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Strap your ass in: Redline is the most pulse-racing, ridiculous anime in years. It’s basically Japan’s version of the Wacky Races, only more mature, pumped full of adrenaline and style, and wrapped up in the prettiest package imaginable. The film’s tagline is “Witness the future of animation,” and as pompous as it might sound, it’s no exaggeration. Seven years and hundreds of thousands of hand-drawn frames later, Madhouse has produced its masterpiece. Lush, imaginative worlds combine with a staggering attention to detail, gorgeous, bold character designs, and flawless animation to create a work that is as good as if not better looking than anything else ... out there. This visual orgasm is set to an impressive electronic/techno soundtrack that’s equal parts pulsating bass and dreamy synth, and outstanding voice casts. All of this comes together to make Redline an experience unlike any other.

The story is more of a mixed bag. It’s absurd, all over the place, and devoid of substance, but it’s also fun, well-paced, and it gets the job done. You can’t honestly expect much out of a film whose main plot is about an illegal race on a planet ruled by killer cyborgs, and as long as you go into it with the right mindset, you’ll probably enjoy it. The highlights are definitely the action-packed races, which will have you glued to the screen, but the various subplots are pretty interesting too and give the story some complexity. The characters are on the whole great, but the cast is large and only a few get any meaningful attention − JP, Sonoshee, and Frisbee. While a couple of the racers stand out (the Superboins and Machine Head with his hilarious tiny dog), the rest are completely forgettable despite the attention they’re given. Redline‘s true weakness is not that its story or characters lack much substance, but that it tries to do too much at once and so doesn’t do much in the end. With so many pieces flying around, the only thing you can do is embrace the madness, and if you’re hoping for a strong plot you’ll be sorely disappointed.

Whatever criticisms it may deserve, Redline is still a must-see film. As of now, it’s the pinnacle of animation. Add in the kick ass soundtrack and an exhilarating racing plot, and it’s easy to see why it’s such a big deal. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.

Pale Cocoon might be the best little sci-fi OVA ever made. In just 23 minutes, Yasuhiro Yoshiura does what most fail to do in 23 hours: makes a fascinating and original point, and does it while telling a great story. Many will inevitably compare this to Voices of a Distant Star, another ambitious 20 minute sci-fi film, but unlike its well-known peer Pale Cocoon is far more than flashy production values. This is short storytelling at its finest, and its only fault is leaving you wishing there were more.

At first glance, the film could be interpreted as just another environmental tale of woe. And in ... part, it is, several times emphasizing that humanity’s deplorable condition is its own doing, the product of run-away population growth and, presumably, global warming. But this environmental point is only secondary, and Yoshiura’s primary claim is far more universal. This is a film about the importance of pursuing historical knowledge, even when our past is demoralizing and seems irrelevant to our present condition.

With just two characters and minimal interaction, Yoshiura shows us the two outlooks on history one might take, and the way our choice defines us. Ura is determined to continue his work in the archives, driven as much by a desire to know the past as a need to escape the present. Riko skips work to lounge in the stairs, resigned to humanity’s grim fate and tired of dwelling on its mistakes. Their strained relationship demonstrates how far their opposing perspectives have driven them apart. Ura is mesmerized as he reads a record of the past, dreaming of another world, while Riko looks on longingly, unable to reach him. The characters are, contrary to common criticism, remarkably well-developed and central to the story’s message. They are representations of how we as humans can understand our past, and how that in turn influences our present and future.

Yoshiura’s other talent lies in making us assume what the characters assume based on their understanding of the past. By imbuing us with their point of view, he is able to deliver a twist that is not only mindblowing, but also drives home the story’s theme. Few will see the ending coming, and only those who take the time to piece together the puzzle will understand its brilliance and significance.

The film’s commendable storyline is complemented by exceptional production values. The animation is bleak yet beautiful, a world of mechanical blacks and grays, where the only color comes from the photos of Earth Ura saves on his computer, or the Matrix-like green energy of the artificial colony. The soundtrack is small but surprisingly good and substantive for a short film. The opening theme is especially effective at creating a sci-fi atmosphere, and several of the other tracks, including the J-Pop ballad by Little Moa, are worth keeping. The voice acting is also quite good.

There really is little that can be said against Pale Cocoon. Some may find it too slow or quiet, but that seems more a criticism of the genre than the particular work. Others have claimed the characters are too static and emotionless, but understood in light of the story’s message, I thought they were impressive creations. I will grant that the story would have benefitted from more time, particularly in terms of character development and explanation of the historical backdrop and present circumstances. The character designs were also a bit bland, and the ending was somewhat jumbled and rushed, which made it harder to follow. But as a short film, Pale Cocoon is exceptional, and it’s refreshing to see so much accomplished in so little time. Yoshiura has proven himself an extremely promising young director and writer, and I’m looking forward to seeing what else he can do.

Voices of a Distant Star — the work that made Makoto Shinkai famous and touched the hearts of angsty teenagers everywhere. Feel free to help me understand why this is revered. I get that it’s remarkable that Shinkai did everything but the music, but I fail to see how it gives him license to write a hollow story and be called the next Miyazaki for it.

Let’s start with the good. Shinkai is a master of animation, arguably the best in the business, and Voices of a Distant Star is no exception. While it may have been made by one man on his laptop, it is ... superior to the work of some studios. Even at this early stage in his career, you can see Shinkai’s obsessive attention to detail that brings his worlds to life in a way that few others have accomplished. This stunning world is set to a beautiful soundtrack that features some timeless piano pieces. Tenmon is to music what Shinkai is to animation, and together they make a team few can rival. And if nothing else, Voices of a Distant Star‘s attempt to tell a moving love story in under half an hour is ambitious.

Alas, now for the bad. While the animation is gorgeous, the limitations really show. The 3D scenes don’t stand the test of time and stick out like a sore thumb, and the character designs are so bad they’re comical — welcome to the land of the square heads. Tenmon’s also not so great when it comes to the climactic space/action tracks, which are instantly forgettable. And although the original Japanese voice cast (which includes Shinkai) is good, the English voice cast is ruined by Cynthia Martinez, a woman notorious for her role as Hermes in Kino’s Journey. Even if you can stand Martinez’s voice, the dub is essentially worthless because it departs so significantly from the original dialogue.

“So?,” you might say, “I’m a real anime fan and I only watch subs anyway. And I can get past the square heads.” Well, good for you — now about that story. Anyone who has seen Shinkai’s works knows his theme is love tested by distance and time, and Voices of a Distant Star is where it all began. In a sense, Negamine and Terao are the perfect characters to illustrate the concept: they’re torn literally light years apart by circumstances beyond their control and try desperately to stay in touch, even if it means waiting years for that next short text message. The problem is the characters and their relationship are remarkably undeveloped. They’re introduced, we’re told that they’re deeply in love (nevermind that they’re junior high school students), and suddenly Negamine is off into space, longing to be reunited with her soul mate.

This all felt terribly melodramatic to me, and it’s an issue that frequently arises in Shinkai’s works. The basic idea is beautiful, but if you want the audience to actually feel for the characters and their separation, you need to sell the premise that they’re genuinely in love. Otherwise, it becomes impossible to empathize with them, and what’s left is a dime-a-dozen plot with pretty slow pacing to boot. Granted, the film is only 25 minutes, but Shinkai has fallen into the same trap even when given more time (5 Centimeters Per Second). He does much better when he gives the characters and their relationship the attention they deserve, and fortunately his latest work, Garden of Words, suggests he is improving with practice.

Voices of a Distant Star is a unique work, essentially one man’s labor of love, but it’s tough to do it all by yourself. Shinkai deserves credit for his hard work, but he’s received way more than is warranted. There are a lot of good love stories out there, and this one doesn’t come close to making the list.

She and Her Cat is the first film from director Makoto Shinkai (5 Centimeters Per Second, Garden of Words). At just under 5 minutes, there’s no plot to speak of, just the musings of Chobi the cat as the seasons pass and his bond with his owner grows. Chobi is a pretty deep cat, dwelling on topics such as love, existence, the limits of his perspective, and his unshakeable faith in the girl’s goodness. He reminded me of Henri the Existential Cat.

Shinkai’s concept is clever, and for anyone who has ever owned a cat, it can be touching. As a cat lover, though, I expected ... a more moving and realistic story. It’s cute to show how a cat can be completely infatuated with its owner, but Chobi’s affection is blind love rather than earned respect. Cats are deeper than Chobi. They’re aloof, calculating creatures that basically ran Egypt for centuries. If they love you, it’s because they have deemed you worthy, and it’s for their benefit, not yours. Chobi’s fascination with his owner is sweet, but it didn’t remind me of any cat I had ever met.

The soundtrack is just a single piano theme that spans the entire film, but it’s beautiful, and Tenmon does a great job of showing off his talent. The animation is a unique and stunning monochrome that shows the world as it might appear from Chobi’s perspective. And Chobi, despite some naysayers, is adorable. Aside from the musical help from Tenmon, everything is made with love by Shinkai, who even voices Chobi (and does a great job). Unfortunately there’s no official dub and the dialogue moves quickly, making it hard to pay attention to the animation, but you can find a decent fandub here.

She and Her Cat is a charming little film, and at 4 minutes you really have no excuse not to watch. It’s a great start to an illustrious career, and it’s refreshing to see Shinkai putting forth an original idea.

Part of the beauty of Kino’s Journey is that Kino doesn’t just visit interesting places; she interacts with the people, who believe in their ways of life, however strange or vulgar they might seem to us. In highlighting the many ways in which people can live, Kino’s Journey gives life to the phrase “the world is not beautiful; therefore it is.”

At first glance, For You seems to fit this mold. Unlike Life Goes On, it’s essentially another episode, following the standard formula of focusing on a unique set of customs for contemplation. Compared to other episodes, though, it’s pretty lackluster. Instead of developing the philosophical/cultural ... aspect, most of the story is about Kino driving around the city and talking to a single person, a young girl who embodies the system but lacks the maturity to embrace or rationalize it. It isn’t until the climactic finale that the cultural aspect comes to the foreground, but even this is rushed and underdeveloped, leaving us with a superficial analysis of a custom that wasn’t too novel to begin with.

As a Kino’s Journey fan I still enjoyed For You, but it would have benefited from more time reflecting upon the country’s culture and less time telling the girl’s story. Or it could have shortened the “Country of Illness” story and added in one or two other journeys. As it stands, there just isn’t much of substance to show for dedicating a half hour to a single country.

On the bright side, the soundtrack and voice cast are the same great stuff from the series. The new animation style is pretty, but it’s harder to gauge. The crisper, higher quality give the film a sharp look, but it also loses the storybook feel. If more Kino’s Journey is ever made, hopefully they’ll improve the classic style (as Life Goes On did) rather than discard it for something more mainstream.

For You is a decent continuation to the series, but this journey doesn’t possess the magic or depth of the rest. Even Life Goes On gave me more to think about. If you want more Kino, this is one of your only options, but it’s also the weakest.

For fans of Kino’s Journey, Life Goes On is a welcome addition. It’s a cute, engaging story that reveals how Kino got her traveler’s outfit and remarkable skills, expands upon two important secondary characters, Shishou and the older Kino, and focuses on Kino’s guilt over the death of the older Kino. It also has a bit of action, humor, and a suspenseful, darker climax.

As a prequel, the film isn’t bad but it leaves something to be desired. How did Kino and Shishou meet, and why does Shishou make Kino (and everyone else) call her Master? When and why did Kino decide to leave Shishou? If ... Life Goes On were actually a movie, maybe it would have had the time to answer these and other questions. At just under 30 minutes, it’s more like another episode, but unlike other episodes, it fails to raise any interesting cultural issues. For better or worse, it’s just a collection of events from Kino’s childhood, with little expository or intellectual value.

Given the dearth of Kino’s Journey anime, fans should certainly check Life Goes On out. It’s a good story, and of course, it’s more Kino. Just don’t expect to find any big answers or profound messages. For those who haven’t seen Kino’s Journey and are looking for a good starting place, the “Tower Country” OVA (Episode 00) is a better choice as it’s more representative of the series.

Written and directed by Mamoru Oshii (Ghost in the Shell, Urusei Yatsura), Angel’s Egg is the kind of progressive anime that is all too rare today, a near-blank slate that draws upon your own spiritual beliefs and doubts while offering a glimpse into its creator’s struggle with God and existence. This is a cryptic and thought-provoking work of art, filled with enigmatic symbols that invite interpretive debate and inspire self-reflection.

Yet even as it aspires to great philosophical heights, the film is limited by inescapably Judeo-Christian references. It is said that Oshii abandoned his Christian faith shortly before production, and in many ways it shows. From ... the young, virgin-like girl in white to the cross-bearing man and Biblical quotes, Angel’s Egg is more a religious allegory to be solved than a surrealistic experience or abstract collection of events. It is for this reason that the best reflections on the film come from those who are well-versed in Judeo-Christian metaphor. In one of the most impressive accounts, the Christian author offers a compelling argument for two dichotomous interpretations based upon Oshii’s faith (or lack thereof), and ends with the apt observation that “the deeper nature of the film has eluded the usual anime fan-base” as a result of the “exceedingly esoteric nature of the spiritual allegories presented.”

If Angel’s Egg is a brilliant expression of Oshii’s religious beliefs, it is also far less accessible as a result. If you aren’t Jewish or Christian, the heavy Judeo-Christian symbolism can leave it feeling always out of reach. And if you aren’t familiar with Judeo-Christian doctrine, the narrative will be difficult to follow. What’s left is a very slow, silent, and prolonged story with limited appeal for those who do not share Oshii’s position, or cease attempting to understand his meaning.

Beyond its artistic and enigmatic story, Angel’s Egg is a literal work of art, with classic character designs by Yoshitaka Amano (Final Fantasy) and stunning, detailed hand-drawn animation throughout. The girl, who bears a resemblance to Celes from Final Fantasy VI, is hauntingly beautiful, a pale remnant of life in the void, and at times is given hundreds of individual hairs. The characters’ facial expressions are assorted and lifelike, making up for the general absence of dialogue. And the scenery is well- if not sparsely-animated and makes effective use of shadows, introducing you to a dreamlike world of darkness only intermittently splashed with light.

The audio is fitting, a mix of gaudy religious and post-apocalyptic themes, the occasional chime or streaming water, and most of all an empty silence. Although the soundtrack creates the right atmosphere and has several memorable tracks, it is primarily made up of repetitious choral pieces that lack value outside the film. The voice acting is, as noted, essentially non-existent, but where present the actors are fine.

Despite some notable flaws, Angel’s Egg is still a criminally under-appreciated work that is well worth the mere hour or so it spans. The film is especially relevant for fans of Oshii, whose creativity and personal expression are on full display; Christian and Jewish viewers; and art film enthusiasts. Even if you have difficulty approaching Angel’s Egg, as I did, you may find yourself developing an appreciation for it over time, if nothing else as an intricately-designed display of personal faith and a groundbreaking work of originality.

Claymore has gotten a lot of hype as an innovative and impressive shounen, and in many ways it lives up to its reputation. The first thing you’ll probably notice is the distinctly feminist tone. The Claymore are all women, but unlike most other heroines they give short thrift to gender norms. It is their identity as warriors that defines them, and their sex is so incidental that the rare stereotypically-feminine act feels forced and out of character. They’re also asexual and somewhat androgynous, with no male counterparts as potential love interests and purportedly repulsive bodies. This is not Sailor Moon or the ecchi of the ... month.

While this downplay of gender seems clearly intentional, it is also a byproduct of the story’s narrow focus and mature atmosphere. Claymore is a serious show, heavy on the action, suspense, and gore, and essentially devoid of humor or the ordinary shounen antics. This context leaves little room for things like love or gender dynamics that would detract from the main plot.

Beyond innovation, Claymore simply excels at executing the standard shounen formula. The plot is great and highly engaging, the pacing excellent, the fantasy world vivid and immersive, and the Claymore special moves and ranks are the stuff the fanbase eats up. The series especially shines in the “Teresa of the Faint Smile” and “Abyssal Ones” arcs. The former centers on what is arguably the best character (Teresa) and features a moment that is literally a jawdropper. The latter, though incomplete, has the makings of storytelling gold and will make you definitely want to pick up the manga.

Unfortunately, Claymore also makes ample use of the less desirable elements of the genre, and so features plenty of trite, awkward dialogue; static, uninteresting characters; and repetitious fighting that is little more than an opportunity for Clare to level up. Raki is particularly awful, a standard sidekick who cowers and whines and never manages to change despite repeated vows to the contrary. The show’s greatest weakness, however, is without a doubt the ending, which rushes into the climactic final battle and finishes on an artificial, incomplete note. Not only does it depart from the manga, making the only possible sequel a Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood-style revamp, it also renders the events of the earlier episodes essentially pointless thanks to a disingenuous last minute change of heart. Really, this has to be one of the worst endings I’ve seen, and Madhouse has fumbled an extremely promising story by not following the manga.

Claymore‘s animation has its ups and downs. Although it uses a unique, attractive palette of neutral and earth tones and features some nice scenery shots, many scenes take place at night or in a dark forest or cave, and the series uses this as an excuse to cut corners. The fight scenes similarly rely on still frames and lazy swordplay, and although the beautiful blonde-haired, grey-eyed Claymore initially draw you in, by the end they’re so numerous and uniform that they’re almost impossible to tell apart. Claymore‘s animation is by no means bad, but the fact that Madhouse is generally revered for its productions (e.g., Death Note, The Tatami Galaxy) makes these faults all the more disappointing.

The soundtrack, by contrast, is pretty good, an eclectic collection of bagpipes, flutes, guitars, and minimalist synth that at times borders on experimental. Somehow this all works really well and brings to life the medieval European setting while giving the series a primal feel. A few tracks are especially beautiful (e.g., Kita no Chi to Hakugin no Ou) or original (e.g., Kakusei no Kodou). But most lack appeal outside the context of the show, and the oft-used Bishou no Teresa, which sounds like it’s straight out of a Disney movie, is over the top and out of place. The opening and ending songs are great and fit the story perfectly. The same goes for the English and Japanese voice casts. On the dub, Clare, Teresa, and Riful are standouts, but Raki makes an already bad character worse, so I wouldn’t recommend one cast over the other.

Claymore deserves a lot of credit, not just because it’s a generally well-done shounen, but also because it breathes fresh life into the genre with its feminist perspective and serious tone. Sadly the series falls into many of the usual traps and is mired by circumstances beyond its control, but hopefully Madhouse will pick it up again now that the manga was recently finished. In any event, Claymore delivers an enjoyable story set in a mystical world and is a pretty good watch, especially for fans of the genre.

The Internet is a fascinating phenomenon. With the press of a button, humanity is able to instantly and effortlessly convey and retrieve a vast collection of information, facilitating communication, education, commerce, recreation, and many other things. All of this is made possible by physical connections and radio wave transmissions between millions of devices interacting according to governing protocols. It isn’t hard to imagine a time, even soon, when virtual reality devices become commonplace and enable people to completely escape from the “real world” by accessing a parallel digital world. Enter Serial Experiments Lain, a series that proposes just such a world, called “the Wired,” and ... contemplates the implications through the eyes of Lain.

Lain has been called a lot of things — avant-garde, innovative, experimental, pretentious, unintelligible, boring — but one thing everyone can agree on is that it’s a mindfuck. Writer/director Ryutaro Nakamura (Ghost Hound, Kino’s Journey) takes no mercy upon the ignorant, inattentive, or simply non-stoned viewer, packing more meaning and complexity into each episode than most series do in their entire run. Lain is intentionally not enjoyable in the ordinary sense, and instead focuses on delivering a dense, intellectual story while posing several philosophical questions about humanity’s relation to evolving technologies, such as the awakening of the collective unconscious, the loss or alteration of identity in the digital age, and human evolution beyond the physical body. Lain is purposefully profound (e.g., Ergo Proxy, Ghost in the Shell), which for many will be reason alone to watch.

Lain also makes masterful use of animation and sound to create a uniquely eerie atmosphere. What at first glance is a relatively shoddy production is quickly revealed to be crafted with great care and design. The real world is frequently depicted as undefined (see the absence of lines or color, particularly when Lain leaves home each day to go to school), blurred, and almost blindingly bright, representing its illusory, hallucinatory nature. The sole exceptions are the intricately-drawn power lines and red-hued shadows, which contrast with the “real” and represent the ever-present world of the Wired that lies beneath.

Lain‘s impressive animation style is complemented by its minimalist audio. It’s not uncommon for the only sound to be the brief exchange of dialogue between characters or the unnerving humming of the power lines. The few recurring tracks are also superb — mellow, minimal guitar/electronic pieces (e.g., Misty Strange Dimension) that are perfect for a psychological thriller — and BOA’s opening theme is sublime and fits the series wonderfully. Lain‘s animation and sound also give it a deeply nostalgic feel. Even though this is a series from the turn of the century, it feels much older, as if it were designed to create the aura of a classic.

While Lain excels in a number of respects, it suffers from several weaknesses in execution that are exacerbated by the fact that its themes are rather commonplace today. Because the story is very quiet and generally uneventful, it’s crucial to have a good understanding of each episode before continuing to the next, else event at 13 episodes it can be excruciating to push through. Unfortunately, the story gradually goes from mysterious yet comprehensible to convoluted and chaotic by the second half, making a second watch a practical necessity if you want to understand everything as it happens. The show also discards its eerie and uncertain ambience for what has been described as ”whacky conspiracy theories and comic-book villains.” While that may be overkill — Lain‘s universe is based upon realistic developments of real-world phenomena — it did feel like the more Lain revealed about itself, the sillier it became. By the end, the series had transformed from a psychological thriller into a somewhat standard sci-fi.

Other weaknesses relate to animation and audio. In many shots Lain‘s simplistic animation goes from artistic to simply lazy, making ample use of stock scenes and still frames. And while the soundtrack has a few standout songs, most of the guitar tracks are too heavy for the show and aren’t worth listening to on their own. A final significant drawback is Lain’s English voice, which is monotone, forced, and utterly incapable of conveying sincere emotion. While Lain’s Japanese voice is excellent, it’d be nice to be able to watch the dub and pay closer attention to the artwork.

Lain isn’t perfect, but it’s hard to deny that it has become something of a cult classic, and for good reason. Its dark cyberpunk atmosphere, near-confounding level of depth, and unconventional animation and sound distinguish it from the mundane, and the result is something truly different. Anyone interested in viewing seminal anime should check Lain out, and those willing to invest enough time and thought may find that the series provides them with its own kind of escape from reality.

Wolf’s Rain is arguably the spiritual successor to the acclaimed Cowboy Bebop — the same writer (Keiko Nobumoto), one of the same producers (Masahiko Minami), and the same composer (Yoko Kanno) — so it seems only natural to want to compare the two. But while the series share similarities, Wolf’s Rain isn’t the next Cowboy Bebop. It’s Nobumoto’s attempt to craft exceptional characters and weave a compelling plot, and the result, while impressive, is somewhat unbalanced.

As in Bebop, the characters in Wolf’s Rain are central, and Nobumoto dedicates much of the story to fleshing out Kiba, Tsume, Hige, and Toboe as they journey to Paradise. ... As you’d expect, she excels at the task, gradually transforming four cliches into dynamic, memorable leads. For most of the series, we see the cast in the here and now, within the context of the journey, and we’re only given snippets of their pasts. In the final stretch, each lead gets an episode where their past is explained and their evolution comes full circle. This is the same approach used in Bebop, and it remains just as effective.

Unfortunately, Nobumoto also characteristically prioritizes character development and relegates the plot to the background for long stretches of time. By the second quarter, what began as a strong story with an interesting premise and good pacing becomes a meandering series of events without enough direction or exposition to place them in perspective. The wolves travel from place to place searching for Paradise, but it’s hard to tell whether they’re making any progress or where they should go next. Instead of an engaging plot, we get a series of subplots whose main purpose seems to be to develop the cast and wait out the clock.

This may have worked with Bebop, where there wasn’t much of a plot to begin with and the premise lent itself to episodic stories, but Wolf’s Rain wants to be an epic adventure, and naturally suffers when the plot stalls. This lack of pacing and direction is unfortunate, because when the story is focused it’s great, comparable to the best works of fantasy anime. The ending in particular is very original and will leave you contemplating the metaphysical nature of the universe and time. It’s also surprisingly dark, if not bittersweet, and follows through on Wolf’s Rain‘s premise to deliver a quintessentially post-apocalyptic tragedy.

The other big similarity between the series is the music, and Kanno is just as outstanding in Wolf’s Rain as she was in Bebop, creating a blend of gorgeous orchestral and jazz pieces that transform the post-apocalyptic wasteland into a beautiful and enchanting world. As usual, she shines on vocal tracks, aided here by the likes of Steve Conte and Maaya Sakomoto (Ghost in the Shell). The result is a truly timeless collection that not only fits the series perfectly, but is worth listening to on its own. This is a masterpiece of an OST, and many of its tracks have a permanent spot on my background music playlist.

The dub is also one of the best around and features some big hitters, notably Johnny Yong Bosch as Kiba (Ichigo in Bleach, Lelouch in Code Geass), Steven Blum as Lord Darcia (Spike in Cowboy Bebop), and Mary Elizabeth McGlynn as Jagara (Cornelia in Code Geass, Makoto Kusanagi in Ghost in the Shell). The Japanese cast is also very good, featuring the likes of Mamoru Miyano (Light Yagami in Death Note) as Kiba.

The animation is beautiful even by Bones’s standards, with exquisite, detailed scenery shots and realistic wolf designs that are dog-like and approachable at one moment and snarling and sinister at the next. Often it feels more like a high-cost OVA than a twenty-six-episode series. At the same time, there’s a haze that gives the artwork a dull, imperfect look. This was presumably meant to create a post-apocalyptic atmosphere but probably wasn’t worth the sacrifice in aesthetics. One other animation quirk is the humans’ noses, which have an odd double-line quality. This too was likely intentional (to make them more realistic), but it’s mainly distracting and strange. These are by no means substantial setbacks, but they seem like poor artistic decisions that kept Wolf’s Rain from being as attractive as it could have been without much payoff.

Wolf’s Rain is a rare piece of work, the product of some of the best in the field. It’s essentially as good as anime music and voice acting gets; great animation; and an engaging story when focused. It’s also a genuinely post-apocalyptic and dark experience, and it has a nice, subtle philosophical subtext. Although the series gets lost at certain points, it is still a noteworthy fantasy anime and well worth your time.