, no worries; but this is also what the movie meant before. Contrasting life and death. Making people see how short life is. How unavoidable death is. When Kaguya finally talks about Earth and the Moon, she tries to convince people that living is worth it. But when the Feathered Dress falls upon her, it's over; she has fallen into Eternal Oblivion. Dead and is returning to bliss." Her return is even subtly foreshadowed to some degree in the beginning of the film in the instance that she imitated frogs leaping. “Frog” in Japanese can be pronounced as “kaeru,” which “returning” unsurprisingly just so happens to share such pronunciation. I think Kaguya is about life in itself, in unveiling it as a journey, as well as discovering the duality of pleasure and pain (much like Nausicaä’s struggle of purity and corruption) as seen with her speech in which, while she is cut off from finishing it, she seems to come to some conclusion about it. The final scene of the film, though her memory is wiped and capacity to feel seemingly lost, she still manages to look back towards the Earth one final time, signifying that perhaps, deep down, internally, her soul still remembers. She IS Kaguya after all.

I appreciated how Ghibli didn't take on a completely jovial, Hollywood-esque ending in which everyone was satisfied and was ambitious enough to leave the tale as something still something rather tragic. This truly film resurrected my hope in modern anime as I wouldn’t have expected something like this to still be produced in 2013. I’m glad to have found another work worthy enough to be inducted into my favorites.

The title of the film is not, "The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter," as the myth is commonly referred to, but rather, "The Tale of Princess Kaguya." It truly is HER story.

Texhnolyze - Insignificance of Meaning

This is not exactly a review in the conventional sense, as it mostly focuses on analyzing the series as a whole rather than exploring the technicalities of each aspect which makes up the series.

**This “review” is SPOILER-HEAVY and is recommended for those who have already seen the series.**

**This “review” is also FAR from complete and I will be continually updating it in the future as I better collect more of my thoughts.**

This analysis may be somewhat messily written or seem to lack any sort of overarching structure. It is merely my personal thoughts and things I've realized while watching the ... series.

Texhnolyze, taking place in the underground city of Lux, is not exactly a "fun show" that one would watch for enjoyment, understandably a show that I would not expect everyone to enjoy. It is extremely minimalist, Ichise not even speaking a word for the first three whole episodes. The series doesn't force the viewer to like it though. I found it to be pure in the sense of which it doesn't attempt to insert comedy to lighten the mood, or a likeable cast, or a huge amount of drama to draw the attention of the audience. It's not a cop-out at the very least. It is presented as what it is, the slow grinding halt of the human race, depicting violence and suffering without holding anything back. The plot is rather straightforward and the series isn't too difficult to understand. The characters, while extremely dull at points, grew on me to be very respectable by the end. They actually seem to be stand-ins for ideals and concepts rather than “actual characters” at times. The message and truth it depicted is also one of the best I've seen across all mediums. What is perceived to be among the darkest titles in the medium is actually a story of hope and may actually be one of the most uplifting anime in existence.

Texhnolyze once again focuses on the “lack of” in its presentation. In many cases it lacks sound, parts of it being either completely silent, or merely having the sound effects of characters walking and technology buzzing about. In this sense, it is a very quiet show, and this creates a “reflective” atmosphere, allowing the viewer to look closely at what it is trying to present and interpret it for themselves. The color scheme on the other hand, is mostly dark, the shades being rather close to one another, and this serves to create a dark atmosphere within the city of Lux, depicting it similarly to how a “hell” could be imagined, which in turn sets up a great contrast with the surface, which could turn out to be another hell in actuality despite being brighter and having more light. Throughout the entirety of the show, one could be convinced that Lux is “hell,” while it could actually be seen as the opposite such, a place where life is still “believed” to have value. Most of what it depicts is exclusively people killing, fucking and eating, merely going about their most primal instincts and nothing more.

The “belief” that life is still worth living is where Yoshii plays in. Yoshii descends from the surface to, in a sense, preserve humanity’s will to live. He has witnessed the inevitable decline of the species on the surface and to a degree he creates chaos to ensure that the same does not happen to Lux. In this chaos, people certainly die, but Yoshii recognizes that everyone should die either way, whether it be going out with a bang, or slowly wasting away until the inevitable end. Since he knows that the fate is sealed either way, Yoshii does not seem to “fear death,” and lives in the moment, rather hedonistic, his actions knowing no consequence because he does not care about the consequences in the first place. What could be considered the “greatest consequence” in most cases? Usually it would be death, but since he knows he is going to die anyway, there is nothing left to threaten him. He does what he does simply because he has the power to do so and this plays into how he is “living in the moment.” By having others fight for their lives, this implies that they believe that their lives are still “worth fighting for.” If one did not care about something or if something was perceived to have no value, why would one fight for it? In this sense, he serves to convince humanity that their lives are “worth something,” even if in actuality, living is pointless. Yoshii can actually be seen as a sort of anti-hero a degree, “saving” humanity by lying and falsely convincing them of the value of life. As a whole, he represents, the “embrace” of nihilism, accepting it, yet finding a way to move “beyond” it. If life has no meaning, then the only way that there can ever “be” meaning is if meaning is somehow inserted into it. By living in the moment and exerting his existence, Yoshii “creates” a “sense of meaning,” even if meaning in its entirety means nothing in itself.

On the other hand, Ichise is the embodiment of the “will to live.” He persists seemingly without any sort of external goal or ambition, merely living for the sake of living. He is quiet and does not speak a single line of dialogue for the first three episodes of the show. His life does not appear to be a “happy” one, yet he pushes on in spite of it all. It brings up the question of whether people need a cause in order to persist in the first place. Rather, it is not the meaning itself that is required for one to move forward, but simply the internal resolve to do so. Ichise serves to choose a path that Yoshii did not choose. Instead of going out in an explosion of ideals, Ichise chooses to waste away until the inevitable end, simply living until he could live no more. He emphasizes how “little” one really needs to live and become satisfied with the fact that one has lived. In society, “success” in life seems to be derived from one’s “status,” or “wealth,” or “fame” or “accomplishments,” and in turn these things are “supposed” to assist people in being satisfied with their lives. People are “convinced” that all of these things hold merits and in turn, this assists in pushing people to live out their lives. Ichise plays to the contrary of this. He is not rich, nor famous, nor is he of the elite “Class,” yet he still finds self-satisfaction by the end of the series. What Texhnolyze does is “discard the superficial,” serving to be a reminder that EVERYTHING else in life is merely extra. The importance does not lie within whether one’s life “means” anything or not, but rather with the fact that one is satisfied that one has lived at all. His journey kind of corresponds with “Maslow’s hierarchy of needs,” initially searching for biological satisfaction before searching for safety and “relationships and a place of belonging,” through the Organo. By being persistent in living and retaining his will to live, he builds his “esteem” and through the acceptance of death and rejection of immortality and meaning, finding only satisfaction in his life as demonstrated by his smile, he finds his “self-actualization and self-transcendence.” One does need an emotionally charged life in order to live. The fact is simply that one has lived, nothing more and nothing less.

Ichise’s recognition comes with his arrival on the surface, the surface which is even more “hellish” than Lux is, despite being brighter and at first glance having more of what would be considered a “conventional civilization.” The fact here is that humanity on the surface has pretty much reached a means of living forever. However, in the process of doing so, they realize that there is truly no reason to prolong the species existence in the first place. If humanity as a whole died out, so what? Theoretically our extinction would not be able to harm us because we would be dead and nobody would be able to care because once again, they would be dead. We may have nothing to gain by going extinct, but at the same time we have nothing to lose. If all of life’s actions are rendered meaningless in the end, then progression for progression’s sake is also worthless. Lux as a society attempts to transcend its mortality by merging with machines, believing that one can live forever in such a way. The surface, having transcended such through breeding for perfect genes, has come to the conclusion that there is no point to it all and has lost the will to live. Ichise encounters people on the surface, and having recognizing how they have “lost their will to live,” he realizes that “at least the people of Lux are alive.” People have become "ghosts without shells, only able to look fondly on past memories" while slowly wasting away. He recognizes that at least the people of Lux still “believe” life to be worth something. Even if it is worth nothing in actuality, it is the “belief” that is the important part. This recognition serves to strengthen his own will to live towards the end, getting up despite being surrounded after Onishi is slaughtered. Of course, once again, he dies in the end, but takes pride in the fact that he still fought to survive in the first place. Life is beautiful “because” of its transience.

Along these lines comes into play how our lives revolve around convincing ourselves to live. It is easier to die than it is to live and people surround themselves with everything they can in order to push themselves forward. If everyone became like the people on the surface and recognized that life in its entirety had no meaning, society would cease to function. We would simply be moping around waiting for our extinction. Our power, our fame and material possessions and experiences serve to “keep us alive.” They help prevent us from killing ourselves. In order to live, of course, one needs the basic necessities for the most part of “food, water and shelter,” but what is usually left out of the equation entirely is the “will to live.” The will to live is crucial to living. Whatever one does, death will eventually come to wipe it away. In fear of this, people try to become immortal, but realize the same futility in forever preserving one’s existence. Either way is equally “meaningless.” At the same time however, since one is going to die either way, why would one kill themselves? Since the destination is the same, why not do whatever one can with one’s life? One can do so simply because one has the “ability” to do so. This is what it means to “live for the sake of living.” Even if there is no meaning, higher order or purpose to the struggle of life, there does not have to be. People do not need to be chained down by external goals, motivations and ambitions, and the fact of whether one’s life holds meaning in itself is “meaningless.” If nothing has meaning, then the notion of having meaning in itself is also rendered meaningless. It is meaningless to have meaning in one’s life. What is important, once again, is the fact that one has “come to terms with death,” and while fading away, one is satisfied with the fact that one has lived in itself. Just because life means nothing does not mean that one cannot live.

Texhnolyze touches upon and breaks apart of the concept of meaning in its entirety. Meaning is merely a “steppingstone” to self-satisfaction. Meaning can “help” an individual be satisfied with their life, but it is by no means a requirement to live. The fact of whether one finds meaning in their life is meaningless. If one finds meaning in their life, then cool, but it won’t change the fact that one is going to die. Having meaning in itself is meaningless, but something being meaningless also means nothing. This serves to create a paradox in which meaninglessness means nothing but the fact that it does means nothing at the same time. It is enough to drive a person insane, and in this case, it’s best to discard meaning altogether. The fact that we are thinking about these things are meaningless so why should we think about them. Why would we philosophize and search for the meaning of life if it means nothing in the first place? Once again, meaning is only a steppingstone. So what if thinking about such things means nothing? It does not change whether we can think about it or not. Just like how Ichise does not need meaning to live, humanity does not need meaning to live, or engage in any sort of action. We “can” live for the sake of living. Even if there is no light at the end of the tunnel, the importance lies in the fact that we made it, or at least “tried” to make it to the end of the tunnel. Life does not need to be more than what it is, life. Humanity does not need a grand “reason” for its existence, we merely exist. "People don't need "meaning" to persist in the first place," is probably one of the most valuable lessons I've learned because it's pretty much the anti-thesis of reason itself. The idea of meaninglessness is by no means a positive one, but it also means that meaning means nothing in the first place. So what if something means something? Just means that it means nothing. Nothing more, nothing less. The series says to live without looking for meaning because there is no meaning in looking for meaning. Struggle to the end, even if nothing good comes from it. If nothing has a point, then everything is equally important. Don't worry so much about everything and just live your life. Meaning only means as much as someone believes it does. Whether it does or doesn't won't change anything. Life is simply a journey either way.

These are just some basic things I believe Texhnolyze is trying to say, which is why I hail it as one of the best series I've seen. The series operates on some of the most basic philosophical questions including man's pursuit of a higher state of being, meaning in life and the limits of human evolution and I believe it be true study of humanity as a whole. To me, it is probably the most grounded anime I've seen, literally presenting the two choices life holds, either kill yourself or live until you die, but then the series focuses on how to deal with this fact. It is about retaining the will to live, I've went over that, but it's also so much more at the same time. Life may have no inherent meaning. Life may hold inherent meaning because you decide it does. It doesn't matter though because death awaits and you lose everything. Therefore, meaning means nothing. It nullifies literally EVERYTHING that the entire world teaches. It discards ALL the superficial, its stark presentation representing that. It does not need a complicated scenario, or comedic relief because the point is that nothing means anything, even the point itself. You may enjoy your time living, or you may not, but either way, death awaits. You may have a legacy, but it will eventually be forgotten. Humanity will eventually perish, the solar system, the galaxy, and then the universe and what's beyond. It solves every problem simply because the problems don't mean anything to begin with. Struggle is necessary or else people would become ghosts in empty shells, the struggle itself being part of what keeps people living on. The surface, where people lived peacefully represents the fact that a paradise is a prison, no progress to be made and no incentive to do anything because everyone is comfortable and nothing means anything in the first place. It proposes that nothing means nothing because it's true, but then it states that the fact that nothing means nothing also means nothing. In other words, so what if nothing has a point? The "so what" meaning nothing and the point meaning nothing. Nothing having a point means nothing in the first place. It's a paradox in which nothing means nothing, but the fact that it does also means nothing, in turn, nullifying itself. It states, that you do not need meaning or ambition in the first place in order to do something, which is what Ichise did. Living for the sake of living. But what's wrong with that? Nothing means nothing anyway. The redundancy here serves to drill these ideals into your head. Your life means nothing, or you life means something, yet whether it does or does not does not change your fate. We progress, seeking the meaning of life, even if we do know that finding such may not alter the bigger picture of what is to come, simply because it is what we do. As a whole, Texhnolyze serves to be, once again, a breakdown of how “meaning” functions and humanity’s various ways of coping with extinction in its entirety.

Kemono no Souja Erin - Destruction of Boundaries

This is not exactly a review in the conventional sense, as it mostly focuses on analyzing the series as a whole rather than exploring the technicalities of each aspect which makes up the series.

**This “review” is SPOILER-HEAVY and is recommended for those who have already seen the series. A very large number of events will be referred to and will be used as examples.**

**This “review” is also FAR from complete and I will be continually updating it in the future as I better collect more of my thoughts.**

This analysis may be somewhat messily written or seem to ... lack any sort of overarching structure. It is merely my personal thoughts and things I've realized while watching the series.


Kemono no Souja Erin’s story can easily be enjoyed on the surface level, but I feel that there is far more lurking beneath the surface. Despite initially appearing as a simple bildungsroman, in actuality, it is a tale of far more, encompassing existentialism, the will to live and is concerned with inspiring change, shattering codes, boundaries and obtaining free will.

There is a huge emphasis on codes and restrictions through the series. Beastinarians of Ake Village, including Soyon, are required by code to raise Touda with the silent whistle and benetrophic water. Additionally, Kiba’s must be taken care of extra carefully as they are a prized possession to the Grand Duke. However, Soyon breaks the Aohroh Code in two instances when she dissociates with the Aohroh by marrying into the village, and again by using the Renditioner’s skill to save Erin during Touda Trial. Soyon is consistently seen to be in deep thought, questioning her job and reaffirming whether she wants Erin to follow in her footsteps or not. She states that by taking care of the Touda with benetrophic water, they get stronger on the outside, but something weakens elsewhere. This “something” is connection, which is further emphasized throughout the series. She does not hesitate to blow the silent whistle in instances of danger, demonstrating that she truly understands the circumstances of her job, despite also stating that she dislikes using the whistle. Right before being taken to Touda Trial, Soyon tosses away her silent whistle. By tossing away the silent whistle, Soyon finally rejects the codes and pursues her own ideals. The aforementioned instance when she commits the crime, serves as an act of rebellion, solidifying her resolve.

The series also uses nature to parallel the situations and events of individuals. On many occasions, flora and fauna are used metaphorically, such as in the case of when a cocoon lays in a tree and a bird waits to attack it, Erin herself portrayed as the cocoon, in turn, representing Erin’s vulnerability and sensitivity regarding the death of Soyon. In another case, two leaves diverge on a river’s surface and a tree which Shunan and Nugan had grown together, is chopped down, symbolizing the change in mindset of the two, deciding to take different paths. For Nugan, this is him breaking away from reliance on his brother, stating that he always thought his brother made the correct decisions. This change signifies that he can think for himself. Another example is when Jone sets up a new beehive and Erin watches the queen bee enter it, waiting and watching as the rest of the bees to follow her in. She then asks why the bees don’t simply escape. Jone replies by saying that the bees follow the queen. Jone teaches Erin that both the queen bee and worker bees were born the same, yet the queen is what determines everything. This reflects the way the citizens of the kingdom follow the Shin-Oh, almost blindly. Codes are shown to be broken with Psy-Gamul, considered traitors, who turn against the Shin-Oh and instead find the Grand Duke to be a more suitable ruler. This causes them to support a revolution.

Nugan’s dependence on himself is shown in the instance he obeys Damiya in deploying a second Touda battalion in the final episode. He declares that he has thought through his decisions on his own and takes the opposite path of his brother, demonstrating his free will. On the other hand, Shunan represents “breaking free” when he turns against Seimiya and later joins with her, overwriting what it means to be the queen. The view of Seimiya’s line being a god, is shattered by the act of joining with Shunan, a normal human being. This, in turn shows signs of rebellion for both Shunan and Seimiya as they reject their sacred ancestry. The Shin-Oh herself, is revealed to be “blind” when she ventures outside the palace in order to visit the newborn Ohju in Kazalm. She is astonished by how beautiful the country is, revealing that she was largely unaware of outside matters. This is further exemplified when she remains unaware of the danger an Ohju presents and also by the fact of not knowing why the Ohju Canon’s were created as well as how her ancestors descended from Aphon Noa and history of Ophalon. Her character ties in with Seimiya and Tahya, portrayed as a bird trapped in a cage. The Shin-Oh and Seimiya were trapped within the palace, which served as a cage. Damiya sends a model of the palace to Seimiya as a present, revealing how he has her entangled. Damiya also appears to be the cause of the Shin-Oh’s obliviousness and in this way, he manages to entrap her as well. The Shin-Oh, in learning about the past as well as experiencing the outside world for the first time, to a degree, frees herself from her own ignorance. Damiya is also shown to break the codes, though necessarily in an optimistic sense, by constructing an elaborate scheme to take the throne. His approach is treasonous, breaking moral codes, as he calculates the attack on the Shin-Oh, one of his own kin, eventually leading to her death, as well as the hidden, aforementioned secondary Touda unit. He also breaks boundaries by attempting to engage with an incestuous relationship with Seimiya, incest being something usually out of the ordinary.

Nukku and Mokku, despite usually being called out as annoying comedic relief characters throughout the series, actually show some minor development in episode 25, when they run an errand. They lose the money they were given and are forced into labor to try and earn it back. This is when they realize the value of “hard work.” Their backstory shows them constantly slacking off and running away from the task at hand, but a change is reflected when they commit to clearing out an entire field. Erin serves as a catalyst which allows Nukku and Mokku to break away from the old, lazy versions of themselves, inspiring them to work harder at Kazalm. Later on, after Erin receives her graduation diploma, it is revealed that the two have been promoted to full-time chore boys, in turn, further reflecting their growth. The change from passiveness to putting forward action is another key topic touched upon within the series, explained in a bit more detail later.

Kirik himself is also portrayed in a similar way of being manipulated by Damiya, while believing that he is doing justice. His ideals lead to creating his own personal cage and he only realizes this after failing to finish off Ialu. Kirik shows development throughout the series as he questions whether he himself is the cage which binds Erin, when he poisons an incoming Ohju and reports details to Damiya in the palace. The flashback of Tahya is played repeatedly, emphasizing how obsessed he has become with “breaking free” and creating a society in which the “pure” can live. He later realizes that Erin is the most “pure” one as he sees her flying on Lilan, Tahya’s image reflecting from within her. He addresses the sincerity of her intentions, feeding into his eventual changing of sides. Ialu makes this clear and breaks his mask, representing Kirik “breaking free” from his role. He is later shown to trust Erin when he visits her upon being wounded. This is the instance which represents the aforementioned “changing of sides”, and he proceeds to assist Ialu in fighting off the newly employed Sezans.

Aside from Soyon, there are two mentors who also assist in guiding Erin’s development through the series. Jone being the first, who takes after Erin and gradually acts as the foundation, expanding her view of the world. He is shown to be extremely passionate about teaching, to the degree of hiding a room of teaching material and deeply pondering whether he wants to tutor Erin or not. Honesty and dedication is shown through his backstory in which he was fired from being a teacher due to a student of his who attempts to commit suicide. This student abuses his parents’ authority to obtain test questions ahead of time, and Jone realizes this, causing him to swap his test before distribution. Jone realizes that if his students cheat they will only be lying to themselves, and in turn, will never be able to reach their full potential. Jone acts as a role model for Erin, while Erin re-ignites his passion for teaching. Jone is even seen as a father, as “father” is what Erin calls him at the end of episode 27, indicating the degree in which Jone has impacted her life. He is the key which helps Erin break out of her psychological trap, explained in more detail later on, allowing her to move on. This is further demonstrated after his death, in which Erin visits his secret base, thanks him for everything he has done, and commits to working the hardest she can. Esal, like Jone, acts as a mentor for Erin, and she is shown to be a respectable character, wanting only the best for her students, yet challenging them in various ways. She is what allows Kazalm to appear similar to a safe haven in Erin’s eyes. Upon admitting Erin, Esal instructs her students to disregard the fact that Erin is of the Aohroh, and this later contributes to Erin realizing that “it’s okay to be different.” Esal also tries not to treat Erin specially just because she has the responsibilities of taking care of Lilan, and expects her to still manage to keep up with the rest of her peers, confronting her when her grades begin to slip and allowing her to fully understand what comes with her job when she asks her to prepare a will. In this will, she tells Erin to acknowledge that it is her own stupidity which brought her to the grave, and this helps reinforce the reality of potential death. She also thinks several steps ahead, carefully considering the danger stemming from Erin’s disobedience of the Canons, yet still allows Erin to pursue her ideals. However, the relationship between Esal and Erin is not simply of teacher and student, but rather of teacher and teacher. There are many situations in which Esal is clueless of what to do, such as when Lilan refuses to eat despite all the methods she and Tomura attempt, and also when Lilan gives birth and she admits that she lacks the knowledge to do anything. Erin helps Esal realize that she had believed that humans and Ohju could not be connected, merely because there was no evidence of it; the only experiences the Ohju had with the teachers was being knocked out by the silent whistle, only to later find food mysteriously appear. Erin’s treatment of Lilan shatters her beliefs as she acts more like a mother figure, directly feeding and playing with Lilan. This causes Esal to work with her towards studying Ohju in a new light, exploring the idea of treating the Ohju more humanely. By episode 43, Esal also grows to deeply respect Erin’s character after Erin loses her fingers, yet still remains determined to set Lilan free.

At Kazalm, we also have Erin’s fellow classmates who serve to assist and cheer her on during her struggles, as well as Tomura, who initially undertook care of Lilan. Upon meeting Erin for the first time, Tomura pays little attention to her, but quickly feels jealous once his role of taking care of Lilan is threatened. He believes that nobody can take better care of Lilan than he can and is stubborn in attempting to solve the problem of making her eat. Lilan had been injured prior to arriving to Kazalm and was nearly starving to death. She was afraid being in a new place and movement would cause her wounds to re-open. Tomura sticks to the conventional methods described in the Ohju Canons of blowing the Silent Whistle to knock out the Ohju before feeding them. As previously described, as a result of this, the Ohju had little actual interaction with humans and Lilan needed a sort of mother figure in order to eat. However, Erin shines light on different methods of care and connection, shattering Tomura’s perception that he is best fit to take care of Lilan, and similarly to Esal, calls upon the idea that humans can interact with Ohju. In the end, he fully yields Lilan’s care over to Erin and breaks free from his pride and stubbornness which would have otherwise killed Lilan if it had continued. He comes to accept defeat in this case and gradually grows to respect Erin, encouraging her as a fellow classmate.

The series also transcends gender roles. It is implied that women in such society are typically married off at an early age, Erin and Jone visit town and someone states that 14 is an age suitable for marriage. The question of marriage is brought up again when Jone asks Erin at one point whether she wants to continue with him and be married off, or pursue her own path. Erin decided to reject the marriage resulting in her stay in Kazalm and her studying under Esal. She, and Esal, break the said gender roles by becoming instructors, and Shiron by fighting expectations enforced upon her. Shiron struggles with gender roles as her father states that women cannot become teachers. This causes her to study at Kazalm to prove a point by wanting to quickly take care of an Ohju. Her development sparks from learning genuineness and the will to live. She initially attempts to study by the book, but later discovers that there are things which one must experience to truly learn; Erin’s class takes place outdoors, in which her students are allowed to explore on their own, reflecting her character and beliefs that seeing something with one’s own’s eyes can be just as effective as conventional studying. Shiron remarks that the books state nothing about Ohjus giving birth, which brings up the contrast between “experiencing something” and “learning about an experience.” By the end of the episode, both Erin and Shiron’s characters are developed. Erin is shown through another lens, taking on the role of a teacher for the first time and her bravery is shown when she assists Lilan in giving birth as she gets continuously battered, yet gets up each and every time without fail. This causes Shiron to recognize that it is Erin’s resolve which made her into a teacher at Kazalm, not her grades. She is shown to adopt Erin’s way of thinking when she gives up her book and decides to see things with her own eyes.

Ialu is shown to break codes when he refuses to follow the orders of his superiors, by making a fuss and failing to eliminate Nukku and Mokku. He fails to protect the queen on the ship and later leaves the Sezan code through marriage, as he states that the Sezan are not allowed to marry. Sezans are typically supposed to protect the queen until death, and at one point, the Shin-Oh ponders upon how much of Ialu’s life has been wasted protecting her. Later, he is dismissed from his role as Sezan and this can be seen as another act of “breaking free.” He is given the ability to pursue a life of his own for the first time instead of being chained down to the duty of protecting the royalty. Ialu also seems to experience change due to Erin. He acts coldly to mostly everyone around him, but holds a soft spot for Erin and gradually opens up over time, the two become comfortable enough to share secrets with one another, Erin with her past and Ialu with his. In another instance, when Erin attempts to explain the significance of the Ohju Canons, she calls in Ialu to the table-side, showing the connection they share. This gradual change in Ialu representing him, breaking away from his old self. Ialu is even shown to be accepted by Lilan in the instance when he is being pursued and Lilan is able to hide him beneath her.

Erin herself stands as the greatest heroine I’ve seen in the entirety of anime. She shows an obvious curious side, but also a subtle “rebellious” side throughout the series as well when she sneaks into the Touda pits to search for the missing baby Touda against Soyon’s words. She also deliberately looks in the room which Jone bars off and stands up against Ialu when Nukku and Mokku are threatened. Like Soyon, she struggles a lot with codes. Upon arriving at Kazalm, she realizes that there are rules that she needs to obey, and spends time learning them; she is overly curious and spends too much time in the library, causing her to be late for meals and she asks too many questions in class, not realizing that she is not in a private tutor session and that there are other students trying to learn as well. She breaks the Ohju canons by raising Lilan without the silent whistle and instead employs her own methods of treating her like a wild beast. Her approach emphasizes connection, something which the Aohroh were working to prevent. The series demonstrates the importance of said connection, as the bond between Erin and Lilan is strengthened throughout the series. Kazalm itself, also breaks the code by refusing to report Erin to the palace and attempting to hide her when the Shin-Oh visits. For a long stretch of episodes, Erin also struggles to deal with Soyon’s death, the same scene being put on repeat and she appears to be stuck in a psychological trap. In episode 27 however, she seems to be liberated from the trap, with her newfound experiences with Jone as the way out, Erin resolves to living in the present rather than the past. She recognizes that she cannot change the past, but can change the future, which is further pondered upon towards the end of the series. Erin realizes that the beast and beastinarian experience both joys and sorrows TOGETHER. She is shown to break the codes again when she breaks her own moral code, by blowing the silent whistle and using it as a tool to control Lilan. The fact that Erin dislikes using the whistle and initially resolved to not blowing, and also that Lilan refuses to disobey those who blow the whistle, reflects the shared suffering between the two. However, Lilan also breaks her “codes” when she breaks away from her natural instinct. Upon attacking the Touda riders, Lilan initially succumbs to bloodlust and goes berserk, just as how the tragedy occurred. This serves as a reminder to Erin that Lilan is a wild beast as she had looked upon Lilan as if she would not purposefully harm anything; she remarks that “looking at them now, it’s like it never happened.” Prior to the attack on the ship, instances of danger Lilan presented were purely accidental, Lilan attacking Erin due to being pricked by the brush. After the attack, however, Erin is reminded of the danger which comes with her responsibilities, similarly to how she seems to develop a fear of Touda after experiencing Touda Trial. Early on in the show as well, Erin learns that Touda aren’t just cute wild animals. When she realizes that Lulu’s ear web must be cut off, she recognizes the degree in which humans manipulate the fates of such beasts, and in that, she sympathizes with them. Seeing Lilan overtaken with bloodlust creates a rift between Erin and Lilan and Erin finds it difficult to approach the cage for several days. The incident with the whistle further expands the crack in their relationship, causing Lilan to this time, show signs of rebellion, having an ill-attitude towards Erin’s commands up until the final episode. However, by the end of the series, signs are shown of their relationship being repaired. This is revealed when Lilan breaks free from her inner nature. In episode 50, upon being forcefully sent away with the silent whistle, Lilan does not succumb to bloodlust and is able to rescue Erin, rebuilding the trust the two thought they had lost.

The series has a lot to say about relationships as a whole with the Canons and fear of the Ohju representing the social barriers restricting a person from forming relationships. These barriers lead to a lack of understanding, in turn, causing the country to divide and clash. There appears to be discrimination between “Wajyaku” and “Holon,” the discrimination itself showing how they are bound by barriers, preventing a deeper understanding between the two groups. The Aohroh wish not to repeat the tragedy, leading them into creating the Canons in the first place, barring relationships and representing how people shy away from such connection. They choose to “sacrifice” the connection in order to prevent the tragedy, instead of embracing the connection to create said understanding. Erin focuses on the latter option, breaking these said barriers by forming a relationship with Lilan, something never seen before and overwriting the “known” fact being that beasts will never befriend humans. The beasts themselves, confined, also embody how people are confined. Erin asks whether beasts were created for the sake of people, and it is only when humanity breaks free from this mentality in which relationships can be formed. Instead of approaching the Ohju with fear, she approaches them with care and compassion as shown when Erin attempts to demonstrate that she is an Akun Mei Chai with special powers. In this case, Erin knows that Ohju are sensitive to emotion as well as the fact that they have a circle of personal space and that they generally do not listen to those who blow the silent whistle. This understanding allows her to play her harp and remain safe as she approaches. The person following her, who demonstrates “a lack of understanding of Ohju,” violates personal space and is nearly killed as a result. In another instance, when Erin visits Seimiya as she is bathing, she assists in shattering the barriers once again, making her aware of her history and in a broader sense, acts as a kind of mediator which allows Seimiya to accept Shunan’s proposal. It is the destruction of such barriers which allows their joining, which symbolizes the “understanding” and “relationships” that people refrain from developing. By breaking down these barriers, Erin emphasizes taking the first steps in forming connection instead of shying away as this connection is essential for a greater understanding of one another.

The will to live is also explored throughout the series. Soyon’s final words to Erin were to “live on and find happiness.” There words stuck with Erin and this causes her keep on living, no matter how harsh the circumstances become. Despite being in a seemingly hopeless situation after being impaled with in arrow in the final episode, in the middle of the battlefield, bleeding out while being chased by a gigantic hoard of Touda, Erin still retains the will to live on. The will to live is also shown with her encounter with Ialu. Erin convinces him that there are “still things he can protect with his hands” after tending to his injuries. In a second encounter with Erin, Ialu discovers the will to live he decides to keep on fighting until the end, while also telling Kyle that he plans to return alive. His duels with the new Sezan and Kirik demonstrate his strong resolve to keep going. Erin also seems to imbed the will to live in Kirik, when he turns to her for medical support and she tells him not to die. Kirik plans to commit suicide by taking on Ialu, but Ialu convinces him otherwise. He provides him with an escape route and against all odds, manages to survive and see the sunrise. He is later shown to have lived on as a medicine seller in the epilogue, helping to cure people rather than poisoning them, demonstrating his reformation.

Another question brought up is “action vs. passiveness.” This is a contrast between the Aohroh and Erin as the Aohroh have already submit to merely “watching” things play out, while Erin seeks to make change through her own actions. Erin confronts Nason by explaining that he has already “submit,” meaning that the Aohroh have accepted things as they are, and have given up without even trying. Erin however, is shown to believe that effort can make a difference. She is shown in many instances, going against what is considered to be acceptable, in one case, even refusing to protect the queen (something considered to be betrayal) to preserve her own moral values. The series challenges and breaks free from the idea of a pre-determined future as it questions the “futility” of action. Early on, Erin recognizes the entire life cycle of the Touda. They are domesticated in villages with the silent whistle and benetrophic water. They are raised and trained, and then eventually sent into battle where they fight until death. She recognizes how futile the act is of attempting to make connection with such beasts as she knows they will be killed off eventually anyway. Similar questioning occurs when Erin realizes that Lilan will never be able to live in the wild and questions whether all her efforts are in vain. However, the concept of futility acts as another barrier within the series in which Erin breaks. She comes to a realization that even if putting forward effort may be rendered useless in the end, the act of NOT putting forward the effort is even worse and completely erases the possibility of change all together. She also decides that hope does exist, and, contrasting with the Aohroh, concludes to not give up on trying to make a change. Despite resolving to never using Ohju as tools of war, she “breaks” her own statement, resolving to make a change when she sends Lilan to save Shunan. This displays how she truly believes her actions can make a difference. Her mentality even touches upon life itself, as she “struggles to live in any way she can” throughout the series and is not concerned with what it all means. This demonstrates how she has transcended meaning itself, in other words, she does not even need meaning to live on. Even if there is no light at the end of tunnel and even if everything is worth nothing in the end, Erin tries her best to live the best life she can. This is one such series which has really hit me the way Texhnolyze has.

Kemono no Souja Erin is a series about breaking codes, living and liberating oneself. One interesting aspect is how the show itself is transcendent of age. With its child-like storybook-esque presentation, the series can easily be assumed to be targeted towards a younger audience. However, it is a series which breaks conventional age restrictions by being applicable to everyone. It encompasses universal subjects in building relationships, yet still remains layered so that an older audience can appreciate it. The series places a large emphasis on challenging what one opposes. It says to stand against things which one believes deserves a change. Throughout the series, Erin is shown to display great care for the beasts she tends to, and disdains the idea of binding them by human codes. She then works towards changing society with efforts. Erin’s name, in the context of the show, means “mountain apple” and she symbolizes such in various instances, such as the opening and final scene as the show. Erin herself can be the “fruits of labor” as she calls to action herself, and those around her. Interestingly enough, Lilan’s name means, “light” and light is something which plants need to grow. Lilan allows Erin to break free from her childhood innocence, and illuminates the harsh realities of the world, causing her to conjure the determination to make a change. This series is powerful and inspirational, a flawed masterpiece in the truest sense of the word.

It is a series which has truly made its mark on me and one I will continue to analyze in the future. :)