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Note: this is from a video review, look for links on my profile page.

Uchouten Kazoku is an attempt at having a social commentary while parodying familiar circumstances with chaos thrown in. It wonders whether different species might have inherently distinct hierarchies and methods at interacting. Do humans or oni only respond to the same visual representation? Might everyone be able to escape danger if, like the mythical tanuki, they were able to change that physicality? How did the skies unleash unfettered imagination for millennia, how different are winged creatures from other walking existences? Is this truly a natural flow among life, or is it merely ... a delusion seemingly attaching itself to reality? Is fun an inherent quality one should pursue? How common are presumptions made at face value? What do crows obscure in their midst? Can chaos give rise to animation? Do blue skies give shade to one's subjective state? Protagonist's sibling, with hindsight. He's a symbolic bridge between the species. Tanuki exist, but shapeshifting is likely just a legend.

It is art that leads into another world, one where even the fantastic characters seem to think is new for them, it is a mystery hiding wonders, one where nature is reflected even in artificial constructions. A realm permeating life up to the last moment. Who mirrors our externalities? Which normalities become eccentricities? These beclouded sighs, the sea a soil, these avian enshrouded rivulets. What is that spark, that aqueous mental substance, that hazy steam through which relations are processed? Is an age-old timely confusion perhaps the result of the ingrained irrationality? The mind halts just as fear takes over. Who is to say whether recklessness is sensible? Whether idiocy could be contextually advantageous? One could live the depths of the azure, one could swirl mists in the heavens. But the hedgehog's dilemma exists for a reason, despite the oceanic allure of connection.

Is the psychological counterpart of a collective's symbolic will, one's conscious shame, outwardly obvious whether of sane mind, animated, or not? Would one do whatever is physically possible, if there were no consequences? What if physicality was limitless? What if something is only to be understood from a relative context? What if chaos was unbound, reality not on track, the night a day for potentialities? But, is hedonism happiness? Could irrationality ever be positive? Does the short term hold more value than the future, or could it be a satisfying conclusion to the past? Is fun being specifically in the present?

Society at large is in the background in this anime, but what effect does it have on the narrative's characters? How does it go from day to night, how do those hills reflect the thrills of realistic fantasy? Now, since it was written by the same author, yet again (as with Tatami Galaxy) the large 'Daimonji' character is written on a mountain in Kyoto, this is regarded as a send-off of spirits in the Gozan no Okuribi festival, in the series' context the tanuki would presumably think of their father while feeding alcohol to their house's pot.

This story runs like clockwork, having a few constants: acting idiotically is perceived as being likely to lead to interesting outcomes, especially by Yasaburou and his Ebisugawa twin cousins, while the human world seems automated (except for the Friday Fellows who associate with a tengu-human, but even then are most traditional), lights are bright and water reflective, the atmosphere still hints towards the possibility of tanuki tricking others.

At times, their world seems a stage and them actors, but why do they entertain, to be entertained? From a zen calmness, to a furious rage can tengu muster, a tornado of relationships delivered to the skies above; river ever-present, in the direction of the convert, this Raijin fan. Busy society is oblivious to the coming menace, wind soft just there, but the berserked Akadama holds Fujin's fury. Do though, behold, the statuesque one combined with a phone. So the question is, how would supernatural entities, if they existed, interact with a conventional understanding of 'normal'? Notice that even for a tanuki's legendary shapeshifting, some of wind's mythical potency also renders them as helpless as humans.

Ultimately, what Uchouten Kazoku transforms into is an artfully slick, intentionally mad fable that combines fiction and what could happen in a society set within a certain context. It tries to conjure up this magical quality, sometimes literally, and that no matter what expectation is subverted it all still manages to make sense. It's one of P.A. Works' most fantastic anime.

Note: this is from a video review, look for links on my profile page.

Kaiba is the visual type of sci-fi whose expositions are minimal, but relies on a more intuitive understanding of a possible world. It has this organic feeling, in that anything can grow anywhere, anyone can be any object. Perception is questioned, geometry limitless, but society is still very much familiar, as is often the case in this genre. Viewers' comprehension is baffled, but they try to juxtapose the puzzle any way. These, they learn, are artificial bodies, now a technology intrinsically.

Can memories be blown away like the sands of time? How does ... hue, variance, temperature change our impression of a moment? Can mood be separated from feeling? How is darkness filled in by the void of the mind? What difference does background have, does the exterior have a relational countenance? Can one be blind to the actual, yet give in to illusory possibilities? Why does memory function differently in stages? Are analogies ever adequate? Is this a sphere or a jumbled mess of degrees? Is fire ever possible without oxygen? Why does one even assume darkness has no atmosphere?

Is it to be assumed that flowers bloom on rocks? Would that be some sort of eel-snake amalgamation? Why at a micro level is there a practical reliance on the global scale? How could technology be anthropomorphized? Could the sociological descriptions of relations be that of mere substitutes? Is there 'intention' behind certain evolutionary traits to propagate? Survival depends on every possibility. But, from a personal, subjective perspective one values specific objects more or less, whether inanimated or still existent. Whichever plant this may be.

What if distinct planets do end up with different cultures? What kind of physicality is preferable, would it be solely based on functionality? How would its shape change consciousness? Would gene modification even be involved with artificial objects? It doesn't seem necessary to sustain a plush toy. There certainly is the likelihood of an industry springing up to sustain this, though. Would society be fundamentally different, or would the only distinction be in appearance, limitlessly? Vanity would likely still be derived from the same source. But how could ears spawn creatures? And what if a human facet passed down to blobs of cells, or even evolved molluscs? In this world even cerulean centaurs can be an option, actualizing mythology. Cats invent artificiality with the aid of emoji interfaces. The contrast between light and darkness. A window of technological potentialities. A cartoon future devoid of universal familiarity.

Is the cycle of life disrupted if indestructible mixtures are intertwined? Would it be possible for a flow of will to transition into a parallel continuation? Would it make a difference if it was fibre or protein? Are they the same electrical impulses that course through at different rates? Perhaps we could gauge the lapse of old age. Could the entirety of waking consciousness fit in some minuscule contraption? What would then be the difference between dolls - with eyes open - and ones where life inhabits? Could a blueprint exist for a perfect life?

What role would colour play in a smoothly-flowing society? Would rhythm make any sense if shapes are indistinguishable? How much hedonism could groups at large sustain and for how long? Historically, not indefinitely. In this narrative personalities diverge, and even clones forge their own destiny. Memories are uncertain as they're essentially recreations based on the amygdala. History is a series of interactions between brains and egos.

Technology, as shown in this anime, is often inspired by what nature ended up with in its random permutations. Water is as fluid as some machinery can be in navigating it. It plumbs the depths of some indistinct planet of indeterminate hue, just as it also delves into the subconscious role of memory and the psyche, abstractly.

How does one perceive incoherent likeness? How unique is a mental state upon the moment of judgement? Kaiba shows, viewers question, but answers aren't necessarily forthcoming. A fog of arbitrariness permeate Masaaki's anime, it seems, and it appears functionally useful in a sci-fi narrative, to create a sense of unexpectedness associated with the unknown. It attempts to create an overarching world, analogous to Evangelion, but the slice-of-life elements are mostly what elevates it to the interest of psychology, at a more quintessential level, than the interpersonal.

Kaiba can be a quirky, heightened experience with unusual art and a contemplative, inquisitive story that straddles the thresholds of dreams. The science fiction to Tatami Galaxy's romance.

Note: this is from a video review, look for links on my profile page.

SB attempts to be forceful with some comedic interlude, hinting at the supernatural of historic times (as opposed to other anime with more fantasy-based settings, here the more fanciful is probably the weather changes). What it does usually is hype up specific scenarios that likely happened in a much more mundane manner in historic times, which can be be interesting to see as even the films of Kurosawa somberly contrast the animated possibilities that fiction can weave. While it does, at times, seem over-the-top, they're sort of this implicit capability that is ... likely not reality, but while animated makes sense. On this point, it seems to at times either inflate characters to such unrealistic proportions that the result might not be as expected (which might be due to relying on an arc for episodes, where other anime like Inuyasha tend to go on at length and so it isn't a burst as such), or confine them to such little time that one wonders why they exist at all (as with Itsuki, as discussed later; note that this review will not have spoilers from the anime, as such, but will detail the historic parallel realities).

The battle of Okehazama was actually worse for Imagawa historically than depicted in the anime as his soldiers simply escaped, and it seems like, despite the episode showing more of other daimyō (Sanada and Date were not, apparently, present historically, whereas Maeda Toshiie was, but he's not introduced until the second season), in reality it was dominated more by Nobunaga (but only as a counterattack), whereas in the anime he seemed to appear out of nowhere; also, it omits the strategy involved behind a smaller army overcoming a larger one (partly involving the weather, which was animated).

The battle of Hitotoribashi was briefly alluded to, and yet still affects the character of Masamune, so much so there is a flashback which also indicates as to why Kojuro is so loyal - Nihonmatsu was a daimyō who was seemingly forgotten in SB, and yet it would have built up an understanding for Masamune especially since the second season has its focus on him. Also, Satake Yoshishige is mainly encountered in the games, despite virtually being non-existent in the anime, and yet could have been at least introduced in a flashback as he appears to have been a daimyō opposing the Date clan in this battle historically (even Itsuki, though, with her half a minute screen time in the main Basara series, has more time than the Satake, who in the game is depicted as clumsy, with no mention of their history with Masamune).

The battles of Anegawa and Nagashino (ep 5, 6) seem to be conflated perhaps; episode title references Nagashino, and yet Azai was not present historically, whereas he was in the anime, although he was at Anegawa where Asakura Yoshikage (briefly mentioned in the anime) also was - Nagashino also could not have had Shingen, as he had died two years previously in 1573 (but then the anime doesn't seem to care about dates and discrepancies at all), it did though have his son, who is totally excluded from the anime. It's mostly accurate when it came to Oda's distancing from Azai and his usage of arquebusiers, but Hideyoshi was notably absent in the anime, despite it being his 'debut' in history (introduced abruptly in the second season then); Shingen also seems to fight Tokugawa instead of the Asakura - Honda's actions were also seemingly artistic license (but then, so was the very fact he's somehow a mecha in 1570). These episodes also include, historically, events happening during the siege of Odani castle, but differ on most accounts.

Along with the style over substance approach to the animation itself, the narrative had issues with either over or under-emphasis of certain characters and concepts - Nene being one, seen only in flashbacks, much neglected in animation despite seemingly being Maeda's motivation for many venture, and yet historically the crucial narrative that the anime claims is so important (the only thing said really, and often repeated) did not occur at all, and so the matter of its inclusion in the anime should be questioned, because a longer, semi-coherent flashback wasn't available, so what was the point of it at all? It seemed to be there to indicate that Hideyoshi wanted strength, but later on he's shown to be not as ruthless as Oda, and so motives are questionable.

The anime tries to live up to the period's name by filling the story with as many battles as possible, but at times unnecessarily as historically there are seemingly no parallels, e.g. with the brief mention of the Hongan-ji situation, Hideyoshi feels like beating up the monks for some reason, despite meaning little in the anime as they've only been introduced thirty seconds previously, whereas historically it seems it may have only been Oda that tried to destroy the temple, with Hideyoshi later rewarding the abbot's son, Kennyo, for opposing Oda. There are some such politics in the series, but assuming constant battles entertaining, with history forsaken, creates monotony and inaccuracy...

There is also a slight issue with not connecting the different eras depicted in multiple seasons in SB, as Hideyoshi in the anime seems unconnected from Oda, despite being a retainer historically, whereas in the series the only comparison is between their lust for strength, seemingly with only varying levels of mercilessness, but the narrative itself would have made more sense if all of these threads were seamless, along with being more realistic - not that fantasy takes away from potential enjoyment, but in this case not connecting the seasons (Ishida could have been brought in sooner too) could have been more narratively potent.

The 1590 siege of Odawara is also another point in the anime where [the] difference with real life is conspicuous and strange - Hōjō Ujimasa is a comedic old timer in the series, but not only survives despite weakness (unlike in history), but forms a pact with Ieyasu, which did not happen in real life - why, then, change so much for trivially so little reason? The siege is mentioned in the anime and enacted, and yet it's seemingly unrelated to anything in history, which makes one wonder why it's specified at all. Tadatsugu, Tokugawa's guardian, is also another mysterious discrepancy - died in 1596 historically, in the anime he's strangely located in 1600 Sekigahara (although he has, arguably, a most funny encounter with Sōrin) - whereas Miyamoto Musashi, legendarily present in the battle, is absent in the anime (seen only in the first sequel).

Overall, despite there being in total nearly fifty episodes, characters still may have an issue connecting with viewers, perhaps even the two most concentrated on, Sanada and Date, because their values might be so remote (it is, after all, a warring period, but they could have been more relatable maybe if comedy was used more intensely, and with more variety than it was, and even then Date had virtually none). Other than those, characters suddenly appear and disappear with as much mystery at times - this might be entirely due to historic reasons (despite otherwise following it only slightly), and so people disappear as they did in real life, but they all grew up, and so if animators wanted to they could have used such material to make them more meaningful - kind of like in season 2, episode 3 when the Maeda fight, it seemed like the conflict was not as empty as most others, mainly due to flashbacks which resonated in the moment.

Similar to the games, the anime often seems to have invested more in how it looks, rather than substantial character development or a story that, like Inuyasha, forms a whole that connects the animation with what one perceives throughout - certainly, with nearly two hundred episodes the story is more spread out, but fifty is plenty too, and often even OVAs that consist of a few episodes can create a connection that lasts after they finished. Some were critical of Devil Kings due to the name changes, but it seems more deficient to have barely any narrative at all, just some one-liners that characters are programmed with, and despite being able to play everyone available in all the different domains, they barely make much difference in terms of changes to the script. This situation was improved somewhat in future games, but there is still a noticeable aspect of shallowness, and even when major characters go against each other, e.g. Ieyasu and Ishida, their programming only allows them a few novel lines, the rest being in common with the remaining characters.

While in the games players can dedicate however much time to the personalities, in the anime there are, of course, variations, but some seemed like they could have made the anime more substantial if they were concentrated on more - Oichi and Sōrin being the more obvious ones, respectively for more pathos (and as so a vehicle for reason to be imbued in conflicts, as happened just a bit), and for comedy to ease this journey of war - the series still had both of these elements, but proportionally they did not seem to be accorded sufficient time for the rest of the anime to make more of an impact than it did (although, obviously, it is ultimately subjective).

What could have also improved upon the essence of what Basara could have been (besides random craziness intertwined with a bit of history) is what it also attempted to do, but only a slight amount, and in a clichéd manner - is to comment on how history is itself made, and how minute factors often end up reverberating (Japan could have had centuries of an Oda shogunate, but events transpired that prevented that). What did happen in the anime is Ieyasu repeatedly claiming that bonds will solve all problems - and they could, in some sort of ideal world where everyone has honest intentions - when in reality, historically, Tokugawa seemed yet another opportunist, and did not appear to even be as idealistic, positive, or even as uncorrupted as the anime depicts him (all three 'unifiers' participated in unnecessary murder e.g.) - so much so it would almost be propaganda, especially if he was alive today and his personality obviously differed.

Now, just historical differences isn't enough for a narrative to not be interesting (presumably Yumekichi the monkey is fictional, and yet is clearly the protagonist who speaks not a word), and one realizes that what SB does is parallel what happened in real life (just as Gakuen uses a school instead of the country) - but the last season would have made more sense had Hideyoshi's son, Hideyori, been a character as he was historically, since his young age was the reason why the Edo era happened as it did - not that SB needed more characters, as it already had more than enough for the number of episodes, but narratively it would have been more cohesive than the anime turned out to be.

Gakuen is indeed intelligent enough to make historic parallels in a comedic narrative, which SB could have used more of (the Yukimura/Shingen back and forth might turn out to be a bit too repetitive... it is present in Gakuen, but is not the main source of comedy and isn't as pervasive) - it might, though, still be slightly obscure, as e.g. Gotō Matabei (who isn't present in SB) is shown as despising Masamune, purportedly because of some baseball incident, but historically this is due to Masamune having defeated him. Itsuki is another character who is a bit of a mystery, she has a whole domain in the first game, but in the anime appears a grand total of a few seconds - in Gakuen she's visible more often, but as a chef, so not historically relevant, even then there is an episode set in the past where she interacts too in a contextual manner, but it is still befuddling as to why she only appeared briefly in SB.

With Gakuen being fully comedic and Sengoku only here and there, one gets the impression that there is still an ideal ratio that derives elements from both, but as it is, Gakuen, being not directly based on history either, but parallels it, has the tastiest ingredients for a pot made out of bonds... or such.

Note: this is from a video review, look for links on my profile page.

TG aims to overwhelm with symbolic metaphors, complexly dense in so little time, it is akin to a puzzle that runs like clockwork. This very ending is a representation of how the mind can categorize, how
one tatami mat goes into the next to form the shell of a larger structure, a macrocosm of the final story, each square correlated with the narrative of
interconnected characters prior in time.

Even though they are relatively simple geometry it questions concepts;
lyrically, why does it seem to reference the symbol of a (kami) god? Is it just ... internal monologue, done in a softer tone than the haste of its counterpart in the series? Note the inversion between the normal ending and the one at the opening of the last episode, from a multitude of colours to a solitary blue, reality ends up upside-down (just as Ozu switches roles at the end) and the potentialities of history are conjured up like the flourishing infinities that lay before empty time. Higuchi at one point urges seeking out a circle among all the angled shapes, but none is found until the episodic prophetic opportunity is taken. And so it becomes one.

A robot, symbolic not of heroism as in Masaaki's Ping Pong anime, but a shell that protects an introvert, that defends against the possibility of failure. The yellow carpet is present but so is the armour, the red sky indicative of an anguished subjectivity, but do automatons cry? Out of frustration time rewinds as the internal psyche of the protagonist clasps at a mental solution. At the beginning, tatami mats were the logical equivalent of disorderly rocks scattered among prehistoric imagination. How do societies evolve despite strife? Light contrasts darkness. How does a limited individual fit in?

Real objects and a shadowed environment, stand in for their drawn counterparts to possibly convey the physicality of sensation, as the representation of geometry's sharper shapes. A subjectively interminable number of days are intertwined with past exploratory fictions. Mundane universality. A farrago of hallucinatory experiences reveal to oneself... the ideal other, which is sunnily yellow and as chimerical as his own individual attempts at impression. Purple is a state in between.

Hanuki's pink may be her weird humour, his hypothetical allies relive illusory lives, green may represent youth just as Akashi is showered in the colour later on, but Higuchi is stereotypically wiser than that; fishing for words, randomly instinctive, calm as trees, his gut not withstanding.

Jougasaki, Masaki may be representative of the director of a similar name, in reality an overgrown Ozu, fanning strife if possible. And so they go. These relationships tumble and rumble, but what is a social construct? How does a self interact with the other? How can a distance be closed and can they hear each other?

What fortuity lay in cupboards? What a fluky ceiling. Metabolism, is it involved in rumination? An unveiling of a physical transformation, protein manifest, a palate of animated imagination. Hallowed ramen, feline oddities. A grey background.

Ozu, is he indeed a multicoloured disruptor of dichromatic tennis courts, a drunk (?), an astronomical film splicer, a verdant dyer of shirts, or a nebulous component of some surreptitious institution. Chronicler of society, fountainhead of pyrotechnics, the Grinch? Enabler of perversity, an overcoated yokai hybrid (perhaps like Inuyasha?) who merely kindles the fiery passions of dalliances (or not).

What is that which is forlorn? How could portals be pulverized? A flaxen contraption in a monochrome universe, this is an art of contrasts. An ashen, vacant firmament looms, but could Ozu be figurative of anthropoid romance? His phantasmic whistling may hint towards it, just doesn't help that it's with his friend's conjured up ideal.

Where could a yellow (same make as the phone?) airship take us, the completion of an 'ultimate' fantasy? The green valleys of some ritualistic gates reveal Ozu's quixotic tour de force. But what shade of colour do both result in? The airship emoji could certainly be useful. Who is this onion-shaped Ozu, and what have they done to his grin? Well, he could try serenading his own literary creation. But who are these foolhardy mercenaries who meddle in affairs of the heart? And so, as batteries always do, right at that exact moment.

Despair takes hold of the beard in this sphere of vacuity, but pasta it could relish along with quite an artistic alluvion, striding into a backwards movie, and finally the squid hybrid! Forty winks, of course, and a rave theoretically! An equine fictive binding, readying for a flick, and symbolic social engineering.

This and more he invoked from a hypothetical time loop. Could one truly have such infinite space (despite the holes)? But how could this shell devoid of colour be remedied, how could hue be interposed between the self and the exterior?

The canopy of an abode, moths someone fears, the hand flowed, nimble conceits, a spider's thread, material books' frontier, a Maromi symbol? A leafy, lush reality, this dreamy rhythm, the drawn and not so intermingling; a clear sight of what one forgot, an opportunity missed, carpe diem wrought, an airy figment, an alluring utopia.

Might this be that orb of chance, this omnipresent express out of solipsism? Might this trance have been but a prance through fecund flights of fancy? This carriage ever-heading, an existential swaying; this marriage of planes, an engine of Lepidoptera. And I am out.

TG excels not just at the little details, nor merely the amalgamation of reality and fantasy, not just with animation, but narratively too, that it is hard to fathom how both were created separately. How is it that mundane life, a monologue usually reserved for dreams, is given such a climactic adaptation? A breath of fresh air, a transition between realms, a kaleidoscopic vision. This series does so much in so few hours. It is a walking painting, an animated chameleon, it begs us to wonder at the spectacle, what could be if the arrow of time shifts, how does perception interact with the world? Is art ethereal? What cadence is surprise? Is language formless, and is life but a dream?

Note: this is from a video review, look for links on my profile page.

Haibane Renmei is an incomplete, limited world, and so are its characters. This is not due to any deficient omission, but merely symbolic of the outside world. Stairs can represent an elevation of a mental state, halos solely an indicator of a norm and disruption thereof. The darkness is a device used as a horror trope, but unlike most such media this series recounts an internal sort of dread, a psychological possibility, an unknown within the universe, an existential uncertainty that could plague the mind.

Light, the sole localized potency, easily extinguished ... like life, also has a limited cover. Wings are a vestige of an obscure past, like fragments from within a dream. Why must they only utilize forsaken objects? Is there a radiance that could overpower the innermost gloom? Could a door open the path out of a nightmare? What lay beyond a sleeping consciousness? What is art but interior warfare? How is a dream expressed through a scream? What is it that we forget, how do we reflect upon that midnight stream, why does reason retain it not?

This mechanical world also has an upside, though, one where light takes the role darkness had inside a room, one where space is boundless (except for abstract limits of such symbolic darkness), one which is a norm, despite the margins of possibility, but is communicating with crows a standard? Is flight liberating, what lay beyond? Does it shelter us from ourselves? What do social bonds imply in the grand scheme of things? Does this melody keep track of erstwhile seconds?

This story harbours darkness along with natural casualness, it glides to the future like time's inevitable arrow; how does life become one second and then the next? Could a fortress have a sunny disposition? Do we have any sway over the inexorable momentum? What psychological processes are rekindled while in a state of sleep?

Myths are symbolic of an abstract need, a usually cathartic release of fantasy, a hyperbolic bridge between subjective understanding and the possible. In this series they may remain ununderstandable, but that is not the narrative's purpose, despite that it is too a testing ground of what may be likely and not so. How personal is an archetype, or could it merely be the result of an illusion? What makes an object representative of a series of inter-linked connections? Could anime, from Latin for 'soul', have the ultimate potential for such figurative art? Wings may be seen as explicitly religious, but here specifically they are but vestigial props, something that works only in the imagination as in the 'day of flight'. How different are conventional humans from the haibane? Why do they seem to pity them through charity? Perhaps because they are neither 'superior' beings, nor part of the majority within the town. How does, though, anyone come into existence? A plant that forms a cocoon is this story's premise, but how did they figure out any optimal methods before they had their traditions? A cycle of mythologized lives take this form, but most of the abstract notions, like 'coming to life' apply generally. The universe itself tumbled out of chaos, and seems destined to fizzle out in a similar manner. So, why does the mind attempt to confer symbols to randomness?

Why does, rain for example, seem to indicate a negative atmosphere? When does a melancholic green turn into a demonic frolic? Is the world naturally dark, with the sun so easily blocked? What really separates life from death? How is a psyche able to handle a sudden halt in the subjective narrative? Are catecholamines involved? The anime's narrative could be regarded as specific to it, but it could also be abstracted to a sort of archetype. There are many unexplained things, like what is beyond the village, but the characters do not mostly attempt to tackle such issues unless in a desperate situation, kind of like how most of life operates, with potential, far-away problems given less priority than immediate ones. But what nestles in the darkness of one's mind? Is everyone truly an individual, and is the alternative a sociological illusion?

This story, ultimately, is a mostly quiet attempt at emulating the essence of what existence could be about underneath. It is an alley that nature takes to form, coincidentally, a path sustaining that which is random, yet constitutes a thread illuminating everlasting, omnipresent darkness. It is about that case in a million that, while infinitesimal, is still imaginatively logical. It is a question, not an answer; realistic, but immersed in fantasy. It is about the cycle of life and death, and a combination too. It projects fleeting feelings onto a purported, snowy reality, creates storms of electrical sight, paints a landscape, and sends them away with a thought.

Note: this is from a video review, look for links on my profile page.

It is, nominally, about a game, but as is regular in the genre it turns out to be about the characters, although mainly focusing on a few. Like its similar predecessor, SD, BB is comedic and has a personality-driven protagonist that, despite the differences in height and blue, instead of red hair, can get into mischief. The comedy springs from there principally, but both have differing approaches to their relationships with other characters (SD has more of an attempt at romance); both, clearly, have a dissimilar number of episodes, and so can ... express each personality for a longer or shorter time, but BB could have included more of them (besides the central cast), although in the end it is still sort of a microcosm of the author's previous manga.

It doesn't exclusively focus on the sport, but it is in the background and integrates along with its other narrative details. It tackles a concept that not many other 'casual' anime in this genre can address, "what if whole teams were much taller, stronger?" - since, like in SD, they're set not in a hypothetical near future, but likely in schools where everyone has basically the same strengths and weaknesses, with only a little variability (and even then, with usually at least the same amount of tall people in each team) - but not BB, it isn't even set in any kind of school (which already makes it different from most others in the genre), and instead wonders whether those with talent potential, no matter their background circumstances, could succeed in a competitive environment. Of course, this isn't any scientific evaluation, and the protagonist specifically clowns about, often with his street friends (who are more alike in height and personality, as opposed to the differences in Sakuragi's group), which makes this a fundamentally comedic narrative, but it does have its serious moments even for Hideyoshi. The comedy can focus more on height here, whereas in SD it wasn't as possible since the protagonist wasn't as short.

The science fiction elements are also an obvious difference in comparison, and while the most immediate effect this has is on, as mentioned previously, the opponents the protagonist's team play against (who, despite being from another planet, are shown to be relatable and not at all dissimilar to Earth's team) - the sci-fi is also very much in the background, with flying cars and apparent differences in technology shown in between discussions and games.

Also, what is apparent from watching is that decisions were made to contrast the hues in the anime; protagonist's blue, so his opponent's red, but that doesn't stop there at all as even environments are usually one or another, kind of like how in Tatami Galaxy one hue is more likely to envelop most others, except in BB they're more 'solid', more bright (as even street lights are), and this presumably was made so life could be felt emanating from, mainly Hideyoshi, but also societies at large.

So, this anime tries to differentiate itself as much as possible, especially from its predecessor, and it succeeds to be sufficiently different (just not as long). One doesn't then quite understand why, on average, it seems to be perceived as inferior, by not even a margin, as it is fundamentally similar, actually. In addition to the comedy it adds imaginative, sci-fi elements, with architecture pronounced to an extent that it needs to be highlighted - SD doesn't have such, mainly due to its mundane settings, and so the geometry can't be seen as unique in as much as it is similar to most other, usually slice-of-life anime out there, whereas in BB it adds a background to what is, still, a familiar narrative.

It is grounded in any reality potentially common to many, with aspirations possibly matching too, as is SD, but it looks upwards and asks what and how something as mundane as a team game can be combined with a concept as grand as the universe. While it does not explore everything that may be as most other sci-fi do (e.g. Kaiba, about memories, but then again how tall players are is more relevant than their memories in a game), it is still very much solidified as a background in its multitudes - architectural sci-fi, if such a genre were to exist.

It is a story about change, growth, substance. Even the wealthy owner of the team is shown as seeking something other than what is material, and while the protagonist's comedy doesn't always coincide with the owner's desires, it still works well to cover any ground between the serious and the ridiculous. It isn't quite a complete story, but then neither was SD, although it was still appreciated for its comedy mainly - viewers might have bonded with the characters more due to being four times as long, but then, if one was to evaluate the comedy on its own both can be enjoyed in their own way.

The male protagonist has a comedic relationship with their female counterpart, as in SD - although both approach the dynamics from a different point of view, as with the latter it is more romantic, whereas in BB a sibling rivalry is more the feeling (notice the red-blue differences, such contrasts not present in SD). What this anime combines well is differences - whether the story is situated in this world or in another in outer space, it can be quite seamless, but still obvious as the hues are, almost always, clearly distinct. The very fact that it attempts to deal with a mundane sport, only for it to be exported to a hypothetical future where intergalactic games are possible, is, at the very least, an interesting intertwining. Even the protagonist's name comes from Japanese history (a daimyō from nearly a century before Yoshimune, a shōgun, also the owner's name in BB), thus merging the past with the present and future. Hideyoshi was historically known as a "great unifier", so Inoue Takehiko, the author, is possibly making the protagonist in the anime a similar figure when it comes to winning or losing games.

Sometimes the anime even tries to make viewers think it's some detective story (mainly instigated by journalists) or even a neo-noir, especially in the latter half, and so appropriately it utilizes jazz to instill vitality where otherwise there is either comedy or competition.

This is a city most would recognize even today, with existent buildings, but then suddenly it's outer space and the travel is much easier and as omnipresent as the flying cars that also silently create a technological norm within the anime. What makes it different from sci-fi like Kaiba is that the entire world isn't unrecognizable, the geometry isn't so unique that even the art style is idiosyncratic (although every anime's art is different, it shares with SD certain comedic indicators e.g.) - it is a world that could easily be reality animated, but then it goes further and asks "what if?"

It is a journey of maturation, not unlike most other narratives, but yet it is done in a certain optimistic, zesty sense of mockery that Sakuragi, in his 'genius', would surely appreciate. It is a tale of hope, possibilities, and the many impressions light can have. It is a visual feast, and while not perfect or complex, it is surely about as enjoyable as its older 'sibling' anime. Just as this is a shade of blue, the red contrasting 'beetle' is just as hilarious. Whether 26 episodes or 101 anime can surely still be entertaining at whichever length and for a variety of reasons, whether comedic, visual, or speculative.