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Dungeon no Naka no Hito follows the story of Clay, a thief who ventures into a mysterious dungeon in search of her lost father. Instead of the usual adventuring fare, she ends up taking a job working for the dungeon’s caretaker, Belle. The series attempts to offer a behind the scenes look at dungeon operations, coupled with an exploration of the relationship between Clay and Belle. While the concept is intriguing, the execution leaves much to be desired.

The premise of diving into the inner workings of a dungeon is intriguing, but for a story to effectively delve into this subject matter, it needs strong world ... building and creativity, areas where this anime unfortunately struggles. The dungeon itself feels underdeveloped, and explanations for how things work come off as shallow and contrived. Basic questions that naturally arise from the premise often remain unanswered, and the lack of depth detracts from what could have been a rich setting. When compared to shows like Made in Abyss or Dungeon Meshi, which both offer intricate ecosystems, interlocking lore, and thoughtful design, the dungeon in Dungeon no Naka no Hito pales in comparison. In these other series, creatures, environments, and mythology all intertwine in meaningful ways, creating worlds that feel alive and vibrant.

Here, the mechanics feel arbitrary. The story seems content with hand waving away details, resulting in a world that feels half baked. The absence of clear reasoning or lore behind the dungeon’s function limits the viewer's engagement. Some might argue that this simplicity is intentional, that we shouldn’t take it too seriously, but even if that’s the case, it doesn't excuse poor world building. Whether something is bad on purpose or accidentally doesn’t change the fact that it’s still bad. There is potential humor in how the show tries to justify game like mechanics in a supposedly real world, but even this rarely lands in a satisfying way.

Belle, the dungeon master, presents an interesting contrast at first. Her cutesy, playful persona is juxtaposed with the ruthless nature of dungeon life, where adventurers risk their lives and face harsh consequences. This initial contrast works well in theory, as it could highlight the duality of her character, she may be lighthearted on the surface but is ultimately tied to the brutal reality of the dungeon’s nature.

However, this dynamic falls apart when Belle’s actions take an unexpected turn. In one particular episode, a group of adventurers exploits the dungeon’s dangerous environment to kill their teammates with plausible deniability. Given the established ruthlessness of dungeons and the fact that Belle herself seems to accept this brutality as part of the job, this scenario fits within the world’s logic. Even Clay acknowledges that dungeons are unforgiving, and up to this point, the show reinforces this idea.

Yet, despite everything leading up to this moment, Belle decides to intervene, saving a supposed "victim" and punishing the rule breakers. This act of moralizing feels completely out of sync with the show’s previous tone, as if the writers wanted to inject some sense of morality into a character and setting that had previously been indifferent to such concerns. What rules are being broken, and why does Belle suddenly care about them when she’s otherwise complicit in the dungeon’s ruthlessness? It’s a bizarre moment that undermines the show’s own internal logic and leaves Belle’s character feeling inconsistent. For a dungeon master who is supposed to be indifferent to the life and death nature of adventuring, her sudden role as a protector of some vague moral code is jarring and unearned.

What's more the second central theme of the show, the relationship between Clay and Belle, and while it has some charming moments, it ultimately falls flat. Their dynamic revolves around the loneliness both characters feel, now somewhat alleviated by their newfound companionship. There’s potential in exploring this friendship between two isolated individuals, but the show never delves into it beyond the surface level. While the cutesy interactions between the two can be entertaining, they don’t offer much depth. The friendship serves as a narrative device to keep the story moving, but it lacks the emotional complexity that could have made their bond compelling. Ultimately, their relationship feels like another missed opportunity for meaningful storytelling.

Dungeon no Naka no Hito had the potential to be a fascinating exploration of dungeon life and the bond between its central characters, but it squanders that potential with weak world building and inconsistent character writing. The show’s take on dungeon operations is underwhelming, lacking the depth and creativity that other series in the genre have mastered. Meanwhile, the relationship between Clay and Belle, though occasionally charming, doesn’t offer enough to elevate the series beyond mediocrity.

Senpai wa Otokonoko is an anime that steps into delicate territory with a potentially impactful story but ultimately plays it far too safe. At its core, the show revolves around themes of identity, self acceptance, and navigating the complexities of personal relationships, especially those involving gender nonconformity. The setup promises meaningful exploration, but time and again, it pulls back just before things get real. This consistent hesitance gives the entire narrative a "sanitized" feel, like it’s afraid to truly engage with the difficult topics it skirts.

The show touches on serious issues, strained family dynamics, the pressure of societal expectations, and the bittersweet nature of unrequited ... love, but it only ever brushes against them. Every time it seems poised to dive deeper, it retreats to an almost utopian status quo where everyone is perfectly accepting, and conflicts resolve themselves without any real confrontation. While this can be refreshing in certain contexts, it feels out of place here, given the weight of what’s being dealt with.

Makoto Hanaoka, the crossdressing protagonist, is a prime example of this. There’s a clear struggle within him, exacerbated by the conflicting attitudes of his parents, yet the story avoids digging into the psychological impact of such a situation. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the dynamic between him and his mother. Throughout the show, their relationship is marked by tension and misunderstanding, but when the time comes for a resolution, it feels completely unearned. The abruptness of this shift robs the moment of emotional weight, making it seem more like a narrative shortcut than a meaningful breakthrough. The narrative implies tension but never follows through on it, preferring to wrap things up in a neat bow. It’s a pattern repeated throughout, whether in Makoto's aforementioned family dynamics, his interactions at school or his evolving relationships with other characters. Despite some promising moments, the show's reluctance to explore these tensions undermines the emotional resonance it could have achieved.

This avoidance is also noticeable in the romantic arcs. One character’s feelings of unrequited love are portrayed in a way that seems on the verge of poignancy, yet rather than grappling with the complex emotions involved, the show opts for an easy reset. It goes back to a comfortable status quo, avoiding the messier but more honest aftermath that love often brings. It’s as if the show is afraid of its characters truly growing or facing the reality of their circumstances.

The same issue can be seen with Saki Aoi, whose backstory had the potential to dive into the emotional intricacies of forgiveness, resentment, and the yearning for familial connection, but the show’s desire to maintain a light, sanitized tone keeps it from fully realizing this potential. Instead of allowing the characters to confront and process these issues, the narrative opts for a simplistic resolution where everyone moves on without confronting the lingering scars of the past.

Despite this, Saki remains a compelling character. Her bright, optimistic exterior contrasts with the unresolved emotional baggage she carries, making her one of the more layered individuals in the story. However, as with many aspects of this show, the narrative’s reluctance to address these layers in a meaningful way leaves the story feeling incomplete. The show hints at deeper emotional truths but consistently pulls back before fully exploring them.

What’s frustrating about this title is that it frequently teases the audience with the potential for more. It’s not that the show is devoid of substance, but rather that it continually undermines itself by refusing to follow through on its more difficult themes. There’s a strong message about self acceptance and coming to terms with one's identity, but the insistence on avoiding discomfort drains it of impact. The result is a narrative that feels polished on the surface, but hollow underneath.

In the end, this anime isn’t a bad watch, but it’s hard not to feel disappointed by what could have been. It presents a world where tough conversations and emotional growth are hinted at but never fully embraced. While it offers moments of sweetness and warmth, the reluctance to tackle its core themes with the seriousness they deserve leaves it feeling like a missed opportunity.

This anime is a bit tricky to evaluate. It offers moments of genuine intrigue, but the overall package feels uneven, weighed down by some shallow elements that limit its potential. At its core, the premise plays with the familiar “what if Isekai tropes, but the main character is… different?” The protagonist, Sensei, a clear nod to Osamu Dazai, is thrust into the standard Isekai setup, summoned to another world and tasked with defeating the demon king. But unlike the typical hero, Sensei rejects the call to adventure, preferring instead to search for his lover Sacchan and chronicle the tragedies of those around him. This twist ... on the standard Isekai formula sets the stage for what could have been an insightful subversion of the genre. Yet, despite this interesting premise, the series never fully capitalizes on its potential.

While the idea of an anti hero refusing to save the world may seem fresh at first, it quickly becomes apparent that it isn’t as novel as the show seems to think. Sensei’s refusal to follow the heroic path has been done in other Isekai stories, and this anime doesn’t explore it in a way that feels particularly new or groundbreaking. It’s not a bad setup by any means, but the execution struggles to maintain momentum, particularly when the main character’s melancholic tendencies are played more as a recurring trope rather than something deeply meaningful.

That being said, there are glimpses of depth in Sensei’s character. His role as a writer who is fascinated by human suffering and tragedy adds layers beyond the typical “suicidal and nihilistic” persona. His desire to document the emotions and experiences of those he encounters hints at an underlying complexity that could have been explored more thoroughly. Unfortunately, the show’s shallow supporting cast often undermines these moments. Sensei’s journey largely revolves around fighting other Isekai adventurers, those who, after defeating the demon king, seek to seize power for themselves. These antagonists are cartoonish and one dimensional, making it difficult to feel invested in their conflicts or the world they inhabit.

Humor occasionally surfaces in the absurd interactions between Sensei and the world around him, but it’s not enough to save the show from its cast. The story only begins to show signs of life past the halfway mark, and even then, some of its attempts to introduce “gray morality” feel a bit clumsy and stilted. However, there are moments of genuine improvement towards the season's end, particularly with the final two Isekai adventurers the group confronts. These characters have more fleshed out backstories and motivations, adding some much needed texture to the narrative. Sensei’s unique ability to “record” their stories and offer them redemption by sending them back to their pre death lives on Earth provides a satisfying payoff. It’s in these moments that the show’s potential truly shines, exploring how people are changed by their experiences in this fantasy world, contemplating their regrets, and what it means to face their own mortality. This concept of redemption and reflection is where Isekai Shikkaku comes closest to realizing its thematic ambitions.

Ultimately, Isekai Shikkaku is a series that lives and dies by its characters and their stories. The uneven quality of the cast makes it hard to stay engaged initially, but there are interesting ideas buried beneath the surface. While the first half of the show is weighed down by shallow conflicts and repetitive character tropes, the latter half offers glimpses of the deeper narrative that could emerge in future seasons. If it can continue to develop its characters and lean into its darker, more introspective moments in the future, it may yet grow into something special.

On paper, this anime seems to have a promising setup, a former national star cheerleader trying to regain her confidence after a life-altering event, surrounded by new friends with their own diverse talents. However, what the show delivers is a scattered narrative that never quite finds its footing.

The primary issue stems from the show's structure. While it's common in ensemble cast shows to focus on individual characters in episodic arcs, the anime fumbles this approach. Instead of weaving these individual stories into a cohesive narrative, the show feels disjointed. After the girls initially come together to form a cheer squad, the show loses sight of ... its central premise. The cheer leading element, which should anchor the characters and their development, is pushed to the background, becoming more of a loose excuse to move from one character's backstory to the next. Without a strong through line tying these episodes together, the story lacks momentum.

This scattershot approach is compounded by the bloated cast. Each character is introduced with unique talents and aspirations, but none of them are given the depth they deserve. As the show jumps from one character arc to another, it struggles to fully develop any of them. This lack of balance means the series never settles into a clear rhythm or focus, leaving it to aimlessly drift through its runtime. What could have been a compelling exploration of individual and collective growth is undermined by the show's inability to decide what story it actually wants to tell.

Kanata Misora and Megumi Kaionji, the two central characters, are perhaps the biggest victims of this mismanagement. Their initial conflict, rooted in Megumi's physical recovery and Kanata's initial pursuit of cheer leading success could have been a powerful emotional thread. Yet instead of deepening this core relationship, the show introduces a senpai with a nearly identical arc, diluting the tension and making their resolution feel rushed and unsatisfying. This redundancy is emblematic of the show's broader inability to capitalize on its own narrative potential.

In the end, this anime squanders its premise by failing to commit to a clear direction. What could have been a nuanced exploration of friendship, recovery, and cheer leading is instead a series of disjointed character vignettes. The cast is there, the setup is there, but the show never finds the heart needed to bring it all together.

At first glance, Gimai Seikatsu might seem like another addition to the well-worn trope of step-sibling romance, a genre that often brings a fair share of skepticism due to its tendency to veer into trashy territory. However, this series manages to subvert expectations, delivering a surprisingly nuanced and thoughtful exploration of a difficult family dynamic.

The plot centers on Yuuta Asamura, a high schooler whose father remarries, leaving him with a new stepsister, Saki Ayase, who also happens to be one of the most popular girls at school. The two agree to maintain a certain distance, neither too close nor antagonistic, trying to keep things comfortable ... in light of their newfound living situation. This setup, while familiar, serves as the backdrop for what becomes an unexpectedly introspective look at the complexities of their evolving relationship.

The show’s greatest strength lies in its execution. On a technical level, it boasts strong production values, with clean art, fluid animation, and an effective sound design. But what truly sets it apart is its direction. The way the series uses framing, lighting, and subtle cues to convey the emotional states of its characters elevates it beyond the surface-level drama. There are many moments where the show lets the characters' internal struggles breathe through silence, body language, and careful composition, creating a sense of authenticity and emotional tension.

As for the narrative itself, the series takes its time establishing the awkwardness of the situation. Both Yuuta and Saki are teenagers suddenly thrust into a new family structure, forced to navigate not only their own personal feelings but also the broader implications of their parents' remarriage. Their interactions are tentative, hesitant, and layered with a sense of unease as they gradually get used to their new reality. The pacing of their relationship is slow but deliberate, which makes their eventual bond feel earned and genuine. Watching them go from strangers to hesitant allies and then to something more is a journey that feels surprisingly believable.

What makes this series particularly interesting is how it tackles the emotional complexity of their growing feelings. Both characters are fully aware of the societal taboos surrounding step-sibling romance, and they struggle with it. Their emotions are messy, contradictory, and often repressed. They care deeply for their parents and don’t want to risk disrupting their new family dynamic, leading them to bottle up their feelings or question their validity. This internal conflict adds depth to the characters and makes their connection feel more human and relatable.

Conversely, while the show largely succeeds in handling its central relationship, there are a few missteps. Most notably, the supporting cast often serves as a not-so-subtle nudge toward the inevitable romantic conclusion. In several scenes, characters either directly or indirectly push Yuuta and Saki toward one another, sometimes in an overly obvious or forced manner. This is most egregious during a university open day, where a random teacher psychoanalyzes Saki and spells out her emotional state in a heavy-handed way. It's a clumsy narrative device that detracts from the otherwise subtle progression of the characters’ relationship.

This railroading feels out of place in a show that, for the most part, handles its subject matter with care. While it’s true that in romance media we often expect certain outcomes, the journey from point A to point B is almost a given, the way the story navigates that path is crucial. The moments where the writing feels contrived stand in contrast to the otherwise organic development of Yuuta and Saki’s bond, making these scenes feel jarring.

Despite these occasional stumbles, the anime manages to deliver a fresh take on a premise that often falls into predictability or outright mediocrity. The relationship between Yuuta and Saki is handled with a degree of care and realism that makes the viewer invest in their journey, even if the destination is expected. The awkwardness, tension, and emotional complexity are all palpable, and while the series does fall into some narrative traps, it more than makes up for it with its strong direction and character work.

The final resolution is fitting, there’s no grand, triumphant moment of romance, but rather a quiet, introspective acknowledgment that the road ahead will be difficult. It’s a conclusion that feels true to the tone of the series, emphasizing the uncertain, fragile nature of their relationship. In this way, it offers a refreshing and grounded take on the step-sibling romance genre, making it a surprisingly worthwhile watch for those willing to give it a chance.

This show presents a unique blend of heartfelt family drama and supernatural fantasy, delivering a poignant narrative about redemption, sacrifice, and the bonds between parent and child. The series sets a solid foundation with its intriguing premise, what would happen if you could give your parent a second chance at youth? It's a fresh twist on the familiar theme of familial love, where instead of parents guiding their children into adulthood, Gong Hyo-chan must step up and support his newly rejuvenated mother.

The role reversal adds complexity to the protagonist's character development, which makes his arc very compelling, he starts as an indifferent son who only ... comes to appreciate his mother once it’s almost too late. His decision to sacrifice his life for her is an act of desperation, but as the story unfolds, it transforms into an earnest journey of atonement. His redemption is gradual and believable, as he navigates the college world alongside his youthful mother. While the supernatural element is key to the plot, the heart of the story lies in the exploration of generational relationships, respect for one's parents, and the value of time.

Gong Hyo-chan's mother, Yeon Geum-Ok, despite her youthful appearance, retains the wisdom and compassion of a seasoned parent. This dynamic leads to some endearing moments as she continues to act like a mother, not just to her own son, but to other students, subtly guiding them toward adulthood. It's a refreshing take, as many stories that involve "youthful" parents tend to reduce them to childlike behavior. Here, the mother is steadfast, using her new life to offer guidance rather than seeking frivolous self-indulgence.

Finally, although it is bittersweet, the ending is quite fitting, as it reflects the cycle of parenthood, allowing both characters to close their arcs in a way that reinforces the show's core message about love, family, and moving forward. Overall, Mom, I’m Sorry is a solid, emotionally resonant show that tackles the complexities of family relationships in a supernatural context. It’s at its best when focusing on Gong Hyo-chan’s internal struggles and his relationship with his mother, though it does stumble when it drifts into side plots that dilute the emotional core. Fans of the source material might note that the anime tones down some of the darker elements from the original, likely for broader appeal, but it still captures the heart of the story. If you’re looking for a touching, if occasionally uneven, exploration of family and self-growth, this series delivers.

The anime undeniably delivers on its promise of wholesomeness. For viewers seeking something light-hearted and sweet, it provides plenty of feel-good moments. The awkward, yet endearing interactions between the protagonist and Mina, his robot wife, offer charm, with small touches of humor scattered throughout. The dynamic between them might evoke a cozy feeling, making it a low-stakes, relaxing watch. It’s not aiming for profundity, just sweet, safe, and comforting moments.

However, for those looking for more substance, the show quickly reveals its shallowness. It sidesteps opportunities to explore the complex implications of a human-robot relationship, maintaining a wholesome veneer instead. The show juggles the idea of ... Mina as an individual while keeping her bound by her programming. Any "affection" she displays is tainted by the fact that she is, at her core, an appliance designed to serve.

The relationship feels hollow because Mina simply fulfills her programming to please the protagonist. When he praises her, the narrative frames it as the start of a genuine connection, but it’s just her fulfilling her role. The protagonist isn’t falling for an individual, he’s engaging with a machine that reflects back the emotions he desires. It’s an ongoing feedback loop, with Mina responding to prompts, making the romance feel more like a transaction than a relationship.

This setup could raise questions about whether these AI relationships are inherently wrong, especially if they make the user happy. As technology advances and these relationships become more common, society’s perception might shift. Initially, people may view them with disdain, since real relationships involve mutual growth and individuality. An AI relationship, however, is one-sided, a software as a service product that reinforces the user’s desires and avoids the complexities of human interaction.

Ultimately, this dynamic stunts the protagonist’s emotional growth. His defensive actions toward his robot wife are more about protecting the illusion of the perfect relationship he’s created, not about genuine affection. This leads to emotional stagnation, as the protagonist stays in a self-serving loop where his needs are constantly affirmed without challenge.

The show could have explored the unsettling implications of such relationships in modern society but instead stays content with surface-level feel-good moments. It misses an opportunity to engage with the deeper questions its premise naturally invites. By playing it safe, the show remains inoffensive but forgettable, choosing comfort over complexity.

Shaman King is a battle shonen anime that offers an intriguing premise with its focus on shamans who conjure and wield spirits in combat. While it brings some fresh elements to the genre, it ultimately falls into familiar tropes that will either appeal to or tire out seasoned viewers.

The show’s central concept of shamans and spirits allows for a mix of both physical and mental development. Early on, we do get a more standard physical training arc, however, as the series progresses, it shifts focus towards the psychological growth of its characters. This pivot to the mental and spiritual realms adds a layer of depth ... that’s not always present in other battle shonen, despite it using the rather common theme of overcoming personal limitations and helping friends.

At the heart of the series is the protagonist, Yoh Asakura, whose laid-back attitude sets him apart from the typical shonen lead. Unlike many protagonists who are driven by an insatiable desire to be the best, Yoh’s goal is far more modest, he just wants to live a peaceful, easy-going life. This chill demeanor makes him a refreshing change of pace, although he’s not without resolve when the situation demands it. Yoh’s reluctance to kill and his emphasis on friendship are classic shonen elements, but they’re executed with enough sincerity to avoid feeling overly clichéd.

Speaking of friendship, Shaman King leans heavily into this theme, with Manta serving as a prime example. Despite having no special abilities, Manta’s bond with Yoh is crucial to the story, underscoring the idea that friendship transcends power. This emphasis on connection is a recurring motif in the show, often highlighted in various arcs and character interactions.

However, the series isn’t without its flaws. Characters like Lyserg and the X-Laws, who initially appear to bring depth and conflict to the story, often feel underdeveloped. Their motivations, especially Lyserg’s quest for revenge, tie into the overarching themes of belonging and friendship, but the execution is lacking. The X-Laws, in particular, come across as a concept that never fully realizes its potential, despite their occasional importance to the plot.

Additionally, the show suffers from the inclusion of numerous minor characters who feel like unnecessary padding. While they’re presumably meant to serve as obstacles for the main cast to overcome, many of them add little to the story and could have been cut without much impact on the overall narrative.

On the technical side, the anime’s production values are nothing to write home about. The fight scenes lack fluid animation, with limited movement that often detracts from the excitement. That said, the show does manage to convey emotion effectively, even if the action isn’t as dynamic as one might hope.

In summary, Shaman King brings some interesting ideas to the table with its spiritual themes and emphasis on friendship. Yoh’s laid-back approach to life and the series’ focus on mental growth are commendable, but the anime still falls prey to many of the genre’s standard pitfalls. While it’s a decent watch with some unique aspects, it doesn’t quite elevate itself above the typical shonen fare. Interesting, but ultimately not groundbreaking.

Characters can be the heart and soul of a lot of sports anime, getting to know their motivations, what truly drives them, their journeys, how they got to where they are and how they interact with each other, whether it’s team camaraderie or rivalries against opponents can all be really interesting. That can get tricky with some sports, developing a bunch of compelling rival characters and teams for a tournament can be a tall order, which kind of presents a unique advantage for a seasonal racing format, sure you could probably sneak in a twist of someone losing a seat, but the cast is mostly ... locked in for a good while, which is fertile ground for developing all these aforementioned aspects.

That makes Highspeed Etoile’s writing all the more puzzling, because there's barely any real characters, it's staggering how they decided on such a seasonal format for their competition, and yet don't make any meaningful effort to show or develop any of the actual drivers, think about all the crazy rivalries in motorsports, and they have free reign to do anything they want, yet they chose to do basically nothing? The only real standouts are "King" and "Queen" in front of the pack, however there’s nothing beyond that, nothing about what makes them tick, their motivation, their thoughts, their personalities, well anything really, they're just generic good driver #1 and good driver #2.

This anime is clearly heavily inspired by F1 but instead of making some legally distinct car designs and calling it a day, they went all the way throwing in a bunch of gimmicks which were to its own detriment. The setting is futuristic so we have these spaceship looking monstrosities for cars, AI companions instead of race engineers on the radio which could've made for some banter or commentary on the races, pitting is seemingly automated, and oddly, self-driving cars to pad out the grid, which to be fair aren’t even that different from a lot of the human ones, since neither get any characterization whatsoever.

Worst of all is their DRS substitute, while it isn’t perfect in F1, you could at the very least make compelling arguments about it, the driver behind is able to get some increased speed to seal the deal on an overtake if they were close enough. This anime chooses to just give a crazy super boost to everyone, which renders the other racing bits kind of obsolete and makes the whole strategy focused around them. It’s definitely more flashy, that’s for sure, but more insidious than that, it’s also a tool for the writers to pull anyone they want to the front of the pack for that sweet sweet drama.

And then there’s the main character, which is terribly executed on a lot of fronts. It feels like they wanted a fish out of water type of situation, where it’s someone new getting into the sport and finding out all about the rules, how it works and all that, however the issue is she’s just thrown into the highest and most prestigious level of the sport anyways. She apparently had some training too which makes things even worse when she’s not aware of even the most basic rules of the sport she’s supposed to be competing in, like what a yellow or blue flag is, or that pitting is a thing. It would be like if there was a chess anime and the MC gets into a tourney with the likes of Magnus Carlson and Hikaru Nakamura and in their first match they say something like "uhm, what does the horsey do?" it's that stupid.

To cap things off there's also the generally terrible flow to the racing in each episode, there's no rhyme or reason to things, they show some parts, skip over a bunch of laps, show some other random parts and so on and so forth, this is miserable for the audience because they might as well be watching some random footage of different races, there's no sense of where each driver is, what's the distance between each of them, what they want to accomplish and stuff like that, this also doubles as a "good" thing for the writers since they can just lazily place whatever driver in whatever random place they want for those dramatic scenes. One time they mention there's a 6s gap, is that little or is that a lot? The audience has no frame of reference for these spaceship cars, and it's not like that was followed through anyways, it was quickly forgotten and things returned more or less to what they were with the King and Queen racing almost side by side in the first 2 places and everybody else being irrelevant.

It’s frustrating because that isn’t even necessarily a bad thing, if King and Queen had any personality to speak of their rivalry could be exciting or something to write home about, similarly, F1 has dominant teams and drivers, there’s a lot of material there, maybe it’s about a scrappy team trying to get their footing into the sport, maybe it’s an engineer with a novel solution for their vehicle, maybe it’s a genius driver that’s pushing the car to the very limits, maybe it’s about the tough realities about how funding is distributed in the sport and the bureaucracy behind the scenes, just anything at all really.

The MC also spins out 2 times in her first race, ending up dead last if she weren't disqualified for forgetting the rules, and yet the crazy thing is she manages to recover really quickly and almost overtake from her second spin out, again there's no frame of reference for these things and it feels like the writers will just do whatever they want with the racers and their placements. As much as something like MF Ghost had some super human stuff, that might as well be a documentary comparing how grounded it and Highspeed Etoile are, at the very least in that anime you had a sense of time and place where the drivers were and what they were accomplishing, and no character suddenly spawned in elsewhere because the writers felt like it. Overall I can't say anything other than this is pretty terrible and not worth anybody’s time.

The atmospheric setting of the narrative evokes a blend of metropolitan energy and industrial-era rusticity, with some small steampunk undertones for some vehicles. Set against the backdrop of the industrial revolution, the story unfolds in the labyrinthine tunnels of an underground railway system, teeming with vibrant communities and towns.

Centered around a detective grappling with a perplexing missing persons case, each crime scene is marked by enigmatic symbols, drawing him inexorably into the depths of the underground. Beginning his investigation by infiltrating the notorious Laughing Masks gang, the detective soon discovers that the true perpetrators lurk in the shadows, orchestrating events with sinister intent.

As the plot ... unfolds, the narrative takes a somewhat jarring turn in its final act. The detective's sudden recollection of crucial details regarding the culprits, attributed to a mysterious form of hypnotic suggestion, feels somewhat contrived. Nonetheless, the narrative presses onward as the protagonist accompanied by the enigmatic Tanne, delve deeper into the murky depths of the underground.

Throughout their journey, Tanne, a figure shrouded in mystery, accompanies the detective, hinting at a deeper backstory that remains tantalizingly elusive. However, despite these hints, the narrative fails to fully explore her character, leaving the audience yearning for a deeper understanding of her role in the unfolding events.

While the resolution of the case ultimately feels somewhat lacking in depth, it is evident that the narrative is constrained by the limitations of its runtime, leaving many intriguing threads unresolved. Despite this, the film's richly atmospheric setting and compelling premise ensure an engaging viewing experience, even if the resolution may leave some viewers wanting more.