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Away from bustling streets of everyday people hastily making their way, past pitch black alleyways, and into dirty corridors occupied by a vast array of strange anthropomorphic animals, you’ll find yourself at a junkyard where the illustrious Mr. Stain resides. Sorry, did I say illustrious? I meant the complete opposite. Mr Stain is an unknown homeless man that spends his days scavenging the dirty junkyard for items he finds interesting. He’s joined alongside the many inhabitants of the back alley, but never in alliance with one another. For if something is found, everyone acts in their own selfish desires—often vile in executions for their own ... greedy self-gain. This place is dirty, disgusting, and brazenly violent. Yet it’s behind this veil of disgust that Mr. Stain presents to us a surprising depth of humanity and relatability, the kind that pushes you out of your comfort zone and defies sensibilities. Well, at least that’s what I get out of Masuda Ryuuji’s work.

Because yes that’s right, this is another work by Masuda Ryuuji, the creator of Popee the Performer, and one that is often overlooked compared to its predecessor. Airing just two years after Popee the Performer and a run of just 13 short episodes and a 30 minute OVA finale, Mr Stain builds itself a unique identity that somehow takes even more creative liberties than Popee the Performer. Rather than working within the restrictive limitations of its budget and software, Masuda builds upon the creative foundations he built during the production of Popee and expands on them to achieve even more of his bizarre ideas in Mr Stain. However before we get into that, I need to preface this review with a recommendation to read my Popee the Performer review if you haven’t, as it adds much needed context for this review.

Upon starting the first episode of Mr. Stain, the first thing you’ll notice is the detailed background designs, atmospheric lighting and effects, and a multitude of objects occupying the space. This is in direct contrast to the limitations faced during the production of Popee the Performer which took place in a simple, flat desert plain. Masuda Ryuji wanted to make the world of Mr. Stain feels more alive and interesting, thus a meticulous focus is placed on set design and atmosphere.

Alongside this focus on backgrounds is a significant improvement to the camerawork. Part of Masuda’s decision to place Mr. Stain amongst tall buildings is a desire to express a sense of physical space in animation, much like a camera does in live-action films. By utilising 3DCG, he’s able to easily convey this idea due to the camera being a literal physical object within that space. It goes without saying that traditional hand-drawn animation can achieve a similar effect, but it requires an immense amount of time and skill. By utilising computer technology, Masuda is able to bring his desired cinematic style into animation. As Masuda Ryuji puts it: “The main attraction of 3D CGI animation for me is the potential to combine the best elements of live-action camera work and animated expression. In simple terms, with 3D CGI, you can virtually build a set inside a computer, similar to stage design in live-action, and place a camera within it to move around. This allows for realistic camera movements—such as circling around a character or raising the camera like on a crane—enabling direction beyond simple cuts.” (Masuda, Oct2009). You can see the result of this in the first episode, for example, when Mr. Stain and his cat buddy (if you can even call them friends) Palvan enter a room. Instead of cutting away to a different shot, Masuda Ryuki utilises the free flowing camera to crane upwards, showing the characters walking through windows, and up to the roof of the building, all in one seamless take. Mr. Stain constantly has shots where the camera circles around characters, such as in episode 2, which does a great job at establishing the surrounding area and showing unique angles and details you’d otherwise not see. All of this does wonders to bring the space occupied by Mr. Stain to life.

This purposeful and meticulous focus on establishing a sense of space achieves realism, too. Unlike Popee the Performer, which indulges in its absurdity to form surrealist humour, Masuda attempts something completely different with Mr. Stain to achieve a similar level of surreality. The titular character, Mr. Stain, is deliberately designed with more human-like features; his movements are smooth and lively (in contrast to the rigid movements found in Popee the Performer); and he exhibits emotions and reactions the viewers can relate to. Mr. Stain is often portrayed acting illogically, such as in episode 3 where Mr. Stain falls in love with a portrait of a woman in a painting, to the extent that he’ll stop eating (and taking care of himself in general) to stare upon her figure for hours. Palvan attempts to please Mr. Stain by adding to the painting the image of Mr. Stain, but he becomes furious upon seeing himself, perhaps disgusted by his own image next to someone who, in his eyes, is perfect and beautiful. Enraged, he furiously rips apart the part of the painting that Palvan drew on, with a bloody hand from the broken glass shard he uses. This scene is raw in its disgust and incredibly uncomfortable to watch, and that’s the point. In Masuda’s own words: “People are emotional creatures. They tend to react emotionally more than logically. So rather than create designs written on paper, I have characters react emotionally - and interestingly - to the story.” (Masuda, 2006) With this idea in mind, Masuda is able to create characters that feel real. Characters you’ll find yourself genuinely compassionate towards. Characters who have a heart, in spite of the surrealist moments throughout the series. Masuda is also attempting to portray a “strange realism,” the kind that makes you feel uncomfortable on purpose to portray the rawness and brutality of this setting and these characters.

To get an idea of what I’m saying, look no further than episode 4 where Mr. Stain finds a bird in a cage in the junkyard and, of course, tries to eat him, but he manages to escape. However, the bird then saves Stain from falling to his death, which leads to the two bonding with each other. But the bird died because the season changed and it was a summer bird or something like that. So Mr. Stain violently chops up the bird, cooks it, and stuffs it in his mouth. Masuda talks about in an interview about how when he was young he would see chickens being chopped up this exact way, so he was very used to this kind of unapologetic violence.

All of these scenes are disgusting and uncomfortable. Mr. Stain’s art is weird and gross. Yet everything is portrayed in a strangely real and relatable way—exactly what Masuda is trying to achieve. Characters that are morally questionable and disgusting, yet undoubtedly human. It’s able to tug at your heartstrings and make you genuinely care for these characters, even after (or during) these brutal and disgusting scenes. Alongside the art amplifying a sense of realism, everything makes for such a surreal experience. If I haven’t sold the idea that Mr. Stain is incredibly surreal yet, during the last scene of episode 2, the lizard that hung out with Mr. Stain and Palvan dies and his ghost rips a fat cigar right in front of their faces before ascending to heaven. Everything about Mr. Stain is batshit insane, yet the fact that it’s able to build a world and establish characters that feel relatable is impressive. I’ve got one more quote from Masuda to ponder: “I’ve always been drawn to stories where things don’t quite come together perfectly, often with an ironic twist. It’s something closer to Terry Gilliam’s style of humour [Monty Python] than to typical Hollywood movies. I also loved manga growing up and frequently read works like Phoenix by Osamu Tezuka. It’s not a happy-ending story—instead, it explores themes like life’s disjointedness and challenges. And because of that, the ‘fate’ that sweeps the protagonist along takes on a strange weight, a unique realism. It’s not just gritty; it’s more like a vastness that leaves you awestruck once you finish reading.” (Masuda, Oct2009).

I find Mr. Stain to be a significant part of Masuda Ryuuji’s portfolio of 3DCG anime for all the reasons I’ve discussed in this review. He was able to more freely explore the wicked, and oftentimes grim, ideas he has. You can feel his creativity overflowing throughout Mr. Stain, be it through the characters or set pieces. It’s a shame that Mr. Stain is often overlooked in comparison to its significantly popular predecessor, since I believe it provides a similar level of crude and wicked absurdity that made Popee the Performer so charming in the first place.

And to end on a similar note as my Popee the Performer review, Mr. Stain is the idea of rejecting your sensibilities and embracing unconventionality personified into a story. Mr. Stain is the kind of anime you can very easily dismiss on a surface level for its strange art style and disgusting story. Yet it’s exactly these aspects that challenge the viewer’s sensibilities, as it’s able to portray a surprising sense of humanity throughout its surrealism. It’s visceral, raw, and real, all of which makes for such a truly unique experience that I highly encourage anyone interested to try. Thanks for reading this review <3.

-Sources-
- Masuda Ryuuji Interview for Mr. Stain https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1LTagdc7pVg&list=PLtABcpnRh2OyYD6f6zHHyl7JOTRvvc7s4
- Adobe Education Interview https://web.archive.org/web/20141129032634/https://www.adobe-education.com/jp/interview/interview18.html

What’s fascinating about the beginning of Cosmic Baton Girl Comet-san is how it initially establishes the sort of magical ideas you’d come to expect in a Mahou Shoujo. Amidst a luxurious ball in the hopes to establish a connection between royal families, the princess of the Harmonica Star-World stumbles into a mysterious prince in a hallway who continues rushing past her. With his face shrouded in the darkness of the hallway, all she knows about the mysterious prince is the gem he dropped during their encounter. The Harmonica Star-World is a magical planet found far from earth and inhabits little creatures known as “star-worlds” which ... in themselves contain unique worlds and personalities. The people living in the Harmonica Star-World harvest “star-power” from these creatures to use as magic. This world is full of magic, wonder, extravagance, and endless possibilities. Yet it’s revealed that during this royal ball, the prince of the Tambourine Star-World has gone missing.

Upon learning his whereabouts are headed towards earth, the princess Comet-san, who was initially ecstatic that the ball was cancelled and showed a disinterest in searching for the prince because “I can’t fall in love with someone I’ve never even met”, jumps at the opportunity to go search for the prince by herself. However it’s quickly made clear the reason why she went is to explore earth. That’s right, despite establishing the kind of fun magical ideas you’d come to expect in a Mahou Shoujo; a magical space girl from a planet full of extravagant royal parties, tiny floating planets that supply magical powers, and gorgeous colourful space landscapes, the series instead decides to explore boring old earth. Well, of course, she’s still required to search for the prince, with the only clue of his appearance being that “he has a twinkle in his eyes”. But upon arriving on earth, Comet-san shows little to no interest at all in finding the prince, nor her responsibilities as a princess.

This sentiment is maintained throughout the majority of the first half of the series as Comet-san explores earth, meets new people, and tries new things. What was initially established as a way to search for the prince, Comet-san quickly learns that anyone can have a “twinkle” in their eyes, which the series uses non-explicitly when referring to individuals who have passion, creativity, and love (as well as a list of other positive emotions). This was the aspect I fell in love with when starting Comet-san, as it’s used to explore the many different facets of human life and human emotions. The series is surprisingly slow-paced in its first initial episodes as Comet-san explores and adjusts to her new life on earth with Tsuyoshi and Nene, two adorable toddlers from a family that offered Comet-san to stay with them on her visit. The way each episode operates is more akin to an Iyashikei series than Mahou Shoujo because the series emphasises Comet-san exploring and appreciating the little aspects of life, the type we’d usually take for granted as humans. The many sentimental messages and lessons learnt Comet-san experiences on her journey is also emblematic of this, with of course a touch of fantastical magic and silly comedy representing its Mahou Shoujo side. And when I say silly, I mean that Comet-san can be *very* silly at times.

It’s in the stories such as episode 5 where we see this idea developed. Comet-san, alongside Tsuyoshi, Nene, and their father, start a garden patch to grow fruits and vegetables. In Comet-san’s eyes, using magic to speed up the growth of the garden over the night would be nothing but beneficial, as she can surprise everyone with fresh produce in the morning. When the father wakes up and see all the fruits and vegetables on the table (who is of course unaware of her magical abilities, only Tsuyoshi and Nene know) he tells Comet-san that the fun of growing these crops isn’t the end product but rather putting in the hard work to plant, grow, and maintain the crops over time. The crops will be tastier after all that hard work, as in the satisfaction of seeing your hard work pay off significantly outweighs any immediate but short gratification. Comet-san takes this lesson to heart as seen at the end of the episode where she decides to stop using her star tunnel for the day, a magic ability that lets her travel long distances, because in her words “Maybe it’s not a good idea to get there in a flash” implying there is value in taking life at a slower pace. The episode ends framing this lesson as an understanding of what makes life beautiful, with Comet-san taking in the surrounding views of the town.

We see more of Comet-san taking in her surroundings when she takes a trip up to a rural home that Tsuyoshi and Nene’s father had designed. Up in the nearby mountains, Comet-san and the kids take in the luscious green hills, the bright blue skies, and even remark about the taste of the air, all scenery unfamiliar to them coming from their humble little town. However during the same scene Rababou alerts Comet-san that there is a twinkle nearby, which if you remember refers to anyone filled with creativity, passion, or even simply love. To Comet-san’s surprise, the wife of the man living in this rural home is nonother than her aunty Spica, who left the Harmonica Star-world for a life on earth after falling in love with not only this world but a human man too. Much like Comet-san’s adventure on earth, Spica was a princess in-line to become the next queen and also visited earth. However, despite returning to the star-world, Spica had so much fun on earth that she ended up going back and staying there after marrying her husband. In a moment of self reflection, Comet-san tells her aunt how much fun she has had on earth, how much she appreciates the family she’s staying with treating her well, how every day is so fun and full of new experiences, how she has fallen in love with this planet called earth. Aunt Spica reminds Comet-san that when things get hard that she’ll be there for her, and encourages Comet-san to indulge in life a little more. This scene puts into perspective everything that has happened in Comet-san’s journey up until this point.

But of course, Comet-san’s journey isn’t just limited to appreciating earth. Many of the character encounters Comet-san has throughout her journey are from those who have a twinkle in their eye. She develops friendships with them as a result of their passion, which often motivates Comet-san to support them in any way she can. Comet-san has a very interesting relationship with Tsuyoshi and Nene, because despite being pre-school children, she learns a lot about relationships alongside them. Such as the time Tsuyoshi and Nene got into a fight, with Nene later transforming into a giant robot with the help of Comet-san’s magic, leading into a chaotic episode finale with a mecha and kaiju fight, with the message of the episode portraying how petty arguments can turn into something much larger. We see this again when Tsuyoshi and Nene’s parents get into a fight. This time the children are hurt seeing their parents act this way, with them both making a wish on their tanabata papers for their parents to make up. Only after the parents see this wish of theirs do they realise how their actions have hurt those they care about. Comet-san learns a lot about relationships throughout these various encounters on earth, however they’re never conflicts aimed directly at Comet-san herself.

So, what happens when she’s suddenly thrusted into conflict? That’s where Comet-san’s relationship with Keisuke comes into play. Keisuke is a character “with a twinkle in their eyes”, in-fact one of the first characters with such a description, with his passion being protecting lives by doing beach lifeguarding. However despite this, he’s one of the only characters Comet-san cannot understand and feels a strange discomfort around him. This misunderstanding of Keisuke and his feelings reaches a breaking point when the two get into a fight. Suddenly, Comet-san has to experience feelings she has never felt before - heartbreak. Not every aspect of life on earth is beautiful and being confronted with hard feelings can be difficult to navigate. Comet-san naively makes mistakes, and while it’s hard to watch, these are lessons both Comet-san and Keisuke can learn from. They eventually break off their fight after they both realise the reason they got into this mess in the first place was due to a misunderstanding. However on Comet-san’s end it’s much more than that. Those feelings she didn’t understand when around Keisuke were feelings of love, and it’s not until Keisuke leaves Japan to participate in lifeguard training in Australia does she fully understand these feelings for Keisuke.

Unfortunately the romance between Keisuke and Comet-san is halted half way through the anime, which to me felt like a shame as their relationship was only getting started, however it became clear what the series was trying to achieve with its second half leading into the finale. There is one important aspect that not only Comet-san has forgotten about but the audience has too. She’s supposed to be finding the prince!

Comet-san had fallen in love with earth and her many unique experiences and encounters that finding the prince became a non-issue to her. She values her love and appreciation of earth and her friends more than her obligations as a princess. Despite this, she is still required to find the prince and return to her home planet. This should come as no surprise that the finale finds Comet-san finally encountering the prince, however it plays out in a unique way you’d never imagine. I’m going to save most of the specifics for spoiler reasons, but the prince echoes similar struggles as Comet-san’s obligations as a princess, expressing a disdain towards the labels and obligations forced onto him simply because he was born into royalty. Fortunately for the prince, his encounter with Comet-san ignites a fuse, and in a very extravagant manner both Comet-san and Meteo return to their star worlds to proclaim a disinterest in being in-line to be the next queen. Meanwhile the prince acknowledges that he isn’t prepared to take up the role as the prince and wishes to explore more facets of life (which in this series means going to earth) to find his “twinkle”, just like Comet-san had.

And so, the series ends with all three characters returning to earth, with Comet-san changing direction and heading towards Australia where Keisuke is, continuing to develop their relationship beyond the series’ end. While this ending may seem abrupt, leaving some plotlines open-ended, especially with regards to Keisuke and Comet-san’s relationship, I was completely satisfied with this ending. This ending ties together everything beautiful about Comet-san’s journey up until this point. All the experiences made and lessons learnt, all the peaceful moments and chaotic emotions. I’m satisfied with this ending because I don’t need to see more of her relationship with Keisuke to understand where it’s headed. Everything in Comet-san is portrayed in such a heartfelt and genuine way that makes for a unique Mahou Shoujo with a vibe and atmosphere unlike any other. There is a lot more that happens in this show that I haven't talked about in my review, so if you’re interested I cannot recommend this anime enough.

When I was first getting into anime a few years ago, I developed a bias against the use of CGI in anime. I used to hear anecdotally from other people in the community (and sometimes still do) that CG animation is often used as a cost-cutting measure, and therefore it is bad. I completely agreed with them despite these conversations never really expanding past these handful of talking points. I mean I saw my fair share of poorly composited CG models in 2D environments, so of course CGI in anime seemed bad. But the thing is, I never understood what exactly makes CGI look bad. ... So when I started watching anime with CGI that I actually thought was pretty good, I felt compelled to look into how CGI is utilized in anime and try to understand why it works in some cases but not in others.

What I’m trying to get at is that Danball Senki’s utilization of CGI is amazing and it adds to the experience in a way that wouldn’t be possible within the constraints of 2D animation.

If you’re unfamiliar with this anime, Danball Senki adapts a video game series of the same name by Level 5, the studio known for Youkai Watch, Inazuma Eleven, and many other games. It’s about these super powerful toy robots that kids build using model kits and battle each other in ultra-strong cardboard arenas. That’s all the context you really need. When I started watching, I was immediately taken aback by how head-on Danball Senki’s pacing and storytelling is. The only other Level 5 adaptation I had seen up until that point was Youkai Watch, which doesn’t follow its video game counterpart at all and is instead a Doraemon-like episodic gag anime. Comparatively, Danball Senki puts us straight into the action, engaging us with its story almost immediately. What stood out to me the most is Danball Senki’s restraint; it doesn’t feel the need to shove a battle scene into every episode, which seems almost unheard of in game/toy adaptations that aim to market their products first and foremost. Danball actually takes time to develop its story and cast in a way that doesn’t feel forced. While I could go on about Danball Senki’s pacing and storytelling, I’m more interested in dedicating this review to an element that stood out to me the most: the CGI.

A common criticism you often hear towards CGI in anime is how it feels out of place, particularly when a 3D model is in a 2D environment. Not only are they two different art styles, but it’s tricky to make a 3D model not stand out in a static 2D environment. However, one of the most defining traits of CG animation is the ability to utilize a 3D space. Danball Senki takes advantage of the fact that most battles take place in these cardboard arenas, meaning not only is the switch from a 2D environment outside of the arenas to a 3D one inside the arena less jarring, but the 3D toy models don’t feel out of place either. Because everything in Danball Senki’s battle environments is in 3D, they’re able to make the most of dynamic camera movements. For example, the beginning of a battle in episode 3 really stood out to me for how the camera flies around the battlefield, establishing a sense of space where these toys are fighting. The battle against Ban and his rival Jin in episode 14 had this really cool sequence where the toys fought each other while jumping all around the battlefield, even jumping up to the skies to duke it out as they fall back down. I really appreciate the use of camerawork in these 3D environments to establish a sense of space as it adds so much to the enjoyment of these battles.

That being said, there are instances where the toys appear outside the confines of the 3D cardboard arenas. In these instances, Danball Senki manages to avoid the 3D models feeling jarring within the 2D environments with a simple trick. There are many ways to composite 3D and 2D together, such as good lighting and shading, or even something as simple as quick movements to make it less noticeable. In Danball Senki’s case, what I think blends the 3D models most is the use of scale. For example, the first episode features some toys attacking Ban in his home in an attempt to steal his LBX (which by the way, the LBX toys canonically use live ammunition meaning if Ban got hit he could've died... WHAT). During this scene, the camera often scales down to the toy’s size, with everything 2D scaled up. In any shot where the camera is scaled up, the toys are appropriately scaled down. You can judge for yourself, but I think this works wonders for making the 3D models never feel out of place in the 2D environments. Episode 28 is another example of the 3D models working well in a 2D environment during a scene where they use the toys to break into a hijacked train. Once again, the toys and camera are appropriately scaled down in size, aiding in the believability that they’re actually in this space. What’s funny about this example is that there is a 3D smoke effect that broke the immersion for me with how out of place it felt. It takes up a considerable amount of space on the screen but doesn’t blend in well with the background. Other than these small instances, Danball Senki has great 3D compositing in both the 3D and 2D environments.

With all that being said, the best part about Danball Senki’s CG animation (and the reason I felt compelled to make this review in the first place) is just how awesome it is. The way the camera flies all over the place, the way it establishes great angles to see the action, and the way it moves in unique ways to highlight certain things in a battle are all impressive. One scene that stood out to me as truly epic was a battle in episode 20 featuring an LBX that looks like a Jester who has the unique ability of confusing their enemy by dancing around them. The camera work is very lively and constantly moves around the toys. But what I really appreciate is how the camera focuses and follows the Jester’s feet as it dances around the other toy. Highlighting this little detail made the fight significantly more exciting to watch and made me appreciate the freedom Danball Senki has with its camerawork. It goes a long way in making these battle scenes really entertaining, something I can’t imagine working if it wasn’t CG animation.

I know this review has been mostly about the CGI since I like focusing on specific aspects I find interesting when I make reviews, but I really don’t want to understate how great I think Danball Senki’s writing is. The story is constantly progressing with some great plot twists and revelations here and there. I especially loved the development of the rival character Jin and his relationship with Ban throughout the series. I just don’t have any analysis to make about it; I just think it’s a super solid story and I was entertained the entire way through. Anyways, I hope this review has convinced you to not only check out Danball Senki, but also think about what makes CGI good or bad in anime for you personally. I’m not an expert in art, not at all. Everything in this review is just aspects that I’ve noticed and thought about while watching Danball Senki. I happen to really appreciate good camerawork, which is why I really liked Danball Senki’s CGI. Thank you for reading!

Chouriki Robo Galatt is one fever dream of an anime from the 80s. What stands innocently as just another one of many original mecha IP’s by the collective staff in Sunrise, it differentiates itself from the rest by virtue of its pure insanity. I mean sure, plenty of Sunrise’s mecha anime of the time had gags and a sense of humour, but as far as I’m aware none had gags so consistently insane and intensely dialled up to 100 as Galatt. By no means is this criticism though, as it’s exactly what makes Galatt such an enjoyable experience.

The story follows a group of 3 ... lovable goofballs who pilot adorable little robot that transform into mecha, an ability provided to their robots by a crazed scientist whose been tasked by the government to build super robots to defend earth against alien attacks. That’s the jist of it anyways, as I honestly don’t care as much about the story of Galatt as much as I do the funny scenarios and gags. Most episodes are episodic shenanigans, often leading the main cast to absurd situations which is where Galatt’s humour is found.

The best way I’d describe Galatt’s humour is that of complete and utter insanity. First of all, the comedic timing and pacing is very 80s, think something like Urusei Yatsura, where it’s somehow both slow paced and incredibly fast paced. The best way I’d describe it is that you can have these drawn out jokes with very awkward pauses between when the punchline is delivered, with that awkwardness being what’s funny, while other times you can have very sudden and abrupt dialogue or imagery that happens out of nowhere. There are visual gags in Galatt that literally last a single frame, that’s how fast I’m talking. A mixture of that alongside the fact that so much random shit is constantly happening in Galatt makes for an almost mind-numbing experience where you can’t help but laugh at how absurd it all is. Take the first episode for example, during the big mecha fight at the end of the episode, the villain randomly asks the main character (Michael) if he likes egg custard, to which he is of course very confused by, and the villain just says “just thought I’d ask” ...
That’s it, that’s the whole punchline. I mean like, WHAT? That’s so absurd yet so funny to me. Something I also love are these recurring background characters who’re randomly interspersed between scenes. For example, the Dosukoi sisters, through which the anime will consistently halt the events of its episodes to show what they’re getting up to, which is always unrelated to the actual episode. This type of humour is very reminiscent of Heybot, another Sunrise anime, and while they don’t share similar staff I wouldn’t be surprised if Galatt was an influence in Heybot’s own humour.

If it wasn’t already obvious by the “Sunrise Burgers” shop found within the anime, Galatt was created by studio Sunrise (This joke would make more sense if I could add images to my review, but if you watch Galatt you'll see lol). There are many prolific names who have worked on Galatt like director Takeyuki Kanada and script writer Hiroyuki Hoshiyama who both respectively have worked on Dougram before Galatt. As well as prolific mechanical designer Kunio Okawara. A name that stood out to me the most is Toyoo Ashida, not only because his name is actually mentioned in the anime through a gag about Kamil getting abused in his introduction episode, but because of his work as a character designer.

He has done character design work for Minky Momo and Vifam, and may best be known for directing Hokuto no Ken and Vampire Hunter D (1985), but what’s most important for the context of this review is his work as character designer for Mashin Eiyuuden Wataru. Wataru is arguably best known for its wacky villain designs which are typically characterised as big burly characters with huge detailed heads and small bodies. Wellllll, this is a design feature you can find on some of the Galatt characters. In fact, a lot of the visual gags you can see with Toyoo Ashida’s designs in Wataru can be found in Galatt, like how when characters are running their feet move rapidly in a circle around their bodies, which you can see pretty much whenever a character is running in both anime.

If any of this sounds interesting to you I highly encourage you to watch Chouriki Robo Galatt and any of the other anime I’ve mentioned throughout this review. Gag anime are an absolute joy to watch, especially when they go all out on the insanity like in Galatt or Heybot. It’s a shame Galatt is relatively obscure (at least here in the west) but fortunately there are available subtitles out there. Thank you for reading!

Gegege no Kitarou is one of those anomalies in anime where, despite massive success in Japan and airing a new season ceremoniously every decade, it is practically unheard of in the western community. However, when you think of it in terms of marketability for the West, it does make sense. The entire franchise is filled to the brim with Japanese social commentary, and the very foundation of the series is based on Japanese Youkai and folktales, which is why it’s so fascinating to see the most recent iteration, in 2018, simulcast on Crunchyroll. What’s more fascinating is how it happens that this season is so ... radically different from its predecessors in representing its era. It makes perfect sense that this season is the first to be brought overseas, as it not only signifies a new era for the franchise but also demonstrates just how much society has changed.

(This review contains minor spoilers)

Now, I understand that that last sentence reads rather pompous, but, trust me, it makes sense in the context of what this franchise is. As I mentioned before, Gegege no Kitarou airs a new 50–100 episode season every decade, and with it, commentary on the society each season encompasses. Today, technology permeates our modern-day society in a way that is nearly unavoidable. I’m talking smartphones, computers, the internet, and social media. The 2018 series (which I’ll refer to as GGG2018 from now on) does not hesitate to utilise this and places a heavy focus on modern technology.

Despite being aware of this before going into the show, it was still surreal to see GGG2018 open up its first episode to a man recording himself with a selfie stick causing disruptions at Shibuya crossing, only to be cursed and turned into a vampire tree. The people surrounding him all grab their phones and start recording and/or texting their friends about what just happened, only for everyone on the street to be turned into vampire trees themselves. We find out this was caused by a certain Youkai called Nobiagari, who plants seeds that suck blood and turn people into vampire trees. My favourite part about this opening scene is how GGG2018 immediately makes it very clear that we’ve entered a new era by putting a heavy emphasis on phone usage. As the episode progresses, we learn the man causing the disruption at the start is named "Charatomi," who owns a YouTube channel and posts himself causing all sorts of problems around Japan. One of these videos involves him walking inside a random cave and ripping off a seal of the Youkai Nobiagari (lol). Interestingly, 5 months before the airing of this episode, Logan Paul entered the country and made national news after causing a huge ruckus on the streets, being disrespectful to the culture, and, well, we all know what else happened. We may not fully realise the scale of it, but YouTube is a massive phenomenon, and issues like these are a real problem. Hell, you still hear stories of idiots running around Japan and other countries with cameras in their faces causing problems today. This first episode does a great job showcasing what exactly this series is about and prepares us for what we can expect going forward, and boy does it deliver.

A general idea explored throughout GGG2018 is how society is constantly changing over time and the effect that has on both humans and Youkai. Episode 6, for example, features a cat Youkai who is unable to properly feed off of human life energy in a rural town, as it lives off of the energy of humans simply by touching them, since over time more and more youth started moving to the city for school or work opportunities. This has caused the cat to slowly but unintentionally kill off the elderly population over time by stealing their life energy. The Youkai never meant any harm, but since the world is constantly changing and moving, incidents like this occur. Within this general idea of the world changing, one theme that particularly stood out to me was commentary on modern Japanese work ethic, which is the main focus of episode 9. This episode was about the Youkai 'Isogashi' who specifically possess lazy people and cause them to be restless to want to get things going or done. Yet despite this power, he struggles to find anyone to possess because people are already overworking themselves with their jobs.
The focus then shifts to the Kappa, who get lured into working an office job with the promise of many more cucumbers than they were collecting on their own (Kappa loves cucumbers). Before, the Kappa were living a lazy life playing sumo and swimming in rivers, yet they’re taken advantage of by the lure of something they love. However, after being overworked to oblivion, they find out that their salary of 3 cucumbers an hour is not nearly enough as the minimum wage when converted to yen and realise they’re being exploited. Enraged, the Kappa go on a rampage, making random people on the streets relaxed and lazy (that’s their ability, and yes, I know it sounds absurd, but Youkai have all sorts of weird powers lol), to the point where the Youkai Isogashi comes back and the usual Kitarou fighting shenanigans ensue. Afterwards, the Kappa realise that the life they were living before is much better for their wellbeing. Even if they weren't getting as many cucumbers, they appreciate and value the time they spend doing stuff they enjoy together, like swimming and sumo, while growing their own cucumbers to enjoy. This is one of my favourite episodes, as it encourages appreciating not only the little things in life but also the slow moments we have too. There are many more episodes that tackle the subject matter of work ethic, like episode 14, but those episodes are worth watching yourself as they’re some of the best this season has to offer.

While GGG2018 defines its era through its themes and storytelling, I’d say an even more important aspect is this season’s artstyle. A fascinating upside of airing a new season every decade is seeing how the art and techniques change overtime. The 60s series is in black-and-white, the 70s is the first with colour, the 90s is the last cel animated season, the 2000s season is the first fully digitally animated, and the 2018 season is the first that utilises modern digital effects and lighting (which to me is the most defining part of this season’s art). What’ll stand out to anyone starting this season is the strong use of lighting—an almost over-exaggerated use. Lighting is often used to strategically build atmosphere by creating a stark contrast between the light-hearted and horror scenes. And it works! The over-exaggeration of the lighting lends itself to an almost overwhelming, eerie, and uncomfortable feeling. My favourite example of this is episode 25. It begins with a cold open inside a dark room; all we can see is the illuminating light of a phone. Then, it cuts eerily to a shot of a person hanging from the ceiling, and while we don’t see the noose, it’s clear they’ve hung themselves. This scene gave me goosebumps because it’s genuinely TERRIFYING. We learn later in the episode that a phone app was the cause of this suicide, once again showcasing how this season uses technology as a main theme. This is an element I’ve come to realise was missing from the 2007 series. From what I’ve seen of it, it has scary moments, but they often weren’t accompanied by meaningful lighting that built up the atmosphere. There are a few exceptions, like 2007’s Youkai Train episode, but those exceptions happen to be 2007’s greatest episodes, which were few and far between (sorry to diss on the 2007 series but I have my gripes with it lmao). I really do believe that 2018’s decision to utilise lighting in this way has done wonders for the tone and atmosphere.

In terms of smartphone usage, one thing I want to mention is how Neko Musume has a phone she uses. It’s not treated as this gimmick where it’s like, “Hey guys look!! She’s using a phone!!!”. No, in reality, the phone is shown countless times throughout the series as a useful tool. She uses it to communicate with Mana, which then lets her relay information to Kitarou. She uses it to watch the news and stay caught up on anything related to Youkai. We even see Neko Musume discreetly take photos of Kitarou (because she is in love with him) and use them as her lock screen, which plays an important thematic role in episode 93. It’s not just phones, there are moments of technology use, like in episode 31 where Nezumi Otoko complains about how the crypto-currency he invested in lost all value in a single day (and this gag happens multiple times iirc lmfao). Social media addiction is often used as a theme, like in episodes 31 and 67, where they feature both humans and Youkai striving for more clicks and views while simultaneously pushing aside the important things in their lives. It’s amazing how they’ve managed to fully integrate technology, not as a gimmick but as a central theme of this entire season.

Gegege no Kitarou 2018 is by no means a perfect season. Like most seasons in the franchise, it’s tainted by numerous fight scenes and episodes that focus entirely on battle shenanigans. I often found these episodes to be the least interesting part of the series, which really bogged down the experience for me. Fortunately, there are plenty of great episodic stories to watch, and the social commentary on the problems we face in the modern era is fascinating to watch. Furthermore, I would especially recommend this series if you have an interest in Youkai! This review has been somewhat all over the place, as it’s more like a thought dump of the aspects I liked. Thank you for reading, and I hope I’ve convinced you to check out this awesome franchise!

As far as I’m aware, Tsurikichi Sanpei is the first anime about fishing. In fact, other than a small handful of titles, there aren’t that many anime solely about fishing. We recently had Houkago Teibou Nisshi back in 2020, and in 1997 there was Super Fishing Grander Musashi, both of which featured fishing as the main focus. But I struggle to name more besides those and a few others. Perhaps it’s the slow and monotonous nature of fishing that is hard to translate into entertainment—something I assumed before getting into Sanpei. I couldn’t have been more incorrect. So how does Tsurikichi Sanpei make fishing entertaining? ... And does it live up to the expectations of being one of the first anime about fishing?

Tsurikichi Sanpei adapts a popular 1973 fishing manga under the same name, written and illustrated by Takao Yaguchi, into 109 episodes. It follows the experiences and encounters of Mihira Sanpei on his adventures to learn all there is to know about fishing. The anime follows an episodic structure with sets of multi-episode arcs ranging from 3-6 episodes interspersed between single episodic stories. Tsurikichi Sanpei is in fact so episodic that there is no overarching plot whatsoever, with the only semblance of one being Sanpei’s quest to find his father after an accident out at sea that left him with permanent brain damage, wandering throughout Japan with no memory of who he or his family is. However, this plotline is rarely of importance for the episodic stories because Sanpei is instead more interested in focusing on the fishing aspects. This is not a bad thing at all as this style of storytelling lends itself to a laid-back experience which suits its TV Anime format. Fishing takes centre stage in every episode, including everything from fishing technique to fishing locations and, of course, the fish themselves, thus creating both an entertaining and educational experience at the same time.

From analysis about fish and their habitats to exploring a diverse range of different fishing techniques, Sanpei never fails to deliver an educational perspective to the bulk of its episodes. Hell, some of the techniques shown seem so obscure that I can’t help but be fascinated. Episodes 40 to 42 are a great example of this. In this story arc, Sanpei is taught the technique of catching mudskippers using a unique spiked fishing hook, guided by a master of the art. The episode goes into great detail about the patience and immense precision needed to perform this technique, and over the span of 3 episodes we watch as Sanpei slowly masters it. I love these longer multi-episode stories as they convey precisely the patience and time investment needed in fishing. A lot of the single episodic stories weren’t that interesting to me; most didn’t take the time to expand on the information presented. In comparison, it felt like Sanpei was able to breathe and take its time when it came to these longer stories. Though with that being said this wasn’t an issue I found in the second half because many episodes began to focus more on dramatic character stories.

These educational moments are, of course, intertwined with the stories being told in each episode. Episodes 40 to 42 were accompanied by a competition with the son of a rival mudskipper fishing master, which provided the much-needed drive for Sanpei to master the skill himself. Episodes can vary in storytelling; some can be as simple as a laid-back story about learning a new fishing technique, while others can be blood-pumping high-stakes insanity. For example, Episode 53 is a pretty laid-back episode about catching a golden koi and explaining the phenomenon behind its colour. Then, the stretch of episodes immediately following, episodes 54–57, has one of the craziest moments in the whole anime. The story starts off with Sanpei participating in a competition to troll the biggest marlin (a type of fish) as he meets a veteran fisherman who explains that years ago he and his friends were attacked by a massive marlin, which not only killed his friend but also damaged one of the old man’s eyes, ripped off his arm after it was caught in the fishing line, and was violently attacked in the stomach. After hearing this, Sanpei makes it his goal to find that same massive marlin. So eventually they find the fish out in the ocean, made clear by the fact that it seemingly recognised the old man after he joined alongside Sanpei. After a long battle to maintain the Marlin, the old man stands directly in front of it on his boat, and in a fit of rage, the Marlin jumps up and fucking leaps into the boat, causing a massive chunk to rip off, and continues to bash into the boat till it’s completely tired out, to which then the old man pierces its eye and finally kills it, but then immediately following a group of sharks appear, so Sanpei and the old man have a battle with the sharks so they don’t eat the dead marlin still in the water. After the insanity that was this stretch of episodes, the following episode is just a simple story about a unique use of bait to catch a certain fish. The way Sanpei can jump from laid-back stories detailing unique techniques or analysing fish to pure insanity with battles against fish makes getting into each episode always exciting.

What makes some of these episodes so suspenseful is the inherently erratic nature of fish. Like in the aforementioned Marlin episode, when the Marlin suddenly pulls on Sanpei’s rod, it causes him to almost fly out of his trolling chair. There are many scenes like this throughout the anime that play on this unpredictableness. I’m a huge fan of both the laid-back educational episodes and the suspenseful, stakes-driven episodes. All of these aspects are what create such a unique experience where it’s both educational and entertaining, which is how Sanpei manages to make learning about fishing a very enjoyable experience.

Sanpei himself is a fun character to follow. He is incredibly talented and knowledgeable about every aspect of fishing. Yet despite this greater knowledge, he’s always very humble. We get to see throughout the series Sanpei sharing his knowledge of fish with others, like in episode 83, wherein Sanpei is trying to teach his friend Yuri how to catch a fish using a dragonfly when a man walks up to them and asks if he can watch. Sanpei, realising the man knows this technique of fishing, immediately offers for the man to join in with them, and they spend the rest of the episode getting to know each other and enjoying their time fishing together. With that being said though, there are plenty of episodes about a technique or unique fish that Sanpei knows nothing about, yet he is always willing to learn about them. The mudskipper episode I mentioned before is a good example of this. This is an important aspect of what makes Tsurikichi Sanpei so entertaining. We, the audience, are learning these techniques and analyses about fish alongside Sanpei. It’s the opposite of another edutainment anime I love, Oishinbo, where Yamaoka is often the one telling others the facts and information about food. Riffing off of the Oishinbo comparison for a moment; one aspect of Oishinbo that I like a lot in comparison to Tsurikichi Sanpei is a sense of community.

Sanpei meets a lot of people throughout the series, yet almost every character is self-contained within their respective episodic stories. In comparison, Oishinbo has many characters we meet throughout the series who reoccur, even if for only an episode or two. While I personally love this aspect of Oishinbo’s storytelling, it’s only fair to point out that the lack of said aspect in Tsurikichi Sanpei puts greater emphasis on other aspects. Like the aforementioned focus on the different techniques, unique locations, and different analyses of fish and their habitats, the characters within these stories are used to facilitate these ideas. This approach is entertaining in its own unique way. Though this isn’t to say the characters in these self-contained stories aren’t good. My favourite character is from the stretch of episodes 69–71, where Sanpei met a musician who ran away from this past life of mastering a complex netting technique but was convinced to reconcile his relationship with his father, eventually leading to him passing on his knowledge of this technique to Sanpei. It was a genuinely heartfelt tale and is one of my favourite stretches of episodes.

A surprisingly prominent aspect of Tsurikichi Sanpei are tales of death. Sanpei meets many characters who either end up dying or have a family member who dies. Around the second half of the anime, there are about 7 to 8 episodes that feature a prominent character's death. In these episodes, Sanpei is understandably horrified by these deaths; however, these emotions are not felt nor expanded on in subsequent episodes due to the nature of the anime being purely episodic. Though, these little details really don’t affect the greater enjoyment of the anime, especially when it makes itself clear what the main focus is.

Another aspect of Tsurikichi Sanpei’s storytelling is the occasional episode with commentary on the social aspects of fishing, such as proper etiquette when fishing around other fishermen. In episode 82, a fisherman was drilling too many holes at an ice lake and being an asshole to the people trying to warn him. Eventually, the ice cracks and causes a huge chunk to fall off, dragging the man down with it. This episode highlights the importance of being aware of those around you and the rules one should follow for the sake of everyone’s enjoyment. However, my favourite episode that tackles social topics has got to be episode 76, which focuses on debunking the myth that women (particularly middle-aged women and wives) are “unsuitable” for fishing. This episode has Sanpei and his friends meeting an older woman fishing at a lake who explains to them that she takes turns with her husband going on vacation out to this lake every year, with the other going to work to support each other financially. At the end of the episode, Sanpei admits that “thinking fishing isn’t suitable for women is not right” and is glad that he was able to talk and become friends with the older woman. Based as fuck episode, one of my favourites. There are also episodes about local folktales, like lake monsters or historically significant people and deities. These episodes are a great diversion from the usual educational episodes, which helps keep things interesting.

Tsurikichi Sanpei has a strong visual style. With gorgeous background art and a focus on detailed fish, the anime does a great job translating the gorgeous art style of the manga into animation, keeping in mind that the art of Tsurikichi Sanpei’s manga is incredibly detailed and that naturally there’ll be cut corners when it comes to animation. The background colours are often muted, but it creates a good contrast in scenes where the colours are more vivid, especially during the freeze frames. Tsurikichi Sanpei, like many anime at the time, took influence from Dezaki’s visual style. This can be seen most commonly in Sanpei with the extensive use of freeze frames to highlight the details on fish when they’ve been caught. In general, Tsurikichi Sanpei puts a lot of emphasis on the detail of the fish, utilising different techniques to achieve a consistent quality of detail. In contrast, the character designs are kept simple yet recognizable. The freeze frames also emphasise the poses Sanpei does as he fishes. Actually, the pose Sanpei does as he’s pulling up fish is an important piece of Japanese pop culture, and you can find it referenced throughout anime and Japanese media.
I’m unfortunately not that knowledgeable enough about the staff behind Sanpei to confidently describe their relations and contributions to the project in detail; however, I do highly recommend anyone who’s interested have a look at the staff list, as there are some interesting names behind this anime.

Being one of the first anime about fishing, Tsurikichi Sanpei gets a lot of what makes for an entertaining series about fishing on its first try. By focusing on an educational style of storytelling, it’s able to cram every episode with new experiences and information. By being entirely episodic, it’s able to keep each episode fresh with new ideas and stories. Tsurikichi Sanpei’s attention to detail with the fish, not only in its art but also in its ability to analyse fish, is endlessly fascinating. As someone who doesn’t have much interest in fishing in real life, I still had a blast with everything this anime had to offer. If Tsurikichi Sanpei sounds like something you’d be interested in, then I absolutely recommend giving it a try. Thank you for reading my review.

Back in 2020, I was lucky enough to catch the Youtube re-run of Oishinbo. At the time, I knew nothing about this anime other than that it was about gourmet food. I decided to give it a try after a friend told me that this re-run came with English subtitles. It’s pretty unusual to see an anime Youtube re-run have English subtitles, as most rarely have any, if at all. I ended up loving the almost year-long journey it took to watch the weekly-releasing episodes, which is why I was bummed out to find that Oishinbo is relatively unknown in the western community, at least ... on MAL and Anilist. There was barely any information about it on the web, with only the occasional article and a wiki. What I did find however, rather surprising, is that Oishinbo is one of the best-selling manga in Japan, selling a total of over 135 million copies out of 111 volumes. Alongside its 136-episode anime, it has two animated films, one live-action film, and a goddamn Famicom visual novel adaptation, with its popularity spawning numerous references within Japanese pop culture. Okay, let's take a step back for a moment. What even is Oishinbo? And why is it so popular in Japan?

(To preface this review, I will be referencing and occasionally paraphrasing an academic paper written on Oishinbo that I’ll link below. I recommend anyone who’s interested give it a read, as it’s very interesting.)

Oishinbo is about gourmet food. Gourmet is actually a genre of anime and manga called “Gurume” in Japan, which had an explosion in mainstream popularity back in the 1980s. Manga like Cooking Papa, Aji Ichi Monme, Mister Ajikko, and, of course, Oishinbo were all bursting at the seams due to an increased interest in fine foods and culinary dining associated with the economic bubble at the time. Oishinbo was at the forefront of this wave of popularity and thus catapulted to becoming the most recognisable and critically acclaimed of the bunch. This popularity isn’t without reason. Oishinbo took a unique approach with its storytelling compared to the Shonen Jump Gourmet manga that came before it. Instead of focusing on a character’s "Perseverance in the face of impossible odds, craftsmanship, and the quest for excellence," as described by Frederik L. Schodt in his book “Manga! Manga! The World of Japanese Comics," Oishinbo focuses on the character’s discernment. While there are still moments where characters show off their artisan's skill, it’s less about striving to be the best but rather describing the sophisticated processes that go into the craft of making food. Compared to the Gourmet manga before it, Oishinbo had a sense of relatability, as it’s less about a character's journey and more about learning alongside the characters. This is a key difference in storytelling that helped propel Oishinbo into mainstream success, and only five years after its initial publication, Oishinbo gets its first adaptation in the form of a 136-episode-long TV anime.

The story of Oishinbo is relatively simple. A journalist and food critic named Yamaoka Shirou and his co-worker Kurita Yuuko are tasked by their newspaper company to provide recipes for an “Ultimate Menu." They set out to meet new people and learn about new foods, thus creating the episodic stories for each episode. Being an episodic drama about food, stories can range from learning how to properly fillet a massive fish to the effects of pesticides on vegetable agriculture. There are episodes that focus on interpersonal relationships between family members and marriages, and there’s even episodes like episode 18, where Yamaoka challenges a biker gang to see how fast they can drive to deliver fresh oysters in time, which causes a massive police chase and- Okay, some episodes can get pretty silly. However, a major aspect of most episodes is learning new information. Whether it be correct cooking techniques or scientific information about the food itself, most episodes are about Yamaoka teaching others about these things. This educational style of storytelling is very entertaining, which is how Oishinbo maintained a high level of popularity over multiple decades. Even after the economic bubble popped in the 90s, you can imagine that Oishinbo became a way to continue exploring culinary arts and gourmet foods for many people throughout Japan. As a westerner, Oishinbo is an incredibly captivating series to me, as it provides an insight into both Japanese and all sorts of other Asian cuisine that I haven’t even heard of before. Not only this, certain episodes feature Yamaoka travelling to different locations throughout Japan, another aspect I love about Oishinbo as someone who’s never experienced Japanese culture before. This sense of learning and relatability is incredibly captivating, and Oishinbo takes full advantage of this in more subtle ways than one might realise.

The art of Oishinbo’s manga utilises a technique known as masking, wherein the designs are kept purposefully simple yet recognisable, as a way for the reader to project themselves onto said designs. This is then contrasted to the incredibly detailed background art and, in Oishinbo’s case, the art of the food as well. This way, the realism is focused more on the food than the characters, who represent more of a fictitious element that the reader can mask themselves as. This is seen commonly throughout the earlier volumes with Yamaoka’s “gremlin” design; however, later on in the manga, he becomes much more detailed and refined. Anyway, the anime takes a much different approach to Oishinbo’s art style. While the same masking principles apply—the designs are kept somewhat cartoonish and simple—the anime designs feel a lot more detailed and personalised to the characters themselves.

Translating a masking art style into animation is possible; however, since this adaptation is within a completely different medium, Oishinbo is able to focus on other elements that produce the same effects as masking. What I mean by this is that Oishinbo is able to instead utilise animation and sound as a way to engross its audience within its world. We get to see Yamaoka actually move around and speak, so when Yamaoka starts teaching characters about culinary information, it feels as if the audience is being taught as well. Information is presented in a way that is purposefully made to be easy for the audience to understand. This is what makes Yamaoka so captivating as a main character; he purposely presents cooking as an accessible artform that anyone can master if they understand the proper techniques and facts. Not only this, the food itself is kept impressively detailed, which recreates the manga’s contrast between what is fictional and what is realism. This realism is also supported by incredible sound design, an element unique to anime. In the manga, the sounds of food and people eating are expressed through onomatopoeia, but the anime is able to utilise sound design to add another layer of realism. We hear the sound of food being prepared and served, and we hear the slight sounds of characters chewing on food. The Oishinbo anime makes the most of elements unique to its medium to create an experience unlike the manga. However, there is another important aspect to Oishinbo’s visual style that not only aids these audio-visual elements but also gives it another layer of visual flair.

The Osamu Dezaki influence is written all over Oishinbo’s visual style. This makes a lot of sense, taking into consideration the director, Takeuchi Yoshio. Prior to Oishinbo’s release, Takeuchi had worked on almost every major Dezaki production since Ace wo Nerae in 1973, joining MADHOUSE around that time. He’s listed as an assistant episode director, storyboarder and script writer, and main episode director for many anime like Gamba no Bouken, Ie Naki Ko, Takarajima, Versailles no Bara, Ashita no Joe 2, Space Cobra, and many, many more. To say Takeuchi was influenced by Dezaki feels like a bit of an understatement. His style is the most Dezaki you'll find outside of a Dezaki project (lol). The effect of Takeuchi's time working under Dezaki's influence can be seen throughout many of his directorial projects going forward, with Oishinbo being the clearest example of this. Oishinbo has many uses of Dezaki techniques, like stark lighting that uses real lighting that shines across the cels, glistening water that is very reminiscent of the water in Takarajima, extensive uses of Dutch angles to create dramatic effects, of which Oishinbo has many such moments, the use of split screens within shots that emphasise the different emotions and dramatic elements of any given scene, and most importantly, many, and I mean many, postcard memories. Without fail, every single episode ends with a postcard memory. A highlight of this visual style is in episode 131, where almost every aspect is cranked up to 100, making an incredibly well-directed episode also a visual spectacle. This brings up another important point I have about Oishinbo’s visuals: they're very consistent.

Oishinbo has a level of quality that remains consistent throughout the anime. Rarely were there episodes where I noticed the production struggling. Rather, there were episodes that blew me away with their consistency. Episode 29 is a good example of what I’m talking about. There is a long train scene as Yamaoka and his coworkers take a company trip, and throughout this scene there are many different shots and angles that rarely reuse any backgrounds. This is impressive when taking into consideration that each background is hand-painted. Oishinbo takes the extra step to make scenes like these more engaging by consistently having multiple shots of the same train car. One thing I noticed when reaching the 3rd half of Oishinbo is that the quality took a massive improvement. More episodes put a heavy emphasis on shading and unique lighting, reminiscent of the late 80s to early 90s era of Dezaki anime (e.g., Onii-sama E and the Ace wo Nerae OVAs). Even episodes with the least amount of animation utilise unique techniques to make scenes feel engaging. You can imagine a prolonged scene where a bunch of characters are sitting around a table discussing food; it wouldn’t be that visually engaging, but by utilising both interesting Dezaki techniques and a great understanding of shot composition, Oishinbo is able to maintain a level of consistent engagement and quality that is very impressive. In many ways, the art style of Oishinbo’s anime adds another layer to the already well-defined art style of its manga to create an engaging visual experience unique to itself.

With all this being said, visual style isn’t the only thing that makes a good anime. Fortunately, though, Oishinbo delivers amazingly with its storytelling, character-building, and world-building too. As I mentioned before, Yamaoka is a character who helps those he encounters by teaching them proper techniques when it comes to cooking, harvesting, and even serving customers. Yamaoka is always willing to support others and presents the culinary arts as an accessible art form that anyone can master. This creates the basis for Oishinbo’s themes, wherein relationship building and community take the forefront of each episode rather than the food itself. The food in Oishinbo only serves to aid the thematic elements of these stories, with the only exception being the occasional cooking competition episode. A good example of what I’m saying is episode 42, “Haha naru ringo," a sentimental story about a man longing to reconnect with his mother through a familiar nostalgic taste of his mother’s apple pies. After a messy divorce between her husband and losing custody over him in court and moving to the United States, her son, Aosawa, resents her mother for abandoning him. As a result of this, he struggles to commit to relationships out of fear of abandonment. Yamaoka meets up with Aosawa at a cafe and points out how he obsessively orders only apple pies and apple tea every time he goes to the cafe, insinuating that Aosawa longs for the taste that must’ve been his mother’s speciality, apple pies. However, the apple pies at the cafe are made with frozen apples, giving them an artificial taste. This is not the issue, though. Aosawa’s mother now lives in Japan after all these years, but he refuses to meet her out of his pent-up anger. Yamaoka contacts his mother in the hopes that Aosawa will try her homemade apple pies once more and invites her to bake one at a certain cafe where Aosawa will be invited. Without knowing of his mother’s presence, Aosawa’s heart is struck by the taste of the apple pies. This was the flavour he had been longing for—the flavour he tasted in his dreams. Noticing his mother leaving the cafe, he runs after her, and the two reunite with a hug after years of being apart. Yamaoka, of course, gives a logical explanation for the differing tastes, explaining that the apples used by his mother are tart baking apples, not the sweet eating apples popular in Japan. Many of the stories throughout Oishinbo use food as a thematic plot device, in which food is able to communicate feelings that words cannot. Oishinbo has many stories that focus on relationships and internal conflicts between characters. This creates a sense of community that continues to build throughout the series, as we not only get to know the characters, but many of them are recurring and have continuing plotlines. This is my favourite aspect of Oishinbo, as it truly feels like a vast community of characters that we get to know over the course of 100+ episodes. While the overarching plotline is the “ultimate menu," for the most part, it isn’t the main focus of each episode, as it continues developing in the background while the interpersonal relationship stories take to the foreground. This is similar to a lot of my favourite anime, like Ojamajo Doremi, Akage no Anne, Cardcaptor Sakura, and many more, that put a huge emphasis on relationship building. However, what's most interesting about Oishinbo's interpretation of this is Yamaoka’s rival, Kaibara Yuzan. Kaibara not only goes against all of Yamaoka’s moral compass but is also the character responsible for Yamaoka’s drive to be this way in the first place, as Kaibara is Yamaoka’s father.

Kaibara Yuzan is a perfectionist and an elitist at heart. He believes the culinary arts must always be perfect, or else it is a waste of time and effort. This is reflected in his personality and presence; he’s always looming over Yamaoka in his dignified Kimono and looks down upon him in almost every scene. This visual representation of Kaibara’s elitism can be seen all throughout the anime, complimented by split screen shots of Yamaoka and Kaibara staring each other down. Kaibara runs an elitist gourmet club where only the elite of the elite train their culinary skills to perfection. Later on in the series, he starts the “Supreme Menu'' with a rival newspaper company, which ensues a multi-episode-long battle between Yamaoka and Kaibara to find the best ingredients and recipes for their newspaper article. Throughout the series, we slowly learn more about their relationship, with the most important being an experience Yamaoka had when he was much younger. Kaibara would physically abuse his wife over her cooking, stating that what she makes is imperfect. Yamaoka’s mother gave her best effort to cook a loving breakfast meal for her husband, but she was ultimately rejected every time. This all led to a state of exhaustion, and she was bedridden and later passed away. Yamaoka understandably resents his father for his actions. He resents the values his father has towards cooking and takes the complete opposite approach by being more open and all-encompassing when it comes to food. This isn’t to say that Yamaoka isn’t an elite in the culinary arts; Yamaoka is incredibly skilled and knowledgeable about everything to do with food and agriculture. However, the key difference is how Yamaoka interacts with those around him. He isn’t an elitist perfectionist who refuses food due to imperfections; he instead values the importance of the feelings put behind a dish. He values the carefulness and attention to detail that convey not perfectionism but rather emotions. Kaibara too believes that food can communicate feelings between souls; however, he believes this is done solely through perfection and perfection alone. This is reflected throughout the episodic battles between the two, where Kaibara is on a quest for perfection while Yamaoka gives careful consideration to the ingredients and proper cooking techniques to make a meal that tastes the best. This creates a very interesting dynamic between the two that lasts throughout the entire anime. There are also some very interesting developments that happen later on in the manga (that unfortunately weren’t adapted) that the academic paper goes into great depth about, so I recommend checking it out if you’re interested. There are many more interesting interpersonal relationships in Oishinbo, however for the sake of keeping this review from getting too long I won’t get into those.

However, interpersonal relationships and food battles against father and son aside, Oishinbo does a great job exploring not only Japanese cuisine but Japanese culture in general. As I mentioned before, this is my favourite aspect of Oishinbo, as it not only provided knowledge on a culture I knew nothing about but also showed unique locations in the process. Some of my favourite episodes are when Yamaoka goes out on a trip to a different prefecture to learn about the different agriculture and tastes found only in these locations. After all, each prefecture has its own unique culture to be discovered. Oishinbo also contains a lot of social criticism that’s intertwined with the stories being told. For example, in the story in episode 3, "Yasai no sendo," Yamaoka and Kurita visit the launch of a new department store. Disappointed by the state of the stale vegetables sold in the food court and used by the restaurants, Yamaoka takes the store owner, Shuji Itayama, to a local farm where fresh vegetables are grown. He manages to convince Itayama to replace his business of stale vegetables with fresh produce, which in turn helps his business thrive.

However, as interesting as its social commentary can be at times, Oishinbo unfortunately has its fair share of episodes that haven’t aged particularly well. The most infamous example is episodes 27 and 28, which tackle the subject of whaling in Japan. In this episode, a group of foreigners plot to spread misinformation about whaling as a way to attack Japanese culture and paint them as bad people. As Yamaoka puts it, “Anti-whaling groups are also anti-Japanese.” The episode brings up some interesting points, explaining that it’s barbaric in itself to call other cultures barbaric for merely eating different things. Way back when Japanese weren’t eating meat, it was barbaric to Japanese that westerners were eating meat; it’s just that the old Japanese didn’t know how delicious cows and pigs were. But then Yamaoka goes into explaining how it's prejudiced to eat the “dumb” animals and spare the smart ones. While this is a fair argument to make, it ignores the fact that whales are dangerously close to extinction. You cannot raise the livestock of whales like you can with cows and sheep without hurting their population. The episode does actually bring up the argument that they’re close to extinction, but Yamaoka simply explains that no, actually, their numbers are growing. These episodes simply did not age well, and unfortunately, there are a couple more episodes throughout Oishinbo with either outdated politics or blatantly incorrect information. This was such a problem that the Youtube re-run of Oishinbo did not contain these episodes; in fact, almost 15 out of 136 episodes were removed from the re-run for containing controversial aspects. While I don’t agree with the removal of these episodes, it’s an understandable decision. With all that being said, these episodes never ruined the experience for me, as there are significantly more amazing episodes throughout Oishinbo that provided a more enjoyable experience. It’s just in the nature of this kind of work that there’ll be outdated information and politics, especially in a series that has over 1000 chapters. However, unfortunately, this also means that Oishinbo isn’t free from its share of controversies as well, because in 2014 the manga was put on hiatus over a massive controversy that made such an impact that it made international news.

The author of the Oishinbo manga is Kariya Tetsu. A common theme throughout the manga is how the constantly evolving and changing society affects the food we eat. A chapter released in April of 2014 caused massive backlash due to it pertaining to the Fukushima power plant disaster of 2011 and discourse around how radiation affects food. It’s important to keep in mind that Kariya doesn’t create these stories based on assumptions or research papers, but rather goes to these locations himself and gathers his own research. The chapter follows a group of journalists who are exposed to radiation within a plant in Fukushima. They complain of exhaustion and nosebleeds, further supported by the experiences of Katsutaka Idogawa, a character based on a real-life former mayor of the town of Futaba in Fukushima Prefecture. An outcry started on Twitter when a user from Koriyama, Fukushima, criticised the handling of this subject, stating that they’ve never suffered from these symptoms and that because of Oishinbo's wide mainstream popularity, the spreading of such misleading information can be harmful. This even moved Shinzo Abe to respond, which then led to many articles published about the controversy internationally. Health officials state that there is “no connection between the incidence of nosebleeds and exposure to radiation, with some insisting the condition is more likely to be caused by the stress of evacuation.” Criticised by both fans and pro-nuclear politicians, Kariya Tetsu states in response that he had been caught off guard by the response to the nosebleed claims. But he added that he was not going to cave in to the government and give the impression that "all is well" in Fukushima. "I can only write the truth."

I bring this up not because I have my own two cents to add to the discourse, since it’s been almost an entire decade since the controversy (wait wtf, 2014 was almost 10 years ago????), but because of the importance of the legacy Oishinbo left behind. I want to put into perspective just how long this series is. Oishinbo has 111 volumes with over 1000 chapters worth of content. The main two protagonists, Yamaoka and Kurita, get married around volume 40, and by volume 105, they have three children together. Oishinbo is an incredibly long series with an incredibly long history behind it. But at what point do you stop? In 2016, Kariya Tetsu stated on his blog that he intends on ending the series. Not because of the controversy and hiatus, but because this is a series that has been going on for over 30 years, and he feels that “it's about time to end it." While I’m not sure if Oishinbo has actually received its final chapters yet, it’s safe to assume the series is well and truly finished. Its 30-year legacy is one to be remembered, and I hope this controversy isn’t what defines this series moving forward.

Anyways, enough about the manga—this is a review of the anime after all. Ending in 1992, Oishinbo is obviously not a full adaptation, adapting roughly 27 volumes of the manga in 136 episodes. With that being said, it doesn’t really matter that the Oishinbo anime isn’t the “full story." The focus from the very beginning has always been on episodic edutainment rather than story beats from the overarching plot. The amount of content the anime does adapt is absolutely worth the 136-episode time investment; its sense of community and plethora of interesting information pertaining to Japanese cuisine and culture makes for an incredibly entertaining watch. Even in the modern era where Gurume has made a resurgence in popularity, with anime like ‘Food Wars’ being a huge deal when it aired, Oishinbo reigns supreme as one of the most popular Gurume anime and manga in the genre. It’s a series that absolutely deserves more love in the western community, especially amongst those who love episodic anime.

Conclusion/TL;DR
If the sound of episodic stories about Japanese food culture sounds interesting to you, then I highly recommend giving Oishinbo a try. Not only is its edutainment style of storytelling very educational, but you might find yourself enthralled with the characters' interpersonal relationships like I have. If a 4000+ word long review hasn't made it clear already, I love Oishinbo. It has become one of my personal favourites for the way it develops its cast in such a genuine and heartfelt way. The anime makes for an incredibly engaging experience by virtue of having a gorgeous visual style, complemented by amazing sound design. Unfortunately, the Youtube re-run of Oishinbo deleted episodes after a month of being out, and despite more re-runs occurring since its initial run, for some reason they aren’t including the English subtitles this time. Fear not, because Oishinbo is fortunately being fan-subbed right now, with a large handful of episodes currently available. Thank you so much for reading this review, and I hope you consider giving Oishinbo a try!

-Sources-
Academic Paper: https://www.academia.edu/7222330/Oishinbos_Adventures_in_Eating_Food_Communication_and_Culture_in_Japanese_Comics
Oishinbo Controversy Articles:
https://www.animenewsnetwork.com/news/2014-05-02/oishinbo-manga-depiction-of-fukushima-radiation-effects-criticized
https://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/may/22/gourmet-oishinbo-manga-link-fukushima-radiation-nosebleeds
https://twitter.com/jyunichidesita/status/460607471132766208

Popee the Performer is a fascinating gem that has garnered quite an audience since its release. Its uncanny CG art style has led itself to have a mostly negative reputation outside of its fanbase, with many calling it immature and ugly. Yet it's this bizarre and masterfully crafted surreal CG art style that gives this anime such a unique identity for itself. It makes the most of its raw, uncanny art style alongside its surreal comedy-horror to force the audience to be utterly baffled at all times. This unique identity of Popee is one that is unanimously celebrated by its fanbase. However, an aspect I ... don’t see talked about nearly as often when it comes to Popee’s identity is its creators. This identity goes hand-in-hand with the creator’s own visions and ideas during production. Masuda Ryuuji (director and writer) and Wakako Masuda (art director, art designer, and character designer) are masters of their own imaginations, making the most of the production and scheduling limitations to realise their own vision and ideas for Popee, forming what is undoubtedly the greatest surrealist comedy you can find in the medium. Here’s how.

Before Popee’s release, CG animation was already a common practice to aid the animation process; however, it was very uncommon to see projects made with a fully CG animated art style. Many that did at the time, for example, the full-CG 2000s film A.LI.CE, felt too uncanny and strange in a way that wasn’t particularly endearing; what makes Popee any different? Popee the Performer had a low budget of ¥100,000 a month to work with (roughly 1,000 USD). Thus, one may notice that Popee’s animation feels stiff, the backgrounds are always just vast deserts that rarely differ, and the designs are simple yet weirdly creepy. However, all of these elements are exactly what makes Popee so endearing, as it's how they’re utilised and executed that makes it all work.

Popee’s animation works because of its absurd exaggerations. We see characters' faces deform as their eyes pop out of their sockets, or turn into devils with maniacal smiles. We see Popee propelling like a rocket by shitting fire out of his ass, and Kedamono driving an invisible car. The raw and unpolished-feeling CG animation only serves to assist the absurdity of these moments, and they would not be as funny any other way. This distinguished visual style is further supported by surprisingly good cinematography, amplifying both the funniest and creepiest moments by virtue of highlighting their absurdity. One example of this is in episode 1, when Kedamono looks up at Popee as he’s being cut in half during a magic trick; the sun is directly behind Popee as he’s looking down, causing his face to be hidden in a shadow. This simple shot highlights the uncanniness of Popee in this scene by use of lighting. It’s fascinating how the CG animation allows for such shots to be achieved, and Popee uses this to its full advantage with many interesting camera movements throughout the anime.

Another element of Popee’s visual style is the setting. A vast and seemingly desolate desert surrounds the bright, colourful circus, where most episodes take place. While the choice of taking place in a desert was a decision made due to a lack of resources and budgeting (more on that later), a lot of Popee’s surrealism is achieved because of this decision. In a way, the vast desert feels like a canvas for any crazy set pieces the creators might come up with. We get to see this in full swing after episode 14, when Popee’s production started to take off after the show’s length was extended due to its increasing popularity. My favourite example of this is episode 25, during a scene where Popee and Papi are terrorised by a massive creature looming over the skies, with the vast desert there to accentuate the surrealism of the scene.

The designs are very simple and childish, which is why the surreal horror-comedy style works all the more. Like when Popee smiles maniacally after running over Papi in episode 26, or when Popee’s face turns into a demon in episode 3; it’s creepy when these seemingly childish designs put on a horrific face. All of these visual elements work incredibly well in tandem with one another to form Popee’s unique comedic language. This is why many find Popee the Performer to be so endearing. It wears its absurdity on its shoulders with pride, utilising the CG art style to facilitate its absurd horror-comedy. Though, what’s more fascinating is looking into the intent of this style from its creators.

A friend of mine interviewed Masuda Ryuuji last year in the hopes of making a Popee the Performer video. While that video never came to fruition, they were kind enough to share the information with me, and there are some interesting details to mention. First of all, the inspiration for Popee comes from a 1983 Suntory beverage commercial (check sources for the link) that features circus performers traversing a desolate desert out in the middle of nowhere. It is surreal and weird, even featuring a character in Popee’s iconic red and white striped suit. The commercial is based on Picasso’s Family of Saltimbanques, a painting that portrays circus performers not through the cheerful perspective of their performances but as an isolated group within a static and melancholy image; an image that symbolises the poor, independent, and isolated. This is most fascinating when talking about Popee, as this isolation is conveyed through the desolate desert landscapes and lonely circus performers only ever performing for themselves. Masuda Ryuuji wanted to combine this world with a slap-stick animated cartoon, which is why the world that Popee conveys is so surreal and uncanny. As for Popee’s artistic influence, Masuda says that listening to music influenced him the most. He listened to various songs and cherished the images that popped in his head, as that’s the easiest way for him to expose these ideas he had. Knowing this, it makes a lot of sense why Popee’s humour is the way it is. Masuda Ryuuji says that the surrealism in Popee the Performer is his own taste, and the production he had to work with matched that. Popee’s crude CG animation helps support this surrealism Masuda had in his mind.

Popee’s conception came to be when Kids Stations needed to fill in a 5-minute time slot. This was Masuda’s chance to try creating the 3DCG animation he always hoped to do. It’s no secret that Popee had a low budget, with ¥100,000 to create two episodes a month. The limitations of the CG tech at the time really meant that Masuda had to make the most of what he got, and makes the most he does. With how inherently weird early CG animation is in the first place, Masuda is able to use this to his advantage to realise his own surreal ideas, accentuated by the humour being as absurd and offbeat as possible. This is exactly why it’s so endearing. Not only this, Popee is also able to consistently execute such bizarre ideas every episode because of the freedoms that CG animation allows. In Episode 6, Kedamono uses his imagination to drive an invisible car. This is a bit that would’ve certainly been possible using 2D animation, however, the utilisation of Popee’s style not only accentuates the gag, but does so in a way that feels natural for the show. I really can’t imagine it working any other way. The CG opens up so many possibilities in the animation, and we’re able to see Popee take full advantage of its medium to create very surreal and funny moments throughout the series.

Building more on Popee’s conception is something Masuda mentioned in a Vice interview back in 2018. He talks about how the story of Popee the Performer is ironic. Popee has ideals; he wants to be a good performer, and he tries to be the best at what he does. In the process, however, he becomes mad with disappointment, and disturbed with the realisation that he cannot be the best. Masuda sees a lot of this in himself and in the people around him, those who become obsessive of their ideals. Disappointment in themselves, turning into competitiveness, and ruining themselves. Popee himself is not a good influence whatsoever, however, he does represent a rebellion. Masuda explains this in the Vice interview, and I will actually quote this part since it’s very interesting (keep in mind that I’m using DeepL to translate from Japanese to English, so there will be some mistakes):

“Children's minds are repressed. They are told, ‘Don't fall down,’ or ‘Don't cry because you are a boy.’ Their emotions are not free. When children are drawing crazy pictures, their parents stop them and tell them to draw cheerful pictures. But people will always have feelings like anger or hatred. It is for adults to think about how to express those feelings. Beating people up or stabbing them with a knife may be one expression, sure, but it is a safer expression to draw. Adults should teach children safe ways to express themselves, not suppress their emotions.”
Popee represents these emotions—these feelings of anger and frustration that we suppress—very openly, in an often sadistic fashion. Its visceral surrealism and violence come from expressing these emotions, and viewing the series from this perspective is rather beautiful. Everything about Popee feels rebellious, from its story all the way to its art style, and that’s something I really like about this anime.

Popee the Performer is an incredibly important anime to me, as it was the first anime that made me genuinely think about what “art” means. Popee went against all of my sensibilities towards anime up until that point. It was weird, disgusting, and unapologetically violent. It was unconventional in almost every way. I was initially put off by it, but curiosity led me to try it anyway. I was blown away. I had so much fun with an anime that I initially judged it due to my surface-level evaluations. It made me think that perhaps I shouldn’t be so quick to judge art just because it deviates from my sensibilities. This mindset led me to try many weird and niche anime that I would’ve never thought to try before. I’ve become more open to researching art, and in turn, I find myself with even more appreciation for the things I like. All of a sudden, it felt like there were endless possibilities within this medium, and I only just took my first step into it all. I’m forever grateful for this experience I had with Popee back in 2019, an anime rooted in unconventionalism and the rebellion of norms from the very beginning.
Popee the Performer fucking rules. I hope this review convinced you to give it a try.

Sources:
Popee Wiki: https://popeetheperformer.fandom.com/wiki/Popee_the_Performer
Vice Interview: https://www.vice.com/ja/article/evkjqj/popee-the-performer
Commercial https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hy-z421FwGQ

Also, special thanks both to @twinsister for editing and providing support with this review and Eva for providing information from their Masuda interview.

Akuma-Kun (2023) is one of the four new projects announced in 2021 to celebrate Shigeru Mizuki’s 100th birthday. To the uninitiated, Mizuki is an incredibly influential figure in Japanese pop culture. Being a Youkai researcher, his interests in the world of folktales and how they affect the society they encompass influence the works he writes. His most popular work is Gegege no Kitarou, which made a huge step into the western anime community back in 2018 with its most recent adaptation simulcasting on Crunchyroll. However, 34 years after its initial adaptation and 60 years since the publication of its first manga, Akuma-Kun takes an all-new ... step into the modern era of anime, airing a new adaptation on Netflix finally allowing this series to be accessible to the western community.

The story of Akuma-Kun is similar to that of Gegege no Kitarou, but instead of episodic stories about Youkai, Akuma-Kun is about, well, Akuma. “Akuma” means an evil spirit; however, they’re also synonymous with devils or demons, which Akuma-Kun references a lot since hell is a place where these evil spirits go. These Akuma prey on human desires, usually perfectionism and greed, and use those emotions to control and manipulate humans; creating the conflicts for each episodic story. Akuma-Kun (2023) is similar to its 1989 counterpart in storytelling; however, it's important to remember that it is not a re-adaptation. Akuma-Kun (2023) takes place after the events of the main series, with the two main characters being the children of the original Akuma-Kun and his companion Mephisto-II. With this being said, you don’t need the context of the original series or original characters to understand this adaptation, as not only do the previous main characters get their own development as parents, but also because this series is its own thing in many ways.

(This review contains slight spoilers, however I have a spoiler-free TL;DR at the end)

The biggest difference between the two adaptations is tone. Mizuki’s adaptations are often childish in appearance while being morally complex and gruesome in storytelling. Gegege no Kitarou (2018) is a great example of this: bright childish designs and comedic moments with very gruesome tales of death and suffering interspersed between. However, Akuma-Kun (2023) takes this idea a step further by conveying these themes through its visual style. Akuma-Kun often gets very grim, conveying its brutal deaths in an honest but gruesome way. While the character designs are similarly childish in appearance, lacking any depth in detail with soft, round faces and eyes, the backgrounds are in complete contrast to this. Backgrounds are rough and gruesome in appearance, with rugged linework and impressively detailed designs. The shading is bold and has only one tone of dark black, encompassing every inch of detail in the backgrounds. Shot composition is used to highlight this beauty, with many close-up shots showing the detail on surrounding objects. This depth of detail is in every way impressive, as it is beautiful, and it's reminiscent of Shichirou Kobayashi’s work. The backgrounds are supported by a great understanding of colour composition, blending everything together and having light bounce off of characters in a very satisfying way. This can be attributed to the colour designer Kunio Tsujita at the helm, who has worked alongside Shichirou Kobayashi on Utena as well as many Toei projects such as Ojamajo Doremi, Gokinjou Monogatari, Mali & Gali, and Hakaba Kitarou. The backgrounds are just jaw-droppingly gorgeous and do a wonderful job at selling the dark and gruesome tone of Akuma-Kun.

In many ways, Akuma-Kun (2023) can be compared to Hakaba Kitarou (2007), an adaptation of the original 1950s Kitarou Kashi-hon that Mizuki published before Gegege no Kitarou. This version of Kitarou is violent, not afraid to show death in its purest and most gruesome form. The 2007 Hakaba Kitarou adaptation takes a similarly differing approach to its visuals by having a rough art style to help convey its darker themes. Similar to this version of Kitarou, Akuma-Kun (2023) isn’t afraid to be as gruesome as possible, straying away from the more kid-friendly tone the 1989 adaptation had. I'm not sure what the original manga for Akuma-Kun was like since the 1989 anime isn’t an adaptation of the original manga. However, I assume it’s similar to Hakaba Kitarou in that it has a much darker tone compared to its subsequent releases. In Akuma-Kun (2023), we’re shown violent murders and deaths, and it doesn’t shy away from how horrific they are. However, this cynical portrayal of human life isn’t just for the sake of shock value. The gruesome deaths we are shown are interwoven with the core themes of the series and, in almost complete contrast, convey the value of human life.

The core themes explored in Akuma-Kun (2023) are the human desire for perfection, greed, and jealousy. There are stories like a mother “accidentally” murdering her own child because her child went against her perception of her, so she made a contract with a devil to impersonate her daughter in a way she wanted her to be, or like when a rich bastard, who has a goal of trying every food in the world, blindly murdered his maid because he wanted to summon Satan to be the first to taste his flesh. As absurd as some of these stories can get, Akuma-Kun never fails to deliver these stories through great mystery and intrigue, tying everything to the ideas it's trying to convey. The idea of “selling your soul to the devil'' is a key component of the stories told in Akuma-Kun, as we see many characters throughout the series make contracts with Akuma out of a desire for perfection. However, making these contracts always ends in misfortune because the devils only want to manipulate humans by preying on their desires. One of my favourite episodes, episode 9, was about a writer who wanted to create the perfect script and sold his soul to an Akuma to do so. He was obsessed with making a masterpiece, he was obsessed with that "perfection", but that desire eventually led him to abandoning his wife and child due to frustration in himself. Even when he makes amends with them years later he believes he failed as a father and doesn't deserve to be one. But what does "being a good father" even mean? What does that look like? And just because you're imperfect that means you don't deserve these things? Akuma-Kun tells the audience that you should always value what you have in your life and never let greed or the desire for perfection get in the way of what’s truly in front of you.

These themes and ideas are very common in Mizuki’s works and adaptations; however, Akuma-Kun (2023) takes it a step further by questioning the morals of the main characters. In episode 6, the newly introduced antagonist ‘Strophaia’ questions Mephisto’s claim that everything that happened is the fault of the Akuma, implying that they would’ve lived happily if it weren’t for them. Throughout the series thus far, Akuma-kun and Mephisto are the heroes that save humans from the Akuma that possess them; however, Strophaia questions this moral, saying “It's easier to blame someone else. But the more you do so, the more painful it gets.” Are Akuma-Kun and Mephisto really protecting humans from Akuma, or are they protecting humans from their own internal horrors? Episode 7 presents us with an Akuma who was rescued and raised by a human, a human who offered up all of his kindness to save others but ultimately succumbed to the weight of it all. This kindness he received growing up led to him forming a “human” heart, becoming a politician with the goal of helping others. Yet this strong desire leads him to kill those who oppose him, letting his inner Akuma take over his body. At the end of the episode, however, he chooses to give himself up to the police instead of attacking Ichirou, because he truly does want to do what’s right and have a “human heart”. Akuma-Kun (2023) is inherently about the internal horrors of ordinary people, with the Akuma serving only to exacerbate these horrors. Throughout the series, we're made to question the true meaning of these morals while the mystery continues to build with each subsequent episode, and it’s very entertaining for that reason. At the helm of series composition is Hiroshi Oonogi, who most notably worked on the 2018 Gegege no Kitarou adaptation. I believe Oonogi has a great understanding of the themes of Mizuki’s works and is able to portray them superbly. His work in Gegege no Kitarou (2018) is similarly impressive, so I’m very happy he worked on Akuma-Kun.

Not only is the thematic writing for Akuma-Kun (2023) on point, but the character writing is also great. Ichirou is such a fascinating main character because, despite sharing the same role as “Akuma-Kun”, he isn’t at all righteous like his father. His goal isn’t to befriend demons or to unite demons and humans together, nor does he have any interest in the millennium kingdom, the thing that his father was looking for in the original series. In actuality, he doesn’t care at all about those things. He has a disregard for common courtesy and just about everything expected of him in social interactions. Like how he ignores Gremory’s blatant attempts at getting with him, or when he calls out the mother’s taste in history books in episode 1. In many ways, Ichirou doesn’t act very “human” nor like an “Akuma” either, and he seems to rebel against the idea of what it means to be an “Akuma-Kun ''. I find this characteriszation to be very interesting, especially when taking into consideration his relationship with the people who’ve looked after him. Mephisto-III is also a very interesting character. Despite sharing many traits with his father, Mephisto-II, he is much weaker because he’s a half-human, half-demon, with his half-human part holding him back. Yet despite this, he doesn’t resent his half-human self, as it’s often what defines him as a person. He’s very empathetic and respectful of others, which is in complete contrast to Ichirou. Because of this, he’s often quick to call out Ichirou whenever he does something morally questionable. Like in episode 1, when he tries to stop Ichirou from explaining what happened to Hina’s friend because he’s concerned about her mental wellbeing. There are also times where Ichirou has a disregard for his own life, which Mephisto-III gets very upset at him for, like in episode 3, when Ichirou almost dies trying to summon Satan. Many of these situations end up with Mephisto-III being frustrated with Ichirou; however, this often comes from a genuine concern for Ichirou, which is a reflection of the kind of relationship the two share. I really like the dynamic Ichirou and Mephisto-III have with each other. This relationship they share is important in contrast to the other important figures in his life, as he was abandoned by them both. However, this is going into ending-spoiler territory, so I won’t expand on this point as it’s something worth watching yourself. However, the takeaway from this is that the relationship Mephisto-III and Ichirou share is one of genuine concern for one another, something Ichirou feels he lost growing up. Because Ichirou was abandoned by both Akuma and humans, he lacks traits to be defined by either. Instead of valuing human life and fighting to protect lives, he’s seen calling out humans for being “fundamentally untrustworthy” and appreciating how faithful the Akuma are to their objectives, despite the fact that being an “Akuma-Kun'' means to fight for humans. This was influenced by the Akuma who raised Ichirou, ‘Strophaia’, who also constantly questions the morals of Akuma-Kun, and it’s intriguing to see this development unravel throughout the anime with how it affects Ichirou. Mephisto-III, on the other hand, is the complete opposite, despising Akuma who manipulate human lives. The relationship between Ichirou and Mephisto-III is incredibly entertaining to watch and a highlight of this anime for me.

The villains of Akuma-Kun are equally entertaining to watch, as their overwhelming force of pure evil intent overpowers every scene they’re in, and I always felt a genuine sense of fear whenever they appeared. They waltz around the main characters with a calm yet passive aggressive demeanour, poking fun at and questioning their every action. Because of this, slowly learning more about who they are throughout the anime is very entertaining to watch. Even the episodic antagonists, as in the Akuma who possess humans, are fascinating to watch. Because they prey on human desires and manipulate those feelings, a huge focus is put on exploring what these desires are. The big reveal at the end of each episode is always exciting, not only because the mystery building up to it is intriguing but also because the thematic exploration is always on point. I’m not going to talk about the last couple of episodes because they are worth going into blind, and I just don’t really want to spoil the ending in this review. However, everything that Akuma-Kun (2023) builds up towards in the first 10 episodes is handled incredibly well. The ending does leave a lot to be desired and was definitely the worst part about this anime, however, to me, it didn't ruin what it built up towards. The ambiguous ending somewhat implies there'll be more to the story, so I'd love to see a second season some day.

With that all being said, themes and character writing aside, I just love the overall writing of Akuma-Kun. Each episode is very entertaining, as both the mysteries and slice-of-life moments are written very well. I especially love how the slice-of-life moments are intertwined with the main plot of most episodes. It was fun seeing Mephisto-III’s home as he sat and discussed with his parents what's going on. It’s adorable to see how much Mephisto-III relies on his parents for support. Even the moments where Ichirou and his father were together. We get to see that, despite Ichirou being resentful towards his father, he still cares about him and what he tells him. These slower moments sprinkled through are much welcome, as they help develop the characters away from all the crazy, gruesome shit that goes on in each episode. Episode 10 is one of my favourite episodes for putting aside the detective conflicts and Akuma fights to focus entirely on the relationships between the characters, which I really appreciate. I enjoy how Akuma-Kun (2023) handles these things more than Gegege no Kitarou (for which I’m currently watching the 2018 season as of writing this) because it feels like Gegege puts way more focus on the battle scenes than character moments, whereas in comparison, Akuma-Kun (2023) has battle scenes that go by very quickly. It’s why the episodes in Gegege 2018 with the least amount of fighting (or none at all) are some of the best. That’s one pet peeve I have with Mizuki’s adaptations, and I’m happy to say that Akuma-Kun does a great job of balancing its action scenes with the episodic mysteries and character moments. The episodic mysteries in Akuma-Kun (2023) are genuinely suspenseful and often subvert my expectations in a way that works well, and as I’ve said before, it does a great job of intertwining the themes of the series with these mysteries. The overarching mysteries were also very interesting, with antagonists I found myself genuinely fearful of, and I was always excited to get to the next episode to see what happens. Akuma-Kun (2023) is an incredibly entertaining show that’s supported by overall great writing and awesome characters.

The music and sound design are worth mentioning too, for a few reasons. The music does a great job of adding to the atmosphere and setting the mood in unique ways. Akio Izutsu was listed for creating the music, and while I don’t know much about him, I can definitely say that he’s a great musician and was able to create some very fitting pieces for Akuma-Kun. The sound design is equally great. One of my favourite moments in episode one was when Ichirou looked under a bed and found an Akuma under there. There was a pause on Ichirou’s face with the BGM continuing to play like normal in the background, but as it cuts to the creepy Akuma, the music suddenly cuts. This little detail made an already creepy scene even more disturbing, as it helps take the audience by surprise when the creepy figure suddenly shows up on screen. Little details like the ominous whispering and creepy sound effects during the horror scenes work great at building tension, and there was never a moment where I felt anything was out of place. Much like the art style, the music fits the atmosphere of Akuma-Kun perfectly. I also liked the inclusion of the OG voice actors for Shingo and Mephisto-II returning in this adaptation. Mephisto-III also shares the same voice actor, and it feels like a treat for the fans because of how iconic his voice is. I also really like the voice actor for Ichirou; he does a great job of portraying his personality with his monotone voice.

I’m surprised I’ve gone this far into the review without mentioning him (which, mind you, required an extreme amount of restraint), but you can’t talk about Akuma-Kun without mentioning the prolific anime director and self-proclaimed Iyashikei-king (don’t quote me on that): Junichi Satou. Junichi Satou sat in the director's chair for the original 1989 adaptation of Akuma-Kun and reprised his role for this adaptation. Knowing he was working on this adaptation is what got me interested in it in the first place, because Junichi has been somewhat on a roll recently when it comes to revisiting his older works. In 2020, we were blessed with ‘Majo Minarai wo Sagashite’, a movie based off of the Ojamajo Doremi franchise, which did an incredible job of revitalising the core themes of Ojamajo Doremi and building off of them to tell an incredibly touching tale. I feel similarly about this Akuma-Kun adaptation, as it too calls back to the ideas explored in the original and builds off of them to create something special. One thing very noticeable about Junichi's work is the thematic density and the staff’s ability to tie many different ideas together. While a lot of what makes a Junichi anime great doesn’t directly relate to him, since the creation of anime is basically like a massive group project, I believe Junichi does a fantastic job of keeping everyone’s ideas together. You can see this in a lot of his most recent works: Majo Minarai, the new Aria movies, and Hugtto Precure, with Akuma-Kun being no different. Junichi Satou is a phenomenal director, and I’m super happy he worked on this. He deserves all the praise he gets.

-- Conclusion/TL;DR --
All in all, Akuma-Kun (2023) is an amazing adaptation of the story, utilising the themes and ideas established in the manga and original adaptation and expanding on them to create a very unique experience. Its gruesome portrayal of death is one that is utilised superbly and watching the episodic mysteries unfold is very entertaining. All the way from its gorgeous art style to its ability to intertwine these themes with its mysterious plot line, I consider Akuma-Kun (2023) to be one of my favourite Mizuki adaptations. Great story and very entertaining characterization that constantly forces the viewers to question the anime's morals. Considering this adaptation was conceived as a celebration of Shigeru Mizuki’s 100th birthday, it feels like a celebration of the themes and ideas he explores in his work. Not only that, but it also feels like a gift to the fans. Akuma-Kun is a great introduction to Mizuki’s works, and I highly recommend watching it if you're interested. You can watch Gegege no Kitarou (2018) as it's on Crunchyroll; however, to watch his other adaptations will require watching fan-subs, of which fortunately there are plenty out there for both Gegege no Kitarou and the original Akuma-Kun. Thank you so much for reading this review, if you’ve made it this far, and I hope you decide to give Akuma-Kun (2023) a try! Or if you’ve already seen it and like it, my recommendation is to watch Hakaba Kitarou as it provides a similarly unnerving and gruesome experience.

The concept of Youkai has stood the test of time for hundreds of years, and whether or not they truly exist has been a thought pondered throughout its history. However, knowing the truth about their existence isn’t as important when Youkai have undoubtedly played an influential role in Japanese art, history, culture, and identity. Youkai can be found everywhere in modern art, especially being referenced or playing huge roles in video games and anime. The modern revitalisation of Youkai can be traced back to the heavily influential manga Gegege no Kitarou by Shigeru Mizuki, which popularised Youkai culture in the mainstream in the 1960s. Gegege ... no Kitarou’s idea of Youkai was that of creatures who had stories to be told, creatures that needed to be understood. Kitarou, the main character of the series, made it his mission to allow Youkai and humans to live in harmony. He wants to befriend both sides in the hopes that youkai and humans can understand each other. The themes and ideas represented in Gegege no Kitarou were undoubtedly incredibly influential, with anime like Natsume Yuujinchou and even Youkai Watch sharing a lot of common themes with Kitarou.

Hakaba Kitarou represents almost none of these ideas. In fact, this series is almost the complete opposite of everything Gegege no Kitarou and its subsequent influences stood for. It’s actually impressive how different Hakaba is from its counterpart. So, the question now is: just what exactly is Hakaba Kitarou?

Not to be confused with the renaming of the Weekly Shounen Magazine version of Hakaba Kitarou, which changed to Gegege no Kitarou in 1967, Hakaba Kitarou’s anime adapts the stories told in the Kashi-hon release of Hakaba Kitarou in 1959. This version of the story is much more gruesome and cynical than its counterpart, and this is seen most clearly in its characters. Hakaba’s take on the character of Kitarou is that of a self-fulfilling asshole, only seeking to perform actions that benefit himself and no one else. This is reflected in the episodes where Kitarou straight-up curses other humans, something you never see his future counterpart do. But, to give him credit where credit is deserved, Kitarou specifically curses those who are greedy and cause harm to others. But still, Kitarou doesn’t seek to unite Youkai and humans; on the contrary, he seems to have fun seeing humans being tormented. Throughout the anime, Kitarou seems to take a backseat, not really intervening with the Youaki or humans. This is an interesting difference from Gegege, since Kitarou in the main series acts as a hero who’s there to save the day. While there are moments where Kitarou’s humanity is shown, like in the Neko Musume story, Kitarou never shows any sign of alignment. He’s neither good nor bad, creating this moral ambiguity that the viewer can never be certain about.

Hakaba isn’t afraid to show death in the most gruesome of ways possible, with many of its characters dying a horrible, and I mean horrible, death. There’s even a character who is a clone of Kitarou who just randomly dies one episode and never shows up again, which I found to be rather humorous looking back. This grim and macabre portrayal of death is one with very little subtlety, often used as the answer to greed and corruption within its world. My problem with this is the lack of substance to convey any other interesting ideas or messages. Hakaba Kitarou has very little value for human life, so much so that it is in complete opposition to the themes of Gegege no Kitarou. However, this is only a personal complaint, since this portrayal of death is certainly an aesthetic choice in conjunction with the anime as a whole.

One thing you may immediately notice upon watching Hakaba Kitarou is that its art style is awfully familiar. Takashi Kurahashi, the art director of Mononoke, also played the role of the art director of Hakaba Kitarou. Many of Mononoke’s visual sensibilities can be found within Hakaba with the choice of colouring, shading, and texture of the drawings, as well as general shot composition with a focus on still wide angles that help create an eerie atmosphere during certain scenes. The sound design is also particularly noticeable, with a focus on the use of classical Japanese instruments and sound effects to assist with the overall eerie atmosphere. Hakaba Kitarou consistently has an unsettling aura to it, one that is only matched by the likes of Mononoke. It helps that the entire aesthetic style of Hakaba complements the overall atmosphere and pacing in a way that is incredibly unique to itself.

If the sound of macabre themes and gruesome portrayals of death all wrapped within a creepy and atmospheric art style sounds interesting to you, then I highly recommend giving Hakaba Kitarou a watch. While it may be a huge departure from Gegege no Kitarou, and by huge, I mean a complete 180, Hakaba Kitarou is a great little series separate from the main decade-long anime franchise and provides an interesting insight into what Kitarou could’ve been.