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‘Right here, I can’t tell you what I’m thinking and what I feel. I want you to see my world!’

SAO was a one trick pony. Its death game premise burdened the already heavy task of climbing Castle Aincrad’s 100 floors. But the illusion of the unconquerable castle would often break, as the anime proper would skip floors at the story’s convenience. Halfway through, the show lost the sense of scale it needed to cover for what the characters lacked. In many ways, we saw their world, but not their feelings. SAO was a lukewarm experience.

Which makes me proud to say SAO II is actually quite ... good.

A year after the SAO incident, Kirito is assigned to investigate a series of real life deaths linked to the videogame Gun Gale Online, or GGO. By playing GGO, Kirito hopes to directly contact the prime suspect, Death Gun, and discover the truth behind these deaths. Let it be said now that, much like SAO, SAO II is more of an alternate world fantasy than a reflection of videogames. There are inconsistencies in the game mechanics abound that would make videogame purists cringe. Then again, if you’ve seen the first season, there’s nothing here you haven’t seen before.

Except for the things we haven’t seen before. It’s a lot, and it’s mostly for the better. The pacing is now steady and believable, instead of skipping multiple events at a time or spending a lot of time on one event. In turn, Death Gun’s dominating presence in the GGO storyline is unmitigated, while the Mother’s Rosario story arc is steeped in nostalgia. Unfortunately, the three episode mini saga of Excalibur is little more than SAO II’s last love letter to its harem fans without care for telling a good story. But the crack left by the Sword in the Stone is barely a dent to its characters.

And it’s a good thing too, because what SAO II lacks in scale more than makes up for in its characters. Kirito especially has improved a lot. Gone are the days where his only real challenges were ones where strength alone wasn’t enough. Now he’s both ‘mentally’ examined and physically tested, especially during GGO. He is a much more rounded character for it, but unfortunately this character arc doesn’t go the extra mile. The source of his inner anguish also feels like a rewrite of SAO.

Co starring with Kirito in GGO is Sinon. Her quiet casualness in real life masks a silent strength in the game, but there’s no moment where her real self and game self clash to make her feel like a different character. It’s two identities created by a single incident in her past, with the events of GGO bleeding them together and forcing her to confront her fears. It is a slow burning, punishing journey that thankfully does not fully solve her problems even at the end. The story recognizes how weakness needs to be overcome one small step at a time, and the time with Sinon is time well spent.

Unfortunately, Sinon’s development isn’t the only thing SAO II likes to show off. To be sure, the fight scenes and music are still as slick as they ever were (I freaking love Tomatsu Haruka’s ‘Courage’), while the GGO setting is lively and distinct despite the brown and grey everywhere. From the shrub forest encroaching the river to the mesh of an abandoned metropolis and old west town, SAO II is the envy of first person shooter games everywhere. It’s just too bad the visuals also show off Sinon’s backside a bit too much. Which is odd, because the last story arc, Mother’s Rosario, doesn’t have anything like this.

Well, whatever.

If the Alfheim story is what took away Asuna’s integrity from the Aincrad arc, Mother’s Rosario puts this woman back in form with a vengeance. She’s faced with the reality of what two years lost means in real life, while forging the friendship of a lifetime with someone in the game world. Asuna doesn’t develop in this story in the traditional sense, but she doesn’t need to. She’s smart enough to know why some people are acting the way they do with her, while her congeniality was always a part of her. What Asuna needed were characters to bounce off of, and the Mother’s Rosario provides just that.

In particular are the two characters this story introduces. One is estranged to Asuna to play the role of antagonist but never a villain. She is frighteningly believable in what she says, and could definitely hit close to home for a lot of viewers. The other character is one half of the most believable relationship in the entire series. The development between them is silly, sweet, smooth, and not once does the feeling between Asuna and this new character ever feel romantic. Their relationship flawlessly glides across the tightrope called ‘intimately platonic’ that’s so easy to fall off from.

Talk about refreshing.

On top of all the surface improvements from SAO, SAO II is thematically unified without being heavy handed. From Sinon’s reason for playing GGO, to Death Gun’s motive for terrorizing others, to another’s gung-ho liveliness in the game, SAO II is more about the power of online identity than an alternate world fantasy adventure. For better or worse, people change who they are or show their true colors online. And SAO II builds this naturally to the point where the show never loses its narrative breath.

The mark of a good story is it won’t build itself around a theme, but that the theme builds itself around the story. For SAO II to understand this despite having blundered so much in its first season on top of its own improvements, honestly makes me wonder: is this seriously the same series that left me so conflicted? THIS is SAO?

And then I looked again.

This is SAO II.

I’ll admit I’ve never been keen on anime with a strong sense of art house artistry. I’m talking about the visually strange shows with unnaturally colored objects, settings designed like an abstract picture, or characters who move and look like something from a manga instead of anime. They give a sense of arrogance that they need nothing else so long as they have unique aesthetics.

Mononoke does not have this arrogance.

The show follows an enigma known as the Medicine Seller as he wanders feudal Japan and exorcises evil spirits known as mononoke. To do so, he must uncover the mononoke’s Shape, Truth, and Reason. Despite its ... mystical trappings, every mystery in Mononoke feels realistic. That is, they’re more about the people plagued by them than the mononoke themselves. Every spirit slain is prefaced by at least one other person whose secrets are revealed.

It’s this detective work on each ‘client’ that the Medicine Seller shows a penchant for exposing skeletons in the closet. His knowledge on the occult is matched by his intuition on other people, and perhaps eclipsed by his perpetual calm and facetious tone. In other words, the guy is hot shit and he knows it. How he became this way is never explained, but knowing the story behind that disinterested wit is secondary to the lives of the people he encounters.

From the inability to admit one’s fears to the paranoia of inadvertent sin, the show’s greatest strength is when it revels in its characters’ crippling weaknesses. Their every motive, every action, and every fault is mercilessly uncovered, and by the end of each mystery we know them better than we know the Medicine Seller. And yet, they’re not sympathetic but uncomfortably familiar. They’re reminiscent of the monsters we can easily be.

This is horror.

Horror is not about a bloodbath soaked with jump scares. Horror is the examination of the human condition as its furtive faults grant an uncanny power to do the unthinkable. It unleashes a despicable flurry whether we’re willingly heinous or acting out of desperation. This is something many horror films today fail to comprehend, but a truth that Mononoke lives by.

The show reinforces this truth through its visual direction. It rarely hides its horrors in the cover of darkness, forcing us to confront them where we think we’re safe. From unnaturally round eyes to a toothed mask, the show has no qualms about being too obvious in its frights. But rather than illicit groans of ‘get on with it!,’ it dredges a powerless feeling as if saying ‘we’re ruining your life and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

Adding to the visceral visuals is an atmospheric sound design. Empty hallways are lined with children’s laughter to unnerving effect. Chatter and banter play from a still picture to reflect a woman’s detachment from her own life. The rumbling of a train’s track traversing rises and falls with the tension of who the story focuses on. The show doesn’t lack music, but prefers mood. It ‘speaks’ with minimal effort for maximum effect.

If I had to point out one thing I didn’t like, it’s how each mystery varies in quality from one to the other, especially ‘Faceless Monster’ and ‘Japanese Chimera.’ The former treads ground the first two mysteries already covered, making it very formulaic. The latter either has no examination of the human condition, or one so understated that it’s out of place entirely. But the quality difference between each mystery is a pittance when the show is still good even at its worst. I might as well say ‘I didn’t enjoy this luxurious train ride as much as I enjoyed this luxurious cruise ship.’

This is what I mean by Mononoke not being arrogant. It knows it needs more than a unique look if it wants to be fondly remembered. There’s a conscious effort to want to make a good story as well as make the aesthetics its own. It knows it wants to be horror, and it knows what horror truly is. Through it all, more than anything else, Mononoke is simply an emotionally resonant piece.

Who knew a story about spirits could feel so human?

Around 2007, I watched a few episodes of this show before circumstances pulled me away from it. I always meant to watch it, but it faded from memory until recently when I had an urge to watch something older. Much of what I felt from that brief glimpse back then, is the same as my full gaze right now. Despite how unbelievable some parts of the story are, I still knew I was watching something a little special.

X is mostly Kamui Shirou’s story, faced with the decision to become a Dragon of Heaven or Dragon of Earth. Should he become a Dragon of Heaven, one ... of the Seven Seals, he will fight to protect Earth. Should he become a Dragon of Earth, one of the Seven Angels, he will fight to destroy the world. With the exception of one character, nothing is forcing anyone to fight. There are few dramatic turns pitting them against each other in twists of fate, and the Seven Angels have no reason in and of themselves to destroy the world. They fight simply because it is their Destiny to do so.

I would’ve preferred more nuance with the premise, but the show takes itself seriously enough to where it’s usually a non-issue. It does this partly with a soundtrack that can be ironically playful in its disposition, playing to the ‘Encounter’ between an Angel and Seal as dutifully opposed but with no reason to despise each other. In other moments, a ‘Hyper Battle’ shoots off a fearful feeling for a formidable foe. But perhaps THE theme of themes for X is ‘Destiny.’ It always delivers a rare confluence of despair and hope, and especially captures the essence of friends on opposing sides.

As perfectly as the music lends itself to the show, the cast it stands for varies considerably. For all the time we see the outgoing Sorata and the aloof Arashi together, it’s only near the end when Arashi suddenly drops the cold shoulder for a warm smile. Then there’s the breezy Seichiro and the jaded Karen, who are beautifully realized characters despite so little screentime. Then there are guys like Kusanagi and Nataku who are mostly ‘just there,’ while Yuzuriha is reasonably well-written on her own but crumbles into someone annoying around most other characters.

But there’s almost a sense that few of them matter compared to Kamui, which gets into one of the biggest problems of X: Kamui himself. Kamui, and his ‘counterpart’ by extension, often display tremendous feats of power, such as both scrapes against the facetious Seishirou, that makes me wonder just why exactly they need six other Dragons on their team. On the other hand, Kamui’s gradual loss of attitude for amiability, the extent of his motives, and his ultimate choice are handled spectacularly. He is a believably flawed character, bringing intrigue to one who can so easily be boring.

Unfortunately, boring is a good way to describe quite a number of X’s episodes. In fairness, over half its episodes solidly realize its cast. Not all of them are developed before a certain point, and some sagas wouldn’t fit anywhere else (the easygoing Yuuto comes to mind). But when the show is mostly building its setting or story, it drags. Not slow, but drags. For every new revelation or plot point the show introduces, the episode around it is essentially coming up with different ways of saying ‘the end of the world is approaching,’ and ‘you must choose.’ It’s repetitive padding in the worst way possible.

Despite some of the negativity I’ve lashed out with, though, I do think that when X is good, it’s fantastic. It’s lackluster narrative is bolstered to emotional crescendos by not only a well-orchestrated soundtrack, but highly vibrant visuals. Studio Madhouse demonstrates artistic work that makes colors that shouldn’t pop out, pop out to great effect. The use of cutaways and jump cuts during many fight scenes can prove distracting, but a number of battles also show the full brunt of every impact to brutal effect. X’s aesthetics have kept their splendor as they’ve aged gracefully.

It’s those aesthetics, especially the music, that have made X stand out in my mind before I recently watched it in full. But what makes it a little special for me isn’t its presentation or writing, but how they work together for raw emotional impact despite its problems; despite some characters; despite its pacing. It’s not everyone’s destiny to feel what I feel for X, but then again, neither me nor the story’s prophets can fully see the future.

There’s a splash of racism in Aldnoah.Zero (AZ) from the Versians toward the Terrans, and considering how bland the Terrans are, I really can’t blame them. Despite the screen time between both factions being roughly even, we learn almost nothing about the Terrans beyond their own brand of racism; what are each of the characters like? How do they fit into the story beyond the fighting? What are they thinking? All of this and more…are never addressed proper.

It’s especially egregious with the main character of the Terrans, the tactician Inaho Kaizuka. The good news is he’s a breath of fresh air from the folks piloting ... an overpowered mech, being a guy whose mind is the incredible weapon as strategy after strategy topples supermech after supermech. The bad news is we scarcely get a sense of who he is. It’s like the writers wanted to make a silent badass and instead created someone emotionally dead. A character like him can work, but it’s vital to know what he thinks else he’s just going through the motions.

There is a scene in the first episode where Inaho and his friends are out in the city. As a missile approaches for a terrorist attack, he says ‘We should get out of here. A missile is coming’ with no sense of urgency. To call him emotionally reticent would be an understatement. I could possibly explain that Inaho’s required military training might have made him stoic, except the Terran veterans are more reactive to everything than he is. There’s a better sense of what he’s like in season two, but his strong sense of non-reaction makes for one of the weakest characters of the entire series.

Sorry, I ranted too much and didn’t explain the situation proper. The story goes that people from Earth (Terra) have managed to colonize Mars (Vers) thanks to the discovery of super technology from thousands and thousands of years ago. But, the technological superiority of the Martians (AKA Versians) has somehow sparked a war between them and the Earthlings (or the Terrans). I’m not sure how this causes war since they moved to Vers of their own will, but the series does a decent job at explaining how the conflict started as the story goes on.

After a terrorist attack on a Vers diplomat visiting Terra, the Versians see fit to continue fighting a war that had halted some 15 years before the story. With the super technology of Aldnoah at their backs, the 37 Orbital Knights of Vers crash Terra with supermechs that are more than a match against the greater Terran numbers. Unfortunately, it’s hard to care for the Terrans despite the Versians being initially painted as the ‘bad guys’ of the ordeal. Like I said earlier, the problem with the Terrans is we don’t get a sense of who they are.

Not that knowing who they are necessarily makes anything better. We have one character who suddenly becomes a love interest of sorts for Inaho during season two, another character whose war scars don’t add anything to the story, and a bunch of other characters whose most noticeable thing about one being an ironic name. We’re supposed to care for the Terrans because the Versians are clearly the ‘bad guys,’ but we should be able to care about them on their own merits.

I say this as if the Versians are awesome, but overall they’re a few ranks short of well written. A lot of them range from stereotypically evil to a hilarious degree to some genuinely nice characters who are somehow more likable than most of the Terrans. Saazbaum’s story especially shows why there’s a war at all, and it’s difficult not to sympathize with him despite his actions. And while we don’t see it much in the story proper, flashbacks of the relationship between Asseylum Vers Allusia and Slaine Troyard are just decent enough to anchor the struggles they face through both seasons.

Speaking of, let me talk about Slaine AKA the only well written character in the series. Aside from his backstory giving a sense of why he fights, it also ties into the overall story by acknowledging that even the Orbital Knights can only achieve so much without Terran help. His conflict in season one explores what it means to want to serve your country (or…planet) despite all opposition, and during season two his relationship with Asseylum becomes the perfect metaphor for Terra-Vers relations; the further apart they grow, the more hostile Terra and Vers are to each other.

The only complaint I’d make here, is how Slaine is so often short-ended that his struggles almost feel unnatural, as if the world was made for him to suffer in rather than him suffering in the world. The amount of times he’s literally and figuratively kicked around just stop him from being anything more than a good character. Otherwise, every action he takes even during season two is mostly believable. It’s easy to find him unlikable for some of the things he does, but the story takes care to explain the actions he believes he must take despite himself.

And when Slaine, Inaho, or anyone else take action, a fight often follows. In a word, AZ’s aesthetics are positively slick. The coloration between the characters and backgrounds meshes flawlessly with the mecha CGI, while the mechs themselves adhere to a design philosophy to easily tell them apart; the Versian supermechs are sleek, smooth, and shiny, while the ordinary mechs of the Terran side are rusted rundown robots. There’s a real sense of bullet for bullet superiority from the Versians, to say nothing of how the fights often play out.

The fights themselves are almost a microcosm of real robots VS super robots. The Terran mechs are slow but methodical, as they won’t be doing too many crazy stunts if at all, and don’t hold well if a strong round of bullets so much as crosses them the wrong way. Compare this to the Versian supermechs, who can take it as well as they dish it out, and can dish it out faster than most of the Terran mechs can keep up with. The only thing keeping the fights down is also its greatest strength; the fights are tactics VS power, and because ‘power’ is on the ‘villain’ side,’ most fights are a foregone conclusion. Still, knowing who’s going to win isn’t the same as knowing how somebody wins.

Accompanying the epic visuals is an equally grand soundtrack. There aren’t that many tracks in and of themselves, but what’s there is instantly recognizable. ‘Keep On Keeping On’ and ‘aLIEz’ are excellent pieces that perfectly set the incoming mood whether things are going to change for the better or worse. Series’ music composer Hiroyuki Sawano does an excellent job elevating action scenes that would otherwise be hard to care about, and despite all the bombast the show knows when to dial down the music as some of the more intense moments revolve around deafening silence.

Unfortunately, ‘deafening silence’ is a philosophy that ended up going to Inaho and brought down the Terran side of the story to a large degree. Honestly, I do LIKE AZ, but my gushing for Slaine isn’t nearly enough to suggest this series even as something passably enjoyable. The Terrans are completely ineffectual while the Versians are decent at best. Aldnoah Zero isn’t a bad anime, but its efforts to be decent have been absolutely Slaine.

My time with Love Live! is much like the few members of its nine strong cast who were reluctant about being school idols. I wonder how a pushy, narrow sighted girl managed to rope me into this crazy gig, and then I wonder if this idiot turned friend will drag me to another adventure that was more fun than I ever thought possible. The nine strong cast is μ's (pronounced ‘Muse’), named for the Nine Goddesses of Music. Gods don’t die, and neither can my love for their antics, their struggles, and their story.

But Umi Sonoda would suggest I explain everything before acting sentimental, and ... I wouldn’t expect less from little miss ‘modesty and logic will hopefully win the day (or at least try to guide it).’ She’s the kind of person who tries to keep others on track, sometimes a bit too much when her friends would rather relax at the beach. Thankfully, her sense of discipline is never misguided, as she’ll often pick up her friends after they fall from a mistake. She doesn’t move past being the voice of reason, but she is a major reason μ's goes far.

μ's itself is lead by Honoka Kousaka, whose motive for being a school idol is as crazy as it sounds. Her school is close to closing down due to the lack of new students, and the juniors before her will be the last new students the school accepts. After a chance glimpse at how a concert from a school idol group has brought attention to their school, she has the idea of being a school idol to hopefully attract new students to her school. Enough students to the point where her school won’t close down. Surely such an impulsive idea won’t be where the story takes off from, right?

Well, the story starts there but it doesn’t take off until three episodes into the first season. Reality hits Honoka as her first concert fails, and from that point on the story really begins. Much of season one is about our lively lyrical leader bringing other students to her cause. Despite this, the story doesn’t get serious but doesn’t lack for purpose either. One of the main strengths of Love Live! is an unbridled sense of fun that never loses sight of its story. There’s enough stage practice to make the lead up into every concert believable, but even the antics outside that are always meaningful.

From the change into crazy costumes to reinvent their image for fear of growing stale, to the beach episode that brings Maki Nishikino out of her shell in more ways than one, to the odd responsibility shared by Honoka, Umi, and Kotori Minami in season two, every moment is more than its humor. Despite the fun, there are still times when the story gets serious, and it’s almost never unfounded as even things mentioned in passing come to show their importance later on.

It especially shows with Kotori, whose story deals with the issue of what it means to contribute to a team through humorous bouts of ‘writer’s block.’ Kotori herself hasn’t a single aggressive bone in her body, but that doesn’t mean a sweet and cheerful persona is all she is. She has her doubts and worries, and her reticence at one point truly tests the friendship between herself, Umi, and Honoka. Her story implies the question of what it means to chase a dream, and whether the chase can make someone lose sight of what’s around them.

And for third year student Nico Yazawa, being a part of μ's is another chance to chase her dream. There’s a good, if prideful, reason she wants to become a school idol, and her over the top ‘cute’ persona shows that dedication. In truth, she’s very smug and cynical, but not without good reason. In every jaded person is an optimist waiting to let loose, and Nico does quite enjoy herself as the series goes on, however smug she still acts. Her vast array of idol stuff like concert DVDs also shows her dedication to the art, even before going into her backstory. Much to the pleasure of first year student Hanayo Koizumi.

Hanayo is the old case of how passion can call out an entirely different side to someone. At a glance, she’s timid, and her joining μ's is partly thanks to a small push from her friend Rin Hoshizora and classmate Maki. But from that point on, she’s often energetic, especially in the presence of idols and being an idol fan herself, and of course during μ's concerts. There’s a kernel of truth to how her interests and hobbies suddenly bring out such an involved side to her, but it isn’t over the top to the point of unbelievable.

Then again, the only unbelievable—and weak link by extension—part of the story is Rin. She’s mostly ‘just there’ in season one, while season two messily develops her with an issue that’s never brought up or hinted at save for early in season one. Her time in the spotlight involves being the temporary leader of μ's for…some reason, and wearing an outfit that’s not her style just because. Though still a quite likable tomboy with a penchant for cat speak, the brief change to that other side of her is largely unfounded to the point where likability is all she has going for her.

Compare this to Maki, who doesn’t lack for believability and likability. Despite being as young as Hanayo and Rin, she carries herself with a senior like demeanor to speak level even with third years Eli Ayase and Nozomi Tojo. At the same time, her true self often shows whether she’s flustered or just being a little more open around Nico and Nozomi, and everyone else. And yet, her want to hide her feelings is less about any one of her friends and more about being truly reticent despite her apparent sharpness. Maki is well developed, and not just for her body as Nozomi learns firsthand(s).

For the curious, the big chested Nozomi has a small running joke throughout the series where she gropes the girls of μ's. Nozomi herself is often in the background, but due to her role and reason for being in μ's, it makes sense. Her role is someone who watches over these girls (especially Eli), her reason more than just wanting to watch over them as she befriends them. Mischievous and motherly, Nozomi looks after μ's as if it was her own creation, and the creation of her own person isn’t lacking despite (or maybe even because of?) her lack of screentime.

Of course, her friend Eli isn’t open to μ's being a thing at all. Not at first. Her doubt towards them is rooted in her past success, and doesn’t think they’ll do anything for the school’s future. She has an interesting parallel with Honoka for much of season one, in that despite thinking differently about school idols, they both want to save the school. As student council president, though, Eli works behind the scenes as μ's grows in numbers, ever tempted to let it go and just have fun with them. Her struggle between her duty and desire, despite her pedigree, makes her nothing short of compelling.

But even as Eli becomes a kind of second leader in season two, it’s still Honoka at the heart of μ's. Honoka herself is emotion personified, the sheer range of her facial expressions communicating what dialog can’t. A melancholic gaze, a smile that triumphs over her tears, a crossed scowl, an indifferent but thoughtful gaze, an infectiously energetic smile, and many more faces all serve to perfectly round out her persona. That doesn’t mean she’s without her faults, as she can be focused to the point of losing sight of what’s around her, something that comes up toward the end of season one and the start of season two.

It’s during the second season that Honoka tries to stay aware of what’s around her, partly due to a personal incident in season one, partly from an extra duty as student council president in season two. Yeah. I don’t know how she became student council president either. The best guess among viewers is, after the school was saved, nobody was better fit to be student council president than the school’s savior. Yeah. I don’t know how rallying school idols translates to running a kind of government either.

Thankfully, Honoka eventually, if reluctantly, grows into the role of student council president, and never misses a step as part of μ's as they look to compete at the Love Live! event. During season one, they learned about the Love Live! being a chance for school idols to really show off what they can do. Unfortunately, they had to drop out at the last minute, but they got enough attention anyway to the point where the school was saved. So why would μ's still want to compete at the next Love Live! event?

To which I answer: why must there be a deeper reason to want to do something? Does it matter if passion starts from duty? If they’ve made it this far, why let that effort go to waste? With the introduction of its nine strong cast being largely finished in season one, season two changes the focus from ‘Honoka and the rest of μ's’ to ‘here is μ's as a group of equals.’ Not just Honoka, but all of μ's wants to compete in and win the Love Live! event. Their time in the spotlight much more even, each girl no less passionate than the next. But with their sights set on Love Live!, rival school idol group A-Rise has their sights set on them.

In many ways, A-Rise is the antithesis to μ's. The latter starts as a group of three with Honoka, Umi, and Kotori, and blossoms into nine great performers, while the former is only the trio of Tsubasa Kira, Erena Todo, and Anju Yuki. For how alike these six look respectively, they still take on their own identities, μ's donning frills and youthful vigor while A-Rise sports sleek smooth sensuality in their wardrobe and dance moves. In a refreshing change of pace, though, A-Rise isn’t a conniving group trying to sabotage the main cast. They simply want to win the Love Live!, and truly look forward to facing μ's. There’s mutual respect between both groups.

But as μ's gets closer to the big event, the story becomes less about the actual competition and more about the looming finale they can’t avoid. This plays perfectly into why Nozomi is part of μ's, as the story of nine comes full circle before she, Eli, and Nico are to graduate after the Love Live! event. The thought weighs on their minds, but the show must go on and they rightfully cherish every moment together. Every misadventure, every squabble, every concert teaches them to accept the bitter with the sweet.

Unfortunately, the concerts during season one are mostly nothing sweet to look at. It often looks like a smile plastered on a dancing doll. Thankfully, season two greatly improves the animation during these scenes, blending the 2D and 3D work into a cohesive showcase. The coloring and design makes for vivid variation. Even the darker colors of A-Rise shine brightly, and the thematic unity across costumes still have subtle differences to reflect each person, such as Anju being A-Rise’s only wearer of frills, or Umi’s outfit in one concert rocking shorts instead of a skirt.

So the show looks great, but it also knows HOW to look great. The series knows its girls are the cover attraction to itself, but thankfully it doesn’t overplay its hand. It forgoes sexualizing its cast for an emotional connection through personality and appearance. It’s flattery that induces a star struck state, without objectifying the cast in any negative fashion. Even the swimsuit episode is fairly harmless, while Nozomi’s groping antics miraculously avoid falling into the suggestive moans that are prone to happen in other shows. Early concert scenes aside, I see no reason to call the visuals nothing short of excellent.

Now, no amount of outstanding outfits or lovely lighting will do anything without music. And indeed, Love Live!’s soundtrack is far and away its strongest aesthetic element. There’s music for every occasion, from the quick tempo of a chase scene, to an over the top piece for a joke, to the slow piano keys for matching melancholy, and even the revitalizing recap music at the start of each of episode, all compliment the mood to great effect. And the few moments where music is absent are well chosen, and stand out that much more for it.

But while the instrumentals are good, the real reason Love Live! is a musical treat are the actual songs, which it never lacks. ‘Private Wars’ and ‘Shocking Party’ play hard, fast, and clean, capturing the aura of coolness about A-Rise. ‘Advance Tomorrow’ reflects the spirit of the show, being loud and fun but starting from genuinely heartfelt intentions through a soprano style voice. And of course, the two opening numbers, ‘We’re All In This Moment’ and ‘That Is Our Miracle’ carry lyrical significance with what happens in the story. This isn’t music that’s just a joy to listen to, but pieces that say something more when listening closely.

One of the two songs this is most exemplified in is ‘Start;Dash.’ Unlike much of μ's other songs, it starts with an almost melancholic feeling, starts singing in a defiant fashion, and ends in a manner that says ‘we’re down, but not out.’ It’s the piece Honoka, Umi, and Kotori sing at their first concert, and the piece μ's sings at the end of season one. The other song is the unforgettable ‘Snow Halation,’ testifying to the heights people can reach as they work together and understand one another’s feelings; words do no justice to the power of this track.

There are still more songs than these, from ‘No Brand Girls,’ to ‘Our LIVE, Our LIFE with you,’ to ‘Wonder Zone,’ to ‘The Door To Our Dreams’; the sheer number of great songs, well done instrumentals, and amount of story significance on each piece, makes the soundtrack of Love Live! nothing but a musical masterpiece. And yes, I’m only counting the music the show itself had, tempted as I am to talk about ‘Love Marginal’ among others.

What I DO want to talk about, is how hard it is for me to discuss Love Live! in any critical manner. It’s a series that caught me completely off guard when I was just looking for something to pass the time. It’s a show that makes me wonder just how much aesthetics matter to the viewing experience. It’s a story that forces me to see that even the simplest looking things can be more than meets the eye. And it’s a tale of gung ho dream chasing that’s infectiously optimistic.

Now, some people will surely have problems with the ending, and it’s usually not the kind of finale I go for either. Then again, every rule has exceptions. For those people who’ve already seen both seasons of Love Live!, let me say that I can overlook season two’s ending because I’m not expecting another adventure.

I just want an encore.

Somewhere in me is a cynic that I refuse to give in to, because I don’t want to make the mistake of judging shows by their cover. And every so often, I have reason to be optimistic, as a number of shows I’ve doubted have proven to be not just pleasant surprises, but fantastic works in their own right. But damn it, Japan, when you release shows like this, it’s very hard to stay positive.

‘The Mangaka and His Assistants’ focuses on the daily lives of manga artist Yuki and his all-female assistants. When he’s not drawing manga, he’s usually trying to subject them to his ... perverted desires. Among the assistants, Rinna would go along with him if Sena, Mahiru, and Sahoto aren’t there to stop her, while the latter three thrash him for his advances. This is the entire show, and unfortunately there are deeper problems than the humor not being to one’s liking.

A major problem with The Mangaka and His Assistants is its cast lacks development, personality, or anything I could use to call them interesting. Everyone who isn’t Rinna has two personalities, with nothing between to make those two sides believable as part of the same person; Yuki is perverted then nice, Sahoto is indifferent and then motivated, while Mahiru and Sena are basically the same character, feisty on the outside but warm on the inside. Not that Rinna is any better, because the way she would accept Yuki’s advances were it not for the others is disturbing.

It isn’t just a lack of development, but how much that development doesn’t make sense. Yuki is relentless in his perverse advances and Sena, Mahiru, and Sahoto all bash him for it. Makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is Sena and Mahiru showing signs of falling for Yuki, supposedly because he’s a nice guy despite his perversion, except that even in flashbacks, we don’t see enough of Yuki being that nice guy. The only one who doesn’t fall for Yuki is Sahoto, and even then she’s supposedly going to stay with him because she pities him. Yeah. Really.

It gets even better when the show tries to justify its lack of development in favor of Yuki being perverted. His main reason for making manga is because he wants to draw panties, and Mahiru points out that the reason his manga is losing popularity is because he’s focusing too much on panties and not enough on the story. Quite frankly this sort of self-referential humor only works when the show is at least decent, but do things sound even decent so far?

But fine, clearly asking for decent characters is too much. Too bad the humor can be outright repulsive. There is a scene where Yuki is crossdressing so he can understand what it’s like being a woman. After being shrugged off by his assistants, one of them falls asleep. He then tries to breast feed that sleeping girl so he can ‘also’ understand what it’s like being a mom. The girl wakes up with a mouthful of man chest and promptly thrashes him. This scene was so uncomfortable I had to stop the episode. Comedies are not supposed to do that.

Actually, most of comedy in this show—and by extension, most of the show itself—is just uncomfortable. Between the brand of humor, lack of development, and self-awareness, I sometimes wonder if the show is just poking fun at the reason people watch ecchi shows. Are we supposed to go ‘good thing I’m not part of that audience!’ or ‘at least I’m not as depraved as that guy!’? Maybe some people can find this funny, but I don’t. All the humor did was remind me of people who really can’t divorce reality from fiction, on top of reinforcing bad stereotypes of Japanese animation.

The animation itself is serviceable but nothing impressive or distinct. But aside from the lack of inspiration to differentiate between Sena and Mahiru, the characters designs are at least pleasant to look at thanks to somewhat vibrant colors. The sound isn’t all that great either, lacking much of a proper soundtrack, but nothing is particularly out of place. The aesthetics of this show on a whole are just really, really standard.

I just wish I could describe this show as even being ‘standard.’ While I wasn’t expecting something groundbreaking, I did expect a reasonable story or at least some decent characters. Unfortunately there’s uncomfortable humor in place of development on top of the show trying to shrug off its own faults. Even if you’re an ecchi fan—no wait, ESPECIALLY if you’re an ecchi fan—skip this patronizing, heartless garbage.

I say ‘heartless’ because even something like Mayo Chiki really tries. Amagami tries. Mashiro Symphony tries. This show doesn’t. It doesn’t understand that panties and fanservice only go so far, because what any kind of show needs is heart. And for The Mangaka and His Assistants, it isn’t something they’re going to have no matter how many times they go back to the drawing board.

Games come in many forms. Some take the shape of a guy in a horned helmet that shouts people off cliffs and talks to knee injured guards. Other types involve moving a bunch of pieces to capture a specific piece called a King. But no matter the kind of game being played, what’s most important, is knowing how to boost that gamerscore. After all, nothing beats having a stupid high number and being called Godlike.

Well, except for becoming an actual God. And as far as No Game No Life’s setting—Disboard—is concerned, a really high number isn’t needed either, because the magic number is 16. There ... are 16 races called the Exceed, but if one race can conquer the rest (whatever that means), the leader of that race will then have the right to challenge, and become, the God of Disboard. Of course, 15 to 1 isn’t good odds, but for gamer siblings Sora and Shiro—also known as ‘Blank’—the smallest chance for a win is a guarantee for victory.

Ironically, I come up with a blank whenever I try to think of any reason to care for Sora and Shiro. Their story is the old tale of a zero in the real world who becomes a hero in another world. They jump at the chance to leave the real world they hate so much, to live in Disboard where gaming skills are what matters. Unfortunately, it’s hard to care for them when their backstory is so scarce. There are only a few glimpses of their time in the real world, meaning there’s little development of any reason they closed themselves off from others, to foster complete faith in each other.

It’s unfortunate too, because Sora and Shiro’s trust in each other surfaces several times throughout the story. These moments, from lip-locking to survive their own gambits, to literally putting their existence on the line for each other, aren’t as powerful as they can be. Because outside of those moments, they’re a comedy duo without much transition between their antics and adoration; they swing from humor to drama, to jarring effect. Said another way, Sora and Shiro lack the sincerity and the development needed to make their relationship compelling. To make them worth caring about.

On the bright side, Sora and Shiro still have some semblance of a story, to cover how simplistically archetypical they are. Sora is sarcastically charismatic, while Shiro is the emotionless little sister. Jibril follows suit on simple archetypes, being the perverted knowledge seeker but with even less story than Sora and Shiro. Then things get really weird with Steph, whose backstory is actually touched upon more than Sora and Shiro’s, at the expense of her having no personality at all. Unless I’m willing to count ‘being a love slave,’ but that’s not even her own doing. Seriously.

Seriously. With the characters being as choppily written as they are, I almost forget what it is I like about this show. Well, underneath the slough of barely developed backstories being pushed aside for random antics, is something legitimately good when the show stops messing around. See, No Game No Life can be divided in two parts. One is the mundane, normal parts, and basically centers on the characters doing whatever, from walking around town, to negotiating with another faction, to messing around in the bath (of course…). They’re character centric, but the characters are bland, and these scenes are throwaway.

Then, there are the parts of the show that represent half of No Game No Life’s namesake. Remember, Disboard is a world where your gaming skills are what will carry you. And in order for Sora and Shiro to become the God of Disboard, they must use their gaming skills to conquer the other races. Because in Disboard, all disputes are resolved through games. Said games can be anything from blackjack to virtual reality shooters. There’s often magic involved, and Sora and Shiro usually have to outthink their overpowered opponents.

And it. Is. Glorious. Chess pieces will have loyalty, words can create the universe, memories are played piece by piece, and mathematics make for very tricky bullet shots. Indeed, the reason to watch No Game No Life is for its crazy games. Or, more accurately, to see how what crazy plan Sora and Shiro come up with to try and win each game. Much of what they scheme for—like the insane amount of calculations needed to predict where and when someone will show up right when they need it—is both confounding and amazing.

Now, all of these plans seem impossible, but that’s what that stands out about Sora and Shiro the most. Their sheer intellect lets them do the impossible, notice what others cannot (the card is a lie!), and fight the powers that would otherwise overwhelm others. It reflects the (still scarce) story of Steph’s background that partly deals with wisdom VS power, so the ridiculous gambits in these games have mythos behind the madness. A reason in the story to happen. Sure, the characters themselves are still bland, but what they do in the games and the games themselves are something else to see.

Though speaking of things to see, now’s as good a time as any to talk about the aesthetics. But to be honest, I’m not sure whether I love how this show looks because of the amount of pink, or whether I hate how this show looks because of the amount of pink. There’s a pink hue everywhere in the show from the castle town of Elkia to the forest of the Eastern Federation, but at least it makes for something uniquely vibrant and almost neon-like in its colors. It’s almost to the point where ‘outlines’ on characters or backdrops don’t exist.

But slight hints of pink aside, the backdrops are varied and play with the fact Disboard is a fantasy world. The 18th century houses, cobblestone streets, and brick castle at the apex give Elkia a distinctly medieval feel, which won’t be mistaken for the classical, oriental design of the Eastern Federation’s buildings. The games themselves also take on a life of their own, sometimes literally through words, other times through virtual simulation. Unfortunately, the character designs leave a lot to be desired. Except for Jibril, whose design fulfills desires I never even knew I had.

AHEM.

Moving on, I’d think better of the music if I counted the opening and closing numbers of any show. After all, This Game by Konomi Suzuki is quite energetic while Oracion by Ai Kayano is like a fast paced lullaby. But since I don’t, that leaves only the music within the show. That said, while none of the pieces are distinct, they do what they need to do in setting the mood from the everyday to the faster pace of some games, especially the last one. It also has a surprising amount of quiet grace, where little to no music in some situations—the first major game comes to mind—creates a real feeling of tension.

It’s just a shame that tension in any of the games isn’t as authentic as it could be. The lack of development, personality, and backstory among the characters—anything I could use to call them compelling—falls short of even being decent. Of course, when a game gets going, the bland cast is overshadowed by the crazy games that are carried well by the aesthetics. And yes, No Game No Life could be worth watching for the crazy games alone. Keyword being ‘could.’ Just think real carefully about what you’re looking for, or it might be game over before you can say ‘Aschente!’

Losing friends is not an easy process. And when I say friends, I don’t mean the people whose exiting your life would make you go ‘awww’ or ‘that sucks.’ I’m talking about the people whose absence from your life leaves you speechless, only for your voice to come back as heart wrenching stutters after your mind has caught up with the fact ‘this person is gone.’ It’s a feeling we don’t want to experience.

Unfortunately for Kuroi Mato, she shares this sentiment a little over halfway through this tale. Yomi Takanashi is suddenly missing, and no matter where Kuroi looks, she’s nowhere to be found. Not ... at the sidewalk where they meet each other in the morning, not at the train station, not at their school, not even on each other’s cell phones. The piano piece in this moment speaks Kuroi’s emotions, but lingers with enough restraint to let dialog go undisturbed.

Later, the police bring their investigation to the Mato residence, as they believe Kuroi, being Yomi’s closest friend, might give a lead on where Yomi might have gone. But as Kuroi hears the words ‘closest friend,’ it’s all she can do to stay composed and answer their questions. The sudden lack of music puts the focus on their dialog, and the natural lighting of the room creates a sense of normalcy that contrasts and highlights Kuroi’s tearful face. It’s a frighteningly believable scene.

Fortunately for us, believably evoking a moment of loss is a testament to what the rest of the story has gained. But to call this moment the pay-off to the rest of the story wouldn’t be accurate. Pay-off implies the rest of the story is watched for this moment, but this moment is just another thread in a fabric of powerful scenes. Some loud and dramatic, others a whisper of the everyday, but all connected by the Golden Heart of a little-known OVA called Black Rock Shooter.

Of course, how a story about two friends in an everyday setting can conjure a title like Black Rock Shooter is bound to be confusing. But the tie-in between the title and story is the least confusing thing about the OVA. Several times throughout this anime, fight scenes between two characters—who I’ll call Blue Eyes and Green Eyes from this point on—are spread throughout the otherwise normal tale of Kuroi and Yomi’s friendship. There’s a lack of relevancy between the two concurrent story threads.

Or so it seems.

Now, the location of these fight scenes is never stated, but they’re less about the ‘where’ and more about the ‘what.’ ‘What’ they stand for. They’re not meant to be taken literally, but as a reflection of Kuroi and Yomi’s friendship, and of the characters themselves. Think I’m overreaching? Well, studio Ordet wouldn’t bother making Kuroi and Yomi resemble Blue Eyes and Green Eyes—or maybe it’s the other way around—without reason. The results are visuals that reinforce—reinforce, not creates—Kuroi and Yomi’s characterization.

Let me describe these characters. Kuroi is the outgoing one of the two, being the one to break the ice with Yomi while easily warming up to another character introduced later. She tends to easily show her emotions, from her bemusement meeting Yomi the first time to her later anguish. Then there’s Blue Eyes. She reaches out to Green Eyes, her weapon is a gun, and her outfit is revealing. Who reached out to Yomi? Kuroi. What does a gun do? It reaches out to things at a distance. What does a revealing outfit do? It shows a lot of skin, reflecting how Kuroi shows a lot of emotion.

Playing the foil and friend to Kuroi is Yomi. Her aloofness at the start believably melts into familiarity, as the reason she acts distant betrays her want for a friend. But she only opens up to Kuroi, and even then she holds back her feelings at the worst time. This creates the story’s conflict and justifies the fights with Green Eyes. Green Eyes herself wears a modest dress and fights with a scythe. What does a scythe do? It marks the end of things, and Yomi thinks their friendship has ended. What does a modest dress do? It doesn’t show much skin, mirroring Yomi’s emotional reticence.

Rolling the third wheel is Yuu Koutari. She’s the friend Kuroi makes later on, and serves as the catalyst of sorts for the story’s main conflict. Unfortunately, her relative lack of screentime, even for a side character, makes it hard to get a read on her, or get a general sense of her mindset and personality. It’s hard to tell if Yuu plays the ‘antagonist’—at least, Yomi sees her as such—by accident or whether she has ulterior motives for befriending Kuroi. The result is she becomes nothing more than a force to drive the story, which is one of the faults against the OVA.

The other fault of the story—but also one of its strengths—is how a year of Kuroi and Yomi’s friendship is shown as a montage. Their friendship would be more believable if it unfolded more in ‘real time’, but their development before the montage is believable as is. This pre-montage development covers what it needs to cover, from their first time passing each other by to Yomi believing Kuroi’s words. And the montage itself glosses over mundane stuff that would needlessly slow down the story. If nothing else, the light beats of the guitar-like track gives a peaceful, everyday feeling.

Speaking of which, the music is one of the overall stronger points of the OVA’s aesthetics. Pieces are either perfectly timed for whatever the mood is, or withheld entirely to bring focus to the dialog. Special mention goes to the tracks used during the three scenes at the town’s overlook. The instrumental in the first scene is upbeat and carefree to match Kuroi’s mood. The vocal track in the second scene mirrors Yomi’s melancholy AND Kuroi’s optimism in reaching out to her. And the piece during the third scene is understated, but helps to make a powerful statement about Kuroi’s character.

Now, I say the music is strong ‘overall’ because I was only talking about the music during the normal moments. The pieces during the fight scenes, save for the very end, amount to uninspired rock tracks. They set the mood for the action, but they’re all virtually identical. And with the fight scenes being spread throughout the story, the sudden change in music from soft to rock makes the action sound jarring. Thankfully, all the action only adds up to 10 minutes of a 52 minute OVA, so going back from action to normal doesn’t hurt the latter too much.

But while the soundtrack stays strong, the same can’t be said for the visuals. The normal scenes look nice, but the fight scenes have standard choreography and fluidity. The real strength of these visuals is what studio Ordet does with them. The fight scene backdrops are stylistic complements and echoes of the normal scenes. Blue Eyes is usually on lower ground than Green Eyes; Kuroi brings up Yomi’s height. When Kuroi is emotionally vulnerable, Blue Eyes takes a heavy blow. The final fight takes place on an overlook; the town overlook is significant to the story.

See, it’s the details within the fight scenes that link the action to the rest of the story. The biggest hurdle to overcome watching Black Rock Shooter is how the action seems thrown in for the sake of action. But as I might have pointed out, it—and the character designs—echo what happens in the rest of the story (except for that first—and only—scuffle with Red Eyes…) and don’t take up much time anyway. Of course, lots of thought being put into the visuals won’t mean much without compelling characters. And Kuroi and Yomi are genuine as characters and sincere as friends.

And it’s that authenticity between Kuroi and Yomi that makes Black Rock Shooter so strong, despite how it seems to misfire. Its story keeps firing forward without Kuroi and Yomi being reduced to mere story triggers (Yuu). Action that seems aimless has a lot of thought going into its design. Add music that’s on target most of the time, and the end result is something to keep your sights on. Its steadiness isn’t perfect, but all it takes to hit the mark is a Black Rock Shooter.

Redline is an odd film to think about. At its very well-presented surface there are racecars with rocket launchers that seem to fulfill a base desire for wanton destruction. But with such bombast in the film, it would be easy to assume the writing is shallow, isn’t great, or is even bad. That Redline actually has solid storytelling to go along with its senseless action is as much of a surprise to me is at might be to you.

But yes, the film does indeed have racecars/mechs/boats/whatever with rocket launchers as the first few minutes will prove. But the race the contestants are in isn’t the ... namesake, but a qualifying event called Yellowline. The story itself follows the exploits of JP, who lives and breathes racing, but unlike the other contestants his ride isn’t armed to the windshield. As Yellowline concludes, an unfortunate event causes him to lose the race, but as preparation for Redline starts, a string of coincidences give him another chance to compete in the race.

From there, most of the film spends its time building character relationships and motivations. I would say world building, but most if it is made on the spot for whatever would be cool to happen in that situation. The titular race is going to take place on Roboworld, a planet whose rulers really don’t want the race taking place there. Somehow, they’re obligated enough to let the racing committee set up shop for the race, but violent enough to attack the racers, whether at a diner or at the race itself. Said racing committee has rules about race rigging to protect its entrants, despite all of the racers being allowed to drive what are effectively war vehicles. Yeah. Really.

Don’t mistake my facetiousness for disdain though. There’s a certain charm in knowing that flirtatious twins who command a racing stripper mech...come from the royalty of a magical kingdom planet. And the incompetence of Roboworld’s rulers makes the thought of how they run the planet humorous. Very little of the setting from its rules on racing to eligibility for racing don’t align. The racing committee has rules in place to protect its entrants, but they don’t seem to mind letting a police officer and the convict he’s chasing compete. The only consistency here is how inconsistent everything is. It’s cool things for the sake of cool things.

But back to the characters, all of them are fairly archetypical. JP is the typical cool cat who lives for glory, Sonoshee the sexy love interest, and Frisbee the manager and friend who makes the tough decisions. There’s nothing else to say about them individually, but together their naturally connected backstories give a surprising amount of weight to their relationships. These backstories don’t say much, but they unfold in a deliberate pace to give an otherwise brash film a surprising amount of heart. It’s just a shame the main trio is held back by the film’s need to try and flesh out other characters.

But that doesn’t mean all of the other characters were poorly realized. Big Robot and Crybaby Robot (seriously, you won’t remember them by name) are naturally introduced as JP and his epic pompadour go around scouting out the competition. The other characters, not so much. They’re introduced in a brief way that makes sense, but at the same time it’s easy to spot that their only purpose will be an excuse to create explosions at the Redline race. If the film didn’t waste time to pretend it cares about its other characters, then that time could be used on the main trio to make them something more than solid.

Of course, watching this film for the deeper meaning of what it means to win or for a character study on JP would be missing the point. The reason to watch Redline is for its final act, where studio Madhouse delivers on the film’s tagline to ‘WITNESS THE FUTURE OF ANIMATION.’ Instead of seeing the visuals take shortcuts to give the illusion of speed, speed is seen as racers take shortcuts within the visuals. Every vibration from their engines shifts each vehicle ever so slightly as even their hair sways with each skid and drift. It’s smaller details on top of fast-swerving objects against gorgeous backdrops.

Part of what makes the backdrops—and characters—gorgeous is the artstyle of saturated contrast. Colors that are normally dull manage to shine, colors that normally shine are brilliant, and shadows don’t give colors varying shades, but are pure black and used to highlight details for stylistic effect. It’s an artstyle of extremes that creates subtlety to be appreciated during the slower moments of the film. And even when the film gains speed, the visuals never lose their radiance and detail.

Unfortunately, the soundtrack is underwhelming—not bad—by comparison. The number of distinct pieces can be counted on one hand. They’re fun while they play during parts of each race, but the limited number of tracks makes the action slightly boring to hear (but it’s always fun to watch). I say slightly boring because character dialog thankfully picks up the musical slack, as the refreshing trash talk between contestants breaks the monotony of engines roaring. The non-action parts of the film especially rely on dialog to keeps things interesting, and for the most part it succeeds.

But it’s that non-action part of the film that I need to bring special attention to. Understandably, a film focused on spectacle still needs compelling enough characters to make the action worth caring about. And they ARE solid characters. At the same time, ‘solid’ might not be enough to hold everyone’s interest for most of the film, especially when it’s the animation—the action-packed animation—that’s the main draw of the film. For a story with characters who make split-second decisions, viewers will ironically need a small measure of patience.

Still, these faults aren’t enough to make Redline a bad or even average film. It’s uneventful moments are still energetic, the setting pulls off a casual disregard of consistency for coolness, and the character interaction believably builds backstory. Overall, no part of the film is ‘bad’ because even its weakest parts are still ‘good.’ With just enough human drama to accelerate the spectacle of racecars with rocket launchers, Redline will leave you at the edge of your driver’s seat.

Girl Friends was one of the first manga I read when I started getting into yuri. Strangely, rereading it made me realize I lost my passion for a romance with no guys. I don’t dislike yuri, but I can’t be bothered to read something anymore just because it’s a girl-on-girl romance. I say this because my mistake reading it the first time was expecting yuri right away, leaving me disappointed. Don’t do that.

Part of the reason Girl Friends can disappoint impatient readers who expect yuri right away is its story. It’s the classic tale of a popular fashionista—Akko—bringing an unassuming bookworm—Mari—out of her shell. But ... the more this bookworm steps out of her shell, the more she steps into feelings she’s never experienced. Much of the story focuses on Mari’s growing feelings for the oblivious Akko, so actual yuri events—whatever it might be—won’t be there to instantly satisfy readers.

Instead, readers will confront an emotional gauntlet. It’s easy to feel frustrated when Mari rationalizes wanting to kiss Akko by thinking of her as a cute pet, and there’s a certain hilarity in their friend Sugi who has a habit of stripping. Basically, Girl Friends teases out every emotion from jealousy to bliss. And that’s how it should go. People experience a variety of feelings, especially when dealing with teenagers, and moreso with a teenager who loves someone of the same sex.

The story itself smoothly flows from one emotion to the next. Partly because the story never hangs on the inner musings of a character for too long, and partly because the characters themselves show considerable maturation to resolve conflicts a little easier. Early in the story, Mari worries about something she did, and Akko casually breaks the ice saying it’s a natural thing for friends to do. Later on, a conflict between Mari and Akko involving college is resolved by the former’s own, indirect way.

And it’s moments like these that emphasize how far a character has come. Mari starts out introverted, tongue-tied, and not too worried about her looks. But by the end, she’s outgoing, speaks smoothly, and becomes a fashionista in her own right when she helps an old friend. The development itself is fantastic, not once going too fast. The blush crossing Mari’s face resulting from Akko’s honesty slowly becomes a flush of love, hidden behind a series of questions wondering about her own anxiety over Akko’s friends and lovelife.

There’s not much else going on with Mari, but it makes sense since Akko essentially gives her a social life. As for Akko, she’s got it going on being the center of attention, a fashionista, and generally outgoing, determined to bring Mari out of her shell. Later on, Akko’s backstory gives a sense of WHY she wanted to bring Mari out of her shell. But it isn’t until after a certain event a little under halfway through that Akko starts to change. She becomes noticeably more tongue-tied as she questions her feelings for Mari, and this change makes sense considering the suddenness of this certain event.

That said, the story doesn’t give a definite reason for why either character ends up feeling the way she does, nor does it draw a line—at least not until the end—for when friendship ends and love begins. But why does it have to be that way? One of the central conflicts on Mari’s side of the story is how she can’t tell if what she’s doing, what she’s feeling, is normal for friends. And it’d diminish their feelings if there was a definite reason. Love doesn’t happen because of one reason, but from a multitude of things unique to each person. In other words, Akko and Mari are believably compelling characters.

Rolling the third wheel from the side characters is Sugi. She doesn’t change much throughout the story, but she doesn’t need to. Beneath her extensive line-up of boyfriends is a maturity to match the body that unveils itself every time she strips. She’s very much learned a lot of harsh lessons in love, shown when she’s giving up-front and blunt advice for Akko on more than one occasion, or when reminiscing about how she used to act. Jaded but well-meaning, she’s Girl Friends’ most developed (ahem) side character.

The other side characters aren’t explored much, but it does show how the world still moves regardless of what Akko and Mari are feeling. They have their own aspirations (tennis), their own hobbies (cosplay), their own delusions (‘I’m going to see my Prince!’), basically their own things going on from ghost stories to boyfriend talk. When Akko, Mari, or Sugi can’t do it, anyone of the other characters will basically break the ice to stop the story from staying serious for too long. The story isn’t afraid to be heavy, but it knows when to lighten up.

Oops, I mentioned guys in a yuri story. In a breath of fresh air, Girl Friends isn’t afraid to fully explore sexuality by bringing guys into the mix. From Akko and Mari’s side, it explores the complicated feelings of loving someone of the same sex, while the male part of the equation poses a problem for Mari especially. That isn’t to say the story uses guys as antagonists but, for the two major guys it brings in, they are simply two, genuinely well-meaning people. Signs of deviancy still show from them, especially with one of their backstories, but the same can be said for Akko, Mari, and Sugi.

See, when I say Girl Friends explores sexuality, I mean that in every sense of the word. It very much addresses what lovers do, and doesn’t play cloyingly with its subject. It knows infatuation can create fantasy, as Mari can attest. It knows the cluelessly curious will look things up to not be clueless, as Akko will admit. And it also knows being drunk can cause strange behavior, as Sugi unwittingly demonstrates with Tama. Because of this, Girl Friends is a case where fanservice makes sense (save for that one moment in chapter two...); love is a sweet thing carried out by saucy actions.

Carrying every moment from the sweet to the saucy is Morinaga Milk’s artwork. Apart from being the most aesthetically pleasing thing you’ll ever see, character designs are distinct. Akko and Sugi are both fashionistas, but the curves greatly favor the latter. Tama and Mari are petite, but there’s a sense of energy only the former has. And when the lovely art isn’t sensually and sensitively expressing any of their feelings, it becomes a veritable fashion show for all the stylish outfits the characters wear. If nothing else, the story can’t be knocked for having school uniforms all the time.

Not that there wasn’t much to knock down the story over anyway. Even in its final volume worth of chapters, Girl Friends manages to stay fresh. It brings in new angles, commitment, and addresses the real amount of effort any relationship needs to last. That said, if the pacing was a little tighter, or if the story did something crucial that Akko and Mari need to eventually face, I’d have no qualms about calling Girl Friends a masterpiece.

But as it stands, it’s still an excellent, heartfelt story with a dash of honest naughtiness, not to mention easy on the eyes. Readers who don’t mind a slow but deliberate pace will find a lot to like, while people new to yuri expecting yuri right away might want to look elsewhere. It might not be a story everyone loves, but for these girlfriends, loving each other would be enough.