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Dec 27, 2020
Note: the following comes from a video review, links on my profile page.
Kizu holds a certain premise, but, probably due to the author's self-professed reluctance in writing it, doesn't quite follow up to its possible potential. It introduces dark themes, but doesn't very much counteract them with a kind of release or catharsis, and in some instances seems to be illogical (e.g. in suggesting anything positive might happen, at the end, when proof wasn't forthcoming).
It is, in this sense a bit like Narutaru the anime, in that it is unfinished, but also presents a case of negativity with no definite conclusion. On the other
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hand, the concept of healing wounds is also presented in Esma's Frat, except that takes it to its logical conclusion. It's not that Kizu, as a story, isn't told well, but the macabre mood isn't bookended by a sensible closure. Why did Shiho leave? Why are Asato's siblings seemingly not able to see him? And, as he was on the verge of killing himself, would he do that in the future?
The ending doesn't work very well with what it presented earlier, and one might be left feeling that, despite the regular gloominess, its continuation and appropriate finish would have been better.
Reviewer’s Rating: 5
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Feb 19, 2020
Note: the following comes from a video review, links on my profile page.
The two-episode OVA randomly titled 'Goddamn' doesn't give away much in terms of what it might be about (while it does somewhat touch on religion, that isn't the point or genre, although that moment happens to be of sociological interest). It features scenes of nature in between semi-comedic interactions of a mechanical sort - the weather is also of import, although it doesn't really matter ultimately as the protagonist is almost immune to disasters despite their constant occurrence.
It has a similar atmosphere to Nasu despite being set on a different continent and being
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about car, as opposed to bicycle racing, although they are more than a decade apart. It also derives some of its comedy from characters' conversations, and often hammers the point, and uses as a repeated prop, the potential dangers of, say, driving really fast up a mountain (which can mostly be 'funny' confined to an animated medium).
The environments here may be of more interest than either the comedy or sport, as in the limited time it doesn't quite establish a consistency that others in the same genre (e.g. Slam Dunk adapted at around the same time) develop over tens of episodes. It is still, though, chilled out somehow despite the accidents that would normally, and in real life, easily turn the comedy into a tragedy.
Some may approach this from a technical perspective, but anime isn't usually a documentary, as if it was characters wouldn't end up with only a few scratches, and so it seems it would detract from any potential interest if it was treated as such. In comparison to Nasu it isn't quite as 'existential' as the latter half of the cycling story turned out to be, but as usual all have differing focus (this doesn't then have as much commentary as Nasu's first episode which may be perceived as monotonous).
Overall, it may be yet another atmospheric OVA animated in the 90s, as so many seem to have been, when studios were possibly not in the mood for much longer series as in earlier decades, but then not even a few more episodes that became standard later on and in recent times, and as such it is a sort of pilot.
Reviewer’s Rating: 5
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Feb 18, 2020
Note: the following comes from a video review, links on my profile page.
Narutaru is about a sort of cycle of life, but it comes in fragments; at times shows it, other instances explicitly states it and questions affairs. It seems uneven on average, and often it is difficult to reconcile specific incidents to the story overall; some apparently more relevant than others, although in the end it seems they may have been connected - they still seem not coalesced ultimately. This is likely due to only half the manga being adapted.
Second episode had a few seconds of an existential sort of connection, but it did
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not pursue this further beyond the character's personal insecurities. The third episode had an Evangelion-like hint as the second one had (which is apt considering Mohiro Kitoh went on to design for 2.0), but yet again it did not expand more than this, for some reason (also at the end there was a parallel test of will). Similarly, like with Angels in that anime, the creatures here are called dragon's children, but other than this there was little else, besides the interactions between them and the characters themselves, whereas Angels were expounded upon at length in nearly every episode. The army was also introduced at one point, as it was with NGE, but the conflicts did not seem as epic or as precarious as they were with Angels, perhaps because of the abstract nature of these dragon's children, in comparison; it was not as obvious as in NGE, and also the SDF simply disappears in Narutaru without much of an explanation (this also happens with at least one motherly figure and some of the earlier characters later on) and barely any resolutions were forthcoming about any of several of the story's knots.
It presents undiluted despair (not unlike Bokurano, by the same mangaka) and yet it doesn't seem to have meaning beyond that which is shown at any one time, unlike Bokurano which does build an all-encompassing universe where angst has a clear reason and the future is uncertain, despite being animated. It talks about moral issues, but in the end it does not seem to quite fit them in perfectly with the narrative like Parasyte did. In terms of where it fits with other narratives about oni, though, in just one arc it seems to show how people can be either internally destructive, guilt-ridden, self-blaming; or angry, and externally focused (also the factor of influence), and that the idea of an oni 'projection' - as most other anime about such mythological creatures imply, as in Shuten-dōji, oni are anger manifest, essentially, beasts that are objectively identified as such, but in reality are the equivalent of invulnerable humans rampaging. How and if they're distinct from the 'dragon's children', though, the anime does not say; they could be a range of psychological states, e.g. the protagonist and her nearly unending optimism, which the animation generally shrouds itself in as its veneer, and the manga likely goes into much further detail about this, but the anime does not really connect any dots even at the end. While, on the other hand, Paranoia Agent three years later is not explicitly transparent about its questions' answers and expects viewers to think, Narutaru seemingly has gaps not intentionally for the same reason (except perhaps at two points where hair is used symbolically).
What it does well is in setting up the stage in the first episode, except most of the others then did not seem to ascend and fulfil a certain promise, apart from the tenth, which stands on its own and adopts the first episode's disjointed sort of logical artistry to an interesting catharsis. As such, unless all the episodes were more cohesively connected into an over-arching world, it would have done better if each was independent like the tenth, so as to not necessarily have to resolve plot holes left over due to the inevitable short time. In a way, the whole of the anime is like how the 'knife' dragon user acted to a potentially blossoming flower plucked out too early. Unlike Digimon, although more childish, spawning hundreds of episodes; even Tamers, which Chiaki wrote for at the beginning and end, just like for this series, had ample time to establish itself a certain mythology based around the Zodiac, whereas Narutaru got a foundation, but then barely solidified its narrative's upper structure, metaphorically. It concentrated mainly on vengeance, and mostly ignored the dragons' origins, which could have likely imbued it with interest.
The ending is more abstract than the episodes themselves try to be, besides perhaps the aforementioned couple, and the opening deceptively playful, but there could have been more star-gazing, and while the weather played a minor part in the story it had potential for more, if these dragons truly were as potent. Food was also another quality that might have been absent from Bokurano in comparison, and it provided a reprieve from the despair, but ultimately, as a kind of 'glue', the narrative is still difficult to hold together.
In short, the adaptation of the rest of the manga would have made much difference, otherwise the anime could have tackled stand-alone, perhaps unique situations, as with the above average tenth episode, and this would have improved upon the cohesiveness aspect. Kino's Journey did this, but also managed to connect slightly various episodes. Narutaru had its interesting moments, but they were few and far between.
Reviewer’s Rating: 6
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Jan 23, 2020
Note: the following comes from a video review, links on my profile page.
Onikirimaru creates a world where the personal of what is (likely) to be humans watching is contrasted by that which, externally at least, is perceived to be not human, except if only actions are considered both the familiar and ogres run parallel.
A Shinto kind of aura pervades the anime, where a spiritual type of barrier is able to prevent the 'hideous' sort of nature that ogres emanate, shields that only function on such creatures... but what if reality isn't as binary?
These oni tempt humans to a point where their desires and even will
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can be overcome, where instinct is rendered useless by curses. The four episodes contain tales that can be seen as exploring extremes, whether love or hate (less of the former), friendship or friendlessness, even the very idea of non-existence when conflicted with the overwhelming force of the oni.
They are interesting, mostly stand-alone narratives; notice how the oni exploit emotions, this seems to be a feature of interaction with Japanese mythological creatures, like a kitsune who uses deceit.
Arguably the most pathos-filled of Kei Kusunoki's adaptations, it would have helped if characters didn't last just a single episode, but they are nonetheless stories with a start and end, which also could function as a commentary on a more in-depth thought than most anime with swords normally sustain. Most of the manga wasn't seemingly animated, though what remains still complements Youma's atmosphere.
Reviewer’s Rating: 6
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Jan 19, 2020
Note: the following comes from a video review, links on my profile page.
Shuten-dōji is a myth from the Heian era, as indeed the anime explains, but whereas in history this was perceived as an oni, in this series they are not as much, or perhaps what it tries to do is present a spectrum of this perception of fear. It tries to answer, as so many tales have done that mostly use the analogous concept of 'demons', but mainly asks "why is this felt so, or even, how is it conceived?"
Oni in this sense (could be generally when the creatures are a topic, but in
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this anime it seems to be indicated) is a psychological state that mainly represents negative emotions - whereas kitsune could be symbolic of deceit, or tanuki playfulness, oni are the darkest depths of the psyche.
It is abstractly conflict, but also internal turmoil, and as such hue can vary based on association. Oni can also be an idol for what a subconsciousness could constitute. Like architecture built out of human desires, but based on nature. What if oni are not outlandish creatures defined by what isn't the norm? Read books and partook in contradictory habits? Could a cyborg be one? How about a distant attachment?
It can be also counterintuitive though, e.g. what is the likelihood that a hellish oni decides to protect the most vulnerable? To do not what its id - most base desires - strive for? This is hell visually, as any superficial inspection may show, but also not objectively, as is it hell if it is but a percept?
The id in this anime is very much in the picture, and it is in this way Freudian, with oni symbolic of Thanatos, the desire for death and destruction, and eros being simply what Nagai peppers the surroundings with.
It was interesting how the past was conjoined with the future, and even fables given rationalizations that, contextually, seemed plausible. How historical figures happened to encounter oni, and throughout they came in different sizes, including miniatures, seemingly to indicate the level of familiarity, with a curious origin.
Concepts, including sci-fi tropes, were introduced at a rate which assumed an intuitive understanding, but often animation is used to just show, and not tell, although in some instances it wasn't that subtle, e.g. when the adjective 'evil' was used, as otherwise most oni and humans seemed to be somewhere in between, not absolutes.
This is horror only insomuch as one fears what may lurk in the shadows; oni use violence, but only because it at times appears to be what is expected of them as creatures of the dark, just as humans in gangs resort to plumb the depths of animosity - even when free will is not an issue (excluding peer pressure).
It showcases a battle, as most tales do, between light and darkness - which is what Ankoku means, from the name of the temple of the group after the protagonist, but in reality nothing is clear until the last moment, and even then the 'light' does not seem to believe the elucidation, per se. As such, one might end up seeing both sides of this divide to be as 'in the dark' as each other.
Everything might not be seen as perfectly proportional in this anime; the introduction of characters that have little screen time or purpose is a problem in mostly one episode, but even if most other incidents seem to happen randomly, they still have something meaningful, whether it is to highlight the differences between oni and those more familiar, or even historical mindsets.
This, like Teito Monogatari, mixes a slight bit of history (in SD mythology is more prominent) along fiction that is built on top of it, and like Onikirimaru it inserts interpersonal drama that juxtaposes the existence of oni along others' lives, although they are more verbal than the ones in the latter series, and at a couple of junctures they even display sadness which oni aren't typically associated with. The situation with which Yasaburou in Uchouten Kazoku contends with for just one episode is vaguely similar, as oni are similarly depicted in a different dimension, unlike kitsune or tanuki who can live in a plain world, oni seem to be inherently too big and scary, and this is where Shuten tries to approach this from, the points of view of a spectrum of oni.
It also seems to have cycles for some different things, e.g. in two instances both humans and oni roll over a hill, and the detaching of an arm seems to be a recurring incident, which is likely a reference to the original Watanabe no Tsuna legend.
In the end, this anime turns out to have a narrative that, despite being seemingly interested in superficial happenstances that have no other bearing on the story itself (besides fulfilling instinctual desires, as mentioned previously), is all-encompassing and more subtle than not (beyond the conflicts there is psychology), and attempts to be as existential as possible.
While it could have conveyed a similar approach using less violence, oni at times seem to be inevitably tied to the concept of conflict; this series, though, did at least attempt to convey a variety of coherence that most anime do not usually paint oni with. As such, it managed to have a more whole picture of the creatures than others like Onikirimaru had four years later, but if it spanned even longer perhaps the Hell Screen could be even more complete?
Reviewer’s Rating: 7
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Jan 16, 2020
Note: the following comes from a video review, links on my profile page.
One of the first noticeable things here is the quick change of genre; mostly taking a couple of episodes, they delve into entirely different worlds, kind of like Chrono Trigger, which then ended up resembling different styles.
It starts off in a Baccano-esque train, which makes one think it's possibly a neo-noir, although even within this setting there are odd traits, like a traditional Japanese dress within a Siberian surrounding, and what seems like a stereotypical magic user (two sort of constants with variations throughout).
While there is always an entirely different type of environment,
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there are still similarities, besides the protagonists. What is interesting (that some people don't seem to appreciate or understand) is how the whole of this anime is like a combination of Inuyasha and Lain, with added innuendo. In thirteen episodes it certainly managed to include a variety of narratives and visual differences. It could have combined elements even more explicitly, but the subtle approach to it is interesting too.
The point of this anime isn't the ecchi at all, no... how much hentai out there has the same average rating, though? For some people it seems having everything else also interesting makes no difference... To Love Ru is how popular, again? They have things in common; both attempt sci-fi, except in TLR it is almost deflated. Lala keeps inventing gizmos and the only thing the narrative comes up with is the same exact comedic routines invariably involving the protagonist falling, with inevitable coincidences. Lala in Yami happens to be an AI in a spaceship that cares for children for one particular reason... and yet the latter is what the average viewer rates less, really? Yami has so much depth to it, TLR tried to have bits of romance too, only to fall flat on its face (literally, often), whereas the romance in Yami can be funny and deep at the same time, with added existential complications.
The ecchi, in a sense, is only there because there is also everything else along with it. Ecchi shouldn't be the point of an anime, just like the sports genre shouldn't ideally focus exclusively on that, and instead be merely an accompaniment along with characters' lives. If there is only ecchi, of course, it would practically be hentai, and that is what TLR very nearly is sometimes. Whereas with Yami, even in such scenes, the narrative is making itself cohesive, and not a moment is wasted on capricious nudity for its own sake.
This is when a story is powerful - when, in a scene that could evoke merely lust, there is also a sense of inter-dimensional love, of a chance that something could be lost. Anime that would not settle with only a single relationship, but includes countless analogies of what that relationship could be, of what a cyclic universe could contain. This is when animation tries to do a lot, and ends up doing it, on average, well and visually interesting.
Reviewer’s Rating: 8
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Jan 15, 2020
Note: the following comes from a video review, links on my profile page.
This daydream's story is told in a sensitive way; can be comedic, but also substantial enough that goes beyond the typical slice of life thresholds that usually consist of most of the story being about a specific objective. The animation is precise about characters' expressions - contrasting hues, and yet subdued, can be bright and yet dark - as it sort of reflects the chaotic narrative that somehow blends well.
It shows the archetypes of beauty, alongside with what is typically considered to be its opposite - not just architecturally, but with regards to
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the characters' personalities too - the comedy, along with the more sombre issues. The horizon of the sunset, parallel to the psychological implications of what a past and trauma may bring to the present. It does not have a long runtime but what it does and how it happens is expressed through a variety of ways. It cycles from a detective point of view, when facts are discovered, to then reach the crux of understanding - even if quickly, it does this with a certain verve.
Besides the comedy, and part of which is the aforementioned element of mystery, added in is a softer approach to storytelling, a direction taken which would have been even stronger had it been a longer-term series, an attempt similar to what Natsume's book often comes up with (in this case, a vulgar version of it, which teizoku means). One wonders whether the serious issues are meant to be reflective of how far the comedy itself does go, or perhaps they only do so to counteract each other. It is a mixture that, despite seemingly incongruous, results in a ratio that seems to meld well. A bit of city life, somewhat of a thriller, and one third tragedy, all of which surprisingly balance each other out. In the end it turns out interesting, and one might desire for more.
Reviewer’s Rating: 7
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Jan 15, 2020
Note: the following comes from a video review, links on my profile page.
It is playful. What it is meanders between comedy, fantasy, and romance, often all at once. It is not one aspect or another; some episodes consist almost entirely of one theme, but later combine them with not necessarily equal proportions. What it does seem to have as an underlying element is Buddhism, and this sense that the present is what matters, as in the anime when the past is thought of destructive fantasies come into fruition, and if it's the future doubt is thrown in, as in real life. Other than that, each
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episode is narratively distinct, although they all have a bedrock of characters that appear in nearly every one. It is, essentially, an ensemble cast, but some are more visible due to their specific function in the world of Kamitsumihara.
It doesn't shy away from much, which makes it fickle as a genre. Some fantasy may be comedic and serious at other times, but not many also attempt to present each story in its own specific frame, whether a theatre (and as such doubt its authenticity, in thinking the viewer is watching the watchers, but then viewers are still doing such an action outside of such a frame). It can have a meta-narrative, as per the implication that a character is also the writer, but still that somehow in-universe personalities are aware of subtitling. The latter is comedic, but the former is used more often in more serious narratives that serve as a commentary to what a 'flow' is, and how a subconsciousness may take over. The anime itself isn't told at all as simply as most other stories, and yet guises itself in typical shounen tropes, which may be distracting as to what causes this and that. Visually it synergizes with the script.
While anime like Katekyo may have stereotypical props that tell a fairly straightforward story (that can still narrate it with vigour, although more comedic), Gettan uses items like swords in a similar, but symbolic fashion. Most events are also almost metaphorical, like when the sword first appeared. This is what separates it from most shounen anime, although the comedic episodes have more similarity, despite usually ending with a supernatural twist. This is what makes this story more unique than most other anime with similar themes, along with the variable of sexuality (done in a subtle way), which isn't by itself positive or negative; it was like Inuyasha (with shrines and myths) if that wasn't so single-minded about Naraku. In far fewer episodes Gettan tries to be even more varied, and this is also evident in its music which can range from jazz to (what sounds like) harps.
Now, with regards to the average viewer's perception (as indicated by the decimals on various sites)... how exactly does a mind work? So, as long as one assumes Moonlight Lady 1 is seen by the same people as 2 (Gettan)... how? Was the prequel rated solely on how titillated one felt? Narrative and anything non-repetitive be damned? One is hentai, the other is a subtle narrative about meta-universes and existential possibilities... oh, but one can't possibly expect so much from the average viewer, can one? It's a world where Erica Friedman apparently complained it's not yuri enough. I mean, sure, it's unbelievable it even has such a prequel, so perhaps it's attracted the wrong sort of people, unable to appreciate both Yami and this.
An impressive analysis of this series was done in the book titled 'Anime and the Visual Novel: Narrative Structure, Design and Play at the Crossroads of Animation and Computer Games' by Dani Cavallaro, page 55 - after the writing about Yami. It is certainly a deep narrative that merits delving into.
Reviewer’s Rating: 8
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