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In many respects, Black Lagoon is difficult series to review. At its core it is a show which takes what is an essentially interesting and engaging story and then promptly covers it with a rather thick layer of absurdity and an aesthetic love of violence for its own sake. That is to say, for a series which outwardly claims to be "mature" and "realistic," in one sense it succeeds, and in another it fails. [It should also be mentioned beforehand that this will be a review of the first 12-episode installment of the series only, and not the Second Barrage]

Beginning with the positive side, Black ... Lagoon can be seen first and foremost as story of transformation, namely, a transformation of two of its main characters, Rock and Revy, during the course of the narrative. What the series does particularly well is illustrate how these two individuals are changed for the better not only through their respective circumstances, but through their interactions with one another.

On the one hand, Rock goes from being a whiny, non-confrontational sycophant who has spent his entire adult life working for nothing but a comfortable mid-level position in the business hierarchy to someone who is not only courageous and willing to stand up for himself, but also someone with an unapologetic sense of virtue and ethical character (denounced by Revy as mere residue of his pampered upbringing); in fact, his later insistence on keeping his shirt and tie in a way symbolizes how he has not left the beliefs of his old life behind completely, but rather has managed to strike a kind of sensible medium. The rather dire nature of his initial circumstances (that is, unexpectedly joining a crew of pirates) slowly forces him to realize that there are fundamentally better things in life than climbing the corporate ladder and sucking up to others in a value system of decadence and wealth. Shortly after becoming a hostage on the Lagoon, he himself states that "I guess this must be what they call the Stockholm Syndrome," suggesting that, already at the first episode, he indeed feels more liberated being surrounded by pirates on a ship than pirates in an office. Throughout the series, Rock realizes more and more how hollow and meaningless his former life was and how strangely pleased he is with his new line of work. This does not seem to necessarily be praise of piracy, but rather more simply a love of adventure and, at the same time, a denouncement of the phony smiles and hypocrisy of modern Japanese bourgeoisie culture.

Revy, on the other hand, of course begins her transformation from the complete opposite end of the spectrum. That is, she starts off as a trigger-happy loose cannon with poor judgement, someone who believes that might automatically equals right and that all problems can be solved by threats of physical violence--which is, after all, how she manages to keep Rock under her thumb for the better part of the series. She also exhibits a kind of adolescent pseudo-nihilism, thumbing her nose at compassion and believing that monetary gain is the highest good and the only law. However, through her experiences with Rock she begins to exhibit a more human emotional side, and perhaps begins to realize that she is not as nihilistic as she would have others believe; this is demonstrated particularly well in the final arc, but even more so in her verbal/physical confrontation with Rock in episode 7, which arguably comprises the best and most thematically significant scene of the entire show. It is here that Rock finally stands up for himself, and Revy's full hatred for him is revealed: she hates him not only because he has just shown her that "you can't solve everything with a gun," but also that it is possible for one to be steadfast and virtuous at the same time, even in the face of death. It is here that he points out that she has merely been hiding behind a complex of presumptuous self-victimization and pretentious nihilism and that a person's origins (either privileged or impoverished) cannot act as a surrogate for personal responsibility. It is also here that Rock informs Revy that she was the one who "shook me awake," thereby illustrating that he is indeed conscious of her instrumentality in his own transformation. Thus if the show has a point, and I believe it does, it can all be summed up in this relatively brief, five-minute altercation. Also, notice that it is only after this scene that Revy even begins to treat Rock like a true comrade.

In addition, it is worth mentioning that Black Lagoon's semi-episodic narrative style actually serves this thematic touch rather well. When I first watched it about a year ago, I was disappointed that the given premise of the series (a naive businessman flees his corrupt superiors who attempt to hunt him down) was only carried through the first two episodes. On second viewing however, I realize the importance of having a variation of story arcs, which allows one to focus more on character study than on a linear story, and certainly in this respect marks out the series as a deservedly more mature, seinen title.

However, this is where my praise must end.

To begin, it is important to keep in mind that Black Lagoon is of course still essentially a gun-slinging action series, and in this respect is falters somewhat drastically. That is, for a series which markets itself as something "mature" and "realistic," there is a very noticeable lack of either of these qualities in the bulk of the action-oriented scenes. Firstly, in nearly every hostile encounter, it appears as though Revy is of basically superhuman power and speed, as well as being somehow impervious to physical harm. In episode 1, she takes out an entire squad of trained mercenaries armed with automatic weapons using only two 9mm pistols; she jumps into their midst, kills all of them will relative ease, escaping without a scratch. In episode 3, when the Lagoon is being chased by Chinese mafia, she destroys five boats of men (again, armed with automatics rifles) singlehandedly, again, and does so without a scratch, again. Not only that, she accomplishes all this while leaping from boat to boat, apparently immune to all incoming gunfire. Again in episode 5, when the crew must retrieve a painting from a group of neo-Nazis, Revy is shown casually strolling from one room of their ship to another, killing everyone execution-style, and meeting little to no resistance, despite the fact that they were heavily armed. There are several other examples later on as well, particularly episode 12 where Revy and Shenhua play "tag team" in killing hordes of nameless enemies from the back of a jeep, being sure to make it look as "cool" as possible, regardless of the inherent absurdity. In fact, the only time Revy is even injured is during the fight between her and Roberta the maid-- someone equally as overpowered to superhuman degrees.

In perspective, all of this seems rather half-baked and juvenile. The "maturity" of this kind is simply the maturity of any run-of-the-mill "M"-rated shooting game: plenty of blood and gore, but little necessary attention to how even semi-realistic gunfights might actually take place, even between very skilled opponents. It is almost as if Black Lagoon is uncomfortably stuck somewhere between the lighthearted (and completely unrealistic) bullet-dodging of a Trigun and the brutality and blood-soaked sadism of a Higurashi. There is something very reminiscent of Kill Bill in the grotesqueness and ease with which the blood so freely flows, and despite its more mature side, there is a very strong and unexamined suggestion that violence for the sake of violence is inherently appreciable and makes for quality entertainment by itself. Normally this would be less of an issue, but in a supposedly "realistic" setting where there are no superpowers or cybernetic implants, in practice Black Lagoon seems to take great pride in throwing many such suppositions to the wind. Granted, while some of the show's "stunts" can be amusing in their inherent ludicrousness (e.g. destroying an assault helicopter with a torpedo), most of the time these willy-nilly takes on violence and death simply feel unpleasant and out of place.

As far as technical merits go, this being a Madhouse production there is little that needs to be said. The animation overall is rather excellent and well detailed, although perhaps there is an overly liberal use of CGI, particularly when it comes to animating cars and other distant moving objects. The character designs are Death Note-esque with an obvious tendency towards the cartoony and exaggerated, particularly during comedic moments. For an action series, there is a very effective contrast between the grit and smoke of urban warfare and the beautifully drawn tropical waters and open spaces of the less-inhabited parts of Southeast Asia (particularly the underwater scenes). The soundtrack complements this contrast well by providing a mix of hard rock/metal during most of the gunfight sequences and soft, acoustic guitars and droning ambient during the quiet and contemplative moments, which are surprisingly numerous. A big deal has been made about the English dub, and for the most part, this would be well-deserved. Being an Ocean Group production, the casting and performances are all of the highest quality, particularly when it comes to voicing all manner of distinct accents (Chinese, Scotts-Irish, Spanish). My only complaint about the dub is Maryke Hendrikse's rendition of Revy, which I felt had a kind of unnatural roughness and sounded rather forced and uneven, as opposed to the original Megumi Toyoguchi, who hit a much more convincing medium between gruff and feminine.

Therefore, while Black Lagoon certainly deserves to be praised for what it does well (as seen in its insightful story of personal development, realization, and transformation as well as its social criticism), it is difficult to consider it masterpiece-level work given its obvious penchant for over-the-top absurdity, particularly in its B-level portrayal of violence. It is well paced, looks great, and is sure to entertain all diehard Quentin Tarantino fans, but is not quite consistent enough in either its realism or maturity level to really be considered a work of genuine excellence.

Out of all the comedy I have ever seen or care to remember, there has never been quite anything like 2002's Azumanga Daioh. Simply put, no anime to date has made me laugh longer, harder, and more frequently than this series. Undoubtedly a "guilty pleasure" if there ever was one, at least in the sense that on the surface, it smacks of everything which I would normally find immature, annoying, and mundane. However, along with its surprisingly powerful endearing qualities, I quickly discovered how perfectly Azumanga succeeds as a pure and simple comedy in virtually every way possible, and remains to this day the hands-down ... funniest show I have ever seen.

Now granted, to say that a "perfect comedy" exists is a lot like saying that a "perfect flavor" exists. This is because comedy is by and large the most subjective genre in terms of enjoyment and thus most difficult to review; this also means that the more "purely comedic" a title is, the more murky its value becomes and the more divisive its reception is. Nevertheless, I have noticed certain "patterns" which the most successful comedies almost always have in common. It is therefore primarily the brilliant and nearly flawless execution of these basic patterns which makes Azumanga Daioh such a comedic masterpiece.

First, and perhaps most importantly, is the balance between realism and surrealism. Often times an anime will veer off towards either extreme, and thus quickly become unfunny and boring. Too much realism and one soon feels like they are simply watching 24-hour candid camera footage, complete with all the rather mundane and unfunny activities of daily life (eating, sleeping, etc): Lucky Star is a perfect example of this. On the other hand, too excessive the absurdity and one begins to feel alienated in watching what is fundamentally no more than a bunch of ungrounded, directionless noise ("random crazy stuff"): for good examples of this, see Excel Saga or most SHAFT comedies. Azumanga Daioh, on the other hand, has both these elements in near perfect harmony, lending itself effectively to neither extreme. It is grounded in plausible, physical reality in the sense that everything which happens within the show is, technically speaking, "possible" (i.e. giant alien robots do not come out of people's foreheads, characters do not die and then suddenly come back to life, etc). At the same time, being a cartoon, it is fantastical in the sense that most of the show's events are stylistically exaggerated to some degree or another, e.g. Kamineko's huge mouth when he bites Sakaki or Osaka's hiccups which last a whole day. At the same time, Azumanga does of course have a strong sense of the downright absurdist and surreal ("Chiyo's Father" and the "detachable pigtails" gags), but these events are all placed within the realm of dreams and private fantasy, making them believable while still highly amusing. It is in this way that an endless string of "ordinary" situations become hilarious--that is, when they are mixed deftly with just the right amount of ridiculousness. In summary, one could say that Azumanga bends the rules without breaking them; it has a sense of the absurd while still essentially "playing it straight."

The second defining aspect of Azumanga Daioh is that it is a fundamentally character-driven comedy. I say "character-driven" as distinct from something like a sketch comedy in which most if not all humor is merely "situational" (hence, "sit-com"). In fact, Azumanga Daioh, like most slice of life anime, is quite the opposite of this in the sense that the "situational" aspect of the show is by itself rather bland and uninteresting. What makes this character-based delivery so effective is that it allows the producers to create diversity by putting the exact same handful of people, strange personality quirks and all, into myriad situations and having them react in completely unique ways which are at once both familiar and unexpected. It is also in this way that certain "running gags" remain fresh and funny, with no two instantiations of the same joke ever being exactly alike. In fact, the show's structure is rather ingenious in that regard, insofar as it begins by introducing the a basic joke or personality quirk and then gradually over the course of time adds greater and greater layers of complexity, combining it with other jokes and quirks as it goes on. Now to the last point: where the show's character-driven comedy really stands out, and this is key, is not necessarily individuals interacting with situations, but rather these same individuals interacting with one another in addition to their situations. Therefore while Azumanga's ensemble cast are all memorable and basically likable characters in and of themselves, what is truly fantastic is the way in which this show allows these personalities to bounce off of each other in a seemingly "random" fashion while still remaining completely believable and entirely consistent. We get to see aspects of the girls' personalities clash and overlap, talents and interests mesh or collide. For example, the six girls can be grouped into smart (Chiyo, Sakaki, Yomi), stupid (Tomo, Osaka, Kagura), athletic (Kagura, Sakaki), and competitive (Tomo, Kagura); Chiyo might share Sakaki's love of cute things, but not her athletic ability, whereas Kagura shares her athletic ability, but certainly not her love of cute things, and so on. The only place where this falters somewhat in execution is the fact that the relationship between Tomo and Yomi is almost identical to that of Ms. Yukari and Ms. Kurosawa, albeit the difference being that Yukari's vices are more specifically "adult" (e.g. alcoholism, fanatical driving, and general social irresponsibility). However all in all, this character interplay is truly the show's most prominent point, thus your love or hate of the characters will undoubtedly determine your love or hate of the series in general. The aforementioned relatable-yet-“twisted” sense of realism plays out extremely well in this respect, with the Azumanga girls often resembling either parts of ourselves or people whom we know.

Finally, Azumanga Daioh demonstrates mastery in a variety of comedic styles and devices. That is, it has verbal as well as physical humor, word-play jokes as well as slapstick, and more or less everything in between. This comprises anything from Osaka's bizarre and ever-irrelevant internal monologues and Kimura's sudden "pedophilic" outbursts, to Kamineko's assaults on Sakaki's hand and Tomo/Yukari's near-constant physical abuse of Chiyo. What this show executes particularly well in this regard is its sense of comedic timing and rhythm. In particular, I have yet to see a better use of strategically-placed, long, awkward pauses (either with very little to no movement and/or sound), demonstrating that the animators understand fully how a well-timed 10 seconds of silence can be just as hilarious as speed-lined Tomo intentionally flinging herself into chairs. In fact rarely did I laugh as hard as I did during a five second still frame of Osaka nonchalantly staring out a classroom window on a sunny day, backed only by the ambient sounds of springtime. I can think of more than a few anime comedies which could have been greatly benefited by these simple, yet effective techniques.

On the aesthetic side, Azumanga Daioh is lovingly animated by J.C. Staff and remains probably one of the best and most surprisingly effective adaptations of a manga I have ever seen (especially for one which was originally a four-panel strip), perhaps even surpassing the original in some regards--with all due respect to comedic genius Kiyohiko Azuma. As is typically the case with J.C. Staff's productions, the animation is consistent but nothing outstanding, resulting in a pleasant, mid-budget median between choppy and liquid smooth. The backgrounds are relatively simple yet still well-detailed and colored, with the only hint of "laziness" being the all-white stick-figure-esque "crowds" of students, although I found this actually works to the show's advantage. As per the original character designs, the girls are attractive but never overly sexualized, being drawn in a realistically proportional way. Nearly everyone in the series has more or less naturally "Japanese" hair and eye color, with the exception of a few cases of a very subdued shade of blue, as in Sakaki's eyes or Ms. Kurosawa's hair. For a slice of life series, the soundtrack has been surprisingly memorable, catchy, and all around fun to listen to, with the music actually being played with real instruments (including drums and woodwinds), rather than a few forgettable, synthesized notes, as is often the case with the genre. Unfortunately, the English dub does not fare quite as well. While all the characters are played competently, with the best arguably being Chiyo, Tomo, and Osaka (I actually think Kira Vincent-Davis' controversial "Texan" Osaka is one of the dub's high points), I found that in particular Sakaki's reserved, "cuteness is serious business" attitude and Yomi's snarky sarcasm and irritability tend to come through much more convincingly in the Japanese. What's more, it should be no surprise that none of the show's "Engrish" dialogue carries over whatsoever in the dub, thus forcing the English script to incorporate these lines typically using some sort of American "foreign-language-equivalent" (usually French or Spanish), which is simply never as funny for native English speakers. This setback in fact destroyed one of my favorite scenes: Chiyo's Father speaking with Osaka in a "study" dream. The dub is nevertheless entirely watchable, and certainly not one of the worst, but I believe the fullest appreciation of this series does require the Japanese language track.

Ultimately, in spite of these more objective patterns which I have mentioned, there is still something about Azumanga Daioh which fundamentally appeals to my particular sense of humor; it is something, or perhaps a smattering of little things, which pushes it above and beyond the norm, even the best, and which is at the same time impossible to generalize. This show contains so many instances of little humorous sight gags (for example, the way Kamineko looks falling off Sakaki’s hand when he is finally karate-chopped by Kagura) which will probably go unnoticed by most people and which I find much more hilarious than the animators probably ever intended, and I feel as though I ought to mention them at least in defense what undeniably remains this show’s strong subjective appeal.

Finally while Azumanga Daioh is, to be sure, a comedy series purely and simply, that is not to say that it is without a certain kind of emotional sincerity which is not often found in this type of show. Granted, this is not really “seriousness” in the ordinary sense, and certainly not melancholy, but rather a conviction of genuine, unbridled joy, the likes of which I have rarely seen in anime (with the exception perhaps of Cardcaptor Sakura and Aria). There are “downtimes” in the show’s otherwise relentless stream of humor when it is not setting you up for some epic gag, instead showing the girls simply having fun, say, playing jump-rope or throwing snowballs at each other set to a jovial tune. In addition, despite the manga being considered a shounen title and having a character cast consisting almost entirely of women (the only recurring male characters being Mr. Kimura and Chiyo's Father), Azumanga Daioh is a series for which I see no reason why it cannot appeal to all genders, as well as virtually all age groups. With only the occasional foray into lewdness, like a good Disney/Pixar film it is at once appropriate enough for older children while at the same time never feeling stupid or pandering from the adult point of view. Indeed, I have a hard time seeing why anyone, unless they are totally joyless and have a heart of coal, will not enjoy themselves to some degree with this series, although to be sure, few will consider it a masterpiece. Then again, we all have our ultimate "guilty pleasure" for which there is no equal. Azumanga Daioh just happens to be mine.

It is fairly uncommon for a sequel to excel over the original in virtually every way possible. That is, typically, even if the sequel is mostly superior, there are often a few noticeable elements missing from it which made the original enjoyable (A personal example would be Batman Begins and The Dark Knight). Full Metal Panic: The Second Raid (TSR), on the other hand, is one of these rare instances of a sequel surpassing its predecessor in all respects.

All around, The Second Raid has a better plot, better scripting, better character development, better action, better humor, and better animation. To get a good idea about ... the essence of The Second Raid, simply imagine a tighter, darker, more focused, serious, and mature series which takes all of the good and worthwhile elements from the original and improves on them. In a nutshell, this is Full Metal Panic: The Grown-Up Version.

First and foremost, what The Second Raid does remarkably well is genuinely challenge its characters, not only physically and psychologically, but also morally. Unlike much of the tactical action sequences of the first season, the sense of danger and isolation is now much more real, as well as enemies which are genuine threats and not simply a string of forgettable, one-dimensional "terrorist/bad guys" (Takima Kugayama and his "sister" from the first series) or anonymous henchmen to be easily defeated. For a more specific contrast, think of the scene from the original Full Metal Panic where Melissa Mao, armed with only a rifle, taunts and entire troop of hostiles from a rooftop, with no cover, apparently not the least bit concerned about being shot, despite the fact that half a dozen enemy arm slaves have their guns trained on her. On the other hand, simply seeing TSR's brutal and effective killing machines, the Xia twins, in action should be enough to realize that the days of relatively easy and unrealistic victories are over.

Furthermore, our heroic protagonist Souske Sagara, who was previously a fairly single-minded "military maniac" with very little sense of self-doubt, now finds himself actually having to ask the important, life-changing questions, namely, who am I? What am I doing? Is what I am doing right? and more specifically, Do I like doing nothing but following orders? Do I like being surrounded by weak people who constantly need me for support?--All questions which the first series never dares to ask. As an example, a particularly memorable and extremely well-written phone conversation occurs between Souske and the mysterious MITHRIL intelligence agent, Wraith, in which he is for the first time forced to deal with the actual consequences of his inability to adapt to civilian life--thus the series' oft-used and never-questioned "comic relief" device quickly and seamlessly turns into an opportunity for some very interesting and dramatic character development. It is also impressive the way in which the writers subtly work in a couple references to the seemingly insignificant events from Fumoffu . Later on we also get to witness firsthand what happens to Kaname when Souske is no longer there to protect her. The results are equally as enticing.

This motif applies not only to the characters, but MITHRIL as an organization itself. In TSR, we are no longer simply expected to believe that a mercenary organization which acts as some kind of a non-partisan global police force ("we fight terrorists and blow up drug factories" [sic]) can exist without its own set of serious internal problems and existential, even moral dilemmas. The most prominent instance of this is the way in which the issue of double-agents simply working for the highest bidder (i.e. mercenaries being mercenaries) is dealt with in a much more serious and significant way than the first season. TSR singlehandedly makes MITHRIL into a well-rounded, believable organization, and not simply a bunch of people with high-tech equipment on a high-tech submarine--as was implied in the original series.

Aesthetically, The Second Raid is, not surprisingly, also a significant improvement over the first series. Kyoto Animation, now known almost exclusively for their "moe" shows, demonstrate their ability to make an action series which looks just as good, if not better, than most similar shows coming out today. The CGI is surprisingly well integrated, the character designs are still faithfully adapted from Gonzo's original, and the background designs are detailed and believable (the production staff did some lengthy on-site research of downtown Hong Kong). In fact, the sheer attention to detail in general is one of the things that makes this series truly stand out on the technical level. This includes all the little things which add to the overall sense of realism, particularly in the action scenes, such as a gun jamming, someone stumbling or tripping while running, desperately padding the ground behind them for an object to throw, or even something like tiny drops of bottled Scotch hitting the table during the pouring process. On a audio-related note, ADV's dub of this series is one of the best I have heard thus far, especially in regards to rendering important conversations and lines of dialogue in a strikingly dramatic, yet believable fashion.

So while the examples are too numerous to list exhaustively, all of this hopefully can somewhat elucidate how well The Second Raid in essence works within the confines and limitations of the "Full Metal Panic universe," while at the same time managing to fully flesh out many of the interesting and underdeveloped potentialities of that universe. As a technical achievement, it is both more colorful as well as more violent, and as a writing achievement it is also much deeper and far more realistic. On the whole, this series manages to be highly engaging on both the intellectual and visceral levels, in a way that the first offering simply never fully realized. All these elements combined make Full Metal Panic: The Second Raid a personal number one favorite within the mecha-action genre.

Aside from a somewhat "rushed" finale, perhaps my only complaint about this series is its length: at a mere 13 episodes, and an intentionally "open" ending, it naturally leaves one wishing for more. However, keeping in mind that a series' length can be a curse as well as a blessing, perhaps the relatively short episode count is something to be desired if the tightly-written, plot-driven quality is sustained throughout. After all, keeping in mind that decent chunks of the first series were simply filler, perhaps a 24-episode reboot of this would not be preferable after all.

I believe this sequel is aimed at adults, not teenagers, and will have less appeal to people are faint of heart or generally unwilling to ask any serious moral and/or existential questions. Therefore for those who perhaps were, or currently are dismayed by the initial series' somewhat mediocre and "juvenile" nature, I can firmly say that the existence of The Second Raid makes it all completely worth it. Basically, this is Full Metal Panic's The Dark Knight. Only better.

There is nothing in entertainment worse than bad comedy.

Bad drama, horror, romance, or action at least has the possibility of being amusing, if only for purely ironical purposes, and watching something which is intended to be serious completely fail can be surprisingly fun (see MST3K). However, watching something try to be funny and fail is hardly ever amusing in the slightest, and amounts, for me at least, to the epitome of nauseating boredom. In the anime world, Lucky Star is perhaps the best (and at the very least the most popular) example of bad comedy ever made.

Now, it is more or less universally agreed upon ... amongst Lucky Star's detractors that the show is, quite simply, "unfunny." At the same time however, it is not always explained in detail why or how it is unfunny. But before delving into the specifics, I will freely admit from the outset that comedy is probably the most subjective and difficult of all genres (I myself have some bizarre comedic tastes) to review. Nevertheless, I believe Lucky Star merits special attention, along with a special place in Hell, for how unprecedentedly unfunny it is. This is also why I chose it for my inaugural anime review.

Basically, the "humor" of Lucky Star is derived from two sources: 1) Discussions about everyday life experience (e.g. food, homework, clothes), and 2) References (either verbal or visual) to other anime franchises and various anime-related tropes. As for the first, Lucky Star makes the awful mistake of assuming that simply because something is true or commonly experienced, it is funny. Thus the episodes are crammed with inane, excruciatingly detailed conversational gems like

Person 1: "You know how when it's cold outside, you want to stay inside for longer?"
Person 2: "Haha yeah, I've totally been there!"

or

Person 1: "You know how when you have a lot of stuff to do, you clean your room instead?"
Person 2: "Haha yeah, I've done that before!"

You get the idea. The whole "funny because it's true" thing in my experience only works if it is comingled with an adequate amount of absurdity or exaggeration (for an example, see Mike Judge's films). Lucky Star, on the other hand, aims for pure realism in all its dullness. With this "comedic" logic, they may as well assume that simply because I have eaten food before, I will think that watching people eat food is funny; furthermore, I will think that people talking about eating food is also funny. What makes this method even more ridiculous for Lucky Star is the fact that one must be rather extensively versed in Japanese culture to even "get" a lot of these "jokes," let alone find them funny.

As for the anime references, this is where the annoyance factor truly rears its ugly head. Typically, an outside reference to another anime is funny because it is unexpected and well-timed. Lucky Star on the other hand, crams in as many references as it possibly can, many of which are to other works from Kyoto Animation. As one might imagine, this not only gets incredibly dull, but also unbearably irritating as the show progresses. By far the most frequent and most facepalm-inducing are the references to the Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya. Granted, this trick was somewhat amusing the first time, but by the end of the series, the Haruhi references become so frequent, so bland, and so obvious that I literally began slamming my head into my desk. Thus like the reference to "everyday life," the references to anime make the assumption that just because we have seen the shows referenced, that we will find the references funny. Are we really supposed to pat ourselves on the back and quietly snicker to ourselves for being "in the know"? It seems like the real reason for all these anime references is a) a clever form of product-placement and b) riding on the success of vastly superior franchises (Full Metal Panic, Haruhi Suzumiya, the Key-game shows). The only reference that actually made me chuckle a bit (and not immediately roll my eyes or want to punch my computer screen) was the part in episode 13 where one of the shop employees uses his "Geass" on Konata to get her to buy a DVD, only to find that she is three yen short.

Now typically, in order to use reference-parodies like this successfully, one ought to find a way to integrate them in a creative and subtle way, and there are many examples of this in anime alone. Lucky Star, on the other hand, particularly when parodying well-known anime tropes, squanders its comedic potential by feeling the need to tell you exactly what they are parodying. Therefore, whenever Miyuki trips or turns off the light by accident, or Yutaka mentions that she is frail and "sick all the time," we are sure to have Konata not far off to immediately comment how incredibly "moe" she is. Ha. Ha. Ha. There is a similar delivery style with "tsundere," "fanservice," and other related terms and cliches. Watching this is like listening to someone tell a joke only to quickly explain the punchline before the audience even has a chance to laugh.

Aesthetically, there is not terribly much to say other than I find it amazing that even here Lucky Star manages to add yet another layer of annoyance. The characters were clearly designed to resemble the (equally unfunny) manga as closely as possible, and the result is not pleasing. The foreground and background art is lackluster and totally generic, not to mention the core girls all look waaaay too young (and not just in a typical "moe" way) for being in high school. Such failure in this department is all the more surprising knowing that this show was produced by Kyoto Animation, a studio which, among other things, is particularly well known for its beautiful and groundbreaking visual styling. In Lucky Star, there is no such evidence whatsoever that this is the same company who did Full Metal Panic: The Second Raid, Air, or Kanon. I suspect the real reason Kyoto took this project on was because of potential legal issues surrounding the ludicrous amounts of references to their other works. Other than that, the music consists of bland, forgettable five-note pieces typical for this kind of show. Except worse.

Setting aside for a moment what Lucky Star has brings up the important issue of what it does not have. In fact, one of Lucky Star's most subtle and yet most serious detriments is the almost complete absence of visual humor of any kind (the stock anime-facial-expressions aside). The show is quite simply a bunch of talking heads, and as something in the medium of animation, Lucky Star feels incredibly out of place; 99% of the show consist of dialogue and dialogue only. Suffice it to say, this show was a complete and unfortunate waste of Kyoto's talent.

All in all, my biggest problem with Lucky Star, and the reason why I have been compelled to write this review, is that it basically gives slice of life comedy a bad name--something which is all the more compounded by its rabid popularity. It is not at all unlikely that someone who has never seen a slice of life show will first see Lucky Star and then assume that the entire genre is of similar quality. After all, comments like "nothing happens" and "there's no plot" are fairly common amongst complaints from Lucky Star haters. Unfortunately, I believe people may be missing out on a lot of great, funny, clever slice of life shows "where there's no plot" (Fumoffu, Azumanga Daioh, Minami-ke) if Lucky Star does indeed manage to taint them so severely. It is interesting to note that Lucky Star is perhaps most often mentioned along with the classic Azumanga Daioh, and the comparison is not at all unmerited: both shows are based off of a four-panel manga about a group of quirky high school girls and their antics. However, once the stylistic similarities are brushed aside, you are left with two anime which could not be more diametrically opposed. That is, whereas Azumanga Daioh represents the pinnacle of comedy done right, Lucky Star represent the pinnacle of comedy done wrong; whereas Azumanga Daioh uses "random conversations about food" in a broader, situational context to give them humorous contrast, Lucky Star takes this device to a ridiculous extreme--it makes an entire show out of it to the expense of nearly everything else. The difference between Azumanga's Osaka and Lucky Star's Konata is that the former is one character amongst many, whereas the latter is only an otaku-pandering, watered-down Osaka amongst many other watered-down Osaka's, without any significant personality contrast. In Lucky Star, there is no one to sarcastically say "wow, you have a really vivid imagination..." but rather the one-note "joke" of "randomness" continues on into senseless oblivion. If Azumanga Daioh is a bright beacon of joyful, energetic laughter, Lucky Star is a dark pit of disparaging, cynical boredom (if you'll excuse the melodramatic language). It basically takes the slice of life genre but does not fill it with any real content, leaving naught but an empty husk.

In conclusion, if you want a creative, genuine, funny slice-of-life comedy and not simply a long otaku in-joke set on repeat, avoid Lucky Star like the plague.