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This one will be short – can’t promise but I’ll do my best.

It’s been about a week since I finished Spice and Wolf Season 2, and this is a review that I’ve come to after a good deal of retroflection on the show. I first saw S1 as part of my then-college’s anime club about a year ago, and really loved the unique themes and characterizations that the show dealt with. Most of all, however, I fell deeper in love with the outstanding opening, a song that I’ve been listening to for many years now.

Now I return to S2 with fairly high expectations and ... a better understanding of what makes this show unique. I’ll spoil the end of this review by saying this, but I can pretty confidently say that while I enjoyed S2, it didn’t hit quite as well as S1 did, and I feel that there were some distinct areas that the first season did better. That being said, I can preemptively recommend both seasons to most readers of this review, and this is probably the first show I’ve ever seen where I’d love to have a third season rather than being completely satisfied with only two or completely happy that it’s over.

I alluded to it earlier, so I’ll look first at the music of Spice and Wolf S2. Unfortunately, the OP is good but really isn’t anywhere near the level of S1. The first OP evoked a sense of longing and journey, both of which were themes that the show focused on heavily. The second OP sounds merely like existence in a world, which is appropriate for some shows but I feel kind of misses the point of this one. The ending, however, I feel is far superior to the S1 ED, which I felt clashed with the show’s ambience throughout. Moving beyond OP and ED, I actually feel that the rest of the BGM was slightly better in S2 than in S1. I’ve said it before but I feel that an overwhelming BGM isn’t necessarily the best for dialog-based shows, which Spice and Wolf absolutely is, and S2’s backing track manages to add to the feel and focus of the show without distracting. Hard to describe, but good.

Next onto the art. It’s definetely good as well. I love this show’s color pallet – the greys, browns and greens really help to illustrate the agrarian society that our protagonists find themselves in. I’d say the art is superior to that of S1, as is the animation in general, and manages to be quite consistent, which I normally count as a win by default. I also appreciated how the artists leant heavily on shadow and darkness to illustrate critical moments without using words. Sure, light and dark is a pretty self-explanatory and overused theme in anime in general and media as a whole, but it’s suitably subtle in Spice and Wolf, and it wasn’t jarring enough for me to be distracted by it.

On next to my favorite part of any review – the characters. Unlike in my S1 review, I’d actually like to give a better look at some of the side characters here. Spice and Wolf is perhaps the first and only show I’ve seen that routinely cuts out characters and actually does it in a meaningful way. I’ve seen too many shows where side-characters are an infuriating tease. The writers will dangle a thread of character development in front of your face, perhaps for only one episode or maybe a few, suggesting that they can or will have a meaningful impact on the future of the plot as a whole. Next thing you know, they’re gone as soon as their usefulness to the leads has been exhausted. They disappear seemingly into the blue. Side characters in Spice and Wolf, however, disappear simply because the narrative focus moves elsewhere. Lawrence and Holo mount the cart and travel to a new town. Their disappearance helps to draw onward the show’s key thematic journey, in which separation is literally part of life.

I’ll use two characters as examples here – Mark and Eau. The are actually a fairly major part of the plot in the first arc, and I’d argue that Lawrence spends almost as much time talking to them as he does to Holo. But unlike minor characters in other shows, their existence isn’t contingent upon Lawrence’s. Mark’s shop lives on whether or not Lawrence comes to sell or buy, a theme that is explicitly referenced in their discussion regarding traveling merchants. In the end, they disappear for the second arc not because they’ve expended their use, but merely because our protagonists decided to move to a new place. The writers don’t tease us with their development because the focus is, rightly, elsewhere. I found this amazingly refreshing.

I’m worried I’m going to break my own promise and run overboard on length here, so let’s cut to who I’ve been looking forward to talking about ever sense. Reiterating what I said in my S1 review, I don’t dislike Holo but I feel that Lawrence himself is an incredibly underrated character. I suggested maturity in a previous review and I feel that this is even more prevent in the second season. Lawrence is a medieval man dealing with medieval problems, and maybe I watch too many slice-of-life shows but this is a welcome break from learning about teenage daily lives and relationships. Unlike so many other male protagonists, Lawrence starts S2 (and S1, let’s be honest) with a pre-existing modicum of maturity that simply makes him do reasonable things, regardless of how much he gets berated. Lawrence develops significantly as a character but these changes follow a shift in outlook rather than in person. He actually learns from his mistakes – my absolute favorite example of this is him admitting to Mark that as a traveling merchant, he doesn’t understand what it means to have duty to a town. I won’t spoil the ending, for sure, but I also feel that his goals follow this shift in outlook while still retaining his identity.

To avoid going off about Lawrence for too long, I will look briefly at Holo, and I’m somewhat frustrated to say that I feel that she regresses a bit this season as compared with the first. I appreciate that she acts considerably less vain than before, but she also seems to have lost some of the sharp wit that honestly left me scratching my head in the first season. She communicates better with Lawrence than before, I’d say, but still misses considerably in other aspects. I honestly feel that the romantic tension in this season benefits Lawrence more than Holo and leaves her more of a confused onlooker rather than a wise sage. Sure, not going berserk at every turn is nice, and I’ll give her credit for opening up a bit more to her traveling companion.

What’s left is the plot, and in the interest of remaining spoiler-free, I’d say that the first arc of this season is comparable to both of the first season in terms of quality, despite being a bit different in terms of writing. In my opinion, however, the second arc and ending of S2 is significantly weaker than that of S1. This may largely be due to how predictable I found the ending, and while predictability isn’t something S1 eschews, it at least manages to involve some truly confounding turns by the end of the season. Consequently, I’d say that S2 actually declines in the plot department as it wears on, leaving me a bit disappointed by the end. Was I completely engaged, the whole way through? Absolutely. This show does that for me. But was I satisfied (not happy…two different things) with how it drew to a close? No.

I’m calling this review here. I’ll reiterate that I can pretty easily recommend both seasons, and while I did find the first slightly better than the second, I think that fans of the former will still enjoy the latter. Again, this is probably the first show I’ve seen where I honestly want a third season, because I’m not satisfied with where it left us. Unfortunately, the curse of 2 seems to have hit Spice and Wolf as hard as any other series, and I’m not holding my breath.

Warning: I really tried, but spoilers below.

I think that there’s really three stages of finishing an anime. The first stage is when the credits of the last episode roll and you’re left staring at your computer screen (hopefully in satisfaction) with the final scene seared into your mind. The second stage is shortly afterward, where your mind can’t help but replay what it can – the big moments, the emotional curveballs, the “what if” statements. And the final stage is a while afterward, after you’ve had time to reflect, think about the series retrospectively, maybe talk to some friends about it and really come ... up with your opinion about the show.

For me, most review writing occurs in either the second or the third stage. I rarely pick up the pen (er, keyboard) seconds after the final scene fades. However, I have noticed a strange correlation between my disposition toward the show and within what category the review falls. For shows that I dislike, I’ll frequently postpone the review writing until stage three, when I’ve had more time to think about what exactly transpired. For shows I like, or those that intrigued me and leave some open questions, I’ll turn sooner to my review desk so I can use the act of writing to flush out those issues in my own mind. The only exception is the really good shows that I can’t feel that I can review properly and thus will sit untouched to this day. However, this isn’t always consistent – some shows I don’t favor will get an earlier review as a sort of emotional catharsis, and some really good shows will be put off till later so I can properly vocalize exactly why I found them well-done.

For me, Toradora falls within the second category. I’m returning soon after the final episode with a mixed bag of emotions running through my mind. Unfortunately, not all of those emotions are positive, and are pointedly negative, in a frustrating opposition to my favorable disposition towards the first three-quarters of this anime’s runtime. I’m generally one to say that I’ll return to amend reviews, and I’ll repeat that refrain here. However, for now, I’ll say that Toradora provided one of the most infuriating falls from grace that I’ve experienced so far.

What do I mean by this? I’ll illustrate using some examples. Some shows I know I’m going to dislike right from the beginning. Rideback is a pretty typical instance of this. Right from the first few episodes I was disappointed by the lackluster plot, side-character development, and pacing, and this initial disposition remained the same throughout the entire show. On the other hand, Hyouka amazed me with the excellent music, characterization, and compelling story-telling from the early episodes to the end. I can sum this up pretty well using MAL ratings – I knew Rideback was going to be sub-average right from the get-go and that Hyouka would be very good from the opening episode alone. My opinions about the shows, although greatly expanded with new knowledge about plot, characters, and setting, ultimately did not alter in their final judgement. Toradora, on the other hand, started in the Classic Lit clubroom and ended on a mecha motorcycle – my opinion about the show fell dramatically as the series drew to a close.

Enough waffling around. As usual, I’ll look to my typical categories of music, art, and characters. Starting with the former, I don’t see how anyone can’t be anything but impressed. Both openings, beyond being very nostalgic for me (listening to anything years before even knowing what it’s from will do that to you) are really good songs in their own right, and best of all are performed by Horie Yui, whom I’ve already praised in reviews for other shows. They’re very lighthearted, energetic, and very well summarize the majority of the show’s romantic-comedy nature. The only time I skipped the OPs were when I was hanging too far over the cliff – and that’s generally a good sign that they’re doing it for me. Both endings, although particularly the first one, are also really good. I can’t quite say the same for the insert song, but otherwise, the show’s soundtrack was solid, albeit not particularly outstanding. However, in this case I don’t think it needed to be – incredibly standout soundtracks are more fitting for shows with action and reflective scenes, and as much of Toradora is dialogue-based I think a really notable soundtrack may have been intrusive. Overall, I have almost nothing but good things to say about the show’s music, and I really think it did nothing but contribute to the show.

The art, as it tends to be, was more of a mixed bag. Some people really love it, and there’s definetely some scenes where I can see why. It’s hard for me to describe, but I think the best term I can use is “pastel.” This isn’t a Takemoto show where vibrancy is everywhere and tells a story of its own. The colors are a little more muted and a little more subtle, details are a little less explicit and the animation is slightly less exhaustive. It’s not bad, but it’s generally not exactly eye-candy in the way that some other shows are. Again, it’s hard to describe, but it’s also hard for me to explain, because there’s no particularly spot in the show that I can cite exemplifying a unique shortcoming. I think the purpose of this art is to step back a bit and let the characters do the talking, and if that’s true, I feel it achieves this purpose adequately. Not blown away, but can’t complain either.

And here we go, back to my favorite part – the characters. I’ll start by saying that this show has a fairly average-sized cast. There’s five main characters, with about the same number of supporting characters, and a few others that appear shortly to disappear afterward. I will say this right off the bat – I am impressed, very impressed even, with the amount of work that the writers put into developing a truly unique dynamic between each combination of the main five. I feel like too many shows, particularly those in the slice-of-life and romcom genres, generalize interactions between the main cast, where one character will treat most of the others in exactly the same way, perhaps treating only one differently. Perhaps this would be most easily illustrated using an example. A male lead responds to every comment made to him, regardless of from who, with a sarcastic response. In doing so, we can easily characterize this lead as being “sarcastic,” and we pay special attention when he responds to someone without using sarcasm. While this is a helpful category, I really find it more interesting where the unique personality of each character influences the way they interact with each other, rather than each interaction being formulaic. Toradora absolutely does this, and I’d say does it quite well, thanks to its solid characterization and time spent building each of the leads.

OK, time for some specifics. I normally have a hard time deciding who to talk about first, so I’m just going to go off the deep end and start with Taiga. I’ll be honest – when I started the show I wasn’t the biggest fan. I don’t know if “abrasive” is the right word to describe her personality, as she can be positively endearing to her actual friends, but I think a good descriptor would be pretty close. She’s basically described as scary, and short of using the titular analogy here, a pretty typical tsundere. However, as the show progressed, I really began to appreciate her character more and more. She’s quite negative toward Ryuuji, particularly as the show starts, frequently calling him names and accusing him of things he doesn’t deserve. This, however, is tempered throughout the show as their relationship grows and I began to realize that her behavior actually stems from a rather unique upbringing, beyond her stereotypical tsundere qualities. I will say that I did like her determination and will to keep fighting, although this proved increasingly confounding as the show drew to a close – more on that later.

With her out of the way, let’s turn to her male counterpart. Years ago, when I saw the OP animation for the first time, my primary question was “who is the dude with the evil-looking eyes and why is he scrubbing a window-frame with such intensity?” I too, even as a kid, was unknowingly sucked into the common misconception of his delinquency. So it was much to my delight when I learned that he was such a homely, kind person who really seemed to value other people’s well-being above his own, and generally treated everyone with genuine respect. I’ve ranted on this before, but I feel that too many male MCs are flat and lifeless, with maybe one defining character quality that isn’t particularly instructive or redemptive. I’m not saying that Ryuuji is a model character, or that his penchant to cook and clean makes him a saint, but he’s certainly pleasant to watch and is a person I’d love to be around in real life. Building off of this, although the show primarily focuses on his interactions with Taiga, I was also really struck with how he communicates and respects the other three leads. However, his characterization isn’t without its flaws, which again, I’ll get to later.

I’ll turn now to the other male MC, Yuusaku. He’s a bit more of a mixed bag and a confusing one at that. I also think his characterization is one of the weaker ones, as he begins as a sort of generic respectable student council member who happens to be Ryuuji’s best friend, with little other defining features of his own besides being the love interest of the Tiger herself. However, I do feel that he has his defining moments, particularly with the introduction of Ami and during his own sub-arc. He just comes across as being kind of a convenient character, serving multiple roles that could have been picked up by side or extra characters, which confuses his characterization in my mind. Out of the four I can definetely say that he changes the most in the shortest amount of time, at the expense of deeper character development throughout the entire course of the show – kind of too bad.

Since she was referenced in the above paragraph, I’ll swap over to Ami now. She, of everyone, positively infuriated me throughout the show, albeit for different reasons. At first, this was pretty obvious – her two-faced character and incredibly irritating façade frustrated me to no end, although I eagerly looked forward to how this would influence the plot of the show and her own characterization as a whole. As the series bore on, however, I started to become frustrated for a new reason, specifically being that her defining character trait – the fascia itself – seemed to have very little bearing on the plot, and she showed very limited signs of getting past it, although being the very thing that Yuusaku wished for right from the start. Moreover, Ami became infuriating due to just how many times her feigned niceties became downright small cruelties – my worst memory is her pressing a button on the vending machine right as Ryuuji is about to make a different selection. It exposed nothing more about her background and upbringing other than sweeping away any growing respect I had for her, and that, too, is a shame. Again, more on that later.

What’s left is Minori, who is definetely the best-voiced character and by far the most confusing. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, as she’s certainly portrayed as eccentric, and that eccentricity is a defining part of both her own character and her interaction with others. I also like how that character trait adds to the comedic elements of the rom-com, although I found it becoming strangely less funny and more positively confounding as the show progressed. I want to think this is just her growing involvement in the drama becoming explicit in her mannerisms, but I have a suspicion that the writers simply didn’t know how she should react to more intense situations. I don’t dislike her character, as I do appreciate her desire to work hard and always chase her goals, but I do dislike how little about her is discovered throughout the entire show, and even then in the final few episodes. I feel like her interactions with the males in general and Ryuuji specifically were also among the weakest of the five leads.

Okay, the music has been heard, the art scrutinized, the characters thought-through, what we are left with is the plot. I will say this – I was, in more ways than one – really amazed and impressed with the unique angle that the love triangle/rhombus/polygon took right from the get-go. Most of the time, these romantic comedies have an extremely obvious couple right from the start, and the entire series focuses around their growing relationship culminating in a confession at the end. Toradora has the extremely obvious couple, but the confessions occur much earlier – and not even to each other! Specifically, I thought that the relationship between Taiga and Yuusaku, with the former rejecting the latter, the latter finding a new love interest, and then the latter rejecting the former, formed a much more interesting story. I always dance carefully around using the word “realistic” in anime but somehow the surreptitious route of Taiga’s interest in Yuusaku always appealed to me, and honestly started the show on a very high note. Ryuuji and Minori was a bit weaker, as it’s a pretty common anime trope for someone to become friends with their crush’s bestie, but I did like how it pitted the kindhearted guy with the eccentric girl. Of course, Ryuuji and Taiga teaming up to pair each other with their respective best friends was itself a really entertaining premise, and I found myself becoming surprisingly invested in both characters’ relationships.

Then Ami happened. Beyond my gripes with her character that I bemoaned above, I actually found myself not minding her introduction so much, despite her apparent antagonism towards almost everything that Taiga attempted to accomplish. Specifically, I thought that her quick resolution of the stalker episode would cause a cracking in her untenable façade, but that didn’t prove as effective as I imagined. Instead, I quickly ascribed her odd interest in Ryuuji, and her frustratingly-possessive behavior towards his person (which honestly bordered on creepy), to completely dash her remaining front of niceness when she realized that he saw right through her. I just couldn’t understand how she remained antagonistic to absolutely everyone – Yuusaku, Ryuuji, Taiga and Minori alike – even as it became increasingly obvious that she wasn’t going to gain his interest.

I do think that Yuusaku’s arc remains the strongest in the show, with his interest in the school’s president coming to light and really helping to clarify his rejection of Taiga at the show’s very beginning. It’s in this arc that I feel that all of the characters are at their strongest, with both Ryuuji and Taiga taking different actions (and working together!) to stand up for their friend and do what they think is for the best. I also found that Yuusaku’s experience of extremely high expectations, physical abuse from his family, and mental turmoil regarding commitment to someone that ultimately left him, was highly compelling to me. And that’s even without considering this revelation for the romantic plot, which ultimately marked Taiga’s regained ability to interact with him without being nervous.
While many people regard the final five or six episodes as the highest point of the show, it’s not until here that my disposition toward the series began to shift. I felt that the resolution of the Christmas arc – ending the episode before with Ryuuji feeling effectively rejected by his love interest, would form the apex of the action. Minori’s increasing eccentricity, particularly surrounding her desire to avoid the Christmas party despite her friends’ wishes, made me believe that we would finally get her full story after the fact. I was actually highly disappointed when the twist – Taiga effectively avoiding Ryuuji to increase the two’s interactions – led to nothing significant on Minori’s character despite some cryptic statements on UFOs and ghosts. The ski trip arc was perhaps the most infuriating for me, with surprisingly little true character development besides some bizarre fighting among side-characters, a fruitless Minori-Ryuuji conversation, and a lot of physical violence erupting with the now purely-antagonistic Ami. Taiga’s unconscious confession, although what I now know to be the true climax of the show, left me intrigued but confused, feeling that Minori’s arc had been slammed aside in favor of the two lovebirds.

And after that, everything unravels. In the final four episodes, an odd sub-arc regarding Ryuuji and Taiga’s college and future plans suddenly appears from nowhere, distracting from the parallel plot. Both characters’ nuclear families, and drama surrounding their apparent dysfunctionalities, pop to the forefront, literally in the middle of the true confession episode. This episode itself combines the last meaningful words we hear from all three of Yuusaku, Ami and Minori, who seem to suddenly and instantly resolve their interpersonal problems by gifting the now-eloping-and-escaping couple their valuables. We get a bizarre and extremely rushed resolution to the question of Ryuuji’s biological father and his mother’s relationship with her own parents, immediately resolving a problem that was only hinted at in earlier episodes. The anime ends with Taiga, despite her apparent commitment to Ryuuji, running away a second time to resolve some perceived issues in her own nuclear family, except this resolution seems to take at least an entire year.

This ending frustrates me both with topics involved and how earlier plot points are tossed aside, seemingly at random. Issues within the nuclear family are truly meaningful and should be given proper time to resolve. In Taiga’s case, the arc with her father coming to resolution much earlier makes me feel that the anime has already dealt with the topic, just to uncover it again during critical moments right at the end. In Ryuuji’s case, the question of his own father, his relationship with his grandparents, and his own mother comes across once or twice in earlier episodes, but is literally both brought to the absolutely forefront and totally resolved within about one, right at the very end. The odd sub-arc about Ryuuji’s college plans, his mother’s commitment to fund them, and his future in general is introduced but also left frustratingly unresolved. Taiga’s future is also left completely up in the air, with her literally disappearing again at the end of the show leaving only cryptic text messages, a full-year time skip, and a weird anticlimactic reunion between the two mains. Meanwhile, other meaningful plot topics are abandoned. Yuusau goes to study in the United States – did he resolve his relationship with the president or is that irrelevant now? Minori’s true feelings, yelled out across the school hallways a few episodes prior, are pretty much lost to the wind. Ami, as far as I can tell, remains just as meanspirited beneath her cheery exterior as ever.

Looping back around to my earlier assertion about my disposition toward this anime changing as it got closer to the end, I can safely say that I was considering giving this show an 8 about ¾ of the way through, only to have the score drop all the way to a 6 by the time it ended. I just can’t accept an ending that throws aside so many nuanced character relationships for the sake of bringing up side-topics that were apparently resolved earlier in the anime or otherwise merely hinted at. Taiga and Ryuuji’s relationships with their immediately families are super important in their own rights, but should have been given proper time to work themselves out, rather than being slammed in together at the end, basically forcing out any resolution for the remaining three leads. In my mind, cut out the horror-cave episodes to put Taiga’s family resolution within the arc concerning her father, and leave Ryuuji ample time to work out his own pain points with his mother and relatives.

Wow, somehow this review, along with ballooning to over 3500 words, has become more of a complaint and criticism about how it should have ended, typically something that I dislike and try to avoid. Maybe it’s this close proximity to having just finished the show itself, but somehow, I feel the need to put this series down for a while. Disappointment in a show isn’t something I’m unfamiliar with, but generally this disappointment is something I can expect from the early episodes. Toradora is something not that I wanted to love, but something that I actually loved, throughout so much of it, just to have my expectations dashed in what I can only describe as an unsatisfactory end. As always, your mileage may vary, but I have warned you in the only way I know how.

This show pretty much has everything.

Most of the time, when I write a review, I’ll either knock it out immediately after finishing (mainly because I can’t get closure until I’ve put pen to paper) or wait a while simply because I have more important things to do. It’s pretty rare that I’ll suspend review writing for other reasons, and those reasons are generally reserved to either 1) the show either being way too god for me to do justice in a simple review 2) me not being able to give it a fair assessment for various reasons.

Kaichou falls into neither of those two categories, and ... instead it creates a category of its own. It’s a show that I’ve thought hard about the review for some time now, and I honestly am left somewhat speechless about what to say. But here’s the question – really, what else needs to be said when one sentence can sum it up? And I’ll leave it at that.

This show pretty much has everything.

Some of the greatest works of art are those that somehow manage to fit multiple molds at the same time. Kaguya-sama: Love is War Season 2 moves beyond the comedic super-focus of Season 1, combining the genre with what so many quickly identify as dramatic elements. Any show, however, that attempts to serve two distinct genres simultaneously runs the poignant risk of split focus, preventing the show from portraying either field effectively. Regrettably, Love is War Season 2 is an excellent example of this pitfall, with writing that fails to commit to either comedy or drama, and fails to meaningfully integrate the two together. While ... the former season focused largely on building the comedic elements, but struggled with some lackluster drama integration at the end, season 2 attempts to pull this drama into the comedy more meaningfully, but ultimately comes up short in doing either well.

Let me provide a bit of personal context. I saw the first episode of S1 as part of my then-college’s anime club, and having spent way too much time going through Key works and needing something to lift my spirits, decided that following up on the rest of Kaguya-Sama would be a decent choice. I was not disappointed by the incredible opening and appreciated the generally-funny skits, slapstick as they were, and adored the integration of an excellent narrator who prevented the show from becoming yet another stereotypical comedy. I did, however, question the sudden and disjointed integration of the final few episodes, which forwent the comedy entirely to focus on a dramatic arc, which I felt was out-of-place given the lack of former character development requisite to good dramas. I also felt that the remainder of the soundtrack was somewhat forgettable, and the art, while consistent, was not outstanding. Most of all, I was frustrated with about half the characters, who seemed hopelessly stereotypical – suitable, sure, for a comedy, but extremely lacking for a good drama. With the advent of Season 2, I decided for the first time to watch a show during its airing, hoping that the writers could return to the solid comedic standing that attracted me to Season 1.

That being said, having now watched the second season in its entirety, and accumulated the community’s extremely-positive disposition towards the show, I’m very confused as to why it seems to be generally better-received than the first season. As I mentioned before, great works can blend two disparate topics together, using the juxtaposition of themes to improve the message of both. This does, however, open up the work to criticism of both themes, allowing shortcomings that might have otherwise been ignored to come into full view. That, of course, is what I plan to do next, before discussing the ever-significant topic of how the themes interact with each other.

Let’s start with the comedy, because that’s where this show truly began. It needs no saying that the battle of the minds - Shirogne and Shinomiya – and an everlasting, overblown mutual desire to force the other to confess their love. The stakes are no different from any ordinary high-school romantic comedy, but it’s the presentation that gives this show a unique take in its saturated genre. Love is War integrates a narrator, who is in charge of announcing the daily battles, describing the internal machinations of each side’s psyche, and ultimately announcing the winner at the end of the incident. I have a very difficult time understanding why some people find the narrator distracting or unnecessary – in my mind, he provides a unique spin on the melodramatic confession trope, permitting the audience full glimpses into the minds of the two figures. Now don’t get me wrong – none of the skits, which generally stretch only part of one episode – are particularly funny on their own. It’s the combination of the setting with the announcer, the ever-changing art flipping across the screen, and the absolute seriousness in which each menial encounter is portrayed, that really makes this show funny. I won’t say it’s my favorite sort of humor, but the build of the drama surrounding each situation, coupled with a surprising amount of genuinely funny throwaway lines, actually makes this show really fun to watch when it happens to be in a good spell.

Oh wait – did I say drama? Yes, the use of dramatic elements to build the comedy is perhaps the only place where I can laud the writers in their attempts at integrating the two genres. The way in which trivial situations and menial encounters are built, integrated with gripping, shifting sound and art, and then finally brought crashing down into a crash of banality as the announcer states the winner is actually remarkably well done, and really makes each encounter that much more enjoyable to watch. Like I alluded to earlier, some of the one-off interactions, such as when Shirogane offhandedly remarks that he’s done absolutely nothing but work and study, somehow manage to come with good timing and are probably what I laughed at most in this show. In summary, the comedy is certainly good, mostly thanks to the unique narration and juxtaposition between the trite and the serious.

Unfortunately, as could be expected, some of the jokes and skits do become repetitive and predictable by the end. Perhaps it’s just the familiarity with Season 1 fresh in my mind, but Season 2 seemed to be struggling for comedic ideas by the time it came to an end. There’s some unique skits, but there’s also a lot of repeating what we saw in the previous season, and sometimes of earlier parts of the same season. It almost gives me the impression that someone’s scraping for ideas. Last time the student council played a game it ended up funny? Let’s repeat that multiple times this season. Last time Chika taught helpless Miyuki a new skill or talent? Why not have her do it twice within a few episodes. I will admit that the similar skits tend to come out to different resolutions each time and still retain most of the humor, but they definitely dry slightly with each passing iteration.

Let’s turn now to the drama. While Season 1 limited its real drama to the end of the show, Season 2 seems to integrate it from the get-go. It’s almost as if the writers, with the end of the successful season in the minds, decided it would be a good idea to put drama everywhere in Season 2. But in something that only has room for 12 episodes, something else has to go, and in this case, it’s the comedy. In a way, I see why – even already, I see some of the jokes and scenarios becoming repetitive – splitting up the humor with some dramatic episodes should be a good idea, right? Well, the opposite is true. You’ll know it when the narrator stops talking, because suddenly the quality of the show begins to hit some turbulence. Unlike the prior season, S2 switches quickly from humor to drama and back again, leaving me bewildered at best and reeling at worst. That’s something I can overlook if the drama is meaningful, well written and integrated – a question we’ll get to next. And what better way than to start with the characters that comprise it?

I feel like I’m repeating what I wrote in my Season 1 review, but talking about some of the side-characters is pretty much regurgitating what I wrote about a year ago. Fujiwara Chika is an incredibly one-dimensional character and absolutely nothing about her has changed for this new season. This sort of extreme flatness is very similar to the way I’ve described other characters in other shows, and isn’t always a bad thing. However, I really struggle to see how it assists the drama here. Flat characters can be good for comedies as they provide a consistent, predictable touchstone to return to. However, unless masterfully integrated, they tend to completely fall apart, as Fujiwara tends to here. Sure, her antics may be funny the first time but tend to be annoying the second or the fiftieth. It’s never difficult to predict what she’s going to do next, what’s she’s going to say, or how she’s going to react. Maybe this is intentional, but if so, why try to provide a pretense of depth around the other four main characters? Season 2 certainly attempts to provide a deeper look into Shinomiya, Ishigami, Shirogane and Iino’s heads, but decides entirely to forego Fujiwara, perhaps realizing that they’ve already gone too far at stripping her of any depth at all. She can’t even decide to support Iino when Shirogane and Ishigami mistreat her for more than approximately 2 minutes.

Why not move onto Yuu Ishigami next, the one character who I feel was slighted the most by the lackluster drama development. I noted in Season 1 that I definetely preferred the two males to the female members of the council, as their personalities actually demonstrated some sort of character development and redeeming qualities. Ishigami’s character is actually developed significantly in Season 2, but done so in a way that I can’t wrap my mind around. Generally, we become exposed to his background and the way it drives his character through a series of moments and flashbacks. I’ve heard it said that Ishigami has an “arc,” but I think calling it that would be an insult to legitimate character arcs. He has a bunch of timeslots previously left unfilled by the writers, who realized with about 1 episode to go they had brought no closure to his story so they decide to develop a whole episode to it, in stark contrast to the multi-episodic nature of Love is War. It’s frustrating, as I seriously feel like the drama surrounding his journey could have been super interesting if it wasn’t awkwardly placed in and around a show that’s purported purpose is comedy. It was unfair, and I’d also argue that its resolution through the godlike, brilliant Shirogane was banal at best and patronizing at worst.

Speaking of patronizing resolutions, it’s pretty clear we need to look at Iino’s arc next. Notice I didn’t put quotes around it this time, as I feel that her story, unlike Yuu’s, actually involved a dedicated, though short, slot in the show. But why? Almost more than any other character I’ve ever seen, I feel like Miko simply doesn’t need to exist. She’s portrayed as a stoic, determined, straight-edged girl, the only character to exist to provide legitimate competition to Shinomiya and Shirogane, but after the arc ends, she turns into a complete throwaway, existing only to walk in at critical moments or exasperate Yuu. Her story, like Ishigami’s, is resolved in a way that only makes Shirogane look more angelic and Shinomiya more crafty, strenghtening my proposition that her arc really isn’t about her – which is a shame, because I also felt like it could have been quite strong if in a different context. If the context doesn’t fit, why does she need to exist at all?

The name comes up again and again, so it’s time to talk about Shinomiya next. Let me preface this by saying that I know the community really latches onto some characters for good reason, due to their excellent writing, unique characterization, or other compelling aspects. I feel like the community has latched onto Kaguya for no good reason at all. I tend to look at “good” characters in one of two ways – those I like and those I respect. Sousuke Sagara, due to his admirable loyalty and insane determination, falls within the former category. Kyon, due to incredible character development and complex narrative qualities, falls into the latter. Shinomiya falls into neither of the above. She’s not likeable in the first season and even less so in the second season. In the first, I could explain away some of her mistreatment of the fellow council members, Chika and Yuu particularly, as reflecting her vague innocence and determination, but in this season, they just become positively confounding. I really don’t think that Shinomiya actually cares about anyone outside of Shirogane. She regularly demeans Chika, threatens Yuu, disregards Miko, and completely disdains Hayasaka Ai. There’s almost nothing about her that I can look up to, as her self-interest and compulsive desire for Miyuki governs everything else about her. But at the same time, she’s not worthy of respect either. All of her writing circles around the superficialities of her being in love, and even some of the better moments, such as her interactions with Kei while shopping or Yuu while preparing for his event, are cut short by the strange comedy/drama tension. The one moment where she considers whether she’s truly in love with the president is the single meaningful moment of character development in my mind, and the writers dash it against the rocks just a few minutes later. Kaguya is fine for the comedy but really stinks in the drama department, as she’s neither likeable nor respectable. It also frustrates me just how many scenes are dedicated to her freaking out alone.

Finally we get to Shirogane, the character who I would definetely describe as my favorite in Season 1 and less-definetely so in S2. Unlike Kaguya, I can actually both somewhat like and respect him – the former for his practicality and love for his eccentric family, the latter for his legitimate concern for the well-being of the student council and its constituents. I feel like, however, the drama seriously cheapened his character in this season. I ragged on this before, but both Yuu’s story and Miko’s arcs are both resolved with Miyuki saving the day, in an act that somehow surrounds the two with a group of laughing friends, which is all they ever wanted, right? I’m amazed with how little his character is actually developed, even given the amount of time that this show dedicates to the drama. Legitimately-interesting moments such as his interactions with father and sister are cut frustratingly short, and are laughed away by the end of the season.

So what else can I say? Of the five main characters, one is hopelessly flat, one gets shafted by the writing, one doesn’t need to exist, one is unlikeable and unrespectable, and one makes pretty much no progress. Sure, Yuu and Miko might have got some meaningful moments, but they seem more or less like distraction fodder for the fact that the actual drama between Shinomiya and Shirogane hasn’t progressed at all by the time the season ends. It’s frustrating to me, and I feel like if the writers had decided to stick entirely with comedy, they would not have fallen so short when attempting to integrate the drama, which is a true shame.

My last brief comments will be on the score and the music. The opening is good, I’d say, but with the incredible Season 1 opening to compare to, I regrettably have to admit it doesn’t stand out like it should. The ending is forgettable and a bit of a letdown, but at least the rest of the soundtrack is normally fairly solid, though not outstanding. The art is generally consistent, and I feel has improved over the first season, particularly in the overblown comedy scenes, which I legitimately appreciated this time around. The voice acting was definetely decent as well, with Aoyama Yutaka doing another stellar job.

In conclusion, I regret that I will have to rate this second season worse than the first, for now assigning it a 5 (which, in my mind, is average). The strange switch to drama at the end of S1 slightly damaged my rating a year ago, but the poorly-executed comedy/drama of S2 sincerely frustrated me this time around. I really wish that the authors had either focused more resources on reviving the comedy with more unique, non-repetitive skits – I feel like the unique take to narrated comedy is the standout aspect of this franchise, and I’d say even that was worse in this season than the former. If the drama had to exist, I wish that the writers had been more judicious in their decisions to introduce characters, thoroughly developing them rather than jumping to patronizing conclusions. And for heaven’s sake, if a third season does happen, let us get a conclusion making me fight the battle of getting through another fruitless 12 episodes.

Warning: Minor spoilers below.

We’ve all been there before. You enjoyed it, but it didn’t change your life. It pulled you in, but you were able to pull yourself back out. However, it came back to you. In some cases, slowly and surely, over weeks or maybe months, coming up on the fringes of your mind like a stubborn weed that you couldn’t stamp out entirely. Something about it touched you in a way that you couldn’t truly escape. For me, Hyouka was that thing. And it’s not because I thought it was a bad series – in reality, quite the opposite. But the most significant ... thing about the series for me was what it did for me after. You know what I’m talking about – you finish the show one weekend and then every single day of work next week, it filters up through your subconscious into the pseudo-aware area some like to call limbo. In between conference calls, the last visual comes to your mind. As you scroll through the next excel sheet, one or two snippets of their conversation pushes to the tip of your tongue. And God forbid, as you try to get some real work done the OP ripples across your ears one more time. Push it aside or embrace it fully, it’s still there. But why?

As usual, let’s move to the categories. First of all, I’m going to talk about the animation. This show was produced in 2012 by Kyoto Animation and directed by Takemoto (RIP) in collaboration with Gatoh, Naoko and other members of the studio. Takemoto is credited as director of both the Kyoani FMP adaptations and as replacement director of Lucky Star, as well as roles on some ONAs and even Haruhi. However, his most significant work, in my humble opinion, was his work on Suzumiya Haruhi no Shoushitsu, a film so outstanding I can’t even talk about here. However, context is important for my discussion of Hyouka’s animation and art. This series was produced close to a decade ago and is absolutely one of the most beautiful works of animation I’ve ever seen. While watching the series, I constantly forgot how long it’s been since this show actually aired – it has, in my opinion, stood the test of the eight years since its release, and its art is far superior to almost every single more modern anime I’ve seen. This, of course, it’s just because the animation is consistent and fluid, the art detailed and memorable, or the color vibrant and pointed. It is, of course, all these things. One of my favorite single moments in the entire series is the short cut of shoes by the doorstop, which takes up no more than a few frames of the OP. But it’s so much more, because the animation and art very much tells the story. We’ll get into this more later, but rest assured that nowhere is this anime lacking in this department and perhaps is the best I’ve seen so far.

Because I alluded to it earlier, I’ll jump right into it again here. The soundtrack of this show is also very good – not to the same level as the art and animation, however. The first OP is definetely the best part of the entire show’s soundtrack, and while the second OP is certainly less memorable, it doesn’t disappoint. I think, however, the best thing about the openings is the way that they combine with the background animation to set the tone for the show. I feel like so many modern anime use the OP as an opportunity to show off clips that merely expose the characters, while Hyouka uses them to subtly build the show’s motifs. Hyouka is a slice of life – that’s a statement I’d adamant about. Sure, it includes aspects of other genres, but the writers keep within the SOL genre and their OPs are a testament to that fact. Both EDs are weaker and a little more detached, particularly the former of the two, but are nonetheless solid aspects of the show’s score. The rest of the BGM, while a bit more typical, is nonetheless a bigger contributor than detractor, which is hard to say about some other shows’ soundtracks. Overall, however, the soundtrack sets the stage of the show, a topic that’s harder to describe until we get into what this show is really about.

So, then, I’ve claimed that Hyouka is a slice of life. What’s it about? MAL lists the genres as “Mystery, School, Slice of Life.” When reading through the exiting MAL reviews of this show, I’m somewhat surprised to find so many people focus almost entirely on the first category and push the latter two aside. It’s also interesting to me is that so much of this show’s criticisms fall within a certain perception of how the mystery genre should be adapted. I, however, resonate far strongly with the latter two categories. Hyouka, perhaps moreso than any other show I’ve seen, portrays a slice-of-life in believable way that I found truly a joy to watch and think about, even learn from in some cases. I’d categorize Hyouka as being much more about people and storytelling than it is about mysteries and problem-solving. Why is that? It’s because of the characterization and the character dynamics, two aspects I infallibly find most significant about any anime, and it’s what I’m going to talk about next.

Sometimes, it’s easy for me to decide which of the major characters to talk about first. Here it’s been a little harder, but I feel like that logical decision is Fukube. Satoshi has the unique distinction of being one of the only male characters in anime that I’ve actually liked – not just admired or appreciated, but actually liked because of the way he’s portrayed. He has the strange power of being a knowledgeable person – the “database,” as he calls himself – without being pedantic or annoying. His contribution to the group is, as all other leads’, portrayed in his unique approach to creating hypotheses, which is centered around the collection and execution of data. While so many other male leads fall into the dichotomy of either stoic and brooding or sarcastic and careless, Satoshi is neither of those. He’s actively involved in the things and people he cares about, and is constantly seen applying his vast knowledge of minutiae to achieve the group’s goals. But he never lords his knowledge over them – I mean, even he admits that drawing conclusions isn’t his strong point. However, more than anything else, Satoshi is believable. Think of it – didn’t we all have a Satoshi we knew at one point or another? For me, it’s my brother – pedantic knowledge of so many different things, recalled at opportune times, but very much just like any other kid. I’ll get more to his moments later, but I think believability is the most significant thing to conclude with now.

It’s probably next best to move on to Ibara, who I was somewhat disappointed to see described as in one review as a typical tsundere. I’ll admit that this trope was one I was sometimes tempted to apply to Mayaka, but for me it was obvious from the beginning that this element is just a small aspect of her character. Mayaka is the kid who seems serious and consistent from the outside. She’s not a disagreeable person, however, and uses focus to pull together disparate elements. Fukube brings the data, Mayaka the critical eye. It’s hard for me to call her strictly an analyzer, but it’s very easy for me to see her role on the mystery-solving panel. Where her character really started to become really meaningful to me was akin to when your friends start to discover that you have your own passions outside of school. Her role as club manga connoisseur is particularly interesting once you look it in light of how it influences her life and those around her. Yes, Hyouka is about the Classic Lit Club, but the Manga Club – and Mayaka’s involvement with it, along with her interactions with its members – also plays a surprisingly impactful role in the series. Shared focus is an interesting element of Ibara’s character, and it’s the juxtaposition between this and the Hyouka-side of the show that makes you look at the show a little differently than another banal slice-of-life. I’d go so far to say that she’s perhaps the most realistic of the four members of the classic lit club – anyone who has been through any sort of high school knows what it means to balance interactions with different groups of people. In this way, and perhaps in a similar fashion to that of Fukube, her believability really added to my view of this series. Again, I’m dying to get into why, but I’ve got two other main characters to talk about first.

At first I wanted to reverse the order of the final two, but I actually think that Oreki would be best positioned here. For me, and judging by the reviews, many others, Houtarou is the face of Hyouka. Now, interestingly enough, I think that placing a lot of stock into his energy-saving view of life is actually kind of misleading. Yes, Houtarou is very much a unique character. It would be very easy to say that he simply doesn’t care about anything, but I think that would be very incorrect. Houtarou, by his own admission, avoids doing anything that’s unnecessary. I think so many people read this show as being about how Houtarou moves away from this mentality and ultimately becomes someone who becomes curious about the superfluous. However, I’d much rather say that Hyouka is about how Houtarou starts to realize how more and more things are not as unnecessary as he first thought. I think that it’s way more interesting to read his character development as learning how to ascribe value in a meaningful way – spurred first of all by his sister, and subsequently by his friends in the Classic Lit club. I think I do need to address that he may seem, at first, a victim of a ubiquitous anime trope. Yes, Houtarou is exceptionally good at solving mysteries, and, more than anyone else in the group, seems to come to the correct conclusion more often than not. But a closer look reveals that it isn’t the mystery solving that drives his character development, at least in none of the show’s major arcs. It’s the methodology, his interactions with the other members of the group, and the way in which his previously long-held values are challenged and shifted that really captivated my attention on his character development. Now while he’s less-so than Fukube and Ibara, I’d also classify Oreki as very believable. Why? Applying the same exercise as before, it’s really not hard for me to think of people I’ve run across who may outwardly seem disinterested but in reality possess unique acuity and passion for certain tasks. And if you think about it, really nothing separates Oreki from any normal kid is a slightly lowly disposition towards doing things and slightly higher proficiency when it comes to solving simple curiosities.

Finally, I’ll turn to Chitanda. In typical Kyoani fashion, two of the leads are shown, at first blush, as absolute foils of each other. Eru is Houtarou’s opposite in many ways. Her interest – not just in her club, but also in so many other aspects of life – is a really stark contrast to his desire to push interesting things aside. What I appreciated most about her character, however, was how the writers avoided the oh-so-tempting trap of making her curiosity the defining part of who she is. Eru isn’t an interesting character because she’s curious about a lot of things, she is an interesting character because of why she’s curious about said things. In a way, Eru is a vessel to some of the reasons why I find the show so uniquely moving, even beautiful – it’s her curiosity, aligned with her uncle’s words, that reveals the meaning behind the show’s namesake and provides a shockingly poignant look into the club and school’s history. It’s her curiosity about the amateur film that spurs a deeper look into narrative bias and hidden meanings. I’d even say that it’s her curiosity that leads to the resolution of the Juumonji incident and a redemption of past hurts, but in the interest of spoilers I can’t go much further. But there’s other aspects of her character that I find exceptionally compelling as well – her need to switch from her home life, one stuck very much in tradition and practice, to a life in a club that encourages looking outside the walls. It’s harder for me to assign believability to Chitanda than it is the other three, but only a bit. I actually think that her place as slightly less realistic actually allow those elements in the others, and that’s not a bad thing.

Okay, so I’ve talked about art, music and character, what does this all mean about the plot and themes? I’ll just jump straight to the chase. Hyouka is very much about narration. It’s almost as if the writers from Haruhi decided to revisit one of that show’s most important motifs and make it the centerpiece of another “slice-of-life” a few years later. Everything, and I mean absolutely everything, in Hyouka focuses around narration and the role that it plays in developing a plot. How about a concrete example? Sure. Let’s take episode 2 as an example. The club is in the library, where the question of a consistently-borrowed book rises to mind. Let’s assume, for a moment, that the mystery itself isn’t exactly important. What do we see in the animation itself as the mystery progresses? We get a lot of views – of the library desks, of the shelves, and of other things, but most significantly of Oreki’s explanations as presents the two options. What, in simplest terms, is consistent about these scenes? Yes, the color. Browns – and other muted, earthy tones, are most present here. Yes, it’s subtle, but once you know to look for it, it couldn’t be more obvious. And what do we see the very instant the mystery is solved? Someone’s eye, after which the conversation departs from the browns, into a mixed-greenish hallway as Oreki explains it, and finally out into the light where the rose-colored eyes shine with amazement as realization strikes. And trust me, it’s not just this scene. While this is one of the most obvious instances, it’s not hard to see parallels in others. Here, the narrator is using the colors, the lighting and the art to draw you along with the Classic Lit Club through the confusion of the mystery and into a radiant resolution.

This is one of the major things that captivated me about this series. Admit it – the mysteries are nothing spectacular. They’re interesting mostly, clever sometimes, keep your attention focused on something, and can be fun to solve alongside the characters. But let’s be honest here – Oreki tends only slightly more insightful than the other three, and it’s not exactly a stretch of the imagination to see any perceptive high schooler solving these problems to his friends’ amazement. But they’re not the point. The point is how the narration draws you through them and influences the way you draw your own conclusions, whether conclusions or subconsciously. As soon as you become attuned to what the narrator tries to make you think and believe, things go from a curious and entertaining Slice of Life to something that’s way beyond. I’d say the narration elements are made really obvious and much more accessible to the casual viewer here than they are in the predecessor, Haruhi, but are nonetheless quite rewarding when you realize they’re there. Again, I’m trying to keep this spoiler-free, but if you want more concrete examples just go watch the resolution of the Hyouka arc or particularly the final scene in the last episode (which, by the way, has to be one of my favorites). And I’d go so far to say that this absolutely isn’t just a weird fan-theory or esoteric way of viewing this show – I mean, just look at Satoshi’s comment to Fukube about shades of grey and a rosy-life. Sure, this is a pretty obvious reference, but it stands alone as an explicit reminder of how important the visual narration of the show is. The characters literally comment on it – we as viewers should pay attention.

I talked about believability later, and I’d like to circle back to that now. This show is uniquely fun because I believe it. I believe that a details-obsessed data fan can find it scary, even foreboding, to feel like he is losing a sense of who he is and what he cares about. I believe that someone can become so passionate about the comics they read and the people behind them that they’ll shed tears. I believe that someone can grow unexpectedly to value things they hadn’t before in a way that makes them express emotion they didn’t think possible. I believe that it’s possible for one to alter their life, even in the most outwardly-minor way, to connect with something deeper and more beautiful. In a lot of ways, I resonate differently with each of these characters in the same way that I’d resonate with different people if only I knew more about how they think. But the question wraps back around to the narration. Who is talking? What story do they want to tell? What are they curious about? Like any anime, Hyouka will distract you from answering this question by throwing other data, events and relationships at you. But stay focused to the goal. Solve your mystery.

For bonus points (and yes, I want you to PM me about this), tell me why we don’t see Tomoe’s face.

I recently returned briefly to season 1 of this animated franchise to write my MAL review, and exited with a bit better appreciation for the show and its purposes. Now, upon returning to season 2, I find myself existing with a slightly worst regard for what this show was attempting to do. Maybe it’s the number of negative reviews, maybe it’s just the curse of the sequel talking, but somehow, I can’t rate it quite as highly as I may have before. I’m going to try to keep this review both short and spoiler-free, big aspirations for me, so I’ll jump right in.

The animation is ... probably the best part of the season, and for good reason. Ren is a 2014 Kyoani show and absolutely kills it in the art department. I note this about a lot of Kyoani works, but I absolutely can’t help but love Takemoto and Ishihara’s direct influences. Animation is fluid, scenes are detailed, and above all the color is beautiful. While I do prefer to the movie in terms of raw eye candy, S2 doesn’t disappoint. The music is good too – ZAQ sings an excellent OP, while not quite to the same level as S1, and while the S2 ending definetely doesn’t live up to its S1 correspondent, it’s decent as well. The rest of the soundtrack is decent and appreciated – another reviewer commented on the good use of piano and I also want to call that out here as well. Not to the same level as some of the other Kyoani soundtracks, but still mainly there.

Things really start to slow down, however, when it comes to the characters and plot, both of which are linked pretty closely in the first season. The second, however, definetely does worse, and I think this is partially due to where S1 left off. The first installment had what I can confidently describe as a purpose, climax, and resolution. Rikka and Yuuta’s relationship grows in light of and with respect to the rising action, and their dispositions towards their own delusions reflect that by the time the season ends. Season 2, with Rikka’s goal resolved and seemingly forgotten, meanders. It lacks a concrete purpose and instead attempts to replace it with the most dreaded of plot devices: the love triangle. It almost seems that the writers thought that since having a teenage-delusion relationship in Season 1 worked, Season 2 would be twice as good with a second one thrown into the mix. Unfortunately, this really isn’t the case.

I’ll talk about the obvious here. It doesn’t take more than a brief glance at the MAL character page to see that there’s a new main character that didn’t exist in S1. While I do think that Shichimiya could have been an interesting figure, her involvement only to cause confusion in the Rikka-Yuuta delusion seems to be rather misguided. Indeed, most of the season seems to be oscillatory on her character, swinging wildly between what I could describe as legitimate character development amd complete stagnation. And this is a problem because I think that her character could have been used for far superior purposes. Just how Season 1 involved (albeit in an unfocused fashion) a discussion of whether delusions can constitute reality, I think that Season 2 could have easily discussed how delusions can inhibit other realities, or realities of those around you. I think it’s a real shame we see this theme hinted at but never really focused on throughout the entire series, as Shichimiya’s character “development” focuses more on the histrionic relationship building rather than the chuunibyou itself.

It’s also worth saying that the introduction of her character seems to take away from that of the others. MAL lists now 6 (!) characters under the title of “main.” While featuring so many main characters can be done effectively (and the studio has done so in the past), the anime seems worse for it here. Supports like Isshiki and Tooka are pushed to the background, frustrating any development they may have seen the first season. Even some of the mains really don’t really use S1 developments to their advantage. A good example of this come in the Sanae/Shinka dynamic, which really could have been developed meaningfully in light of the revelations in S1, episode 11, but seem instead to stagnate in general antagonism and sappy reconciliations. Even Kumin’s unique relationship with delusions, hinted in the first season, is less prevalent here.

In conclusion, I somehow ended up remembering this show worse, rather than better, than I originally slated it for. Do I feel like the general concept – of delusions and reality – is really interesting? Absolutely. But do I feel like the implementation is really hindered by the exaggerated romances, love triangles, and crowded main cast? Yeah, unfortunately. I know that we’re talking different genres here, but it pains me a bit that Kyoani couldn’t make this show grapple with real implications beyond a few quick moments, and that most of the plot and resolution follows such a meandering, purposeless path. Maybe I’m a critic, but if you’re looking to avoid that, I’d look for your romcoms elsewhere.

Note: SPOILERS below.

This review is a continuation of my discourse regarding the animated adaptation of Shoji Gatoh’s best-known work. The first season, the original Full Metal Panic! from 2002, was created by Gonzo and suffered from various issues in terms of art, characterization and pacing, redeemed only by a good soundtrack and excellent MC. Kyoto Animation took over the project for their inaugural work, FMP Fumoffu, in 2003. This show departed drastically from the military themes of the original adaptation, preferring instead slapstick humor portrayed through the daily lives of the protagonists. Kyoani also took on the subsequent season, The Second Raid, in 2005. ... While this season suffered from some of the weaknesses of its predecessor, I found it far preferable to the original Gonzo offering, particularly within the final few episodes. Now, 13 years later, a fourth season is released, this time produced by Xebec. Full Metal Panic! The Invisible Victory would have been a season long-awaited by fans, but I’m honestly not sure if any fans of this series really exist in this day and age. Unfortunately, I don’t see this season as changing that any time soon. For the purpose of this review, I’ll be referring to this show as S4, with Panic!, Fumoffu and The Second Raid comprising S1, S2 and S3 respectively.

I’ll go through as always. For a season plagued with weak characters and mediocre plots, the soundtrack has always been one of the high points for me. I’m not exactly sure why, but I continue to return to S3’s OST, which I felt captured the military intrigue and daily life of Sousuke and his friends in a way that the storytelling never really did. Even the first season’s soundtrack still holds up decently well almost 20 years later, with a particularly memorable opening. Fumoffu, in particular, does so even better, with one of the best OP/ED combinations that Kyoani has ever produced. Unfortunately, S4 has what I believe to be by far the weakest soundtrack from the entire series. I think this is partially due to the mediocrity of the opening and ending, both of which really failed to capture me in the same way. The departure from Mikuni Shimokawa, whose voice I always associated inadvertently with Full Metal Panic, was probably the most surprising to me. Frustratingly, it’s the (overused by still welcome) return to the original OP, “Tomorrow,” at the end of S4 that I found most memorable, and that’s a shame.

There’s no use putting this topic off any longer, so let’s just jump straight into it here. The animation is definetely the most polarizing aspect of the whole series, and for good reason. If you’re like me, and the excellent art and animation of S3 is still fresh in your mind, the gratuitous use of CGI in S4 may seem excessive, even distracting. Now I know the topic of CGI in anime is a much wider matter of debate, so I prefer to use this test – does it help to tell the story? Drive the characterization? Engulf the viewer? Unfortunately, in the case of The Invisible Victory, I can say it does none of these. I found myself looking at the animation more than watching the show, at least for the first few CGI-heavy scenes. I will admit that while I got used to it fairly quickly, this was less due to seamless integration and more due to just how many of them there are. If you’re a true CGI-hater, I’d avoid this series, but it’s worth saying that my taste is based on a fairly limited sample size. The rest of the series is…just OK. I think my biggest problem with it lies in the fact that it was aired a full 15 years after the preceding season, but I would still choose S3 art and animation any day. Oh, well.

So, the soundtrack is lackluster and the art is alternatively lackluster and distracting in my mind, so what does this series have going for it? I’m not going to make this review another Sousuke-centric fest, but I’ll give him a fair share. The military kid is back and back to his old tricks, albeit this time at arguably higher stakes. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I love Sousuke, and I watch this series almost entirely for him. While his character development in S4 doesn’t live up to the latter portion of The Second Raid, he does get some good moments in this series. Unfortunately, most of these are centered toward the beginning – this is really one of the only times in the series he admits to being scared and needing help from others. While Xebec doesn’t really show these significant moments in a particularly meaningful way, I appreciate that they exist, and how they are at least some continuation of his revelation at the end of S3. The bulk of the show, however, remains limited in Sousuke explicit development, which isn’t a bad thing, but I will admit that the subtle aspects of his “suggested development” are less obvious in this season than any other (excepting, maybe, S1). I’m OK with it, though as Sousuke somehow manages to be more of a badass in this season than any other. Leave the country and travel the world looking for even inklings of his charge’s whereabouts? He’s got that. Get mortally wounded and still set up an ambush for his assailant? He does that too. Literally invoke the power of the United States to procure military assets? A bit hard to believe, but yeah. If nothing else, Xebec realizes who the real main attraction of FMP is, and they’ve given him majority screen time accordingly. Can’t complain about that.

Unfortunately, and in character for this franchise, the rest of the characters fall more flat. I’m pretty sure that you can’t write a worse antagonist than Gauron, the villain in S1 and (arguably?) S3, and thankfully he didn’t make another appearance in this season. The new antagonist, Leonard, is a slightly more nuanced baddie, definetely preferable to his “evil just because” predecessor. However, he’s fairly distant from the events of S4, preferring to leave the active villainous roles to Kurama, who somehow manages to be even more generic than the whole bunch. I suppose that Kalinin’s defection is supposed to be the series’ major pro/antag twist, but I found it so incredibly predictable I kept scratching my head as to why they portrayed it as some big surprise. Indeed, most of the villainous activity in S4 seems just to antagonize Sousuke and get more opportunities for epic battle scenes rather than actually pursue a motive. It’s for this reason that I really wish they had dug deeper in to Leonard’s character – we get a brief snippet of this in the graveyard scene in the very first episode and again in the final episode, but relatively little in-between.

Next, to move on to a character I’ve been plenty vocal about in the past. I think this season is definetely the best for Kaname Chidori, who is touted as a main character but is anything but. This is really the first season where she manages not to be the most annoying figure in the entire show, though arguably because she’s quite literally missing for the bulk of it. I will admit that she actually manages to show some maturity in the first few episodes – I’m grateful for this, as it shows that her character development in the latter part of S3 hasn’t gone to total waste. Her initiative to actually work together with Sousuke, rather than berate him endlessly, is a far step above what we saw in all of S1 and S2. However, I’m pretty unsatisfied with the way that her powers as a Whispered seem to be manifest here – in S1 and S3 they’re shown as a subconscious knowledge of Black Technology, here they show up in a sudden ability to create perfect RF-jamming algorithms. It’s almost as if Gatoh, finally realizing how weak of a female character he wrote, decided that making her a sudden god-tier programmer would solve everything. Again, while I like her better this season, I can’t help but think it’s kind of telling that the show is better with her mainly absent.

The rest of the characters are equally confusing for me. I don’t dislike Testarossa, and appreciated some of her good moments this season, but she seemed only tangentially connected to the main story in S4. Do I prefer following Sousuke rather than her and the rest of the Tuatha de Danaan? Definetely…but I think that the show could have really benefited by using her relationship with her brother to draw out the villain’s characterization more. It’s also pretty funny that she doesn’t seem to gain deity-scale coding skills here, as that would be the logical conclusion from being a Whispered too, right? As for the rest of her crew, I really don’t have much of a comment. As usual, Mao and Weber really only show up for opportune battle moments, somehow staying alive as their fellow mecha pilots constantly die around them. What can I say, this is a mecha show.

With that, I’ve said all that I want to about S4, with the final remark that I do appreciate how it does a better job than most of its predecessors at keeping fanservice and crudities to a minimum, and it really isn’t until the Americans show up that this becomes a real problem. In essence, The Invisible Victory is just another installment. The soundtrack is average, the animation is a bit polarizing, and the characters are generally so-so. But it is another season of Sagara Sousuke, and for that reason alone, I liked it. At this point, I’m seriously doubting if any other studio is ever going to touch this franchise, and surprising even myself, I do hope we get a final season.

Warning: SPOILERS below. I really don’t know how I can write a reasonable review of this show without giving a lot of it away.

I don’t often return to re-watch shows, or even individual episodes, unless I really liked them the first time around. Chuunibyou is the odd exception to this rule. My experience with this anime is one of subverted expectations, disappointment, return, and reconsideration. To this date, I’m not entirely sure what I should rate this series, and I’m hoping that writing this review will help work out this conclusion in my own mind.

Let’s get the basics out of the way. Chuunibyou demo Koi ... ga Shitai!, otherwise known as “Regardless of My Adolescent Delusions of Grandeur, I Want a Date!” or affectionately Chu-2 Byo in the fandom, is a story of teenagers at different stages of grappling with some sort of delusion or fantasy. In the anime, it’s most popularly portrayed as the belief that one has mystical powers or is somehow connected with the superhuman realm. It was this premise that initially attracted me to the show. The show is about anime characters who believe themselves to be right out of an anime. In my mind, the potential for meta-analysis was supreme – what kind of narrative would this show follow? How would the writers guide us through a consideration of what it means to have a delusion, and is a delusion really delusional if it might actually be the truth? It’s an interesting premise if it were true, but I was soon to find that it really wasn’t.

The anime tells the story of two protagonists – Togashi Yuuta and Takanashi Rikka, two high-schoolers who share a common past experience of the aforementioned “Chuunibyou,” or eighth-grader syndrome. While the former wants to forget his past obsession, remembering it to be embarrassing and hurting his potential for high-school relationships, the latter remains completely committed to a vague goal of finding something called the “Ethereal Horizon.” The two are jointed in a SOS-brigade reminiscent club by Sanae Dekomori and Shinka Nibutani, the former of which joins Rikka on her ongoing delusions and the latter of which just wants to forget her Chuunibyou past. The main group is rounded out by Tsuyuri Kumin, the single member of the main cast unafflicted by the syndrome. As I’m preparing for this to be a somewhat sizeable review, I’ll turn to the characters in more detail next.

I think that my largest gripe with this series comes from the male MC, Yuuta, and the circumstances surrounding his introduction to high school. After first seeing this series some years ago, I’ve had a hard time finding language to describe him besides “flat.” What makes up a character? Qualities and attributes that we normally call characteristics. Certain combinations of qualities develop in particular ways, giving writers the ability to shape their growth and ultimately tell a story. Characters that show multiple characteristics, even those that might appear to come into conflict with each other, are called round characters. Frequently, most main characters are round, as developing and building on multiple qualities helps to show nuance and spurs true development. Why am I repeating what we all learned in elementary school? It’s because the writers of Chu-2 seemed to miss this memo. Yuuta is just insanely flat, showing a single character attribute – an irresistible attraction to others. Since watching this series, I’ve played a few visual novels and feel like the archetypal MC - a faceless, predictable male who somehow manages to attract others towards him – is an excellent parallel to Yuuta. I can’t help but remember how one of his earlier laments is not having enough time to “keep up” with the dating game he plays on a copyright-spoofed DS. But wait! Isn’t the point of the anime to show how Yuuta changes from a kid just interested in forgetting his past into one who willfully embraces it in order to help a new friend? Perhaps, but again it’s hard for me not to see this as all-encompassed in his single defining character attribute of attraction. We’ll get more into this later.

While less frustrating for me than Yuuta, Rikka carries her own set of issues. My initial problem with her involves just how long the series takes to get around to explaining the basis of her Chuunibyou. In a 12-episode series, they wait until episode 7 to show why she embraces these delusions? This explanation is also somehow buried in the beach episode, which kind of rubs me the wrong way. In general, though, much of Rikka’s character is expression of fantasy – it is how she copes with daily challenges and navigates her daily life and relationships. What I struggle with is how much of the show is dedicated to these fantastical scenes. Let’s be honest – this show is directed by Ishihara, who I’m pretty sure is incapable of creating a poor fantasy scene. However, I’m disappointed that these scenes seem to take precedence over those that really dig deeper into who Rikka is. I’d expect that her delusions surrounding her father’s death and breakup of her family would be gradually developed along with conversations with others and meaningful exploration of her inner thoughts, but instead they’re all dropped on us like a bomb more than halfway through the series. Perhaps this is just a pacing issue, with Sanae and Shinka taking surprising prevalence in the earlier half of the season, but I can’t help but think there’s a bigger fundamental issue at play. At any rate, it’s worth looking at those two characters next.

Nibutani Shinka is an interesting case that somehow manages to be one of the series’ worst. Like Yuuta, she tries to forget her teenage delusions by stuffing them into the past, an effort constantly thwarted by her younger counterpart. But unlike most of the other characters, she fails to come to grips at all with her delusions (at least in this season), or really make any effort to. She exists only to provide typical competition for Yuuta’s affections in very VN-reminiscent style, and to provide romantic advice for Rikka as the series nears its conclusion. I struggle to see her purpose, as she fails to change or develop, outside of comic relief with Sanae or perhaps as some archetypal example of someone who throws away her past rather than learning from it. She, like Yuuta, is flat and frustratingly so, and pretty much the closest thing I can think of to a series antagonist (Tooka is hard to count here), as she encourages her fellow characters to discard her past in the same way she did.

Dekomori Sanae is a different beast, and thankfully a much better one, being by far the most nuanced of the major cast. It’s hard not to see her, at first glance, as a carbon copy of Rikka and her steadfast crony in her fantastical delusions. The difference is that Dekomori seems almost further in her syndrome than Rikka is. While the latter shows signs of breaking through, particularly after the standoff with Tooka and upon realizing her affections for Yuuta, the former remains far more steadfast than even the one she calls Master. I alluded to this earlier, but I re-watched an episode of this series in preparation for this review, and I think it was this second viewing of episode 11 where this first really made sense to me. Yuuta and Nibutani know fully well that their delusions are fiction and decide to give them up, Rikka is unaware that her delusions are fiction and therefore embraces them, but Dekomori is fully aware that her delusions are fiction but embraces them anyway. Why? I can’t answer that question, but I’m increasingly convinced that it’s her – not Yuuta’s letter from his past self, not Rikka’s two-year-prior encounter with him – that convinces Yuuta to return to his old delusions and ultimately help Rikka grapple with her loss. I’m just so frustrated that this subtlety is buried so deep within the series, covered under Rikka and Yuuta’s awkwardness and Sanae and Nibutani’s spats that it took me this long to uncover. I see so much Ishihara in Dekomori’s character, and it kills me that so little emphasis is given here.

Finally, I’ll turn to Tsuyuri Kumin, a character who I find somewhat confusing. It’s clear that her main purpose is to provide comic relief, which she does to a limited extent. However, like other members of the main cast, she remains mainly flat, and appears largely static throughout the course of the show. I will remark, however, that her bizarre relationship with Chuunibyou, alluded to in the last episode and expounded upon a bit more in the second season, is notable. As the only member of the club who alleges no involvement with the syndrome, she carries a unique perspective of respectful interest without the same level of disregard shown by Nibutani or embracement displayed by Dekomori and Rikka. Again, however, he character fails in similar ways to most of the others – lack of meaningful character development and change over time.

I’ve looked at the characters to what I believe is a satisfactory amount, so next I’d like to comment on what remains in the plot. Firstly, outside of the pacing issues that I’ve previously explored, I find myself frustrated with how some of the character relationships progress throughout the show. Rikka obviously has an interesting relationship with her older sister from the beginning of the show, and it’s eventually revealed that this is due to their different ways of processing grief. However, I’m not satisfied with the way this is ultimately concluded in the plot – neither sister truly comes to a full understanding or appreciation of the other, leaving Yuuta to navigate between the two. Convincing a high school crush to break your younger sister free of their childhood delusions seems like a contrived plot device at best, and a lazy one at worst. In related notes, I’m frustrated with just how much of the climax seems to appear at the very end, with Yuuta’s decision and the discovery of the Ethereal Horizon comprising less than one episode. Like I said before, pacing is an issue.

While I do have the major premise to still discuss, I’ll turn quickly to some of the typical points before getting there. The art – it’s a KyoAni, what do you expect? In general, it’s wonderful. Scenery is beautifully drawn, the animation is generally fluid and pleasing, and while it doesn’t quite reach the Takemoto-levels of color fantasy seen in the movie, it’s really fun just to watch. The music is also really good – between the first and second season and the “lite” additions I can’t really think of a song I don’t like. Sparkling Daydream in particular is especially good (MAGINOBIONICS on Youtube for those who care). Typical excellent execution on the art and music side by KyoAni, though I can’t say I’m surprised.

Finally, to the major discussion – the themes. Like I said before, this show is one of delusion. I’ll use a simple example to illustrate my thoughts here. Rikka is convinced that she has fantastic powers, those frequently seen in various anime. However, Rikka herself is an anime character. Other characters, Yuuta included, are also anime characters, but instead try to convince Rikka that she lacks these anime-popular powers. In this case – and if you’re laughing right now, I’m being serious – who is correct? The answer is pretty obvious. In our world, they’re anime characters, but in theirs, they’re normal kids. If the writers had decided to do something a little differently, they wouldn’t be – Rikka’s supposition would be correct and Yuuta would be the fool. But this isn’t the case.

However, here’s where things start to get kind of interesting. Remember the series conclusion? Rikka actually does find what she knows as the “Ethereal Horizon.” For her, it actually exists, and it requires Yuuta, the critical, to embrace it himself in order to make it so (Dekomori being the actual acting force here, but I’ll ignore that for now). Does this sound familiar? Somehow, anime keeps bringing me back to Shakespeare, and I’ll recount the ever famous “Why, then, 'tis none to you, for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” (Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2) But no, the Ethereal Horizon is just a psychological representation of Rikka’s grief and represents her ability to say goodbye to her departed father…right? I think that this explanation isn’t necessarily true. If it were, why couldn’t she just work out her loss without Chuunibyou, just like her older sister? You’ve got to realize that this series comes from the same producer that developed Haruhi, an anime that grapples deeply of what it means to be real. Now while I think Tanigawa had a notion in mind that Torako didn’t, KyoAni might be bringing the very edge of these themes to light in this anime in a Haruhi-reminiscent fashion.

Where in the world am I going with this? While this would require a much larger explanation than I am going to give here (and frankly isn’t suitable for what’s supposed to be an anime review), I think that Chuunibyou attempts, and unfortunately largely fails, to explore the fact that delusions, fantasies, and the like, are a lot more real than many of us give credit. I wish the writers would have delved deeper into how, exactly, this comes to be, but instead we only get a few quick moments in Episode 11 and again in 12. This series is way more a romance and drama than it is a serious consideration of the delusions that make up its namesake, and I find that kind of disappointing.

So let’s cut to the chase. Do I recommend this show? Weakly. If you’re into romantic comedy, maybe this will be up your alley. If you like the typical great animation and music that KyoAni is known for, go for it. But if you’re looking for something as meta as Haruhi that delves into whether or not anime characters are self-aware, or even deeply grapples with the problem of delusion, you won’t get that here. Perhaps my expectations are too high, and after re-visiting this season in light of this review I’m definetely seeing where I underestimated and misunderstood some characters. But for now, I’m leaving it as is.

WARNING: SPOILERS BELOW

March Comes in Like a Lion. The show that disappointed me in a multitude of ways. Having already seen (and reviewed) the second season of Sangatsu No Lion, this review will be rather short. Indeed, I feel as if everything that the second season does and fails to do, the first season does in almost exactly the same fashion, albeit in a way that manages to be less engaging, more frustrating, and ultimately less deserving of a high rating. Indeed, it’s very hard for me to see this season as anything more than an average show that I wanted to love and was ... disappointed with time and time again.

Let’s start with the basics. This show, produced by shaft, tells the story of a male Shogi prodigy who learns about relationships as he navigates life as a young professional. This premise is actually really interesting and unique: when was the last time your last MC made it through on professional board game playing? Rei comes from no privileged background, he has no untold prophecies surrounding his birth, and generally avoids some of the tropes surrounding shounen/seinen protagonists. Yet he somehow fits many other tropes: entire family died in a tragic accident at a young age, has a foster family that resents him, lives alone and broods over the city in an isolated training dojo. Maybe I could turn a blind eye to this if the rest of the anime actually came across as the slice of life that MAL has listed in the Genres category, but it doesn’t. Rei’s entire life is one of battle after battle punctuated by angst and attempted comedy scenes.

But no, one says. You’re missing the point: 3-Gatsu is about relationships and learning how to live with others. That, I can say, is true, but the show fails to provide good character development requisite to such themes. The show involves a huge breadth of characters that are shown as little more than skin-deep. I’d like to take the Kawamoto household as an example. Although improved significantly in the second season, Hinata is little more than a source of distraction to both the audience and the MC, with the writers contributing to her character a vapid interest in sweets, shogi, and anything else related to Rei. Surely the death of his wife and daughter, along with the disappearance of his grandchildren’s father and his role as major provider for a sizeable family, would lead to some interesting insight into Someji’s story? Oh no, he only exists for some comic relief and to spur Rei and Nikaido on. Akari’s role as stand-in mother for her own two sisters, along with her own task as provider rather than following her own dreams? Nonexistent, because according to the writers, all she cares about is her own cooking. Even Momo seems to be present only for cute preschooler appearances and to remind Rei about his own departed sister.

This superficiality is particularly frustrating when you realize that Shaft is capable of good character development, but places it in all the wrong places. Every opponent that Rei faces is carefully scrutinized and analyzed with 100% focus that soon dissipates as soon as he inevitably wins the match or loses and returns home to brood. If only the writers could develop the other main characters, or heck, even the protagonist himself, with such intensity! Instead, they are relegated to supporting roles, either to supply filler episodes while Rei does his thing or to provide bizarre, poorly-draw caricature insert scenes that I think are supposed to be funny or something. If you’re like me, you’ll probably laugh just because how out of place they are. Even the actually interesting and round characters – Shimada, Gotou, and Nikaido come to mind – somehow remain endlessly on the fringes, given frustratingly little further development.

I’d like to return now to the main point that I made in the review of the second season, as I think it rings true here too. 3-Gatsu is a superhero anime masquerading as a slice-of-life. Rei behaves so incredibly unrealistically that it’s hard to see otherwise. Neither I nor the vast majority of the people reading this sentence are capable of supporting ourselves, in high school, by playing exceptionally good board games, winning against seasoned veterans while a curated rival spurs us on. Yet we are capable of retreating within ourselves, having difficulty forming and creating good relationships, and dealing with loss and heartache. I feel that Shaft tries to make its viewership identify with Rei through the latter characteristics, but still attempts to show his superhuman powers by means of the former. Perhaps this odd juxtaposition of incredibility and believability is attractive to some people, but I found it hard to live with. I said this before and I’ll say it again: I think this anime would have been significantly better if it was about a normal, unremarkable kid navigating loss and building relationships, without the need to defeat boss after boss in a game of prodigious power and skill. Or, alternatively, not marketed as a slice-of-life at all and given all the free reign of fantasy that so many superhero anime already show.

I think I’ve said all that I want to about the first season of this show. My second season review (first ever on this site!) is a far deeper look into my criticisms of this series and covers in depth some of the same points that I alluded to here. I realize that this show is incredibly well-received, at least on MAL, and giving the show a 5/10 might seem suspect, but in my opinion the show’s many shortcomings surpass its limited strengths.

Note: SPOILERS BELOW! This review is written entirely around, and from the perspective of someone who has seen only the first season at the time of writing.

My relationship with Spice and Wolf begins, not at all to my surprise, with its music. Even to this day, I’d say that Tabi no Tochuu is arguably one of the greatest anime openings of all time. Why? I’ve listened to this song for years, with absolutely no idea about the show, the characters, the plot, or the themes, and yet its effect remains profound. It evokes a sense of a journey, a longing for things departed, and a ... sensation of wonder with the world that moves from the present to the future. I see, in a pointed sense, a Kanon in the song that draws its listeners on the same well-trodden path into the sunset. Now at risk of this review becoming a song review, I can say that this show has absolutely lived up to my expectations of its opening, but brings with it so much more.

I’ll turn first to the most obvious and self-writing part of the review: the economics. My fellow reviewers and the internet in general have discussed this theme to death, so I’ll try to keep it brief. This show revolves around the concept of buying, selling and trading in a medieval society. Sound extremely boring? I thought so at first, but it wasn’t until I got a bit deeper into the show that I began to realize just how brilliant this topic really is. For Kraft Lawrence, the male lead, and so many of his other fellow merchants, the economy of the world is his life. Let’s be clear here – Spice and Wolf isn’t one of those anime where one character’s single heroic action can either save or destroy the entire country, world, or even universe. It is quite literally about a medieval peddler attempting to make enough money to build a shop some day, using the combined knowledge of him and his traveling partner to make their goals come true. This show is about making money, and while I’m no business student I found the topics of inflation, sunk cost, and investment (among many others) to be very stimulating, even for a non-expert. It’s one of the show’s main charms for me – watching it once for the content, and thinking back to it twice or more to really understand it.

I’ve mentioned his name, but I think now’s the time to talk about the male lead next. Now I’ve got nothing against Holo, but I actually think that Lawrence is slept-on as a character and I definetely found him the more interesting of the two. More than anything, I found his character simply refreshing. I haven’t seen a ton of anime compared to others, but of the ones I have seen most of the male characters are high-schoolers dealing with modern problems. Lawrence is a full-grown man dealing with medieval problems, and exhibits realistic goals and expectations. Lawrence shows both the experience of a man well-versed in trading but the ability to learn from someone very much outside of his field. Basically – I like Lawrence’s character, not because he’s intrinsically inspiring but because he exhibits a maturity absent in so many other male protagonists. I also appreciate how the narration doesn’t always jump into his head, leading us to guess and theorize on his thoughts and motives.

I alluded to the concept of a journey earlier in this review, and I think that’s it’s time to return to it now. It’s difficult for me to sum up the plot of Spice and Wolf as anything besides this concept. At first glance, it’s easy to question this. If Holo’s goal is to visit her homeland, why are they making so many stops along the way? Why aren’t we seeing the protagonists whip out maps every point to track their progress to the North, tallying off how many miles they’ve traveled and how many are left? Indeed, it almost seems that the destination is constantly pushed to the side so more immediate topics like silver purity, apple eating and armor deflation can be brought to the forefront. And I actually think that’s the very point of the show – as trite as it sounds, the goal is the journey, at not the destination. For me, the fun of watching shows come primarily in seeing how characters are developed, and I feel like a fast-paced rush to the north would undermine this goal. Furthermore, a sprint to the finish isn’t realistic, particularly in a medieval world, and detracts from the characterization shown during the process.

But this show isn’t only about making money. I’m also immensely interested in how well it integrated themes such as the role of religion, superstition and power control in an agrarian society. At least in this season, Chloe isn’t exactly a major character, but she’s perhaps one of the best, displaying a criticism of old superstitions that threaten her relationship with her former mentor. Chloe’s relationship with Lawrence is actually nuanced, rather than being merely romantic, and her aversion to Holo blends together both a fear of the old gods and concern that her business partner is being whisked away before her eyes. This relationship is made even more complex when considering her role with the church, which itself exerts massive control over the region – control that is not only religious but also economic. Even after Chloe’s arc (hallway through the season) ends, the role of the church’s influence and Lawrence’s concern with Holo’s true identity becoming known becomes if anything, even more important. She exemplifies one of the major aspects that I love so much about this series: even without a lot of screen-time or lines, Chloe undergoes meaningful character development that do much to further the parallel development of the protagonists and antagonists.

Other supporting aspects are interesting as well. The tenuous relationship between the Milone and Medio Trading Companies serve an interesting look into the socioeconomic ladders that comprise society, as well as the topic of farce and front. This is particularly evident during the anime’s second arc, where the debt that Lawrence owes to the Lemerio Trading Company threatens to enslave him, and his relationship with Holo threatens to ostracize him from society in general. I mentioned farce and front beforehand, and I’d like to get a bit deeper into that now. Constantly, when watching this show, I had my expectations subverted. For example, the fact that Lawrence was lied to by Zheren during the coin trading arc was not surprising to me, but the fact that he actually ended up with both major losses and major gains was indeed. The fact that the Lemerio Company seemed so threatening but only because they themselves were in such economic danger also really shocked me, as was their knowing betrayal at the end, and again with Lawrence’s desire to save the company. Honestly, I don’t know why this show constantly surprised me (and maybe just because I watch too many slice of lifes), but it did, and I loved it.

So, I’ve discussed the music, some of the themes, and raved a bit about Lawrence and interesting supporting characters. Let’s turn next to my favorite part of the series – the dynamic between Lawrence and Holo. I think that their relationship, and specifically their conversations, turn this anime from a good one into a great one. First of all, I appreciate that they seem to exhibit a sense of implicit respect for each other – while Holo may think and even call Lawrence an idiot, it’s prevalent that she respects his ideas and opinions. Yes, she’s somewhat hardheaded – even vain, with her constant mentions about her wisdom – but it’s not for bad reason. Moreover, I’d say that the two very much learn from each other on their journey, in more ways than I care to mention here. It’s here that we learn that Lawrence’s interests are not purely selfish or even economic – his refusal to give over Holo to the church is a good example of this. The opposite is also true – Holo, despite her inherit mistrust of the shepherd Nora, accepts to work with her on behalf of Lawrence. Mostly, I really love how the relationship between the two main characters is not contingent on romance. Sure, it’s obvious that the two have feelings for each other, but the stereotypical romantic traits are limited to jealousy, loyalty and the fear of separation. Their relationship is contractual, and again, I love it.

Wow, I’ve gone on quite a bit, so I’ll go quickly by a few necessary points. The art is good – maybe not amazing, but consistent and generally pleasing to watch. I love the focus on browns and greens to reflect the importance of the agrarian society, and Holo’s apparent love for colorful clothes and food. I’m not going to talk about the opening any more, but the rest of the score is also definitely good and I’ve got no trouble with it. I will comment briefly on the ending – man, I know this song is kind of polarizing, but I kind of hate it. It’s not just the English. The ending seems to be such a far departure from the masterpiece opening and has a strange pseudo-cheery vibe that hardly fits in with the frequent serious theme that the show encounters. Again, hard to complain in light of the opening, but I’m still disappointed.

I’ve managed to restrain the length of this review, and I’m fairly sure that I’ll have quite a bit more to say as soon as I watch the second season. Spice and Wolf has an incredible opening, highly interesting characters, and focuses on unique themes that I haven’t seen in other shows. The characterization is poignant and the arcs are engaging and surprising. It’s not hard for me to recommend this show outside of the boat-load of nudity in the first two episodes (almost made me drop the show, thank goodness I didn’t) and the questionable ED. I’m excited for what the franchise has in store for me next.