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Otaku media has historically accommodated LGBTQ+ exploration in modern Japanese visual culture. Ground-breaking titles such as ‘Rose of Versailles’, ‘Sailor Moon’ and ‘Revolutionary Girl Utena’ have globally improved attitudes towards minority sexualities and flouting expressions of gender in anime circles. In the post 2000’s era, Ouran High School Host Club, a 26-episode Bones anime production adapted from Bisco Hatori’s manga of the same name, is the logical progression of these ideas. Ouran simultaneously parodies and embraces the shoujo conventions which it originates from, while incorporating a range of progressive themes and characters, earning considerable widespread appraisal and popularity.

Ouran’s premise is so iconic that it barely ... demands repeating. Haruhi Fujioka, a lower-middle class honour student of the prestigious Ouran Academy, accidentally breaks an expensive vase in the host club room and is forced to join the club to pay off her debt. Despite being initially mistaken for a boy, Haruhi’s natural masculine charm allows her to succeed as a male host, while otherwise alternating her gender presentation dependent on external circumstances. Hence, the series consists of the Host Club’s wacky adventures in a light reverse harem structure, whether it be comedic hijinks involving the host club operations, backstory development or introspective character studies.

Ouran arguably established the ‘fujoshi comedy’ subgenre (coined by Rose Bridges), defined as humorous anime with predominately male casts which tease their shipping obsessed fangirls with lightly suggestive homosexuality. This is separate from the formerly established shounen-ai category, which features more dramatic and explicitly gay relationships, or the harem genre, which commonly enforces gender stereotypes, fostering of unhealthy romantic relationships and jarring sexual attitudes. Ouran’s distinctions from the shounen ai and harem genres are largely responsible for its success, with more recent titles such as ‘Free’ and ‘Kiss Him Not Me’ having incorporated the fujoshi comedy template to achieve similar popularity. To gain the attention of this lucrative fujoshi audience, Ouran’s production was tasked with realising a flowery, feminine aesthetic with a variety of attractive male characters and delivering light-hearted, effective, and consistent comedy. Therefore, the question remains: how did the production team at Bones accomplish this feat?

Ouran’s most immediate quality is its slick, creative visual presentation, accomplished by a range of talented and established industry names. Takuya Igarashi’s directing uses unusually framed compositions to set-up comedic payoffs out of shot, while intelligently adjusting the pace of scene cutting to suit the energy of the moment. Yoji Enokido brings the creative flair from his deconstructive screenplay in Revolutionary Girl Utena and is likely responsible for the adaptation’s emphasis on challenging heteronormativity and gender stereotypes. Considering the substantial overlap in creative teams, Ouran and Utena share a fascination with spinning rose imagery, obtuse architecture, and extravagant patterns. However, Ouran usually takes a lighter impression to its metaphors to keep the focus on the comedy and character interactions which make it so beloved.

Contrary to the messy linework of its shoujo manga origins, Norifumi Nakamura’s art direction mixes Bones’ renowned solid style to the sleek, suave figures of its source material, resulting in popping visuals which are flexible to the mood of the scene. Colours are bright and lively in the foreground with pinks and blues used to genderise characters and themes, while backgrounds are contrasted as comparatively temperate. However, a closer inspection will reveal that the backgrounds are suitably decorated with ostentatious textures and detailed with inventive angular designs, suited to Ouran Academy’s prosperous resources.

Kumiko Takahashi’s animation direction is consistent, surreal, and attempts to incorporate as many of the aesthetic flairs of its source material as possible. The result is a dream-like state of animation, where the characters’ intentions and thoughts are abstracted into physical space in the form of a myriad of visual metaphors. This lucid state is escapist, where the laws of our mundane reality are superseded by a cartoonish wonderland of hyper stylised animation, playful imagery, and limitless physical possibilities. This hyperactive approach to visual comedy is regularly effective and an understated hallmark of Bones’ animation achievements.

Takahashi’s character designs integrate seamlessly into animation and share the bishounen appeal from the manga but are noticeably more efficient in the line work and silhouettes. Despite the inevitable drop in detail, his designs are more immediately handsome and malleable than their sketchy manga counterparts, while retaining the shoujo conventions of flowing hair, sharp eyes, and slender figures. As such, the designs will enthusiastically go off model, adapting to a range of chibified or ultra-detailed modes to suit a variety of comedic situations.

Ouran Academy’s uniform is among anime’s most iconic: however, the series takes every opportunity to dress its characters in an endless wardrobe of costumes, casual clothes, and formal attires. Evident from these stylish and intricate designs, is an awareness of the specific personalities and socioeconomic classes which the characters originate from, and how their internal conceptualisation of self is externalised through their fashion choices.

Yoshihisa Hirano’s soundtrack is comprised of chirpy violin and piano pieces with a classical, expensive sound to match the floral, rich aesthetic of the setting. While no track is particularly memorable in isolation, as a collective they serve to dictate the atmosphere, whether it be comedic, introspective, or dramatic, while transitioning between them with ease. Pronounced sound effects are used to punctuate visual gags, sharpening the comedic payoffs, and generally heightening the energy of these scenes.

However, LAST ALLIENCE’s ending theme ‘Shissou’ is the highlight of Ouran’s music repertoire and is proudly the nostalgic centrepiece to much of its fanbase. The instrumental build-up, which plays during the closing moments of each episode, is used to set up variable emotional climaxes; whether the guitars play a supercharged, excitable sound or a softer, meandering riff, or even nothing at all: every episode ends on a profound, passionate note. The ending theme itself continues into an energising rock track with memorable lyricism, commanding guitar performances and a sound cloaked in the mid-2000’s era of shoujo magic which saturates the entire series.

With a biting sense of sarcasm, self-referential parody, and commentary of class disparity, Ouran’s comedy is its most obvious selling point. Ouran loves to ridicule the privileged, as the unlimited budget of the academy is regularly used to punch jokes at upper-class lifestyles, using outrageous exaggeration to expose their excessive resources. The host club room itself is an absurd space of endless possibilities; huge metal cages can freely drop from the ceiling, a giant revolving stage can erupt from anywhere, and countless banana peels will appear at obnoxiously convenient times. While most shoujo anime will brand these comedic utilities as visual metaphors, Ouran can justify their physical existence through the ridiculous funds of the host club in obviously parodic fashion.

Underlying these visual gags is self-awareness, which accentuates Ouran’s entire comedic style. In a fine point: Ouran frequently second guesses itself whenever it plays directly into shoujo tropes and uses 4th wall breaking to acknowledge this to the viewer, while not shying away from implementing the tropes regardless. For instance, when Tamaki realises Haruhi’s true gender in the first episode, the ensuing light flirtation is undeniably steeped in shoujo conventions, yet Kyouya quickly admits this by directly addressing the viewer. Ouran continues to recognise its excessive use of tropes through similar direct nods to the audience, sarcastic dialogue or even collapsing the meta structure of the episode.

Along those lines, Ouran comments on fujoshi fan culture in subtle ways. Fujoshi typically queerise their favourite characters in tribute media, evidenced by homosexual doujinshi, cross play, and non-canon slash fiction, to explore their own LGBTQ+ leanings or simply exercising their creative boundaries. Ouran recognises and even encourages these practices by extremising the performative homosexuality of its male hosts.

Episode 4 highlights these practices in detail through the resident fujoshi ‘Renge’, who’s Deadpool esc presence serves to highlight the various shoujo conventions the series blatantly participates in. After identifying the tropes enacted by each host club member and disregarding them as too weak, Renge layers additional tropes onto their personas and forces them to perform in a promotional short film. Here, Renge has essentially created a live-action doujinshi by reducing the host club members to easily understood tropes with exaggerated queer tendencies and attempts to share and monetise the product. Kyouya then takes the typical industry reaction to fan-media by limiting the distribution of the film in fear of a damaged reputation, but subsequently cooperates with the fan-culture once its monetary value is made evident.

To further emphasise this point: in contrast to traditional host clubs, which make profit by selling alcohol to clients, Ouran’s host club operates within the otaku sphere by profiting from merchandise sales based on the cult of personality of the members; therefore, the host club clients are essentially projections of the fujoshi audience. In this sense, Ouran subtly mocks that crowd by repeatedly reducing them to shallow, easily impressed, rabid consumers of fan merchandise, who fail to emotionally connect with the hosts on a deeper level because they are too flustered with their superficial performances. Ouran’s self-awareness may manifest in these cunning criticisms, but underlying its parodic disposition is a genuine affection for its shoujo origins, fujoshi audience and fan-media culture which has birthed from its success.

However, Ouran truly blossoms with its varied cast of beloved characters, none more so than its celebrated main lead. Haruhi Fujioka is an unconventional shoujo protagonist who fulfils the stereotypical female otaku fantasy of a scruffy, nerdy, unprivileged student who is accidentally thrust into a world of beautiful bishounen boys, but is uniquely appealing owing to her humble, unjudgmental and sarcastic humour.

Central to Haruhi’s character is her ambivalence towards gender. Contrary to the (unfair) stereotype towards gender-unique individuals as being overly self-interested and expository, Haruhi simply behaves as natural and true to her intentions as possible without needing to constantly validate herself through self-justification to others. This isn’t to say that Haruhi’s unique gender presentation doesn’t originate from deeply personal roots; in fact, it is suggested Haruhi’s masculine leanings originate from a counter balance to her crossdressing father, who adopted a motherly role following the death of his wife.

Haruhi’s neutral gender presentation is suggested to be independent from external ideologies, socialisation, and peer pressure. This is evident in the Lobellia episodes, where supposed radical feminists attempt to recruit Haruhi with the premise that women can function completely independently of men. Haruhi doesn’t outwardly reject this notion but recognises that her friendships with Ouran’s host club are more meaningful than behaving under any collective ideology, and so she follows where her heart leads her.

Resulting from her clearsighted understanding of herself and others, Haruhi may underhandedly allow herself to be charmed by her peers when judged safe to do so, whether socially, affectionately or by a certain fancy tuna, but otherwise acts entirely independently of others. After eventually learning to depend on her close connections when truly needed, she subtly turns her attention to repairing the dysfunctional attitudes present in the host club. Using her disconnection from social norms, excellent interpersonal skills and ability to see past face value appearances, she breaks down their defensive walls and connects with them in fundamental, meaningful ways, resulting in a gradual distinction between the hosts’ performative and private personalities.

While Haruhi remains a loose focal point of the host club’s romantic interest, her natural personality traits are emphasised over her feminine appeal as her most attractive qualities, contrary to shoujo and harem convention. Tamaki initially attempts to feminise Haruhi to justify his attraction to her, but eventually understands that her appeal is distinct from his normalised ideas of femininity and loves her regardless of how she decides to present herself.

While Haruhi is given the most fan attention, Ouran is packed with well developed, balanced, and entertaining characters who are significantly more three dimensional than traditional reverse harem bishounen. Tamaki’s fractured family situation leads him to project indiscriminate positivity towards his peers, ultimately forming a surrogate family in the host club as a proxy for his lost love and attention. Under intense parental pressure to succeed in the family business, Kyouya participates in the host club to demonstrate that by fully devoting himself to a place of friendship and acceptance, he can eventually meet and surpass any boundaries placed on him. Hikaru’s overattachment to his twin results in a jealousy response whenever his siblingship becomes triangulated by another party, but Haruhi’s compassionate presence heals both his and Kaoru’s untrusting schemas. Honey uses the host club as a safe haven from his militaristic background to fully express his child-like tendencies without fear of ridicule, while Mori is an adorable wallflower who similarly partakes in hosting to depart from his cold image and to freely care for his beloved Honey.

The host club therefore operates as a haven for abnormal personalities, sexual and gender expression for the entertainment of others, not dissimilar to Haruhi’s father’s crossdressing occupation. Sheltered from Ouran Academy’s L.A esc culture, which prioritises forming economically beneficial connections over cultivating casual friendships, the host club emphasises fun and enjoyment without necessarily rejecting the capitalistic measures which make it financially viable. Yet, the host club is implied to be truly successful based on the cult of personality of its hosts, which undoubtably stems from the prioritisation of friendship over cut-throat efficiency. By operating within this philosophy, the host club members individually and collectively make significant strides in their emotional development, conclusively becoming better realised people who can rely on their interpersonal skills rather than their superficial performances to connect with others.

Ouran is not without its flaws. Most prominently, is the redundancy of many character focused episodes in the second half, which often repeat information and set up character arcs which are never fully realised within 26 episodes. Although always visually interesting, certain lower energy episodes are not given the same stylistic treatment of its best moments, leading to occasionally stilted animation and dated artwork. While every character is given at least one focused episode, Hikaru, Tamaki, Kyouya and Haruhi are given notably more attention than the remainder of the central cast, leaving an inevitable, yet disappointing imbalance of character depth. This is to highlight only a few notable flaws, and depending on the viewers’ proclivity towards outwardly expressive, performative homosexuality, the wild host club scenes may be uncomfortable or distract from the overall experience.

Below the innumerable stylish textures, societal commentary, and intelligent humour, is a core of silliness, friendship, and fun, which are the most immediately accessible and endearing qualities of Ouran High School Host Club. Having been immortalised through an extensive fan culture of AMVs, fan art and cosplay in both Japanese and western audiences, Ouran is a staple of mid 2000s anime culture, which has sparked countless LGBTQ+ youth to come to terms with their own identity, while being a memorably fun time for everyone else. With its dreamy sense of comfort and ditsy comedy, Ouran reliably makes me happy irrespective of my previous mood and I cannot ask for more than that.
10/10

NieA Under 7 tells the ebbs and flows of early adulthood in a loosely constructed slice of life comedy. Thematically down-to-earth and occasionally depressing, NieA_7 inspires young adults to be hopeful no matter their personal situation. Reputed as ‘the forgettable Yoshitoshi Abe anime’, its lukewarm critical response severely undermines how relatable, sympathetic, and empowering this series can feel.

Today’s young adults are stereotyped as socially awkward, riddled with financial problems and unsure about the future. Mayuko Chigasaki is the poster girl for these characteristics, presented as a hardworking student who is busy making ends meet by working several jobs. She lives with NieA, a rude, ... hyperactive alien who sells junk and builds faulty UFOs, much to Mayuko’s annoyance. Set in retro-future Tokyo where aliens have peacefully integrated over generations, the pair reside in a sleepy bathhouse with their friendly neighbours. With traditional bathhouses on the decline, the residents resort to drastic measures to save the business, with predictably hilarious consequences.

The first half of NieA_7 is composed of comedic slice of life adventures, where in typical Yoshitoshi Abe fashion, the eccentric is juxtaposed against the mundane. Battling carnivorous plants and surviving UFO crashes are no big deal compared to bathhouse promotion events and staying overtime at work. These early episodes illustrate Mayuko’s difficulty adjusting to living independently. Working three jobs and studying to re-take her university entrance exams leaves little time for social or personal activities, yet the bizarre adventures and amusing interactions she experiences reminds her that fun is in the eye of the beholder.

Mayuko is a stellar lead character. Her basic struggles with finance, unbearable roommates and maintaining a healthy social life are universally relatable to young adults, while her unassuming, multifaceted personality is a joy to watch. Central to her character is insecurity, which externalises as shyness to those she wants to impress (bosses, classmates, old friends) and as aggressiveness to those she looks down on (NieA and the other aliens). Her markedly varied approach to social interaction is brought to life by excellent character animation and Ayako Kawasumi’s versatile voice acting.

NieA_7 thrives in presenting realistic, likable side-characters who simply want to help each other succeed, ensuing plenty of wholesome exchanges. Mayuko’s co-worker ‘Chie’ is a remarkably mature child character who presents a realistic, endearing impression despite her limited screen time. The alien community features a diverse set of memorable personalities who primarily handle the comedic relief. Most importantly, Mayuko’s employers are dedicated and motivated individuals who unwaveringly promote their unorthodox businesses, despite lacking consumer demand. Mayuko draws enthusiasm from her employers, among others, to energise her own daily endeavours, even if it amounts to doing chores and studying for exams.

While good-natured and hard-working, Mayuko lacks the perspective and experience to place her efforts in a constructive place, instead working day to day with no clear direction. Summarising this aspect of her character are the closing moments of the early episodes, where Mayuko dwells on how motivated and driven her peers are compared to herself. Whether an artifact of her young age or her ambivalent personality, her search for direction in life becomes the encompassing facet of her character, which she must overcome despite the overwhelming stress and self-doubt she comes to face.

On the other side of the coin is NieA, the freeloading alien who spends her time trying to find things to do, sometimes causing trouble for Mayuko. She is categorised as an ‘Under 7’, the lowest social class of alien, based solely on the absence of an antennae. Under 7s are denied education, work and even citizenship, such that NieA is essentially an animal in the eyes of their society. Despite being seemingly free spirited and unbound by human rules, at heart she desires respect and a useful way to spend her time, which she struggles to achieve given the restrictions on her social class. While NieA appears to be the antithesis to Mayuko, they ultimately share the same dilemma of lacking a place to apply their efforts constructively, despite the causes of their problems being essentially opposite.

The underlying tension between NieA and Mayuko is the centrepiece to their relationship in the first half of the series. Mayuko grows irritated of NieA’s frivolous use of free time, while NieA is spiteful of Mayuko’s well-constructed, privileged occupation and connections, with both parties fundamentally wanting to live more like the other. This friction is usually dissolved in comedy routines, but as they enter deeper emotional waters, it becomes the key motivator for their relationship growth and development.

NieA_7 is an adult-contemporary comedy at heart, and as such, the humour is more audacious than typical anime standards. Jokes involving drugs, poverty and racism are plentiful, but remain light-hearted enough to avoid the dark comedy label. Ranging from elaborate and sophisticated to low brow and slapstick, the comedy will vary depending on the mood of the episode, while collectively becoming more consistent as the series progresses.

The most distinguishing aspect of NieA’s comedy is the Indian influence, which manifests on several levels of the production. ‘Dalgit's Tidbit of Indian Information’, the bizarre live-action segment which plays after the ending theme, features Dalgit telling a lame joke in broken Japanese for no apparent reason. In typical Bollywood style, tone shifts are instantaneous and jarring, most commonly between light and humorous to moody and depressive. Such abrupt tone changes may be unnatural to the preestablished mood of the episode but are nonetheless effective room brighteners to keep the series balanced and watchable.

The inclusion of so many Indian references feeds into the light social commentary, which is never boldly involved in the narrative, but remains a quirky and interesting sugar-coating to the production. The alien community is used to explore the dysfunctional attitudes of modern Japanese society towards increasing immigration, where some aliens adopt an identity based on the stereotypes of other cultures. Enter Chada, the Indian-impersonating alien who runs a corner shop and is desperate to share his homemade curry, and Karna, a high-class Chinese-impersonating alien who is completely insufferable and rude. It should be unsurprising that Indian and Chinese people are victims of significant discrimination in Japan in recent times, and these aliens represent the major stereotypes assigned with their respective nationalities. The alien hierarchy bares resemblance to the Indian caste system, and the metaphor between aliens and immigrants speaks for itself. While a deeper approach to the social commentary would have further supported NieA’s character development, it remains a memorable edge to the unique comedic style.

The visuals maintain a consistent, solid look which is characteristic of early 2000s anime. Produced by the same team of Serial Experiments Lain, expect similarly detailed line work, limited mechanical animation, and robust colours. The urban design shares the same fetishization of wires and clutter but does not attempt to be as absurdly detailed or abstract as its 1998 cousin. Instead, NieA_7 puts its energy into a diverse set of rural backgrounds, ranging from luscious jungles to vast open plains. The town of Enohana is drawn to be dusty, run down and isolated, which is accentuated by the hazy, bright colours and warm glaze to every scene. Evenings are showered in vivid, fiery sunsets which are accompanied by obligatory cicadas or suzumushi (depending on the season), and nights are bathed in looming shadows and lonely blues, which incidentally comprise the soundtrack for those scenes as well.

The animation is a mixed bag. Character animation is often impressive, with motions customised to each character giving an extra dimension to their personalities, especially to Mayuko’s awkward body language. Unfortunately, the framerate will drop to frankly unacceptable levels at times, with jagged movements and choppy panning shots. Complex animation sequences are rare, so this is not a major issue, but it remains a blight on the otherwise commendable visuals.

Yoshitoshi Abe’s character designs possess the instantly recognisable aesthetic balance which he is renowned for and are faithfully adapted from his manga. With such diversity in age and ethnicity, his designs are as eclectic and beautiful as ever.

Tomokazu Tokoro applies the same emotional intelligence to NieA_7 as he would late perfect with Haibane Remnei. Peppered throughout the production are transient moments of the characters quietly performing their daily duties or just chilling out, further deepening the relaxed vibe that permeates the entire series. When the characters enter more intense emotional territory, these scenes are placed more thoughtfully to focus on the silent introspection which the characters undergo. Blurry nostalgic flashbacks are scattered throughout, with increasing relevance to the characters as their personalities and histories are more extensively explored. Scene composition is superb, with expertly balanced and thought-provoking layouts and angles which punctuate the loneliest, most desolate scenes.

Yoshio Owa’s soundtrack is sublime. Nostalgic acoustic pieces provide a soft melody to the slice of life scenes, while solemn violin tracks deepen the more poignant moments. The psudo-rural setting is perfect for blues inspired songs, with winding guitar noises permeating the final moments of each episode, providing the 2000s version of low fli hip-hop for Mayuko’s evening studies. The ending theme functions almost as a dream sequence, with Maria Yamamoto’s "Venus to Chiisana Kamisama" perfectly encapsulating the peaceful countryside atmosphere with precise acoustic instrumentation, overplayed on illustrations of Mayuko’s earliest memories. The overall effect of the soundtrack is to produce a sentimental atmosphere, which is fully achieved once combined with the commendable sound design.

Spoilers from this point onwards, so enter at your own risk. Skip to the last paragraph for the verdict.

Episode 7 sees Mayuko invited by a friend to attend a mixer (contextually referred as a Go-Con, essentially a group blind date). She hesitantly agrees to attend, and subsequently informs her neighbours (who have taken the role of a pseudo-family by this point) that she will go. However, despite being pushed to enjoy the opportunity by her older neighbours, her overwhelming self-doubt results in her turning down the invitation last minute. The aftermath is an entire two episodes of saddening contemplation as she grapples with the shame of disappointing her friend, while facing her own unbearable social ineptitude. Heart-wrenching scenes of Mayuko soaking in her depressing state fill the runtime as she is battered by her painful introspection, while simultaneously dealing with her difficult routine. Tokoro’s excellent framing drives these lonely moments to even greater heights, while the more emotional pieces on the soundtrack find their moment to shine.

The eventual resolution to this arc involves Mayuko letting an old friend pass through her defensive walls, realising that she needs an external voice of reason to combat her wandering, destructive introspection. This arc is will deeply resonate with anyone who has experienced similar circumstances, who’s low self-worth also interferes with living a functional social life resulting in such depressive episodes.

As these issues subside, her narrative turns to her dealing with the sentimental attachment to her past, specifically how she must separate from these feelings to move forward in her current life. Despite being surrounded by such driven, understanding people, Enohana is little more than a steppingstone for Mayuko, as it is often contrasted against the big city of inner Tokyo, with more ambition and opportunity inferred on the other side. Whether a subconscious effort to give her life direction or a natural consequence of her life circumstances, she realises how the biggest roadblock to finding purpose is her tendency to live in the comfort of the past and the what is familiar to her, rather than advancing with confidence in herself. Flashes of Mayuko’s memories, drawn in serene, wistful strokes, are more frequently utilised to reveal her reflective, pensive state.

Running parallel to this arc is NieA’s dilemma. She receives a signal from the alien mothership, and while the contents of the message are vague, NieA comes to understand that only she, as an Under 7, can hear it. After finally feeling validated and gaining the small possibility of escaping her current life, she abandons Enohana in search of the source. Mayuko becomes worried by NieA’s absence, and upon asking others for her location, realises that her neighbours view NieA closer to a pet than a resident, and officials treat her disappearance as a non-issue. Left alone as she comprehends the terrible circumstances NieA has been dealing with, while feeling regretful for participating in such discrimination, Mayuko again enters the depressive state of just episodes prior.

Episode 12 sees these character arcs entwine, resulting in their simultaneous conclusion. Tomokazu Tokoro flexes his creative muscles by using a multimedia approach to the visual presentation, with the daunting urban setting vividly abstracted with colour inverted, high contrast photographs, a tangible insight to Mayuko’s experience of those intense moments. Imagery of lost children and pets are used metaphorically to parallel Mayuko’s newfound perspective of their friendship. Sion’s incredible insert song ‘Kage’ is used to full effect here, giving the resolute lyrical support to Mayuko’s dispirited search for NieA, perfectly contextualising her hopeless state. To fully understand the gravity to Sion’s inclusion to this series, his appeal as an artist needs to be briefly examined.

Sion is a perfect for NieA_7. His borderline unbearably sore vocal performance quite literally feeds into the narrative of his songs; that he struggles to connect with others because the inherently abrasive aspects of his personality repels the attention he craves for. Borrowing from the likes of Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash, his songs ride the line between melancholy and optimism, wrapped up in excellent storytelling. He takes you down to the abyss of disparity which he is all too familiar with, and lifts you back up to feeling defiantly hopeful, using his soulful lyrics as buoyancy. Rough around the edges yet truly from a place of genuineness and solidarity, his empathic, impassioned performances of ‘Koko Made Oide’ for the opening and ‘Kage’ as the insert song, are just two hits from his exceptional discography.

NieA_7’s opening is monumentally powerful, featuring seemingly tailor made, multi-layered lyrics which smash home the most emotionally involved moments of the series, which are supported by similarly cryptic and vivid imagery. Sion’s singing evokes a feeling of brokenness, of lethargically as life is beating him down, exemplified by Mayuko’s jaded character animation as she struggles to wake up to the lyrics ‘Right next to where you’re crying, right next to where I’m blue’. To highlight just a few more great moments from this opening:

‘I can’t be close to sadness because I’m not surrounded by people’. This line fucking kills me. It speaks to anyone who is trapped in the cycle of avoiding people to avoid being hurt, but in doing so, feels the hurt from being alone. The episodes where Mayuko experiences those exact feelings are made exponentially more devastating once these lyrics match up with her depressing circumstances. Those hopelessly self-validating lines are highlighted by quickfire flashes of her childhood, to highlight her tendency to live in the security of her past rather than pushing herself to outgrow her protective shell and embrace the changes she faces.

‘I can’t change anything, so I can at least manage this’. Emotionally and physically weathered, Mayuko sits in her leaky apartment room as it rains, sheltered by the thin veil of her umbrella rather than fixing the source of the problem, while looking to the sky for hope. Even though she’s impoverished, overworked and has nothing meaningful to work towards and with few resources to change that fate, her face lights up as she understands that she’ll be okay regardless. Sion delivers his uplifting, empowering lyrics like crashing waves, as the opening reaches its climax with those very lyrics. This moment perfectly encapsulates the appeal of NieA_7: hope is always there, even if you don’t feel like you deserve it.

Returning to episode 12, and much to Mayuko’s relief, NieA returns home. With few words exchanged between them, the implication is that NieA’s life with Mayuko gives her purpose, and she is willing to persevere existence at the bottom of society if it means that she can continue that relationship. While much of their communication is obscured through fighting and backhanded compliments, Mayuko is quietly happy with this compromise.

The episode climaxes as NieA and Mayuko watch the mothership spontaneously evaporate and disappear. The dying mothership visually reminds Mayuko of a memory from her childhood, and realises that in the same way NieA is currently accepting her reality as an Under_7 who no longer has a mothership to return to, she must accept that she can no longer return to her past for security and needs move on with her own reality. Even if indirectly, Mayuko finds the resolution to that problem through her empathy towards NieA, and in turn, deepens their relationship significantly.

NieA_7 is not without its criticisms. The realistic, slice of life approach to storytelling has disappointed fans of other Abe classics like Serial Experiments Lain, especially considering that NieA_7 lacks the wealth of fascinating concepts which support his other works. The character motivations are frequently open ended and left for interpretation, which may be uneasy for viewers who prefer a more straightforward approach to character writing. The comedic elements can also appear immature or repetitive, particularly in the first half, and the aforementioned rapid tone shifts may be too sudden at times.

The biggest criticism of NieA_7 is that it lacks a clear narrative through-line, with character motivations and story arcs seldom feeding into a single message. Side characters drift in and out of the story without accomplishing a substantial arc and several questions are left without conclusions. However, the chaos of narrative elements and the lack of conformity to traditional storytelling is arguably a strength rather than a weakness, if interpreted less as a conventional story, but more as a truer depiction of reality.

NieA_7 presents the imperfect reality we live in, where things don’t happen like they do in the movies. Nothing is black or white, personal problems take years to heal rather than being solved in an instant, and drama is ephemeral, unpredictable, and usually unresolved. To highlight this with a quote: “A drama has a progressive thought, an emotional climax, and a resolution, but our lives aren’t like that. All we get day after day, are a bunch of vague anxieties that are never really resolved.” – Kaoru Yamazaki, Welcome to the NHK. Whether the narrative messiness was the intention of the creators or simply creative incompetency, is up for debate, but the overall effect is the tremendously relatable, understanding, and hopeful series which NieA_7 is.

This reasonable approach to storytelling makes NieA_7’s messages hit much closer to home. Mayuko’s eventual conclusion is that she will remain positive and approach life at her own pace, and even though there are aspects about herself and her life circumstances which may interfere with that hope, she will be optimistic, nonetheless. This broad resolution to her character arc is far from a sweeping thesis to understand her entire character, but is a specific, believable approach to handling her circumstances which suits her and the series by extension. As an archetypical young adult, Mayuko’s triumph over her lack of direction is reassurance that being unsure about your future is perfectly fine and normal, and taking things one step at a time is more constructive than beating yourself up over your perceived incompetency. If anyone needed to hear that message, it was me.

NieA_7 is an endearing, powerful series which provides countless moments of relatability, connection, and warmth to anyone who properly resonates with its realistic, multifaceted approach to storytelling and characters. Judging by its MAL score, NieA, absolutely does not deserve to be, Under 7.
10/10