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Sousou no Frieren’s prowess lies less in reimagination and more in the reinforcement of the genre, where the writing doesn’t need to be daring as its sincerity and memorability aptly nourish the core motifs. Its fantasy setting is of the most rudimentary form, following a casual party on their straightforward journey, but it transforms its world into a profoundly personalized landscape of remembrance. Time itself plays a role in characterizing the cast as well as the world, and the complementary nature of the past and present evokes introspection at a familiar level, even serving as a means of serenity at times. Immortality’s implications are difficult ... for humans to comprehend, as for us, time progresses much more rapidly than we’d like it to, and we’re constantly in a hurry to make the most out of our short lives, a major portion of which is dedicated to building and maintaining relationships. This concept of time is vastly different from Frieren’s, to whom the purpose of these relationships is so heavily diluted that it simply doesn’t matter after a point. Her gradual humanization isn’t easy to pull off, but the direction and dialogue writing succeed by emphasizing short spurts of realization by drawing parallels to her previous journey with Himmel, the hero who’s the most prominent influence on Frieren and the series as a whole. The implementation of these flashbacks is commendable as it never obstructs the narrative structure, and Himmel is almost portrayed as an allegory for humanity’s positives. Saitou’s deft direction allows the cast to blossom equally in both mundane and precarious situations, and their interpersonal dynamics retain freshness through astute tonal shifts throughout the series. The production values are magnificent, utilizing soft visuals accompanied by Evan Call’s part-soothing part-melancholic score to impart a sense of nostalgia, however, they’re readily flipped around to match scenes that demand urgency. The character models tend to lose detail in the latter part of the show, but that’s a minor gripe. A ton of love has been placed into the crafting of Sousou no Frieren, and it consistently reminds us of the beauty of humanity and the significance of every journey of self-discovery. It is never too late to make an effort to understand the people around us.

Seldom do we come across anime that are episodically consistent, let alone throughout seasons, and much of Uchouten Kazoku’s charm can be attributed to its unconditional love for everything it’s confected from. It isn’t atomically eccentric if you look closely, but it perfects the art of storytelling by aggregating oddities in a way that prevents you from questioning its authenticity and sincerity, imbuing meaning into its unusual exterior. Although everything implicitly revolves around the Shimogamo tanuki family, none of the other factions are neglected, treated with care and consideration to fit naturally into the narrative and enrich the family drama. Every character, and even Kyoto, ... exhibits an enchanting and beguiling aura that enraptures but never leads us; we merely observe everyone’s involvement, tanuki, tengu, and human alike, in the unfolding machinations. The family maintains such a deep-rooted empathy among each other, especially evident when they face tribulations head-on, which is emblematic of the human condition, even though they’re merely tanuki and not human. P.A. Works deserves credit for rolling out a genuine and heartfelt adaptation, and it’s apparent that a ton of love went into the production, something we don’t notice much of nowadays. Uchouten Kazoku’s second season further reinforces its adroit storytelling prowess, both visually and narratively delightful, a sublime blend of the natural and the surreal.

Oshi no Ko’s climactic pilot serves as both a bold introduction to the series and a stab in its knee as further acts become forced to maintain the same quality. It’s unable to excite with the thematic approaches it takes moving forward, primarily due to its dialogue’s expository nature preventing any kind of a nuanced look into the underbelly of the entertainment industry. Most of the issues can be attributed to Aqua being a ridiculously stagnant character, overtly edgy with his vengeance shtick that invades opportune moments of sincere cast progression. He’s probably the most significant thorn in Oshi no Ko’s back, as his presence ... directly obstructs the thematic fulfillment the show is trying to achieve. There is a lot of potential here, mainly when the writing focuses on the individualistic perils artists face in the industry, most notably seen in Akane’s arc. However, Akasaka seems more keen on turning this into a murder mystery, which he simply doesn’t have the knack for writing, and the show turns drab when that aspect of the plot, coupled with the apathetic Aqua, takes the front seat. The production values are typically fine, having some particularly detailed frames at consequential moments, but the general animation tends to be quite stiff. I don’t find the soundtrack memorable either, but I’m rather fond of the ending song, possibly as it indicated the episode’s conclusion. Oshi no Ko is middling at best, although there are hints of narrative ambition that I doubt it’ll build upon.

Persistent issues from the first cour constitute the majority of this part, completely losing grip on the plot and sacrificing the middling comedic value for establishing familial stability. Sure, there’s nothing wrong with building bonds (no pun intended), as each family member needs to maintain their position while withholding secrets, but the show’s approach ends up too stagnating and redundant for its own good. I can get behind the episodic nature, which is more prominent in this part compared to the last, insofar as it’s applied coherently to progress the story, which, unfortunately, isn’t the case here. We observed the self-containment being used as an ... asset in the previous part, and though I wasn’t a fan of it personally, it was fairly innocuous considering the general direction and introductory segments. However, the degree of comfort in that structure seems to have skyrocketed in part 2, with most of the episodes lacking a definite target and consequently appearing dissociated from the ultimate objective. I wouldn’t be as critical if the central focus was supposed to be on the mundane, daily routine, but the problem poses itself when there’s an insufficient balance between the spy and the family aspects.

It’s important to note that the show is indeed trying, evident from the Bond and Nightfall arcs, but I’d refuse to call it remotely clever in its setups. The opening episodes implement Anya’s indiscipline as a contrivance, and the pairing of mind reading and precognition could’ve been way more intriguing if they were expanded upon. Opportunistic conveniences diminish the development scale of ideas, and the show often shifts its focus too quickly to satisfactorily explore possibilities. Bond’s backstory is a fill-in aimed to fabricate sympathy, which offers negligible value to the country’s political stance; it’s ludicrous how the depth of the relationship between the two nations still hasn’t been touched upon, especially considering the nature of the espionage background. The character takes a backseat following his addition to the family, occasionally popping up for some filler sub-stories. It isn’t until Nightfall’s introduction that everyone appears cohesively involved for the first time, as it jeopardizes the family’s integrity, demanding immediate rectification and reconstruction.

The tennis matches, in particular, are some of the least enthralling games I’ve watched, but I’m willing to excuse that as they adequately achieve their purpose, and this isn’t supposed to be a sports anime. During one of the matches the show reaches its directorial zenith, though it’s tragically short-lived; there is a modicum of such instances where the direction picks up, but meandering seems like the priority for some inconceivable reason. I prefer Fiona’s dynamic with Loid, specifically as they work well together in the story’s advancement, but her addition is an obvious stepping stone for the hinted romantic development between Yor and Loid. Yor remains an underused character, and I’d like to gain more insight into her operations in the subsequent season, as less Anya antics would be a massive positive. The production seems pretty much identical to the last part, maybe even worse, as there’s insufficient movement here as well, and I didn’t notice much of the soundtrack this time around, but the opening and ending are a clear upgrade. Judging by the ultimate episode, it appears this might finally be heading toward a meaningful course, though I’ll keep my expectations low. So far, SPY x FAMILY is a plenitude of family and not nearly enough of spy.

Danganronpa: The Animation exemplifies the problem with game adaptations, the inability to contrive ingenious modifications to imbue idiosyncrasy into the anime counterparts. Following the game’s structure almost identically isn’t an issue in and of itself; however, plagiarizing assets that appear misplaced in the medium is an obvious blunder. Coupling that with the breakneck pacing produces a vapid and inconsistent narrative flow where there isn’t enough time for the viewer to comprehend either the severity of events or the psychological motivations involved in such compromised situations. The investigations are the best aspect of the game, but the anime is unconcerned with providing satisfactory exposition concerning the ... murders, automatically eliminating the prime purpose of the story. Though things get even worse on the production end, and it’s honestly hilarious how the best bits of animation are the ones directly ripped from the game. Character animation is almost absent, while character models never retain detail, and the majority of the show lacks transitional and in-between frames. The soundtrack is decent, but that is borrowed from the game as well. It’s a complete mess of an anime, and I’m finding it genuinely impossible to praise any aspect of it; if anything, it makes me appreciate the game more, although it isn’t exactly that great of a game. Danganronpa: The Animation is despair itself, and the only time you feel hope is when it is finally over.

Horror isn’t the most favorable genre in anime, and Junji Ito getting terrible adaptations is probably a curse at this point. Uzumaki is atmospherically strong but not so much narratively. I believe this is a recurrent occurrence in Ito’s work, as he seems much more keen on the visual aspect of horror rather than trying to make sense of it. It’s a double-edged sword, and personally, I can’t say it works for me; however, I still appreciate what he does with the visuals. There is merit in his framing of body horror, making spirals a symbol of disaster, a loop without a beginning or an ... end. He uses the village as his thematic playground, a mysterious breeding ground of ruin where everything spirals out of control. The use of monochrome in the anime is a good decision, but the promise shown in episode 1 is derailed in the next one itself, apparently due to the production staff almost completely changing in each episode. It’s noticeable that there is virtually no coherence between events, most likely a product of skipping scenes from the manga, and this all boils down to lousy pre-production decisions. Uzumaki looks atrocious from a production standpoint, with incomplete storyboards, animation that seems to be done by AI, and a plethora of static frames. If anything, it’s ironic that in an anime where the visuals are supposed to be the most potent aspect, they turned out to be comedically languid. Uzumaki is groundbreaking, an enigma that begot catastrophe even outside of its fictional world, and perhaps that's its specialty.

It is an unfortunate case of mistranslated comedy, reduced to staleness due to lack of variation. The espionage background provides a foundation for creative witticism, but the show isn’t audacious enough to augment its parodic eccentricity to engender guffaws. However, this is not to say that it is entirely unentertaining, as its self-containment can be seen as a merit according to the audience, but its reliance on a fixed set of jokes gets old quickly. Anya and her school plot to get close to the Desmond family aren't appealing to me, as it intrinsically diminishes potential sub-plots concerning Loid and his operations. And this is ... evident as most of the show ends up focusing on Anya, underutilizing the scope of its setting and turning it into a kids show. Production-wise, it definitely appears smooth, but that can be deceiving as there are tons of inconsistencies in the animation, mostly consisting of static frames and inadequate movement extending to the few action sequences. Apart from that, there are some specific instances of bad CGI and 2D-3D animation integration as well. The score manages to be fitting enough, appropriately giving the spy-esque vibe. SPY x FAMILY could've been much worse, though there's no excuse for not expanding its comedic structure; this is mediocrity at full display.

Hunter x Hunter doesn’t revolutionize the shounen demographic, but it certainly capitalizes on its untapped potential to a large extent. Nen is an incredibly versatile power system, and the show takes its time in establishing its multifaceted constitution. The explications of nen principles and their technique applications are exhaustive, aiding the power’s utilization in well-thought-out battles, and the intelligent tactics and unexpected turns of events are dominant elements that retain quality. Reliance on exposition, however, is considerably high as a result, growing worse halfway through the show. The inordinate narration in the Chimera Ant arc paired with the exorbitant length is its most prominent ailment, ... substantially pernicious to the entirety of the show. There are merits to account for in every arc’s conclusion, although their degrees differ moderately. Chimera Ant’s ending in particular is irredeemable to the arc’s dragged nature, but something that could’ve potentially been remarkable if not for its several shortcomings.

The character-specific arc formula in Hunter x Hunter has its pros and cons, where a set of characters receive gradational individual and collective development, while a major pool of the cast serves an interim purpose, eventually either being disposed of or reappearing after an extended period. An ample amount of fascinating faces are thereby underexploited, although the main duo’s dynamic somewhat makes up for that drawback. Gon and Killua’s journey explores a new portion of the world in each arc, but unfortunately, its massive scale wasn’t further delved into; however, the world-building is an impressive aspect of the show. Madhouse doesn’t disappoint on the production end as well, consistently improving the overall quality; the soundtrack selection is phenomenal, with unblemished employment. Hunter x Hunter is quintessential in its genre, bold enough to improvise while maintaining its foundation, an augmentation of the horizons of the conceived shounen standard.

GTO unbiasedly acknowledges the hardships of every walk of life and refrains from blatantly ostracizing any group without proper inspection. It promotes living carefree as the principal philosophy of life, but not at the cost of morality and personal growth. And while it is primarily a critique of the education system, it doesn’t specifically target educators as the wrongdoers in every situation, holding students accountable where necessary, thereby suggesting the need for cumulative effort for any kind of correction. Onizuka functions as a brilliant bridge between the two, as he’s incredibly flawed as a person, yet the only one who appropriately understands both sides for their ... flaws, being a teacher and a young adult. He teaches practically in the form of examples and experience, throwing conventionality down the drain, as there’s no precise way to teach life lessons. This method is often neglected by modern-day schools where academic merit takes precedence over everything else, and students are classified according to their achievements.

Onizuka kicks conformity to the curb by helping students in his own ways, even disregarding the legality of the procedure, so long as it gets the job done. The show systematically follows this formula by dedicating arcs to different students, each typically surfacing familiar problems that require unorthodox solutions, and Onizuka excels at that, remaining humorous throughout. His techniques are especially perverse and crude, initially repugnant to everyone, yet capable of developing trust over time due to his considerate intentions. Few arcs, however, aren’t consistently engaging and meaningful, either restating previous difficulties or simply not providing enough motive for the characters. It suffers from pacing issues here and there, most notably in the last arc, which ends the show in an unsatisfying manner. But despite these problems, GTO manages to sufficiently shed light on the challenges faced by both teachers and students and proposes ways to repair the system, the major one being mutual trust and concern. Onizuka breaks the notion of an inspiring teacher being a prim and proper one; perhaps the best guide is one equally as imperfect as us.

Perfect Blue is a perplexing and frightening character dissection of Kirigoe Mima. An ex-pop star turned actress; struggling to find her true identity while battling her older self. It is an invitation to dive into Mima's psyche and hunt for our individuality alongside her. We experience the mundanity of daily life, ridicule of fans, exploitation of higher-ups, and the ultimate descent to madness. Humans are fragile and moldable beings. Our egos are exceedingly affected by others' perceptions of us. We try to change our character to align with the hopes and aspirations of outliers. We're constantly attempting to conform to society, ultimately transforming into a ... mere sculpture of outsiders' ambitions. Mima is the same. An average human being who has reached a tipping point in life. A change demanded that would alter her world upside down. The line between reality and fantasy starts to blur as we experience cynicism and insanity through Mima's lens.

Throughout the 80 minute run time, Perfect Blue always keeps the viewer engaged and on the edge of their seats, continually enhancing the psychological thrill and horror of identity. It feels tangible and nothing like a fictional world, as it inspires us to continue our war with the fictitious self. And it does so by regularly motivating us to accept ourselves for who we represent. We are who we are, and we are perfectly real.