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A figure floats gracefully against the backdrop of a lavender sky. She ascends, her upright posture and outstretched arms impervious to the accumulating draft of wind. She twists in circles, as she soars with fabric wings that cut through the air, slowly drifting to the stage. She lands and takes a bow.

Welcome to the wonderful world of Kaleido Star, where dazzling colors and moving performances are the norms. The stage is a warm and ebullient place where dreams are made and realized, but beneath this, it is a suffocating and cruel battlefield, displaying in full force the foolishness, jealousy, loneliness, and happiness that are found ... in striving for ideals—Kaleido Star is not one to portray stardom as merely glamorous and flashy. Yet, there is a certain hopefulness underneath this painful picture, a certain charm that makes you exit this show changed and full of life.

The key to this lies in our protagonist, the cheerful and talented Sora Naegino. A go-getter in every sense of the term, she travels all the way from Japan to California to pursue her lifelong dream of performing at Kaleido Stage. Though clumsy, inept, and inexperienced, Sora has a persistent and unyielding drive to pursue her idealized "competition-free stage"--no doubt resonating with those of us who had to give up, one time or another, our own hopes and dreams. Therein lies her charm, as her unalloyed love for the audience and stage, enraptures both viewers and performers alike. Of course, the path that lay ahead of her is not an easy one. Throughout the story, Sora encounters countless trials and tribulations, forced each time to re-evaluate her self-worth as her rose-colored image of stardom is tested. The show, in fact, goes several times too far in the cast’s ridiculously harsh treatment towards Sora, but this only serves to strengthen her resolve.

The rest of the main cast are foils for Sora's development, with each character bringing something to the story, as a dedicated mini-arc fleshes out their character and motivations. If Sora is Kaleido Star's protagonist, Layla Hamilton is undoubtedly the show's deuteragonist. An alluring and elegant mentor figure to Sora, she first appears utterly unlikeable, being both sharp-tongued and judgemental. However, through the course of the show, she is revealed to be much more kind-hearted, simply suffering under the burden of having to please her workaholic father, whose expectations have alienated him from his daughter's feelings. Though Layla, unlike Sora, struggles only internally, as she is treated with reverence by our supporting cast, both are testaments to the price we must pay to realize ideals.

As you can expect from a show revolving around a circus, despite a relatively low and dated art quality, the direction and use of colors are dazzling. Sora’s performances emanate with a love that could only have been possible thanks to the brilliant costume designs and the dynamic fluidity of her movement. More than just making your jaw drop or your eyes tear, they possess a magical quality that transports viewers into the circus halls, filling them with a newfound inspiration to pursue the impossible. The visuals and atmosphere were also complemented by the show’s wonderful soundtrack, which appeared at just the right times, invoking cheerfulness or ominousness depending on the scene.

In the end, Kaleido Star is a show that far surpasses the sum of its parts. After all, there were several times in the second season’s first half that I felt like dropping the series or at the very least, throwing my phone and cursing at the many characters who tear Sora down. The plot itself was also plain and largely formulaic, with some twists here and there that are foreshadowed quite obviously. Despite this, watching Sora’s journey as a performer and as a person filled me with euphoria, touching me in a way that only ARIA previously had.

Kaleido Star is not like your average show, as, regardless of its many flaws, it has the ability to influence the way you feel and act even after completing the 51st episode. It's one that will likely stick with you for a long time, encouraging you to find the right perspective and to never half-heartedly compromise on your ambitions.

For a show capable of something like that, my score is more than justified. Thank you, Junichi Sato, for another masterpiece.

The rustling wind chime signals an imminent spring breeze. A steaming cup of coffee, its fragrance a medley of caramel, citrus, and seasoned wood, suffuses Caffè Florian with the wistful aroma of a time slowly passing. Soft patches of moonlight tinge the aquamarine canal with the pale white luster of a solitary gondola, oar cutting through water to leave faint cascades.

This is ARIA's melody. Its calm does not and will not appeal to everyone, but to those of you who cherish that brief lull that comes with falling face-flat on a soft mattress after a hard day's work, doing and thinking nothing as you ... listen to the taps on the windowpane from the outside, there is no show I would recommend more.

Put simply, ARIA, like the cute cat that shares the same name, is a slow-creeping whimsical feline that uses setting and nostalgia to wriggle its way deep into your heart. It is Amano's subtle and poignant masterpiece, a kind exploration of what it means to notice small and feeble everyday things, to hold precious the ephemeral moments spent with friends and family, to appreciate the oft-forgotten kindness of people; but most of all, to look forward to each new day, letting yourself be carried by the wind of new beginnings.

Set under the backdrop of a futuristic Venice located on a terraformed Mars now known as planet Aqua, ARIA revolves around the day-to-day dealings of the cheerful protagonist and novice gondolier Akari Mizunashi. Viewers are guided along into this wondrous world, where even ordinary mundanities are spun into heartwarming adventures. As we are acquainted bit by bit with this town so far removed from reality's hustle and bustle, yet still so dynamic as if alive, we gradually fall in love with it. In truth, the world we see in ARIA is probably nothing more than a waning city lacquered by Akari's special filter. But, is that not the point? When thinking about what ARIA stands for, I can't help but be brought back to one of my favorite novelist's famous sayings: "The real voyage of discovery consists, not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes." Truly ARIA gets it.

Judged from a critical lens, ARIA is nothing like the picturesque narrative I paint it to be. After all, its comedic insertions are often out of place, catchphrases redundant, characters all too nice for their own good, and its pacing akin to a turtle without legs. Still, despite these very real flaws, ARIA more than makes up for it with charm. Although it is not the most entertaining show, nor the most complex, emotional, or comedic, I can and will argue that out of all the fiction that I have had the privilege to devour, nothing can boast as much heart.

Undoubtedly the most standout feature of ARIA is its soundtrack. Composed of a euphonious ballad of stirring songs and soothing beats, the soundtrack, to put it bluntly, is the best thing I have heard. Notable contributors to this are the song placements (ridiculously well-timed) and the visuals that accompany them. ARIA is part of a very select few shows whose OPs and EDs I never skip. They are both so well integrated with the narrative and masterfully set the tone.

ARIA's art too builds upon the foundations laid by the soundtrack to produce a distinct Arian (a new word!) charm. While simple and lacking in detail (at times awkward too) especially in the first two seasons, the show has vibrant hues and creative directing, with visuals that ooze nostalgia and appear watercolored. There were many instances where the excellent combination of ingenious camera work, color contrast, and dynamic movement filled me with awe.

Last but not least, ARIA's cast are among the most lovable you could find. Each character feels human and is subject to their own sets of strengths and flaws. The main cast (all their names begin with A) is primarily motivated by their fear of change and of departing from the comforts of the familiar present-day. Their interactions, sometimes comedic and sometimes intensely emotional, will undoubtedly resonate with anyone who has ever felt the pressures of a steadily moving time. It is in Origination especially where the character development reaches its emotional crescendo as Akari, Aika, and Alice are finally forced to confront the truth that they are all headed in different paths. The standout secondary characters of ARIA include both of Akari's extremely quotable predecessors, Alicia and Grandma, whose views towards education resemble that of Sosaku Kobayashi's, the famous and unconventional headmaster in Kuroyanagi's "Totto-chan" who believed that the primary role of education was to instill in students the joys of learning, curiosity, and empathy.

To sum up this review, ARIA is a truly one-of-its-kind slice of life, a simple narrative fabulously layered with genuinely relevant and profound life lessons. The town's gentleness, emblazoned with Akari's infectious ebullience, somehow leaves viewers kinder and more appreciative of the world around them by the time the words, "may the winds of new beginning reach you", are flashed on the screen. As a workaholic usually surrounded by media and literature that serve to question or to disillusion (I'm looking at you Brothers Karamazov!), ARIA showed me a perspective that I once hastened to avoid. There is nothing much else to say, except that ARIA helped me see the world, not as the humdrum hell painted in Kobo Abe's "Woman in the Dunes" or Akutagawa's "Spinning Gears", but as a beautiful, precious, and fleeting place that I ought to cherish while still there. It's truly rare to see a show prefer contemplative silence to flashy theatrics, and I could not be more satisfied with the ending that it received.

Thank you Kozue Amano for teaching me to love.