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“What can impress heaven and earth without trying,
Move the hearts of those fierce gods, who are invisible to those around them,
Bring man and woman closer together,
And bring comfort to the most daring of warriors?
A poem.”

Chihayafuru is a sports manga about poetry. That might sound odd at first, but it works—and not just because karuta is a sport centered around poems. Suetsugu Yuki skillfully imbues the poetry with deeper meaning, using it as a vehicle for the manga’s themes. The poetry in this work is beautiful and ever-present, though the sports aspect occasionally feels underwhelming.

With that said, let’s dive into Chihayafuru—its themes, structure, and how it ... compares to other works. We’ll also explore whether its beginning is misleading and how it leverages the medium to deliver its message.

So, what is this manga about?

As mentioned, this is a manga about poetry. It seeks to convey emotions and truths that cannot be easily expressed in words or visuals. At its heart, Chihayafuru delves into how much meaning things can carry, both spoken and unspoken.

First things later, let’s talk art direction.

The art is generally good, but has its shortcomings. Occasionally, scenes feel unclear—whether due to awkward angles or difficulties in distinguishing dialogue and action. Still, the flow of the panels is strong, lending a cinematic quality to the story.

The typical shoujo/josei flourishes, like flowery or dreamlike imagery, complement the themes beautifully. However, the most striking panels aren’t memorable for their technical artistry, but for how they linger with the poetry’s emotional resonance.

So, how does it start?

From the very first volume, Chihayafuru establishes its thematic depth. Meaning is woven into every scene, and this foundation continues throughout the series.

However, it’s worth noting that poetry is typically a concise art form. Here, it’s drawn out over a long narrative. You might find yourself wondering, “Why is there so much left?” well before you’ve reached the halfway point.

What about the characters?

The characters’ skill levels often feel contrived, with outcomes dictated more by thematic or poetic relevance than actual ability. That said, their struggles and triumphs are rendered so beautifully that it’s hard to care about this inconsistency.

One of the manga’s standout strengths is its use of poetry to navigate miscommunication. The characters frequently struggle to express themselves but find clarity through the 100 poems that define their game. This could have easily felt frustrating, but instead, it becomes an elegant exploration of connection through shared meaning.

What about the story itself?

The plot follows a familiar sports manga structure, but with protagonists who are both naturally talented and skilled, the tension frequently comes from external factors rather than direct competition. This diminishes the sense of unpredictability; outcomes consistently feel dictated by the author’s hand rather than organic progression.

At times, the story feels like it’s spinning its wheels, especially given its length. Yet, this pacing is ultimately in service of its focus on poetry, which is nothing short of exquisite.

Then, what did I think of it as a whole?

Chihayafuru defies easy description. Like poetry itself, its true value lies in the experience of engaging with it. While the plot and art are not without flaws, the characters and the breathtaking poetry elevate it to something truly special. It’s an exceptional work, and I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone willing to immerse themselves in its beauty.

Gintama is the capstone of a generation of manga. The requirements to enjoy it are simple: Do you like gag and toilet humor? Are you familiar with the more popular manga and anime from the golden era up until the mid-2010s? If so, you'll most likely love this perfect blend of action, humor, and drama.

With that said, let’s dive into Gintama—its themes, structure, and how it compares to other works. We’ll also look at whether its beginning is misleading and how leverages the medium to deliver its themes.

So, what is this show about?

This show is set in Edo, the land of the samurai—a clear metaphor ... for Japan. The central thesis is that while the Amanto (foreigners, aliens) arrive and transform it into something entirely new, the core of what it means to be a samurai endures.

Gintama reimagines Bushido in a simpler, modern way that applies universally, regardless of one’s background. Giving an extensive focus on having something to protect and the strength in staying true to your values.

First things later, let’s talk art direction.

The character designs are remarkably recognizable, even the intentionally bland ones. The openings and soundtrack are memorable, too. Sure, there are moments when the lack of budget shows, but the series uses that to its advantage, turning it into a running joke that also pokes fun at the industry itself.

One thing worth mentioning is the voice acting. Some characters are brought to life with so much personality through the performances. Combined with Gintama's amazing filler content, it makes the show something truly special.

So, how does it start?

I quit Gintama after the first episode. Two years later, I dropped it again after the second episode. Finally, five years later, I tried the third episode—and now I’m hooked. I actually recommend skipping the first two episodes. They don’t add much and are so confusing and nonsensical that they become an unnecessary barrier to entry, where there’s already a lot to take in.

Beyond that, if you’ve seen any gag shows or sitcoms, you’ll find the beginning familiar. The early gags may only be mildly amusing at first, or even fly under the radar. After episode 3, it’s important not to skip any episodes, as the humor starts building momentum.

Comedy-centric shows often need to lean on other aspects as they go on. While the easy route would be romance, Gintama takes the battle shōnen approach. You can get a taste of this mix early on, though the execution improves by a lot over time.

What about the characters?

The characters don’t age and are tied to specific gags. Their introductions are usually semi-comedic, and they continue to reappear in gags that make you attached to their comedic side. But somewhere down the line, you start getting deeper, more meaningful explorations of their character. In other words, they’re gag characters with layers.

What about the story itself?

Imagine watching The Simpsons, and suddenly Lisa is fighting to the death with Bart in a three-episode arc that dives into a traumatic event from their childhood. That’s the kind of unpredictability Gintama offers. You never know whether the next scene will be comedic, gut-wrenching, or packed with action.

Every episode is a wild card. The characters might mess with the opening, the show might have a different title, and the tone can swing from somber to hilarious in seconds. Sometimes you’ll need to watch multiple episodes in one sitting, and other times just one will do. It’s worth looking up a list of arcs to get a feel for the flow.

It is also worth saying that there will be so many unexpected tie-ins. Characters and events that almost left your mind get brought back. Gintama fully utilizes its length to deliver both character arcs and interactions that cannot be as impactful were it streamlined of a lot shorter.

Then, what did I think of it as a whole?

Gintama is a beautifully crafted piece. Sure, there are episodes that fall flat, jokes that don’t land, or obscure parodies that miss the mark. The quality isn’t always consistent—sometimes the fillers are even better than the main episodes.

I can’t recommend it to everyone, though. As much as I love it and wish it were more popular, that would be misleading. There are a lot of crude jokes, mood swings, and references that make it hard to call Gintama a universally enjoyable experience. For its target audience, this is close to a masterpiece; for anyone else, it might just feel like a crude mess.

Jojo's Bizarre Adventure is, in my opinion, the greatest manga I've had the pleasure of experiencing. However, this adaptation manages to butcher almost everything that makes it exceptional. If you're an Araki fan, consider this your free pass—you do not need to watch this. If you're not familiar with the series, prepare for a story in the middle of other stories, with so much left unexplained that it quickly devolves into an incomprehensible mess.

With that said, let’s delve into what Stardust Crusaders (the actual name of the part this anime tries to adapt) is about and the themes it explores. We’ll also discuss how the ... beginning might be misleading, how effectively it tackles its thematic elements, and how it compares to other parts of Jojo's Bizarre Adventure and its anime adaptation.

So, what is this show about?

Each part of Jojo's Bizarre Adventure revolves around a central theme of humanity, often tied to karma—how actions shape fate, family, and community. While each part introduces unique themes, they all contribute to this broader framework. Stardust Crusaders concludes the first trilogy of the saga, focusing primarily on heroism.

Jonathan Joestar embodies the traditional hero, with a sense of honor and courage, albeit dated. Joseph Joestar builds on this by showing that true heroism involves deeper ideas, effort, and willpower, refining the hero’s spirit. Jotaro Kujo, the protagonist of Stardust Crusaders, takes it further, suggesting that patience and hope are the true essence of heroism. This initial trilogy explores what makes a hero through these evolving perspectives.

Unfortunately, none of this comes through in these six episodes. If you haven't read the manga, you'll likely be left wondering what the point of this adaptation even is.

First things later, let’s talk art direction.

The art strays from Araki’s original style, taking itself too seriously. While it does reintroduce some horror elements omitted in the 2015 adaptation, making for tense battles and a suspenseful tone, the pacing is erratic, and the voice acting lacks passion. The English dub is slightly better but still falls short.

Even though the horror is closer to the manga’s original atmosphere, it somehow still misses the mark. The body horror, in particular, is poorly handled. In the JJBA we know and love, body horror is detailed and intricately grotesque, transforming human figures into striking, surreal forms. Here, though the characters are put through violent scenes, the bleak atmosphere replaces the manga’s iconic grotesque detail with a more muted visual impact.

So, how does it start?

For reasons unknown, the adaptation kicks off with Iggy’s introduction, with no explanation for why they’re in Egypt or what a Stand even is. Then, we’re abruptly shown a mysterious blood cult, left without context or any real point beyond a weak nod to fans: “You’ll understand if you read the manga.” It doesn’t mislead, though—it’s unintelligible from the start and continues that way throughout.

I intend this to cover the 2000 addition to this adaptation, and it addresses at least the stand's point. However, it compensates with a lot more unexplained stuff.

What about the characters?

The characters, too, are surprisingly mishandled. These are phenomenal characters, but in this adaptation, over half of them feel purposeless. Avdol and Iggy could’ve been swapped out for a torch and a paraglider, and the plot would barely shift. Joseph’s presence feels almost token, as he contributes little beyond simply being there.

Polnareff and Kakyoin do retain some of their pivotal scenes from the manga, but they come off feeling strangely forced. The adaptation cuts out bonding moments between characters, leaving us to wonder why this Frenchman feels such attachment to a dog who, up until now, was only shown farting in his face.

What about the story itself?

While the adaptation does change some things from the manga, which I appreciate as a fresh perspective, the alterations are, however, random and poorly executed, adding nothing meaningful. Some cuts from the manga lead to scenes with no real impact on the story, and vice versa.

They don’t even address certain aspects that logically should’ve changed. For instance, if the characters have 50 days to confront 28 enemies, cutting down to eight enemies should reduce this timeline. Yet, the timeline remains unchanged.

Then, what did I think of it as a whole?

As a standalone work, this adaptation falls flat and adds little beyond some visually cool fight scenes. Overall, I wouldn’t recommend this to anyone—neither to fans nor newcomers.

I often give up to 2 extra points for the deeper meanings, this work is getting those because it is still part of JJBA. Otherwise, I would give it a 2 (terrible).

Of course, I recommend it, because what's the other option? Not complete “Gintama”? However, we've been on the concluding section for quite a long time. Almost every character had both completed their characters arcs and time to shine. This finish is starting to drag a lot, and it is made even worse by the inclusion of so many flashbacks: I get it, long series + a lot of minor characters that appeared not that much, but honestly it went on for too much time. Add to that the factor that this isn't even the actual last chapter.

Simply put, this is almost the definition of overstaying ... its welcome. Good thing the anime staff streamlined a lot, and it didn't drag it another season for the finale (Only 2 specials and a movie). I hope those are well executed, to give the proper sendoff this series absolutely deserves.

This is the closer experience you'll get to “Avengers: Endgame” in any anime I've ever seen. While “Gintama°” and “Gintama.” combines the multiple threads previously laid out to deliver an ingeniously written and interwoven narrative, this season takes on the task of calling upon every one of those completed characters from past events for the final confrontation.

It starts off strong with a heavily symbolic episode, and then goes on reintroducing recurrent characters and factions and how they have dealt with the new Edo landscape. Every introduction is very considerate to the characters, touching on their central gags and strengths, reminding us of their arc and ... what they learned, making for an overall very amusing experience on the eve of the final confrontation.

If you liked “Gintama” up until now, I cannot imagine how you'd not be excited with this arc, although it is a drastic change of pace from the last ones.

I don't often give the “Not Recommended” tag, but I'll be honest: I do not believe Dungeon Meshi is worth the read. While it presents interesting morals and a unique take on exploring dungeons, and does have its upsides, there are plenty of better reads out there.

With that said, let’s explore what this manga is about and the themes it seeks to convey. We’ll discuss whether the beginning is misleading, how it approaches its key themes, and how effectively it utilizes the major elements of the medium to tell its story.

So, what is this show about?

At its core, Dungeon Meshi deals with the dichotomy between ... desire and death, which, within its setting of food and dungeons, is not a bad idea. Food, as the most basic representation of desire, ties into the theme naturally, while dungeons—a staple of danger and reward in fantasy—become the perfect backdrop for exploring this concept.

The idea itself is solid, and the manga delivers a surprising level of realism, especially with the meals and detailed monster biology. However, by the end, this realism begins to fall apart, and the themes are too shallow to make up for it. Desire versus death is one of the most thought-provoking themes in literature, but Dungeon Meshi ultimately doesn't add anything new to the conversation. At best, it serves as another metaphor, but not one that leaves a lasting impact.

First things later, let’s talk art direction.

There’s nothing particularly unique in terms of character design. While it might stand out compared to some other anime or manga, most characters resemble generic class templates you'd find in an older RPG. Their race characteristics are exaggerated, and few characters truly feel distinct.

On the positive side, some panels are beautifully detailed, especially when it comes to the food, which is mouthwateringly rendered and supports the core theme. The art picks up toward the conclusion, offering a better balance between “meh” and impressive panels. Unfortunately, the flow of the panels is inconsistent, which might hurt the pacing for some readers.

In terms of world-building, Dungeon Meshi's art doesn't particularly excel, but the focus on monster biology adds a unique touch.

So, how does it start?

The first volume is dense, with a lot of text and some creative, albeit not very fluid, paneling. It does have a more episodic nature than the last volumes, but does reflect a good portion of the narrative, which has a similar structure.

The quality is inconsistent, too. The first volume isn’t quite a masterpiece, but is pretty good. However, the series pivots direction multiple times, making it somewhat misleading for new readers. You might enjoy the start but dislike what comes later, so I can't confidently recommend using the first volume to gauge the whole series.

What about the characters?

The characters feel quite artificial. Somehow, they know very little about their fellow adventurers, and when they do know something, it often feels contrived. They keep secrets from one another without any real reason and share personal information without any caution. This becomes particularly jarring since there’s nothing in their personalities that justifies this behavior, and it even contradicts the traits of certain characters.

Miscommunication is almost a theme in this manga. Many plot points hinge on characters failing to communicate. While it works for someone like Laius (the main guy) due to his bashful nature, it doesn’t make sense for calmer, more collected characters. The narrative takes unnecessary detours because of these forced miscommunications.

What about the story itself?

The story is primarily episodic. You encounter a monster, learn about its biology and habits, then enjoy a well-drawn, tasty meal. That’s the formula, though eventually, the manga starts moving away from it. Some episodes take longer to get to the meal, while others focus on political matters or an important foe that needs to be dealt with.

Despite its flaws, the immersion is fairly strong, especially when it comes to the inner workings of the dungeon and the monsters’ way of life.

Then, what did I think of it as a whole?

Dungeon Meshi offers an average plot with well-executed realism and solid immersion, but its glaring flaws—especially in character development and thematic depth—hold it back. It ultimately relies too much on its core themes, and unfortunately, they don’t carry enough weight to make the experience truly worthwhile.

Last season finished with a 'point of no return' conclusion, and this season, Gintama., follows up by stripping away most of the comedy elements that were so present in earlier seasons. With most of the earth-bound side characters having completed their arcs, the story shifts to space to better understand our favorite amanto.

This season begins with a tone that feels much more like a traditional shōnen, which is to be expected, given that the lightheartedness of earlier seasons couldn’t simply be restored after the events of Gintama°. What truly sets this arc apart is how it manages to deliver character moments that feel deeply embedded ... within them. We finally get to understand the roles these characters have been playing from the very start, and why they’ve acted in a certain manner along the way.

The themes of Gintama also progress masterfully. The ongoing focus on Bushido is now tied to a new exploration—what does it really mean to become stronger? This theme blends seamlessly with the arc's overwhelming amount of battle sequences, giving the action more depth than mere spectacle.

Naturally, the presence of so many gag episodes throughout the series might make this arc feel somewhat jarring for some. The animation also felt off in some points. However, Gintama was never just about comedy, action, or drama alone and never really had animation as it's strongest point. Gintama is a unique experience each time, and while this arc might not immediately seem that way, it delivers in spades by the end.

“Gintama°” is the greatest “Gintama” has been so far, in my opinion. And it had the larg shoes of the “Gintama' : Enchousen” to fill. While the latter were 12 chapters with no duds, the first manages 51 of awesome television. It realy feels like every mid or not-as-relevant arc was moved to the “Gintama.: Porori-Hen” and we get the best possible experience for the “Gintama°” season.

This whole season feels much like a conclusion. The characters are delivering in their meanings and being very clear on how they ultimately contributed to both the plot and the messages the show is trying to convey. Even the ... gag characters and some long forgotten characters are brought back in style. Still, the balance between comedy, drama, and action is pretty good. I'd also add that the action is the best “Gintama” has delivered up until this point.

There are some apparently contrived points in the finishing moments of the arc, some dynamics feel as if they should have been better fleshed out before concluding. However, it doesn't really detract from the overwhelmingly positives from this season.

The episodes in “Gintama.: Porori-hen” are some comedy bits and thematic conclusion for minor characters that the anime staff decided to bypass in order to get to the final stretch faster. Ultimately, that was a wise decision from the anime staff. “Gintama °” feels like a compilation of the best and very likely to spark a lot of interest as it was launched. This, in the other hand, feels like a compilation of passable or ultimately not quite as relevant arcs and would tank both pacing and excitement for the final stretch of “Gintama”.

Now that the whole thing is finished, these episodes honestly could ultimately ... be watched at any point after “Gintama': Enchousen”.

It is a good thing that “Gintama” does take its time to give the comedy characters and some comedy tropes their thematic conclusion, and although these are mostly arcs that are comedic with touching conclusion. It makes for a very high density of disconnected comedy bits approaching the ending of the series.

I do recommend watching this, as it is very interesting to see the conclusion to a lot of stuff that other series wouldn't even bother and the quality, albeit not “Gintama °” levels, is still pretty good. Also, it is canon. However, You do not need to follow any watch order. Treat this as part of the last bits of comedy from Gintama → Watch sparingly, sprinkle them whenever (after “Gintama': Enchousen”). Be it in the middle or after “Gintama °”, before or after “Gintama.” or even after “Gintama: The Final” too.

Uzumaki is, in my opinion, a true masterpiece of the horror manga genre. If you're even remotely curious about manga horror or willing to give it a shot, check out the manga—because this anime only manages to butcher it. The only redeeming factor is the innovation in art style in the first episode, which seemed like a good idea at first. Unfortunately, the quality drops quickly, and the changes to the source material are ultimately unwarranted.

With that said, let’s start by exploring what this manga is about and the themes it seeks to convey. We’ll discuss whether the beginning is misleading, how it approaches its ... themes, and how effectively it utilizes the major elements of the medium.

So, what is this manga about?

At its core, Uzumaki is a story about obsession. The obsessive nature of spirals is an ingenious choice by Junji Ito, as spirals carry a natural, almost primal allure—there’s something entrancing about them, something that pulls you in. Spirals have long symbolized fascination, even madness, in various cultures, making them a fitting visual metaphor for the ever-tightening grip of obsession. The story uses this motif as a springboard for exploring how deeply and dangerously fixation can affect the human psyche, and how that fixation can spread like a curse through a town.

First things later, let’s talk art direction.

The true genius of Uzumaki lies in Ito’s exceptional art. His work captures an unsettling, almost Lovecraftian horror that is notoriously difficult to visualize. While Lovecraft relied on vague, indescribable horrors to terrify his readers, Ito makes the unexplainable tangible—without losing any of the dread that comes with it. From the first panels depicting the town of Kurouzu-cho and its residents, there's a persistent sense of unease, a feeling that something is inherently wrong. Even the mundane feels off, and once the spiral begins to take hold, the escalating absurdity feels strangely inevitable.

When the horrors occur, they are both shocking and eerily appropriate for the world Ito has crafted. Kurouzu-cho itself feels alive, transforming along with its inhabitants in grotesque and fascinating ways.

The anime tries to capture Ito's art by maintaining the black-and-white palette and replicating some iconic shots. It even succeeds in the first episode. But by the second episode, the animation becomes more cursed than the town itself. I wouldn’t mind if the animation were merely passable, but it is truly terrible.

At least the theme song is appropriately creepy and fitting.

So, how does it start?

The beginning of the Uzumaki anime is its only saving grace, although the last episode is also passable, as it follows the original structure. It manages to prove that an adaptation of Junji Ito works can be done with some creativity. Unfortunately, that is horribly misleading and some will even take it to heart and start thinking it really was impossible.

What about the characters?

Kirie, the protagonist, is a fascinating take on the “audience insert” character. Despite the surreal events unfolding around her, she maintains a calm detachment. Kurouzu-cho has always been strange, so her reactions aren’t as dramatic as one might expect, which allows readers to process the horrors through her more grounded perspective.

However, the real protagonist isn’t Kirie or even her boyfriend Shuichi, but the town itself. Kurouzu-cho becomes the true focal point, with the characters serving more as vehicles for the spirals’ effects than as figures with traditional character arcs.

What about the story itself?

Like much of Lovecraftian horror, Uzumaki doesn’t offer neat explanations. The plot isn’t concerned with wrapping up every mystery. Instead, it leaves much to the imagination, allowing the unease to linger long after the last page. The story provides just enough information to understand the thematic points, while keeping the greater mystery intact.

Structurally, Uzumaki follows an episodic format. However, the anime attempts to streamline the story, catering to a more modern audience obsessed with immersion as the end-all-be-all of fiction. The result? Horrible pacing and an experience far removed from the intended one. No tweaks could have made the immersion work—the story is meant to make you step back and think.

This is perhaps the most egregious change an anime adaptation has ever made to its source material. Altering the structure in such a fundamental way is, at the very least, a bold move.

Then, what did I think of it as a whole?

Uzumaki is a masterclass in horror storytelling. Ito’s ability to merge the grotesque with the philosophical makes it a standout not just in manga, but within the horror genre as a whole. While many horror works rely on shock value, Uzumaki weaves its unsettling imagery into a broader commentary on human nature, obsession, and the unknown. It’s rare to find a work that balances chilling moments with deep, resonant themes, ensuring it stays with you long after you’ve finished reading.

For those seeking a Lovecraftian horror experience that’s more eerie than outright terrifying, Uzumaki delivers in spades. Its growing sense of dread creeps into your mind, much like the spirals that drive the story. It might not be for everyone, but for those willing to embrace its strange world, it’s a journey worth taking.

Unfortunately, the anime doesn’t do the manga justice. It feels more like an experiment—and to be fair, the first episode does show that it can be done. But too many glaring mistakes ultimately sink the adaptation.