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Tenguri, the Boy of the Plains could have been just another obscure and forgotten piece of animation from the past...which it kind of is actually, but the value it carries makes this an interesting entry within anime history. It is the result of several intertwining stories, the birth of a culturally and internationally significant studio, and an unbelievable, although indirect, crossover, from two of the most important forces in anime.

During the early 70s, the tumultuous state of Toei Animation and its exploitation of animators, alongside the bankruptcy of Mushi Production, have led many to quit the company and make their own animation studios. Among this ... is one Daikichiro Kusube, who in his second attempt to create an animation studio found Shin-Ei Animation, known today for producing some of Japan’s cultural landmarks in children’s shows, Doraemon and Crayon Shin-chan.

Around the same time, Osamu Tezuka, classic workaholic, was approached by a dairy company to write and direct an animated short promoting their product. However, as Tezuka’s interest in anime waned and as he started to focus more on manga, he was unable to provide the company his assistance, leading the company to end up commissioning the newly-formed Shin-Ei Animation to produce the short following Tezuka’s script.

The company, frustrated by about two years of Tezuka tippy-toeing around the project, gave the studio an insurmountable one-month deadline to finish the short. As a result, this would only be one of the very few instances a burned out Yasuo Otsuka would ever hold the director role, and on future projects with Studio Ghibli, would only take animation-related positions.

For such a short timeframe, however, Tenguri just shows how much talent and craft these animators put into their work. Otsuka’s short is filled with fluidity; just the kind of animation you would nearly expect from a World Masterpiece Theater episode—and the similarities do not stop there. While on the exterior Tenguri has a heavily formulaic premise, taking elements, such as the titular character’s design, after Isao Takahata’s adaptation of Heidi, blended with a blatant advertising message, it is filled to the brim with detail. With the combined efforts of Otsuka, Yoshifumi Kondo, and other in-house A Pro veterans (with the assistance of Hayao Miyazaki in layouts), Tenguri is undoubtedly one of the better shorts that have withstood the test of time. To top it off, the music was composed by Michio Mamiya, notable for his collaborations with Takahata on such projects as Horus, Grave of the Fireflies, and Gauche the Cellist.

Tenguri’s obscurity is understandable—coupled with its strong similarities to Heidi, actual releases of the short’s DVD never really made its way to the English-speaking community until the late 2000s, and even then so few historians have made efforts to bring this short into public consciousness. I hope that this review might somewhat aid in the wider knowledge of this short, that carries a much deeper, more interesting story behind its commercial underpinnings.

Sources:
http://www.pelleas.net/aniTOP/index.php/a_production
http://www.onlineghibli.com/tavern/thread.php?boardid=4&threadid=589&page=1
http://ghiblicon.blogspot.com/2007/12/tenguri-boy-of-plains-lost-miyazaki.html
The Art of Osamu Tezuka: God of Manga by Helen McCarthy

Even at the twilight of his life and career, the legendary mangaka Osamu Tezuka continued to busy himself with several circulating manga publications, as well as dabbling in animation as a hobby. In fact, there have been accounts of him going out of his way to fund projects with money from his own pocket. One of those instances is with Jumping, Tezuka’s entry for the 1984 Animafest Zagreb, a prestigious animated film festival organized by the International Animated Film Association or ASIFA.

Back in 1981, Tezuka enlisted the help of animator Junji Kobayashi, who famously worked on the ambitious animated cityscape scene in Hi no Tori ... 2772, also a film by Tezuka. Jumping is envisioned to be a grand expansion of that scene—a continuous, fluid short of a child who jumps, jumps, and jumps until he reaches clouds, skyscrapers, forests, and inhumanly unreachable areas, while subtly infusing outlooks on society represented by quick shots of the environments he jumps to. With limited technology, Kobayashi had to think out of the box to be able to acquire reference shots for the short. Unlike Hi no Tori 2772 where he and the animation staff were able to create a model of the futuristic city within the Tezuka Pro office hallway, the sheer scale of Tezuka’s storyboard had led to him hopping on similar roads to imitate the movement, as well as riding on a Cessna plane to take the aerial shots necessary. The result was a six-minute visual wonder consisting of approximately 4,000 cuts (!) made over the course of a two-and-a-half-year long production period.

While admittedly not consistently fluid (and at times possibly nauseating), the formidable scope within this short, as well as the fact that this work is produced without any reliance on CGI, is nothing short of inspiring. Within a short amount of time Tezuka crams in as much visual information as possible through each jump, not being overbearing on its gradual shift to disturbing imagery while imbuing in as much meaning as he can. Unsurprisingly, Tezuka would go on and win the Zagreb award, in fact being the first Japanese to ever do so (and the only one alongside Koji Yamamura to win it to this day).

Jumping is possibly one of Tezuka’s most nuanced and definitive works. Kobayashi, of course, also deserves recognition for undertaking in this monumental project. This film is one of the many testaments that display the man’s infectious passion for the medium that continues to be felt within the industry beyond his death.

Cigarette Girl is an anthology of short stories from the late Masahiko Matsumoto (1934-2005), whose name is painfully obscure even within the gekiga movement, an influential time period in manga history that pushed forward a huge variety of artistic techniques. From cinematic, adult-oriented realist narratives which are the bulk of Yoshihiro Tatsumi’s oeuvre to avant-garde surrealistic film/music-mishmash expressions a la Seiichi Hayashi’s Sekishoku Elegy, the gekiga movement sought to go beyond the Disney-inspired creations of Osamu Tezuka which were primarily aimed to a younger audience. Yet despite this rise of ‘alternative comics’, Matsumoto was considered a unique, and sadly, overlooked artist within his peers, and ... ultimately within the canon of manga.

Inspired by the films of the world-renowned Yasujiro Ozu, Matsumoto illustrates bite-sized panels reminiscent of the trademark ‘pillow shots’ often seen in the director’s work, as well as the short, mundane exploits of the everyday Japanese urban person—which work in contrast to the dark and edgy themes of his contemporaries. Unlike the 1970s trend of tragic, Japanese New Wave-inspired dramas reflecting the struggles of young adults, Matsumoto portrays a more nuanced and grounded side of society, telling seemingly insignificant vignettes of the average 4.5-tatami room tenant, whether it be a man’s woos for the woman in the cigarette store, the interactions of a condom-selling lady with her customers, or an office worker’s romantic struggles represented by the red high-heels she borrowed from the shoe repair store.

As such, it is not hard to realize why Matsumoto was unappreciated during his time. Amid the revolution of manga’s cultural landscape of conflict-driven protagonists, Matsumoto himself remained faithful to his style, and even differentiated from the term ‘gekiga’ (dramatic pictures), calling his output komaga (panel pictures). It is also unfortunate that, at the time of this writing, Matsumoto and his work remains largely ignored by the English-speaking community, despite the global attention given to his colleague and rival Tatsumi, who also leads the foreword of this anthology.

In his foreword, Tatsumi recalls:

“What Matsumoto had was the ability to use a subtly humorous naiveté, especially in the drawing of genial average people’s lives, to bring out their charm. Looking back over Matsumoto’s work again after thirty years, the pathos of the man at the time of publication comes through bright and clear.” (November 2010)

Matsumoto may have been forgotten, but the essence and timelessness of his themes remain resonant. The lighthearted and subtly comedic approach of his work makes an interesting outlier within gekiga, and in many ways it might have been the progenitor of the contemporary slice-of-life we have gotten to know. I would personally recommend this to readers interested in the history of manga, but other people looking for something different might also find some value out of it.

Think of your first romance anime. Or your first romance manga—anything of the sort. Then throw it all away.

Cliches are a recurrent element in stories—and the thing is, you will never be able to get rid of them. They are cliches for a reason, and their existence proves to be essential in composing a story. Most writers and enthusiasts of literature believe that there is no thing such as originality; everything exists from being based off of something, with just some modifications to make it stand out from the rest.

Of course, it is fairly common to see overused tropes in the like in a subculture ... as wealthy as the anime culture—which is the embodiment of Japanese animation and the counterpart to Western graphic novels we encounter today. Content creators are always expected to bring something fresh to the field, so as to not drown in the deep ocean riddled with gimmicks and twists to the usual elements of a story. It has become so that gimmicks are the only things that the norm, and people aren't expecting as much as a good story anymore.

But what if you go back to the basics?—keeping that heartwarming feeling and simplistic vibe of a typical romantic comedy?

Tsurezure Children originated as a web manga in Pixiv by an artist known as Wakabayashi Toshiya, and it consists of several short stories consisting of a boy and a girl—and the gradual buildup to their romances. It is filled with all your usual character archetypes; you have the couple that are too shy to admit their feelings to each other, you have the clingy childhood friend who is also part yandere, you have the senpai and the kouhai, the couple who feels that their love is unrequited—any of the sort, within several 4-koma strips that result in a form of plot progression or character development between them.

To be honest, Tsurezure Children is nothing new—but isn't trying to be one, either. The series works itself as a big tribute to the celebrated and most successful tropes in terms of characters, settings, and plot progression, placing them in true-to-life scenarios mixed with a prolonging and subtle twist mirroring that of misunderstandings—the defining trait of a romance manga.

From my perspective, Tsurezure Children is a reflection of the ideal high school life—moreso the high school that you always see as the typical setting in an anime or a manga. It stands as a reflection of my nostalgia from my early days of watching the rom-com slice-of-life stories you see on TV, gently pulling my heartstrings with moments that invoke positive and warm emotions.

Ah, the innocence of youth! This series would be an escapist work in its prime—celebrating on the joys of scenarios to dream of and characters to love with.

Think of your first romance anime. Or your first romance manga—anything of the sort. Then throw it all away.

And relive the experience all over again.

One of the things that makes Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou a beautiful piece of work is how Hitoshi Ashinano meticulously draws the minimalistic lines that visualize a post-apocalyptic world slowly coming to a silent state of peace. Despite how effortless it may look with the natural flow of curvy lines his pen traces, you could very well see the thought put into every bit of detail within a single panel or illustration. The second OVA, Quiet Country Cafe, may not have consideration of how important these factors are into exhibiting the transient effect of the manga, and the end result is something that falls below average ... than what the source material has much to offer.

Being two episodes adapting several chapters from the manga, it aims to have a theme about Alpha temporarily leaving the cafe after it being swept up by a large typhoon, albeit the other chapters that were adapted doesn’t really bear any connection to this beginning-and-end motif. The Misago even appears briefly with regards to a segment adapting Takahiro’s perspective, yet with no relevance whatsoever. In this mishmash of random chapters being adapted it sadly takes away the fact that no matter how slow or lacking in story YKK is, it has a clear direction with each chapter meant to complement the other, yet standalone in its own right. It may have to do with this OVA consisting of simply 2 episodes, but the previous OVA also had the same amount but is structured and executed better according to its themes—a presentation of what Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou is. Quiet Country Cafe lacks none of these, making up a messy, out-of-context set of stories.

With a watercolor palette, the background art of Quiet Country Cafe is remarkable, blending well with the relaxing atmosphere accompanied by the Choro Club’s very playful pieces. The distinctiveness of the music plus the softly-colored set pieces within this OVA may as well be an unforgettable combination of audiovisual stimulation...if not for the lacking animation direction and jarring character models. Ashinano’s character designs, specifically his female protagonists definitely live by curvy—from the body to the face to the eyes—but the OVA takes it too far. Alpha looks like a blob, with neon green hair that is not even remotely close to her manga shade of green. In addition, the animation goes for some sneaky fanservice shots here and there, which would be fine in a normal anime, but this is supposed to be Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou—a work void with these elements. It takes away the wistfulness of the passage of time and distracts you with primal instincts. I do not discredit fanservice, but there are times when something needs to be put in its place, and it absolutely does not belong here.

The true saving grace of this OVA lies in its soundtrack—as mentioned, with the Choro Club’s anime debut, their rendition of Cafe Alpha and several entries to mix along with the environment establishes the atmospheric mood it’s aiming for. It may be arguable on which of the two soundtracks between the first and second OVA stands out, but it’s undeniable how both have contributed to the simple and laid-back feel in the animation. As for personal preference, Choro Club’s depiction of Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou sounds a bit too similar to their work in the Aria series, which is why comparisons between two iyashikei works abound more. Another thing worth praising about Quiet Country Cafe is Hekiru Shiina’s reprisal of Alpha, which I believe did a fantastic job of portraying her—cheerful, yet also composed. Much of the voice cast did their characters some justice, although not to the same level Shiina has managed to justify Alpha.

Quiet Country Cafe may not be a wholesome successor to the first OVA, but in its portrayal of what composes the source material is remarkable. There may not be much to gain from this series in terms of technical and artistic prowess, but if you love the manga, it is more than enough reason to give it a try.

It’s naughty, it’s raunchy, it’s punchline-heavy...Seitokai Yakuindomo is back, and now on the big screen.

One thing someone has to get used to when reading or watching a gag series is that you can and shall never expect any sort of character progress. Each character serves as an archetype in this joking system, and what only matters is how different the punchline or the delivery of the joke is every time. In the style of comedy of a franchise like Seitokai Yakuindomo, one character can only deliver a sex joke one too many times—which is why this show has a wide range of characters with different ... perks that make it entertaining no matter how predictable it gets.

Don’t think of the movie as any large-scale side story or expansion to SYD. In fact, it’s safer to think of it as an extension of the Season 2 OVAs, as each segment is even titled according to the episode number order of the series. As such, gags are presented just like the show, which makes this a 2-episode special more than anything.

You could have qualms or complaints on how the movie is still in its episodic format, but the truth is it’s not really as relevant to properly addressing the one criticism the film lacks over its predecessors.

Characters, as mentioned, are driving forces of a gag-filled comedy like SYD. Without the diversity of its characters, it can get old pretty quick, and this is exactly what happens through the rest of the film. Screen times for the supporting characters beyond the student council breath new life into the past two seasons, and lessening their involvement in this film hampers the impact of what would’ve been a harmless fun time. There’s not enough Dejima, Uomi, Hata—all of these prominent characters lack enough involvement in the film, effectively limiting the variety of the film.

While on technical standpoints both animation and sound get nice upgrades, to the point that there is a fourth-wall break about the nice surround sound the film has over the TV series, and the creativeness of visual comedy the film takes to assert its bigger budget, they’re sadly nothing to write home about, and even more does it lack the ability to boost enjoyment over the film’s inferior one-sided humor.

Personally, even though I don’t consider SYD Movie as the worst experience I’ve had with the franchise, I also feel that it’s the weakest entry it has ever had. With a lack of comedic variety through its memorable characters, the film remains nothing more but a dump of lackluster sex jokes and a waste of fanservice potential.

Let’s get straight to the point.

This film is not for everyone. Not because of the violence, blood and gore one may expect, but because this is not the right place to start if you have just started getting into the Fate franchise.

The context of this review serves as an overview to anyone who has watched previous works within the Fate series and therefore may address some spoilers for beginning watchers. As such, it is not recommended to read this review if you believe you do not have a proper grasp of the franchise’s world-building, lore, and other elements.

Heaven’s Feel, the third route to the 2004 ... visual novel Fate/stay night—a catalyst to the gargantuan moneymaking franchise it is for Type-Moon now—acts as a culminating story built up from several hours of background knowledge one has experienced from the previous routes, and even its prequel, Fate/Zero. The film disregards any sort of exposition and cuts right to the chase, which may be overwhelming for the beginner, and may even be for the experienced.

The first in a trilogy, Presage Flower tells us from the get-go what it hopes to accomplish in this story—skipping the lengthy introduction of knowing the characters into a larger focus on two factors that were overshadowed in the previous routes: Sakura Matou, sister of the obnoxious Shinji, and the very nature of the Holy Grail War itself, a thing that was often hinted and shown at in previous installments but never fully explored until now. Action comes second as revelations become unraveled, and emphasis is placed more on silent, mood-heavy scenes that divert from the usual cheery highschool in-betweens of Unlimited Blade Works and Fate. Little to no comedy exists, and each scene serves a purpose to meticulously bring the story into progression.

The impressive thing about Heaven’s Feel is it serves as an ultimate story to everyone who has read or watched about the previous routes, and then rewards them with twists and turns that break expectations, putting up such a strong contrast that tells a whole new side to the world of Fate. Watching Fate/Zero may outline the surprises it has, but regardless has enough steam to maintain its slow, mysterious atmosphere to keep the audience second-guessing. It addresses the viewers by properly handling its themes, and this mature way of execution is worth the merit.

Another reason to not watch Heaven’s Feel early is the chance to miss out on the context behind the characters that get this film running. As Shirou Emiya’s reckless hero-of-justice principle gets dissected in the Fate and UBW routes, Heaven’s Feel is where it starts to formally address his philosophy—a legacy left by Kiritsugu Emiya, and brings it into conflict in accordance to the events that transpire in this film. However, as the pace is slowly laid out, there was not an actual chance to have this conflict be brought into light, and like much of the entire film, only serves as an introduction to how it differs as a story—and why you should care about it.

The route’s lead heroine, Sakura, actually gets little involvement for the rest of the film, but it hints how she will have a major role to play later on. Other characters mostly serve as agents to move the plot forward, with the early interventions of Kirei Kotomine and Zouken Matou into the story offer a glimpse of what is to come—and it does come, with the climax of the film involving an important character’s fate.

By the outside, Presage Flower may have weak characterization, but much like the pace of the plot, should not be treated as the end of all judgment.

Of course, Heaven’s Feel brings out the forte studio Ufotable possesses. As much as action is treated with less importance, the studio does not falter at providing yet another visual spectacle nonetheless. While there still exists a bit of an exaggeration in the “superhuman speed” of the Servant fight scenes wants to portray, the way that they are laid out sequentially over the course of the film gives the viewers the ability to take a breather before being treated with an exhilarating clash of weapons and magic. It may not be on the same level of depth as Fate/Zero’s mental chess games, it is still better handled than how scattered UBW was with its inherent abuse of fast-forwarding, somewhat mindless choreography and constant camera movements.

With Yuki Kajiura as the lead composer, one would expect choral tracks would permeate the film and every moment would be infused with them. Surprisingly enough, and as aforementioned, the film takes its time more before delivering the suspense-filled pieces and probably had the most silent scenes more than any other Fate entry. Music is used sparingly, but stood out well enough in the times they were used, making a good complement for the scenes. Sound effects and the voice acting retain the consistency of previous installments, so there isn’t anything to virtually comment about it.

There are several aspects to which the pace and presentation could’ve gotten better, but for encompassing several hours of visual novel gameplay into three 2-hour long films, Presage Flower is a mature and worthy sequel for its predecessors—not only to Fate/Zero, but to Fate and UBW as well.

Being part of a franchise in this manner is a double-edged sword. There are ways that this situation can execute a story trimmed of all fat, however at the same time it can alienate the audience with what significant regard for context it has. Heaven’s Feel: Presage Flower is not the gateway into the series, but a delightful reward for the ones who have given their time into Type-Moon’s lore-heavy and immersive world.

The term “slice-of-life” is used to refer to a genre consisting of mundane, day-in-the-life events of characters and the environment they are within. As often as it is used in the anime and manga community, the term and the genre itself rarely leaves beyond its boundaries, making anime and manga such a unique experience. But what exactly, is slice-of-life? What are the standards to be had to properly define it as such?

Everyone would have different interpretations of what a definite grasp on what the genre means, but for me, I believe a proper definition is accurately expressed by Hitoshi Ashinano, an artist renowned for Yokohama ... Kaidashi Kikou. With his careful and minimalistic detail of elements within the foreground and background, drawn in a manner that urges the reader’s internal desire of movement to fill in the lines he traces, Ashinano’s talent to immerse the spectator in such a static medium is unwavering and praiseworthy.

With these ideas in mind, Ashinano’s PositioN may not be on the same caliber as YKK, or as detailed as any of his recent works like Kabu no Isaki or Kotonoba Drive (of which is a loose sequel to this one), it remains a solid entry in his soothing collection. Of all his works, PositioN may be considered the one with the most common setting—vignettes of people’s experiences with the supernatural and the unexplained, usual interactions with friends, and finding special things from leisurely strolls in the road.

There would be no other mangaka to properly define “simple” than Ashinano. And in PositioN, his most “simple” work may this trait be fully seen. Slice-of-life relies not on the grand scale of things, but in minute but significant interactions in our days that may seem simple, but makes life much more special.

PositioN is a fairly short manga due to being canceled, consisting of only 7 chapters, but it is more than worthy for your attention.

The Palme d'Or is one of the most prestigious awards in the world of film, coming from the highly respected Cannes Film Festival. For a film to get nominated for the prize is in and of itself a great merit that deserves praise. Within the few of several animated films that bring about a huge influential force within the industry and art itself, there's only been one Japanese animated film that was ever nominated for the said award.

Regarded as even more dense and rich in philosophical detail than its predecessor, Mamoru Oshii's follow-up to the widely successful Ghost in the Shell, Innocence, is a visual ... feast of intricate design and narrative. With a nine-year difference between the two films, it could be said that Innocence was a highly anticipated sequel. Yet with as much consensual praise it garners from film critics, on top of it a coveted Palme d'Or nomination, what exactly makes this film any different from your above-average anime?

In the same ways, it delivers like the first film, with Oshii's slow but methodical approach in setting scenes to build up suspense and evoking a rising curiosity to the viewers. Ghost in the Shell 1995 exemplifies scenes like the long, calming pause before the conflict arises, or the climactic chase scene with the Puppetmaster to emphasize the Major's internal existential crisis. This way, the slow-burner aspect of the film is justified as it allows the viewers to immerse into Kusanagi's thoughts as a human-slash-cyborg.

This film delivers none of those.

The snail pace of Innocence isn't really something that is as appealing as the first film's, and as a matter of fact it hinders the possibility of giving the film progress. Imagery...and long, establishing shots that take 30 seconds onwards without giving proper character conflict makes this time for the viewers to ponder completely baseless. The film does not allow us to relate or get into Batou's mindset, nor does the meandering moments help. It's something that makes the visuals and the narrative so out-of-sync it becomes flat-out boring.

The first half fails to captivate the audience with the "suspense" it should contain, and I couldn't really immerse myself into the film when all I see is Batou feeding his dog. The plot itself isn't bad—a string of murders by sex robots occur, but a particular one leaves a message that falls under Section 9's prying eyes. But if this two-hour film was a mini-series divided into two episodes, most would have dropped it after watching the first one. It drags on needlessly and unnecessarily, and only a few interesting moments happen. Not to mention the innumerable quotations from other forms of literature that makes me wonder if Oshii was writing a script or a reference list.

The story only really starts to kick in by the second half of the film, where we get into a convoluted but intriguing hacking sequence and from then onwards becomes a thrilling action-packed final act balanced with excitement and the same feeling that made the '95 film so interesting.

Whereas the story failed in execution but had enough steam to keep it going, the character aspect of the story had less appeal but were delivered well enough. Batou comes across as a ruthless character that the viewers would have a hard time relating to while Togusa sets a foil, becoming his voice of reason. We also see how these characters react as the intensity of the plot builds up, but it honestly doesn't have the approach GitS (1995) nailed with Kusanagi's unique characterization.

More or less, Kenji Kawai's helm in Innocence's soundtrack remains the same, although it becomes much less as a topic of discussion, just like the first film. It doesn't overpower, but it doesn't do anything to stand out as well. On the other hand, the sound effects and the voice acting remain one of Ghost in the Shell's strong assets.

CG animation, for the most part, does not blend well with anime—especially in a time like 2004. However, Innocence makes it all look natural, and its aesthetic (yet baseless) sequences help complement the otherworldly feeling the film's story and theme addresses. Whether it compares to the first film or not is up for debate, but in my opinion the animation utilized for Innocence and GitS 1995 are apples and oranges.

The Ghost in the Shell film series remains an overrated part of anime, both inside and outside the community. Don't get me wrong, I'm not stripping them of its merits—what GitS has done remains a groundbreaking move for anime cyberpunk. However, it is not without its flaws, and is nowhere near perfect. What is considered as a thought-provoking, introspective and philosophical form of visual art lauded by many is surprisingly straightforward, and doesn't really have that many meta-narrative interpretations that can be attached to it. Does it deserve the Palme d'Or nomination? Maybe so, but I'd like to think Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence just happened to be there, and if I was given the chance to pick another animated film that best represents the medium in terms of style and substance, I would.

[DISCLAIMER] As I want to get all my points across, as well as bring this show the justice it deserves, the following review is a lengthily-detailed breakdown of every factor ranging from the story to the overall experience. You may look for other reviews to find a more concise criticism of the show.

Introduction

When we usually talk about things we truly love, it becomes hard to explain why. Most people would not understand the appeal one would get from something—this is especially hard when trying to relay why your favorite book is your favorite book, or why your favorite film is your favorite film.

In cases, the ... often reasons for this are because one, we might sound too forceful and biased, and two, we feel that our recommendations are not doing our experiences with the said medium any justice. As such, it becomes difficult for a person to talk about his favorite without trying to sound illogical. This is hard for someone looking for a more grounded response.

This review may contain any form of bias, but I will try my best to address the criticisms one may find with this show, and offer my own insights with regards to it, and why it may be irrelevant to my own judgment. Ladies and gentlemen, I offer you a heartfelt review of my favorite anime, Aria the Origination.

Whenever someone hears the name "Aria" thrown around in the anime community, it is often referred to by many as the "healing anime". Along with the likes of Mushi-shi and Kino's Journey, it is a type of show one would usually mention as an atmospheric series—to say, a show that relies on its execution of audiovisual stimulations to produce an effect of serenity and immersion into the world it's trying to present. It may rely more on enveloping the viewers with its artistic presentation rather than plot progression.

True enough to what people claim it is, Aria is a franchise that needs some patience getting into, which can lead to either one of two things: 1) You feel like you belong with the show, or you become attached to it, or 2) You get bored. Atmospheric anime, after all, take its 20-minute episode runtime to dive in with intentionally slow pacing, allowing the audience to let its philosophy or environment sink in. Of course, this would not pose true for others, who may have a different preference for how things should be presented.

Despite that, I can still say with courage that everyone should still watch Aria. Whatever one person may gain out of it, the series still provides lot of ground for one to get immersed or be appreciative of, whether it may be the story, its characters, its world, or its music.

Story and Characters

"Lots of things change with the flow of time."

With 13 episodes, Aria the Origination is the third and final season to the Aria franchise. Three aspiring girls—Akari Mizunashi, Aika Granzchesta, and Alice Carroll strive forward to reach their dreams of being Prima Undines, the highest-ranking tour guides in the gondola services of Neo-Venezia, an exact replica of Earth's Venice situated in the planet of Aqua, or Mars as it was once called.

While the first episodes of the series are episodic and are self-contained tales—again, attributing to its slow and atmospheric nature, Origination retains the mood and flow of its predecessors but handles it with rising intensity with each succeeding episodes. How Animation, the first season, and Natural, the second, were trying to attain that execution, often resulting in an assortment of hit-and-miss episodes, Origination does not. It finally finds its footing and rids of its usually subtle approach to a more well-handled presentation.

However, it does take a considerably inferior beginning, in which the first three episodes can fit in any prior season. Although, after those three episodes, Origination brings new situations and scenarios that provide a refreshing perspective both on the world and its characters. Certain characters get the time to interact with one another in ways unexpected, and it connotes how the cast has developed with time in their own little manners through other characters. It pays a large amount of thankfulness to its previous seasons, and significantly builds on what it began. What follows is a majestic conclusion that makes the story go hand-in-hand with the resolution of the Undines' individual stories.

How Origination works in contrast to the first two seasons is the way it is generally built out. From the beginning up until the end, it reveals a planned direction it's going to take, and as such intertwines these individual tales as essential to the show's overall picture. A major theme that can be recognized from the series is the concept of change—and while it is natural that a story must eventually end, Origination takes the viewers into the eyes of its characters to emphasize how significant this impending change is. Gone will be the days that we see the girls bonding through practice, and the same also poses true for the Undines as they all step forward to face a new tomorrow. This is nothing short of compelling and remarkable, as the use of Aria's episodic strengths into a sequential structure amplifies its impact.

"But there are things that never change."

Along with its fresh take on Neo-Venezia, the show prepares to wrap up its story by presenting the final steps the beloved Undines need to face, both in the physical and the emotional sense, as well as expanding and solidifying the relationships they have with their mentors. Every supporting character also gets their fair share of screen time, with great stories surrounding Akatsuki and Al, along with reappearances of characters such as the mailman and Caffe Florian's owner.

Aika reveals a much more realistic side of her, portraying her doubts and fears as the trio's most work-oriented person. While noticeably her focus is relegated to a background character for most of the show, the episodes that do focus on her make up for its well-written setup. Like how Akari affects the people around her, Aika gets her development through her impact with other characters, most especially with Akira. Natural had already done its piece in fleshing out Aika, which may have reduced the necessity to explore her character even further. This series simply leads her into an epilogue as the heir to Himeya.

Meanwhile, Alice's large involvement this time around is monumental not only for the people around her but also for her maturity. Some of the best moments in Origination arguably belong to her, and it surmounts to a satisfying resolution with her initially antisocial demeanor. Bits revolving around Athena's character also show how the two are actually similar, and builds up to a very emotional climax that cements their relationship and solidifies Alice's overall development.

There are many things to be said about Akari's character, but the most subtle yet significant revelation about her is how she actually stands out as an Undine. Aria has always focused on Akari's adventures of the rustic and mystic Neo-Venezia, and thus veered away from depicting her skills as a gondolier. Origination brings her efforts into light, and proves how she is ready to take on the reins of being a Prima.

Another thing to point out about her is the further emphasis of her relationship with Alicia. As the final episode of Natural and the succeeding OVA Arietta sows the seeds through moments where they bond together, it is in Origination where this dynamic between them really blooms—portraying through its scenes how both are influential to one another. Through this, Alicia unravels as a more humane character, as opposed to how the trio perceives her as an unreachable being of perfection.

With the whole theme of Origination revolving around change, Akari, as the audiences' eyes through Aqua, becomes the most affected person within the environment around her. Cheerful and always upbeat, her reaction to these life-changing events pose an internal conflict within her. While she always sees change within the world of Aqua, she has never had the experience to encounter it firsthand—and the way she responds to it shows her strength, and a huge leap for her character to welcome the future that awaits her. In a sense, Origination serves as a journey to hone her as an Undine, one that truly symbolizes the loving and caring welcome of Aqua.

"Things that are precious because they change, and things that are precious because they don't change...both are precious.

"Don't you feel the same?"

Sound

Origination starts off with another beautiful and calming piece through Yui Makino's "Spirale," setting the tone of this final chapter to the world of Aria. Where Aria the Animation's OP immerses you into the world and Aria the Natural encouraging you to join in its rustic beauty, Aria the Origination's opening song reaches out to you in a nostalgic way. Containing this balance of serene and upbeat elements, it plays in an oxymoronic manner of cheerful and melancholic, much like a prelude to a happy farewell. The ending song, "Kin no Nami Sen no Nami" by Akino Arai seems to go along with this theme as well, although with a feeling that is more on looking forward to the future—again, a significant motif in Origination. Despite its departure from the usually calming song equal to that of its OP, it still finds a place to exist within Origination's somber themes, even though it may not fit entirely with Aria's atmosphere.

While it is already undeniable that Aria has great music, it never stopped getting better, and Origination raises the bar with new piano pieces to go along with the original soundtrack. Where Origination stands out against its predecessors is in its well-handled approach to music, never exceeding its use of both instrumental and lyrical pieces. The inserts never seemed off, and everything suited each scene at a most impressive tone.

Two new important tracks cement Aria the Origination as a stroke of genius. Ryou Hirohashi's wonderfully haunting "Lumis Eterne" amplifies the climactic scene of Episode 9, evoking a cathartic feeling of tearful bliss and satisfaction. Poetic and symbolic of Alice's character progression throughout the series, this song, much like any other track in Aria's score, acquires its own personality. The other song, "Yokogao," which played in the final episode of the show, is another piece sung by Yui Makino that perfectly captures the essence of Alicia and Akari's relationship, as well as their personal connection to the utopia that is Aqua. While being one of the few melancholic songs in Aria's music, it is still a sublime fit to the scene at hand and Aria's positive and emotional soundtrack.

It is also safe to say that the voice actors do not falter in their side of the job as well, and their takes on the Undines in their most emotional moments are nothing but amazing. Chiwa Saito handles Aika's different emotions with good comedic awareness, along with standout scenes of her serious and melancholic demeanor. Ryou Hirohashi's "dekkai" performance-desu of Alice's childish nature is taken in a much more playful way, and her acting is one of the main reasons why Alice had dominated some of the episodes. Erino Hazuki once again lends her voice to the ever-wonderful Akari, and a lot of her contributions to the character from the "Hahi"s to the "Ehh"s make her as the only fitting person for Akari's role.

Aside from the main trio, the Three Great Water Fairies Alicia, Akira, and Athena are also reprised by Sayaka Ohara, Junko Minagawa, and Tomoko Kawakami, respectively. While already generally praised for their roles, moments in Origination where these characters are set up in dramatic scenes with their juniors further emphasize their great performances.

Art and Animation

With the transfer from 4:3 to 16:9 beginning from Arietta, the world of Aqua has become wider and immersive than ever. Hal Film Maker continues to work its wonders with stellar and faithful backgrounds mirroring that of real-life Venice. The background department shines with their striking, hand-painted scenery that encapsulates the nearly-ethereal beauty of Aqua, rivaling that of Kozue Amano's original illustrations. Of course, with the series mainly being set in Neo-Venezia—with the exception of an episode that takes place in Neo-Burano Island, set pieces are often used consistently and with less diversity from Natural. It's not to say that they slacked on it, though, as the depiction of the places are not only accurate but also highly detailed improvements to Animation and Natural's already captivating backdrops.

Aside from the major boost in Aqua's scenery, it is also fairly evident how the studio keeps a keen eye for the characters, with small but noticeable changes to their designs. Along with that, Origination feels livelier than other installments, having more motion with its frames and very, very elaborate facial animations in the show's critical moments. The comedic expressions remain a staple of the show, and still carry the bulk of Aria's funniest instances.

This element is not perfect, however, as a 2008 series would somewhat opt to add in CGI to save budget costs. For the most part, the CG in Aria is beautiful and does not really hinder immersion, but there were moments in Origination that it goes beyond using CG water and appears in other elements. Granted, they only appear for two noticeable scenes throughout the show, but these parts were very jarring and could very well be a valid criticism to its animation. Nonetheless, this does not summarize the entirety of the animation, as Origination continues the synchronous blend it has with the soundtrack, initiating a visual and audial experience unlike any.

Criticisms

Wrapping up a series is difficult. While Aria ends in quite possibly the best conclusion possible—and quite frankly, one of the best in anime, there are a lot of things to be pointed at that could have made it a bit more fulfilling.

Character balancing, for example, was noticeably more unbalanced in Origination compared to the first two seasons. While the first season focuses mostly on Akari—as it should, since it's an introduction, the second season diversifies the tales to give the other characters significant depth that they didn't have. It handles every character equally, with the inclusion of the side characters that added more color to the daily adventures in Aqua. Origination tries to shift this focus onto the main trio only, but even in this department it is considerably affected. As aforementioned, Aika does not get as much screen time as she deserves, and while episodes about her are some of the best Aria has to offer, it pales in comparison to the amount of treatment she got in Natural. More importantly, Aika is not the only one to suffer this issue, but to the show's actual protagonist as well. While the last episodes do bring Akari back into the spotlight, the middle part of the show is obviously oriented at Alice, as if the show itself is hinting what is to come for her. It is still a good buildup, and is not necessarily a bad part of the show, as she is underplayed for most of the first two seasons. However, it does betray the point of Origination being a final chapter for all three of them, and it could possibly hamper enjoyment for people expecting a well-rotated character storyline like Natural.

Another important aspect not addressed by Origination was Cait Sith and the mystical side of Aqua. Natural was all about exploring Aqua and building up its characters at the same time, with the introduction of its spirit guardian. It seemed to emphasize that we will see more of Cait Sith's involvement in the story, although it did not turn out to be the case. Origination completely drifted from its magical elements in sacrifice for a character-oriented story which aimed to bring an ending to them rather than to the world.

It could also be said that Origination's subtle but important tone shift to put the cast in situations that are much more emotionally testing than its previous iterations. In service of a plot-driven series, after all, is the necessity for conflict to arise. Yet, to bring up a counterpoint, the drama that stirs from Origination can be felt only if you have found the attachment to the characters. When looked at superficially, the conflicts that are brought up in Origination can barely qualify as drama—and even though the themes may still be somewhat deviant from what the first two seasons offered, they still run under the overall concept of optimism and hopefulness.

With only 13 episodes to end the story, it's honestly surprising that Origination manages to hold out and fill in every aspect it could accomplish in Aria's quite vast world. Not only that, but it ties every loose end about the characters in a very satisfying manner that one can easily overlook its flaws, and indulge in Origination's well-toned balance of drama and the same-old Aria viewers had come to know and love.

Enjoyment and Conclusion

Origination is one of the rare examples of shows that manages to trump expectations from its prequels. What I believed to be Aria's peak in Arietta immediately got dispelled by how Origination mastered its presentation. Other than that, there are few series that get to end on a high note, and this entry to the story of Aqua and its Undines manages to bring its characters into a full circle, despite its hardly noticeable hiccups.

Aria has always been atmospheric, and it pretty much takes the cake as one of the best that handles atmosphere overall, but Origination is the cherry on top, being a conclusion to its well-rounded cast of lovable people. It allows us to appreciate more of the mundane, while also revealing the bigger picture of life.

Some would say that Aria is as saccharine as it can get with its themes, though I would beg to differ. While the franchise certainly is a defining example of things never going wrong, Origination, as it is aptly named, brings us to the beginning of all this happiness—happiness, that you may think is merely blind optimism, but one actually rooted in reality.

It is an enjoyable show—cathartic and introspective. When approaching this, one may need to put aside everything within their to-do list, and the time to be alone when watching it. It might seem like a bother, but investing yourself into it is one of the best payoffs one could ever have. Emotionally charged yet void of melancholy, Aria the Origination can easily bring anyone to tears with its innocent and caressive approach.

Seagulls fly into the sky as the fresh wind coming from the sea dances through your hair. The campanile tolls its bell, echoing throughout this city of stories. Neo-Venezia is a place filled with wonders and history, and one can easily get lost in the countless experiences you could have. Yet fear not, as someone is always there for you. People of different places and of different journeys, cross paths in this place of miracles.

Aqua may seem like an unattainable dream—a place of mere escapism. However, as long as someone welcomes anything before them, whether good, whether bad, like how Akari welcomed Aqua, and how Aqua welcomed her back, there will always exist a Neo-Venezia deep within our hearts.

Simply put, Aria is a masterpiece—the quintessential slice-of-life show. Rife with characters and stories that are intertwined in this euphoric utopia, Origination brings all of these great moments together, and reaches out to us playfully. Definitively, it is a one-of-a-kind experience you could not afford to miss.