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“A four-year-old child could understand this report….Run out and find me a four-year-old child. I can't make head or tail out of it.”

- Duck Soup


Sisters Satsuki and Mei love each other; as affectionate playmates, they grow under their scholarly father’s calm and accepting hand. He doesn’t dismiss their play, nor does he inflate it in the artificial way that adults do; he simply acknowledges their wonder, without rationalizations. The one shadow in this world awash with sunshine is that their mother can’t be with them yet. But Satsuki and Mei are growing up at a time when neighbors still come by to welcome newcomers and lend ... a hand, and the neighborhood grandmother is everyone’s grandma.

At its most lyrical, My Neighbor Totoro shows life as it floats, free and easy, in a stream of happiness. When a sorrow arises, it isn’t out of the blue; it’s an undercurrent running through the highest and lowest undulations of life. It can be answered by the staring, unblinking eyes of the largest and sleepiest of forest spirits. Mei takes to Totoro almost immediately, as a lark knows the morning. Satsuki is thankful for his companionship when she struggles to bear up as the big sister. At the darkest moment, a lithe and grinning cat can transport the frightened children to the tree nearest their longed-for mother. I think that is one of the messages in the after-scenes that accompany the credits: Totoro has magic because Father does finally come home on the last evening bus, and Mother really did just have a cold, and returns to shower Satsuki and Mei with her graces of fellowship and fun. It’s when Father and Mother fail – something as inevitable as death, really – that children develop the quiet and resolved endurance and effort which so enrich the world. But that’s another story, for a later time.


Three obligatory comments:

First, the animation. Satsuki and Mei explore every corner and crevice of their new home; they walk, march, run, and crawl on all fours through sunny rice patches and shaded forests. It’s as if nature itself is infused with a natural joy that never reproaches the children’s fun. Which, of course, it is; and his name is Totoro.

Second the music. I can’t remember the last time I watched an anime where the music itself was a character; when Satsuki, Mei and Totoro play together in that wonderful scene, the theme is heard in a full-throated orchestral fragment, as if it were “the overflowing of brim-ful gladness.” Feeling lethargic or blue? The opening theme (“Totoro, go, go, go! Energetic! I like walking most”) serves as an animated companion.

Third, the voice characterizations. The dubbed version with the Fanning sisters sounds interesting. In reality, the universal themes and expressive and thoughtful character designs of My Neighbor Totoro speak for themselves. When the wind beats against the roof, bangs the pots and rattles the doors, the family’s boisterous belly-laughs fill more than the animation – it rolls over into the three dimensional world and straight into the heart.

Grade: A

“Do you know what today is?”
“No, what?”
“Today is tomorrow. It happened.”

-- Groundhog day


Adolescence Apocalypse is more than a stand-alone re-telling of the Revolutionary Girl Utena Saga. Suppose that the events of the TV series were allowed to play out repeatedly; suppose that Anthy somehow managed to hold on to the insight she gained each time. Things might just turn out like this: Watch the television series starting with episode 37 all the way through to the first 17 minutes of the final episode. Turn on Adolescence Apocalypse. It’s Groundhog Day, animated.

Truly, this is Anthy’s adolescence. She unfolds and blossoms like the white rose she is. ... Her open eyes drive Akio over the edge. She is the one who leads Utena, who is hard-pressed to keep pace. There’s clearly a part of her that remembers Utena this go around: Utena’s words visibly shake her from the beginning; Utena in danger forces her to make that fabulous leap; only Utena draws out her heart sword in a scene more ravishing than the original. Anthy smolders; Utena whispers, gasps, and pants for her. Utena cries for the stars; Anthy envelopes her in them. Utena tries to revert to the status quo; Anthy won’t let her. The engines are running and the plane has taken off.

For fifty-five minutes, it’s breathtaking. Too bad the ending just seems out of breath. Perhaps it’s for want of the balance provided by the other characters? Touga and Akio are shadows of their previous incarnations. The other characters are functional cameos as well, with Juri as the exception. Or perhaps it is that the energy of the beginning is wanting at the end, as might occur when a sprinter runs a 10k; after all, each television episode was 23 minutes, and the movie laps that four times.

Out of breath or not, the ending is a momentous one for Utena and Anthy, because today is tomorrow. “Someday” happened.


Three obligatory remarks:

First, the animation. In the TV series, the roses were flat spinning pinwheels; in the movie, they start on the flat platform and, surfeiting, come cascading down in wave after wave. From the moment Utena accepts the gift of the rose signet ring from the miraculous unfolding white rose, flower petals fall down from the sky like rain. The second transformation scene becomes a dance between Utena and Anthy: the stars are reflected upon the water so that the two are seen gliding through the heavens. It’s unfortunate that the final images prove lacking, more akin to an arcade game than to allegory. The penultimate transformation looks like a pink carwash, and nothing – not even Utena – can make a pink carwash sexy.

Second, the music. “Zettai unmei mokushiroku; zettai unmei mokushiroku.” It needed to be said. That is the only criticism.

Third, the voice characterizations. Nobody does cool better than Mitsuishi as Juri. Kawakami delivers Utena’s credo with crystal perfection: “I never said that I was a boy. And I’ll never lose to anyone who hits a girl.” Anthy may be beautiful, but it’s her voice that makes Utena blush.

Grade: B+

Spoiler upon spoiler; reviews aren’t supposed to have spoilers? Guess this will have to be the last spoiled one, then.…


With so much to love, where to begin?

The shadow play girls, A-ko and B-ko, lend a child’s simplicity to every episode, strangely deepening it as only children can; or maybe they really are aliens? Nanami with her cowbell, Nanami with her egg, Nanami crushed repeatedly by elephants: she’s a foil, rich with absurdity. Wakaba and Utena are true friends, and the student council members actually develop into individuals rather than remain as personality quirks; as individuals, they share in moments of intimacy with Utena that are ... natural and unforced: whether it’s Juri offering Utena a sword, Utena grieving over Wakaba, Utena with Touga the night before their final duel, or Juri and Miki playing badminton to clear Utena’s head before her last duel. Then there is Utena with Anthy. There is the greeting each night before sleep, and Utena’s faithful offer of friendship; the strange scene when they drink tea and eat cookies, promising to do so in ten years; and every single time Utena bows as a prince over Anthy’s body to withdraw her heart-sword. There is also the closing sequence for the final episodes.

There’s a plot, too, developed in four movements, with exposition, development, recapitulation, and revolution; it’s a delightful symphony.

The Student Council Saga revolves around the exceptional people of Ohtori Academy. This is the original heroic history, focusing on the duels of the men and women who make things happen. But exceptional people exact a cost from the world around them: the “ghosts” of the Black Rose Saga seem to feed on the resentment, frustrations and pain of the “lesser” folk left littering the landscape in their wake. Such a history is necessarily revisionist, but not automatically revolutionary. This is left to the Akio Ohtori and End of World Sagas. Here we see the origin of Utena’s decision to become a prince, and it’s Anthy. Suffering Anthy with the eyes that are both contradicting and beseeching, flat and deprecating and clinging – frankly, such a collection of opposites as to inspire delicious rage, as seen in everyone around her, and especially in Saionji and Akio. But never in Utena. In Utena, Anthy inspires pathos, the kind that spurs her on to be a prince. Now let it be said once: I am allowing myself a bit of poetic license; Anthy’s eyes are the usual anime eyes, and if there is depth in them, it may be imagination and nothing more. So be it. Imagination paired with love has fed the fire of revolution since the origin of the species.

Why does Dios show Anthy’s suffering to Utena? Maybe he intended that it merely move her; but young Utena, confronted with Anthy’s torment and Dios’ helplessness, finds the stirrings of the heroic within her. Ah, now that repeated narration makes sense: The travelling prince enjoins the princess never to lose her strength or nobility, even when she grows up…. “This was all well and good, but so impressed was she by him that the princess vowed to become a prince herself one day. But was that really such a good idea?” Dios, the prince, gives Utena the rose signet ring that allows her to participate in the duels. Then true to the fatalist he is, he adds, “And yet I’m sure you will forget all about what you have seen tonight. And even if you do remember this, you’re a girl. Eventually you will become a woman.”

I love most that these are the words that spark the revolution. Utena very nearly does forget. She is a girl becoming a woman, and there are magnificent men all around her who want to be her prince. Touga uses romance to confuse Utena: is she in love with the prince who came to her in her childhood? Is his love her object? Akio uses sex and the power of Utena’s orgasm against her, which prove much more potent. Even Anthy can’t believe that Utena will remember after that, and says so, as she runs her through with a sword. “You remind me so much of Dios when I loved him. But you can never be my prince, because you are a girl.” Which brings us to the revolution.

Human beings build prisons as “necessary evils.” For reasons that are well-detailed in the plot, Anthy and Akio build their prison together; if there is any doubt that Akio is a prisoner, too, the movie dispels it. Ohtori Academy is a habitable prison, but habitability does not obviate suffering. Anthy suffers. She loved a prince once; but when eternal torment came, she became someone who lives, but no longer loves and lives for her prince. Having lost the object of his love, Dios changed too, and became Akio.

How does one escape from a prison where one is pierced by a million swords of hatred? Suicide comes to mind; but when Anthy does attempt it, in that pivotal episode, it is Utena who catches her, closing off that route. The only way out is through revolution; it requires remembering the past in order to change the present. Utena remembers what she had almost forgotten: she decided to become a prince when she was confronted with Anthy’s suffering, and she is resolved to be Anthy’s prince in the present. Playing off Dios’ words, Utena is a woman, so she will NOT forget. The ironic truth is that Anthy’s prince had to be a woman. Which is not to say that Anthy’s prince had to be a lesbian: Juri hates the very sight of Anthy. Anthy’s prince had to be a woman who remembers to love longest, even after the best men forget, with Akio as the proof.

Anne Elliot expressed it best: “I should deserve utter contempt if I dared to suppose that true attachment and constancy were known only by woman. No, I believe [men to be] capable of everything great and good…so long as you have an object. I mean while the woman you love lives, and lives for you. All the privilege I claim for my own sex (it is not a very enviable one, you need not covet it), is that of loving longest, when existence or when hope is gone." Utena is Anthy’s prince, even when existence and hope are gone; that’s why she accepts back the letter from End of World which she had torn up and which Anthy patched. For Anthy, there is no other prince in whom she can believe, except the one who does not forget to love beyond hope and even existence. No one is more surprised than Anthy, when Utena breaks the seal of the Rose Gate and pries open the coffin with her bloodied hands, reaching out to her with unhesitating and heroic devotion. Utena falls, convinced of her failure, but Anthy is set free from her prison.

Is Utena still alive? Logic says no, for who could survive the piercing of a million swords of hatred? But Anthy says yes, and goes out (with Chu-Chu) to look for her prince – “Someday, we will shine together.” The revolution is complete.

After 1000 words, there are no obligatory remarks.

Grade: A+

“So you see….I AM the murderer.”

- Azumanga Daioh


This is a strange little anime. There’s nothing inherently wrong with strange; Osaka is strange and weird and wonderful. The people of Myself Yourself are strange and creepy and painful.

On the day that Sana is to move away from his friends, we are given snapshots of each of them as they were once upon a time. Cheerful and soft-hearted Aoi bakes a cake, and smudges the icing with her tears. Shuri knits a mitten, a single one, offering it to Sana in the midst of an affectionate altercation with her twin brother, Shuu. Shuu gives Sana a ... hand-made fishing lure, and later runs after the train that Sana rides out of town, yelling a farewell message that is drowned out by the sound of the moving train. Nanaka ties up her hair with her favorite hair-tie (because it was given to her by Sana), and plays a simple violin piece, stopping in the middle with a plea that they wait patiently until she can complete it.

When Sana returns, he is a high schooler; though he remains mild-mannered on the surface, he has issues that made it impossible to remain at his previous school. His friends have changed, too, and the story is told by flipping each of them over in turn, revealing their creepy or painful underbellies. No one is exempt, not even Asami or the senile grandmother that everyone visits at the senior center.

Call it the Agatha Christie syndrome. But ever since the judge in And Then There Were None turned things upside down on fateful stormy Indian Island, writers have tried to capture that legendary element of psychological suspense by this flipping hat-trick. Oh, you think you know Asami? Flip! Nanaka of the stern visage, complete with a black crow cawing and shedding black feathers over her head? Flip!

The payoff should be a thrilling and fascinated shiver at the strangeness of it all. When Sana opens the mailbox and finds those letters within, filled with silent screams for help (knowing the reason why Nanaka is an orphan), I did shiver. But the biggest flip of all is the ending, where everyone is gathered together for a moment of feel-good closure. That was…fascinating.


Three obligatory remarks:

First, the animation is excellent. Even when the story becomes insufferably oppressive, little Sana and Nanaka are drawn to charming effect. The red mailbox on a road just outside of town, next to green fields and dark woods; the golden sunset over the sea as the twins visit their mother’s grave; the city streets that are both familiar and foreign; the cool nightscapes with the light-house flickering at the convergence of sky, mountain and sea – they are a pleasure.

Second, the music. Serious dialogues are accompanied by solo guitar, with single violin added during Nanaka’s monologues, there’s a cello with a heart-beat percussion accompaniment during the fire scene, and an awesome trumpet theme for the Animenger episode. It’s well done.

Third, the voice characterizations. What was the problem with this anime again? Right, the story. The seiyuu were excellent, too. Fujimura sensei playfully voiced by Megumi Toyoguchi steals every scene.

Grade: C

“You gave me alcohol! Alcohol destroys brain cells!”

- Tessa


After Mao plies her with the inhibition-releasing cocktail, Tessa wakes up on the bridge of the Tuatha de Danaan in her underwear. Before the dream-haze has a chance to wear off, she starts to wander around the submarine and engages a petrified Sousuke mano a mano, with a wise-acre AI running commentary in the background. At some point, she wakes up completely and retreats, but not before giving the sergeant an eyeful.

After taking a shower (why does this keep happening with this series?), Tessa goes out in search of her lost plush doll, this time fully ... clothed, complete with a TDD baseball cap and a blue bow in her hair. And that's pretty much everything.

Funny moments are provided by the mischievous Kurtz, at the expense of Clouseau. It seems that Kalinin's late wife had a passive aggressive streak; how else to explain cocoa powder and miso paste in a borscht?

But no day is complete without another misunderstanding between Tessa and her favorite sergeant. As she retraces her steps, it becomes evident that Tessa is beholden to Sousuke for smoothing over her indiscretion; she is impelled to run in her green sneakers to confess her love to him. Of course, Sousuke's pathological cluelessness is confession-proof.

My favorite moment came courtesy of Mao, of course. She's the girlfriend any woman would want, fun and brassy and not without wisdom. After listening to Tessa (and apologizing for her part as instigator), Mao asks the captain the one question that brings it all into perspective. Tessa’s a genius; she should know to let Sergeant Sagara be and hang with Mao.


Three obligatory remarks:

First, the animation quality was consistent with the series: good. As the OAV is set within the interior of the Tuatha de Danaan on Tessa’s day off, there’s no need for elaborate action sequences or backgrounds. Instead we get Kalinin in an apron and Tessa in the shower.

Second, the sinister instrumental during Kalinin’s preparation of the borscht and the military fanfare as Tessa gags through the consumption of it are funny. Tessa’s theme at the end was soft, playful and just right.

Third, the same voice actors mean the same strengths and irritations, sans Kaname. I watched the version with Japanese voice actors and English dubs.

Grade: B

Lots of Spoilers

Schroedinger’s cat and Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle? Anyone? Bueller?


Chor Tempest is composed of sibyllae, priestesses who offer prayers when they move the magical flying machines known as Simoun through the sky to form Ri Maajons. Ri Maajons are geometric configurations that activate the power of Tempus Patium, the deity of the nation of Simulacrum (and probably of the entire planet of Daikuuriku).

Confused yet? That’s okay, because the mystery of the Simoun is not well-understood, even by the Sibylla Aurea, Neviril, who is also the leader of Chor Tempest. What she does know is that when she and her pair were confronted with ... the overwhelming attacks of a mechanized and polluted neighboring nation, they activated the most powerful magic of all by forming the Emerald Ri Maajon; they vanquished their foes – for the moment. But something went wrong: her Simoun was left a crippled, smoking, twisted wreck, her pair vanished who knows where, and Neviril received a wound within her psyche that left her down and almost out for the count. And that’s all within the first episode.

Enter Aaeru. Aaeru is a soldier. She is not a priestess; she flies the Simoun to avoid going to the spring, remembering the words of her grandfather regarding the irrevocability of decisions. In Daikuuriku, everyone is born female, and gender and adulthood are chosen after going to the spring at age 17. From the moment she joins Chor Tempest, Aaeru wants Neviril. No, not that way: sure, she’ll be by Neviril’s side; she’ll kiss her full on the lips, because that’s how sibyllae activate the Simoun; she’ll pursue her, vandalize her doorway, and even try to shame Neviril out of her funk. But Aaeru is Aaeru because of her desire to fly higher, and she senses that she can fly the highest with Neviril, The problem is that Neviril is sure she does not want Aaeru.

One act of violence has the potential to change everything, and for Chor Tempest engaged in a war, there are two above all. For Aaeru, the first brings her to her knees. The second strips her of confidence. For Neviril, the first proves that she is Aaeru’s pair, and she helps Aaeru rise. The second proves that she wants to fly higher, too – and that she can fly highest with Aaeru. When the changed Aaeru and Neviril pair, this time, it is seamless – as perfect and powerful as the Dandelion Ri Maajon.

Back to Schroedinger’s cat and Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle. As war moves forward with an undeniable momentum, what is the position of Simulacrum in Daikuuriku? Once the mystery of the Simoun is ripped open and bared, the hammer comes down and Simulacrum dies. But if the mystery of the Simoun is that it has another, different state simultaneously, then Simulacrum lives even as it dies. This is the uncertainty that the members of Chor Tempest embrace, leading them to place all their dying (living?) hopes on Neviril and Aaeru. This is the “higher” that the two grow to desire together. The beauty of the story is the paradigm shift it creates in consciousness.

Three obligatory remarks:
The first is a comment about the animation. Neviril is eye candy. The Simoun are fluid and mechanistic in an other-worldly way. There is the pastel purity of Simulacrum and the dingy putridity of the nations around her. The Ri Maajon were singularly awesome in concept, and dull in actualization.

The second is music. I like classical music, and the soundtrack was close enough, stealing from Mozart and Hayden effectively (think Symphony #40). The use of sexy-cello for the dance sequences worked, and the accordion was nostalgic.

The third is voice characterization. Only female seiyuu were involved, even for the male characters. It’s quirky, perhaps too much so. It was fun to guess which characters were voiced by Megumi Toyoguchi.

Grade: A- because the Simoun were perfect, and the Ri Maajon disappointing.

Lots of Spoilers.

“Inside there’s a pill. If captured, it will cause death in 9 seconds.”
“Great, but how exactly do I get them to take it?...Not much of a laugher, are you?”

- Get Smart


Laughter doesn’t figure largely in the world of Kirika and Mireille. Soldiers usually laugh more than this; but maybe it’s because these two aren’t solders, but pilgrims, a bit austere and tightly wound. Women always talk more than this; to dwell on what is left unspoken between them would require more than 1000 words.

... “Mireille Bouquet: a most trustworthy assassin for hire.”
“Kirika Yuumura: an exceptional assassin and a troubling enigma.”

They adopt the codename, “NOIR” because it is what’s left in the sieve of Kirika’s memory, and the agreement is that once they finish their pilgrimage for the past, Mireille will kill Kirika. There’s Kirika’s pocketwatch that plays the lullaby of Mireille’s jarring childhood, and then there is Kirika’s impressive physical memory which turns her 100lb frame into a weapon.

That’s all they have to go on. Things start off randomly enough with jobs that target crooked cops and questionable businessmen. There’s foreshadowing in the stories of the nameless assassin and Nazarov: killers aren’t allowed to redeem themselves; at best, they might get a quick and anonymous death, muffled by the falling snow. Each time, Kirika and Mireille prove effective and deadly in their work. So why can’t they see the net that has been cast to draw them in? In episode 19, Kirika looks around and sees a small world of pairs – two college mates discussing a tough test, a young man resting with his head on his girlfriend’s lap – and looks up wistfully into Mireille’s impassive face; Mireille, in turn, closes her eyes to keep her face expressionless – only to break out into a genuine smile in response. It’s a silent moment of connection, lovely, fleeting and beguiling. That’s right, the two of them are too beguiled to notice the netting closing in over their heads.

But it’s there. It seems that Noir has always formed the two hands of the Soldats; Chloe comes bearing the message and a challenge: she and amnesiac Kirika are the true Noir. After triggering Kirika’s memory with a gunshot, Chloe goes ahead, fully expecting her to follow. Kirika, on the other hand, accepts her memories as the sign that the time has come for Mireille to keep her promise. But it’s Mireille – sharp, collected, professional Mireille – who is conflicted; she withdraws herself from the contest, and leaves Kirika unchecked to submit to her dehumanizing training. “Sentiments for the remaining flower” is an uneven turning point for the series, but for all its flaws in flow, it is effective in communicating one thing: why Mireille gets back in the fight, and stays in it, with Kirika, to the very end.

Superspoiler, ho: Why wouldn’t Mireille and Kirika keep their promise and kill each other in the end? It makes perfect sense.

Three obligatory remarks:

First, the animation was the weakest part of the series. At best, Noir can boast of islands of consistent animation; scenes from episodes 18 and 25 come to mind: Mireille begging Kirika to leave; Kirika having that one-sided conversation with the grandmother at the bus-stop; the final running/fighting sequence between the two. Still, it is hardly a strength that the story often worked best when there was a minimum of animation.

Second, the music was a priority in the making of this series, noticeably so. The OST includes several different versions of the familiar songs from the series, including a recording of Kirika singing Canta Per Me. Copellia no hitsugi and Kirei na kanjou were not written for the series, but serve as perfect bookends.

Third, the voice characterizations by Kuwashima and Mitsuishi were the best part of Noir, making the story work in ways that honestly can’t be captured in dead text. Their voices had me, imagination and all.

Grade: A, even with the inconsistent animation.

lots of spoilers.




“And do you know, Alexey Fyodorovitch, how people do go out of their mind?” Ivan asked in a voice suddenly quiet, without a trace of irritation, with a note of the simplest curiosity.

“No, I don't. I suppose there are all kinds of insanity.”

“And can one observe that one's going mad oneself?”
...
“I imagine one can't see oneself clearly in such circumstances,” Alyosha answered with surprise.

--- Brothers Karamazov


There is a moment when Shinji goes to the hospital to see Asuka after her “mental rape”; she has IV lines everywhere, she may even have been intubated at one point. She looks like death. Shinji is having flashbacks of memory powered by some intense emotion, maybe guilt or shame or pity, and it’s creating a conflict in his skinny body. When he comes back to himself, he finds he has masturbated in Asuka’s hospital room, practically at her death bed. He is revolted at himself. Okay, this is the moment when it’s evident that the writer/creator is having a schizophrenic break from reality. I reiterate: the brilliant man is not well. This is not some bad trip, this is not a burst of creative genius. You are witnessing the convulsive mental emesis of a sick man.

It follows then that the story should prove a fragmented thing: it begins auspiciously and masterfully, with a strong narrative and complicated character development which is second to none; it ends in what looks like some primordial liquid with Shinji fused in the nether-regions to Rei. (Or was it Asuka? Does it matter?)

Shinji is brought by the reckless Misato to Nerv, where he will serve as one of the pilots for an Eva; there are three Eva Units, giant modified fighting beings which prove frightening in ways that go well beyond appearances. When he joins Nerv, Shinji is 14; his father, Commander Ikari, is cold and calculating, capable of terrible rationalizations instrumental to humanity’s effort to withstand the Angels. Angels are bizarre organisms determined to find Adam and end sentient life on earth. Misato is the closest thing to a mother that poor Shinji knows; she can’t cook, she drinks too much beer, and drives like a homicidal maniac. But she does have a heart, though it’s to her detriment. Shinji’s “mates” are Rei and the aforementioned Asuka (I won’t even attempt to discuss Kaworu). Rei is a mish-mash of spare parts, explaining her schizoid personality. Asuka is arrogant and frequently overbearing, but she is still a child, and ultimately vulnerable. In fact, all the children and teenagers are damaged, and so, it would seem, is their creator. You can hide Tokyo 3 within the bowels of the earth; you can stop all motion in order to broadcast Schiller’s words in the chorus (“Freude!”) from Beethoven’s Symphony No 9; you can even change the ending “without a trace of irritation, with a note of the simplest curiosity”; it still isn’t enough to allow a mere mortal to see one’s own madness with God-like clarity.

I'll give a 10 for the beginning, but this doesn’t count as a review. I don’t give grades to the mentally ill; I bring them flowers and a hope-you-get-well card. If I were as pure as Alyosha, I would probably pray for their souls, too.

Spoilers ahead.


What are little girls made of? Sugar and spice and everything nice, that’s what little girls are made of.

Fifty episodes. Ichigo remains sweet and kind through fifty episodes of crepe-making, dough-kneading, chocolate-tempering mayhem. She is partnered with the Sweets Princes, three boys each uniquely gifted in his own area of sweets-making. Each human is paired with a miniature Sweets Fairy in training. That makes eight members, and eight is the perfect number for a team: Team Ichigo, Happy Happy Macaroon, Happiness Made Go!

The problem is that Ichigo is all thumbs, with a proclivity to trip over her own feet, down the stairs and ... onto her face. But with the help of her Sweets Princes and her Sweets Fairy, Ichigo works hard to build the skills needed to showcase her genius sense of taste and preternatural ability to read people’s hearts (not only is she able to taste FIRST LOVE in a pastry, but she specializes in sweets that make others smile). Faster than you can make Friendship Maccha Gateau Chocolat, Team Ichigo is ready to enter the Cake Grand Prix.

To quote Hannibal Lecter paraphrasing Marcus Aurelius, “Of each particular thing ask: what is it in itself? What is its nature?” Yumeiro Patisserie in itself is a pastry. It is the nature of a pastry to be enjoyed. Even Chekhov, who didn’t approve of artists as pastry chefs, might have reconsidered had he met Ichigo. Irascible Kashino is tempered by her warmth. Perfect Tennouji is baffled by her affability. In the end, Ichigo stands atop the baking world with a dream strawberry tart that would make her grandmother proud, and only a real curmudgeon wouldn’t be happy about that.


Three obligatory remarks:

First, the animation is straight-forward, the backgrounds drawn without much depth, and most frames are suffused with light. The character designs are shiny and flat. Ichigo actually seems to grow taller and less childish by the end of the series.

Second, the music. The theme with the whimsical flute playing off the clarinet was fitting, reminiscent of the Dance of the Mirlitons.

Third, voice characterizations. Caramel’s voice was adorable. The rest fell somewhere within the spectrum of nasal and high-pitched, with Miya the heiress’s laugh as the tonal equivalent of fingernails on the chalkboard.

Grade: C+ but only because Miya’s voice provoked me.

Lots of Spoilers....


Dear Sousuke-kun,
When you want to protect a girl – er, lady – it’s not in good taste to feel her up. That’s all.

Respectfully, etc.


Full Metal Panic the anime is good screwball comedy. Never mind that the light novel writer went off into dark, apocalyptic drivel essentially lobotomizing the lovely Tessa and demonizing Kalinin. No, no. This is Full Metal Panic the anime, and Sousuke at 17 and in high school for the first time in his abnormal life is the perfect straight man.
...
There are three major story lines, each drawing in a wider array of characters and scenarios. In the first, Sousuke and Kaname do the two-step, finding a natural rhythm to the tune of an Arm Slave loaded with a lambda driver; the lyrics? “If you lose, they’ll rip off my clothes, play around with my body and kill me! You’d hate that, right?” Right, Kaname; Sousuke wins. In the second, Sousuke’s superior officer, Tessa, crashes on the duo with a homicidal teenage terrorist in tow to form a loopy square dance. And in the third, it’s an underwater dance party, with Tessa and Kaname resonating with each other to defeat the villain.

What makes this funny are the characters. No matter how much the writers try to bury him under the “orphan child of war” angst, Sousuke is a comedic dream, an animated Buster Keaton – his beautiful face is so deadpan that you start to attribute meaning in the slightest change of his eyes. Kaname is versatile, tough, and gifted with comic timing; with her insane homerun swing and physical agility, she’s the only one who can match Sousuke stride for stride. And Tessa: can a tactical genius be this klutzy and ingenuous? “At the age of 6, I derived Einstein’s 10 component symmetric tensor field equations….My brother derived it at 4, and I’ve always felt inferior to him (smile).” On the Geiger counter of sweetness, hers is an order of magnitude higher than the rest.

The episode to showcase the romp that is FMP is #13, “A cat and a kitten’s rock and roll.” Oh the glee of Mao.


Three obligatory remarks:

First, the animation. The action sequences are probably CGI, while the remainder is drawn with strong, clean outlines and sharp color. The lead characters are prettified, making them look like children playing in a grittier world.

Second, the music. Pleasant and light, for the most part it is unobtrusive, except for the instrumental used for highlights from previous episodes which sounds like “the flight of the bumblebees” with its crescendoing fugue of strings.

Third, the voice characterizations. The English dubs were better than the Japanese originals.

Grade: solid B