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Jul 11, 2011
I started reading Waters because I like the author and rivers. Used to live near a river, and once was fascinated with the way it carried away the corpses of bugs and the filth of my hands, yet never seemed to dirty its water. At the time I was very young so I didn’t understand the hydrological cycle. To me the river was an invincible, cleansing place trapped in its own world.
The story involves a family and their home village. It begins with Chinami, who lives in a present beset by heat and water shortages. She passes out and wakes up in a place
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that no longer exists. A boy, his elderly father, and her are the only inhabitants of this village stuck in time. As Chinami explores this place she discovers the roots of her family, as well as memories no one was able to forget.
Waters walks a balanced line between isolated tales and an overall story: each generation of the family is explored in detail, introduced through the youngest and then starting at the oldest. Slowly it is revealed how all the generations are tied together by the boy who lives in the village.
Time passes quickly in this manga, zipping through many decades of life and showing the same cycles repeat in each version of an ever-changing culture. The titular water at the waterfall also displays this by filling the rivers in times of rain, evaporating in times of heat to return to the sky, and flooding the streets upon human intervention. Nature continues on, its water giving and taking human life.
Some people would want to see this cycle stopped, and see a static world created, where they can live continuously in their favorite moment. Whether this utopian illusion (pictured as the village) is the heaven most people want to see, a fond memory of the past, or a simple desire to keep hold of precious things isn’t really touched upon. Waters is not preachy, so it never seeks to teach lessons about life or death.
Yuki Urushibara is a fantastic artist, so naturally the environments look great. Little details like stones by the road or scrapes in the wooden floor are of course covered, but what separated this manga is the atmosphere. Mist, rain, the waves of heat assaulting an urban home, and sunlight flaring in the morning all enhance the mood. Like the author’s previous work, character designs are extremely limited; in this series however, almost everyone is part of the same family, so it only makes sense for them to look similar.
This wasn’t a masterpiece, nor was it the best water-themed seinen manga I’ve read. It was very good though, and in more ways than the kind of trashy-entertainment good. I enjoyed it a lot.
Reviewer’s Rating: 8
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Apr 30, 2011
If the original Gundam depicted a bloody war on an unprecedented scale, then Zeta Gundam shows the profound human breakdown that followed. Set eight years after the first series, the post-war reconstruction is shown to have badly failed. The Federation, once a system the heroes fought for, has been corrupted by a military unit fanatically devoted to Earth supremacy.
Arguably the central theme of the Gundam franchise is the struggle between Earth and the space colonies that orbit it. Zeta takes this concept very far. As newtypes (theoretical evolutions of mankind, meant for space) have evolved and research on them has advanced, a growing divide
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has formed between them and normal people. This jealous paranoia turns the ruling Earth bureaucracy against its colonies, before they grow too powerful.
Kamille Bidan perfectly illustrates the rebellious, space-faring sentiment. His passion, continually whipping from bitter disappointment to righteous elation and back, transcends reason. Though his emotional depth includes a reserved quietness and easy-going nature, it is the extremes that contain the core of his being. Unlike Amuro, who fought to survive and protect what little he could, Kamille uses his Gundam as a means to many ends. It’s a weapon to strike down enemies of the Anti-Earth Union, and an ever-evolving representation of his powers as a Newtype. By extension, the Gundam is a symbol of the new humanity that touches upon the pulse of the stars, ready to travel the cosmos.
No raw power can connect without direction, the resistance finding theirs in an unwilling Char Aznable. Bright Noah and Hayato also return, this time older and more able to command. Amuro fights as well, in a crucial way, but his lingering guilt and stress limit participation. Most of the focus is put on new blood.
One of Zeta’s biggest flaws is how cheaply it treats characters. Some change sides at the drop of a hat, for trivial reasons, while others are killed unceremoniously. More alarming is that multiple girls are killed, resurrected, then swiftly killed again. There’s an in-universe justification, but I find the second deaths to be too quick, predictable, and all too lacking emotional resonance.
Similarly, the plot is treated with surprisingly little respect. Every single episode is guaranteed to have an arbitrary skirmish between AEUG and the Earth Federation. Typically this is the result of haphazard, overused actions like gundam high-jacking. The battles never have clear strategic meaning. Tactical command is non-existent in the face of random, dueling mobile suits. At worst, this can make the show feel like an excuse for formulaic drama coupled with obvious mecha toy advertisement.
I have to say that the show does a good job getting me excited about gundam. The cockpits close, the gears shift, the marching beats begins, and as the badass suit rises, we hear the bold announcement: “Kamille Bidan, Zeta Gundam... launching!” These takeoffs have an addictive quality. I don’t know when it was that they began standing out. I just know that, after enough exposure, I liked them a lot.
Moments like these are not created by the writing. For me, they’re captured by the audio. The soundtrack always suits the moment. When the aged animation forces long, occasionally ugly shots, music goes a long way to preserve the right feeling. Equally impressive is the Japanese voice cast, in particular Nobuo Tobita (Kamille) and Shuuichi Ikeda (Char). Char is very mysterious, so it is all the more cool that Ikeda can retain that while giving a very charismatic performance with huge amounts of screen-time. Kamille’s voice is probably one of the best for any seiyuu, ever. His character whiplashes from mood to opposite mood in the blink of an eye; this can go wrong in several ways, whether the actor cannot capture just how extreme each mood is, or is unable to create a believable transition. Nobuo Tobita wins.
I am a little guilty about liking Zeta Gundam as much as I do. It isn’t very well constructed, has old art, and feels like the creators made up everything as they went along. Considering many fans hype it as a masterpiece I should have been disappointed. But I wasn’t. As bad as it is in some respects, once things start moving the series succeeds tremendously. There is a complex, multi-faceted cast that averts boring anime characterizations. The mobile suits are highly detailed, coupled with unique, yet diverse character designs. The music is epic and powerful. Perhaps best of all, Zeta demonstrates a wonderfully tragic spiral away from sanity.
Reviewer’s Rating: 7
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Apr 20, 2011
Is it possible to stay noble forever? From birth onward, reality batters at purity: those who wish to fly are pinned down by gravity; those who wish for harmony are lied to in a world filled with hateful war; and those who wish for love are perhaps given it, only to be broken by death or betrayal.
Sometimes the pain is so great, that the victim begins to fear never-ending misery inflicted by a disappointing world - one all to lacking in miracles. This fear becomes a barrier between the victim and the world. The mere thought of intimate connections triggers very strong anxiety, resulting
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in either total seclusion or a public, yet detached and empty existence.
Utena tries to be chivalrous. With that one notable exception, there is not a character in Revolutionary Girl Utena who has remained noble. Even more depressing, every single one of them continues getting injected with trivial, jealous rage. The plot of almost every single episode concerns one mentally unbalanced person following irrational negative emotions, courtesy of one very specific being’s machinations. Whoever receives the spotlight is consumed by an idea only tangentially related to their tragedy, convinced that breaking a poor girl’s spirit will make things better.
Once a fight, once an episode, someone asks for the power to revolutionize the world. As embittered as they are at the sad world, they are humans who will always try to find hope. Remembering the shattered dreams, a search begins for a strength which may be able to make a miracle; and, if a miracle can happen, then purity too can be reclaimed. It must be noted that the revolution is not for the sake of others, but instead born from a need to have the world exist as each duelist wishes they could see it.
It is possible that we the viewers are also watching a different world than the characters. No one says that Anthy has wonderful purple hair, or comments on unrealistic, noodle-like body proportions. When Utena sees Miki, perhaps she sees a regular boy, without the deep blue hair to remind viewers that he is calm, passive, and feminine. What Utena does see are faceless peers who flock from one newly introduced male to another. These drones exist to show that the men have something, and the series typically goes on to display the new man’s trademark talents. Despite that, every one of them cannot forget the things they wish for. Repetitive plots are fuelled dozens of times by this disregard for what is, and desire for what cannot be.
As a spotlight character’s motivations reach climax, they fight Utena in a sword duel, aiming to cut a flower off her chest. Each arc/season has only one duel choreographed, the only difference being the duelists involved. That detail matters little, however, as the typical fight is recycled stock footage of Utena striking poses and dealing the same finishing move, over and over. Luckily, the reused content is both fluid and interesting; and curiously, each fight has a unique song complete with thematically-relevant lyrics. The composer should be commended for not only surpassing expectations, but doing so in the face of such lazy animators.
Lacking the funds to animate fights may be understandable, considering the immense love put into backgrounds. Of course one could ask why writers would create so many fights without the money or time to draw them, but that is irrelevant at this point. Ohtori Academy’s architecture clearly received the bulk of attention. Complex, detailed wall patterns, sprawling arches and tall pillars pervade the exterior, evoking a sense of wonder. Inside, like so many things in RGE, we find a bland school filled with rows and rows of identical lockers, classes and desks. It is only after unexpected exploration that Utena finds, and we see, the hidden depths. These secret places conceal a power that can change the world. Whether that is good or bad depends on the world wanted to be seen.
The beauty of Utena is not the way it is presented, but the force with which it connects. Viewing it can be described as exploring the insides of a clock. The device toils away, going through expected motions in an expected manner, with a faint click heard before. As the cover is removed, stubborn gears continue turning the same way. When the pieces are separated, the clock all but destroyed, the first thing that springs to mind is how tedious the whole ordeal is. Still, by the time reconstruction begins, an understanding of how marvelous an invention and elegant a solution the clock is begins to develop.
Of course, the inner workings of a device are only interesting to those who liked it to begin with. In Utena’s case, the device is a magical teenage girl and her misadventures. I have remarkably little interest in the genre, so all the trappings left a bad taste. For those who find anything to love about RGE’s inspirations, and barring the hyper-formulaic plot, I imagine this is the best it will get.
Reviewer’s Rating: 6
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Apr 13, 2011
Heroes inevitably trample on others in pursuit of their dreams.
People of the Desert is about those others, who are are subjugated and enslaved by ambitious invaders. More specifically it is the story of Tem, a young boy. Like any sane person he has no desire to war, but circumstances form him to fight to survive. As he fights those close to him are endangered, requiring larger and larger force of arms to protect his ever-growing comrades. Tem overcomes the pain of death vicariously through his people, while growing into the hero who may one day lead them to victory.
The story is told with a
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unique presentation. Rather than speech bubbles, dialogue is placed outside the frame; and rather than sound effects or visual motion cues, actions are often communicated in prose. Combined with the dark and muddy, yet somehow clear and expressive art, the resulting experience has a film-like feel.
Sadly, the short length never allowed People of the Desert to completely mature. Bystanders remain largely stereotyped, and almost all named characters are static. The themes, too, suffer from an overt focus on a single faction. The deaths of the subjugated are presented as tragedies, and indeed they are; however, there seems to be a moral flaw in casually disregarding the deaths of enemies, who are simply following orders under a system they cannot individually control.
I still liked this manga, both a history lesson on Miyazaki and as an independent work. At barely over 50 pages, there is not much to lose in checking it out.
Reviewer’s Rating: 6
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Apr 7, 2011
Witches is a series of short stories set in the same universe, and connected by the themes they share.
Most prominent among these is the idea that humans cannot see the real world. It is uniquely expressed in one story: an average person explores their room, confident they know everything from wall to wall; a wise person will open the door to reveal a house, and spend their life learning the mysteries of that house; all the while, every living person leaves the windows shut, never knowing the vast world outside or the epic space beyond the planet.
The art conveys these messages much more
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elegantly than the dialogue. Backgrounds in particular carry painstaking attention to detail. Cities, houses, trees, vehicles, oceans, and clothes are constructed in a realistic, yet still surreal way. On one occasion, a neighborhood may melt as if made of super-heated plastic, starkly contrasting the restrained character designs; in another scene, these same characters who once seemed plain will be drawn alongside fantastical creatures, becoming one with the things so far from existing.
There are moments when this manga’s humble origins are revealed. Usually, they manifest as off-model faces, a surprising artistic flaw considering the effort put into most panels. These can be easily forgiven though, since the drawings are just that good and the author probably can’t afford many (if any) assisstants.
Witches’ biggest weaknesses are the predictable, poorly-developed people. Personalities feel generic, tacked on only because they must be. More concerning is that we’re consistently presented one character with knowledge, and one without. This is because the writing is very didactic, so the wise person is the author while the ignorant one is the reader. Being what some may call preachy is not necessarily bad, but when someone possesses the artistic talent of Daisuke Igarashi, there is no need to voice each and every thing.
When the pictures do the talking, Witches is sublime. The same cannot be said of the manga as a whole, especially the writing, pacing, and structural diversity. Despite these drawbacks it is still good, and very much worth reading.
Reviewer’s Rating: 7
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Mar 29, 2011
These episodes do not cover the beginning; they are side-stories meant to flesh things out. The main series should probably be seen first. That said, this OVA is in no way ‘filler’. It documents important, often-referenced events in the continuity, and shows a relationship between two friends that really is compelling.
A low-level nobleman’s son can claim he’s going to rule the universe, yet no one will care about the ridiculous dreams of a rebellious youth. For every rank that child rises, however, the possibility grows more and more real. Old aristocrats always talked about Reinhard and Kircheis’ swift rise in rank, some crediting his
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sister’s favor with the Emperor, and others noting his significant military accomplishments. In truth it is no small feat for a talented person to come into power. This feat is magnified in a despotic state ruled by incompetent party-goers, as is the case here.
While that struggle is a big focus, arguably more attention is given to the friendship of a blond conqueror and his red-headed guardian. Theirs is perhaps the truest and most positive connection in Legend of the Galactic Heroes.
Kircheis can see Reinhard’s considerable dreams, and admires them; however, Sieg himself is content with small things. He is loyal to a person, not ideals, such that if key people are belittled Kircheis loses his famous morality. Like Reinhard, his views have an inevitable paradox: even if the noble ideals of someone inspire you to follow them, the attachment you form can create a monster, if broken or threatened. Kircheis never blames his master for these issues, preferring to consider what justice can be had from his dire circumstances, a conclusion befitting his reasonable nature.
Reinhard is as charismatic here as in the main series. His aura is a little different; more childish, and unable to contain himself while serving others. He is so definitely a Lord that, as an under-18 junior officer, Reinhard feels perfectly fit to hold galactic Fleet Admirals in full public contempt. Not a single social injustice or corrupted passes him without a sharp rebuttal, and hardly an advantage isn’t capitalized on. His story really does lie ahead though, so what’s seen here is through the eyes of Kircheis: a blond hero whose future is bright, and whose life we follow.
Compared to when the franchise began, the animation has seen a huge improvement. Movements are more fluid, and some scenes look rather stunning, in particular those of the first 4-episode arc. The sound is consistent with the main series: brilliant voice acting (though the passing of Yang’s actor should be mourned), an operatic score, and typical sci-fi sound effects.
I always found the English opening to be questionable, and this one at first was no exception; after some time, however, I found myself never wanting to skip it. The art is beautiful, and the dynamic camerawork is atypical of this series. More than that, the images capture a picture of Reinhard and Kircheis at their purest, while the music and lyrics hinted at a melancholic rejection of how their lives turned out.
Reviewer’s Rating: 8
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Mar 24, 2011
The epic inspiration given by stars has long been romanticized into oblivion. So much has been said that it feels pointless to go on about how mysterious and elusive they seem. Going in, it’s normal to expect just that of an old space opera like Legend of the Galactic Heroes; instead, what it presents is what it truly means to reach out and take the universe.
There are glorious battles where massive fleets collide, maneuvering each other into the firing range of gargantuan lasers. From that perspective it feels as if the only people fighting are the Admirals. One layer deeper, we find the staff
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officers and technicians executing the brilliant protagonists’ commands. Even deeper, we see the results of those orders: brutal death, epitomized by the bisected remains of young soldiers and planets bombarded into lifelessness. These very individual horrors are never once forgotten, despite the story’s scope, and this only becomes more clear as the scale of the conflict grows.
If there is a fault to the warring, it’s that the designated loser is often treated as a scapegoat to show off the winner’s skill. Well-established characters face off against newly introduced or clearly incompetent admirals. These newbies are always intimidated by feint ambushes, always pursue into real ambushes, have a limited understanding of their opponent’s personality, and most notably refuse sensible advise from subordinates. These things are extremely common, making up at least half of all encounters. This is not to say the mistakes are inherently bad writing, since a notable political theme is that talented individuals are held back and ignored in corrupted governments. It’s just annoying for Admirals to hear or see something obvious, and then disregard so they can be easily defeated.
Luckily not much time is spent on idiots, as they tend to die fast. Everyone we follow is good at something, and at the top of both skill and prominence lies Reinhard von Lohengramm. Reinhard is a conqueror who wants to seize the galaxy. He’s restrained only by Siegfried Kircheis, his compassionate retainer. What makes Reinhard so interesting is how he wrestles with conflicting desires. His original motivations stemmed from injustice done upon specific people, but in his quest for power he’s forced to do very similar things. Even when he gains the power to do things differently, the warrior in him yearns for more chaos, as if he is a hero not suited for peace. Reinhard is someone who’s motivated by corruption, and who sacrifices for the greater good, yet would destroy galactic stability to satisfy personal desire.
Opposing Reinhard is Yang Wen-Li, an equally complex but much less flashy democratic soldier. Yang has no interest in domination, and for a long time refuses to do more than the minimum required to survive. His unwilling ascension through the ranks, as well as popular acclaim, push on more responsibility. As a supporter of democracy, Yang can only accept. He’s a very likable guy. This is because all his actions, even orders that kill millions, are reached through very clear logic. More important is that his logic is far from cold: Yang is acutely aware of how history perceives things, and at the same time aware of all the consequences his decisions have. His genius lets him see everything that will happen, and everything he can do to change it, yet he’s still unable to stifle unwillingness and regret.
The series has a massive amount of people in it, enough that everyone has helpful little nameplates. Surprisingly, character design is both diverse enough to give them all a distinct look, but realistic enough that it no one feels out of place. That said the art is not remarkable in any other way. Colors are simple and predictable, wardrobes are limited, and battles are visually unimpressive. The animation, too, is only at an acceptable level. As the seasons go on though, there is a noticeable improvement (almost a ten-year production gap, from beginning to end).
Another welcomed surprise is the voice-acting. Ryo Horikawa made me believe Reinhard had the charisma to dominate the human race, and Norio Wakamoto made Reuenthal into a man’s man. Again the cast is very large, so naturally the voice cast is of an equally epic proportion. If the series is reanimated, which it absolutely deserves to be, the voice cast should be preserved as much as possible.
The music should be preserved as well. It is ancient, more-so than the anime medium, and like the series itself the soundtrack is a product of much education, understanding and effort. Each song is a classic part of a beloved symphony/sonata/concerto. Matching the emotion of the plot note for note, the music deepened my appreciation for the classical genre. Before, Mozart’s symphonies numbered legions, even a single one sometimes hard to sit through; however, once I heard the first movement of the 25th set to the sight of epic battle, they all became more approachable. Of course the music can be stuffy, slow-paced, and so concerned with sophistication that it fails to convey a clear emotion. Anyone who thinks those criticisms apply to the classical genre as a whole will probably not enjoy LoGH’s soundtrack.
Legend of the Galactic Heroes is a massive show, one that takes time revealing greatness. I have a lot of misgivings about the plot, especially during the final season, but that doesn’t stop it from being a incredibly interesting. As a political or war drama, though not as a conspiracy story, its realism and moral sophistication are unmatched. The central story is one of the best ever told.
Reviewer’s Rating: 9
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Feb 28, 2011
It isn't often that something can present a chaotic world filled with cruelty, yet still inspire a belief in humanity, but if anything Eden manages to do just that. This isn't to say the story rallies us behind a hero, but rather disregards the notion that mankind needs a hero. The people in Eden have to cling to something vaguer, and more desperate; they have to believe that even if they hate and kill, there's still meaning to be found in protecting those who are important.
Eden's story is framed around the world hitting its reset button. Plague(s), natural disasters, climate shifts, universal contractions, universal assimilation,
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black holes, and more threaten everyone. The characters are understandably bitter about all that, but most spend only a moment pitying global issues. Much more focus is put on the human drama that stems from bleak circumstances.
Nearly every person has a believable background that lends itself well to the story/situation, but the most interesting ones are revealed in the first half of the manga. The second half does continue introducing cast members, but some of the new additions – police officers and scientists – leave a lot to be desired. The scientists are noteworthy since the manga throws them an entire arc dedicated to pure exposition, only relieved by flashes to unrelated plots with different characters.
Arcs rarely get boring though, because the cast is so huge that multiple stories happen at once, so the pacing can be balanced between them without sacrificing quality. That said, not all of the stories are equal. While reading the first few dozens chapters, I was very impressed by the depth and subtlety, but that feeling gradually faded.
The biggest and easily worst change Eden undergoes is a slide into raw, explicit territory. By no means was it innocent ever, but at some point the humor became crude and the sex more prominent. One of the volumes could loosely be described as an orgy designed to help the main character 'become a man.' Very unfunny sex jokes get spread around for the rest of the manga, but the worst it gets is when those things infiltrate the core parts of the story. One of the final metaphors, during the otherwise poignant finale, has the ending state of the titular “garden” as an erect tower that shoots life into the moon's chamber.
If there was something that held my interest through it all, it would be Enoa Ballard's life. Elijah may be the protagonist, and a good one for some time, but that status weighs him and the manga down as his plot-relevance diminishes. In Enoa we a man chosen by random genetics to survive Armageddon, and through him we see what kind of man a new Adam would have to (or did) become. He has the kind of life that shows a kind people grow up, removed from conflict, only to be senselessly dragged into feuds he started to maintain that removal. These kind people, who the readers also come to know, are repeatedly maimed and murdered just to demonstrate that such chaos exists. Enoa is left believing tomorrow will be a better day.
Eden isn't easy, emotionally or intellectually, and I like it that way.
Reviewer’s Rating: 8
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Feb 24, 2011
Most of what we see is held back by a limiter enforced by common standards and the fear born from them. In Kare Kano, the two main characters have spent their whole lives suppressing themselves in an attempt to satisfy the expectations of others. The story really begins when they work together to disregard traditional standards, instead choosing to find their own personalities that had barely been given the chance to grow.
Not everything is so dramatic; in fact, comedy makes up a slight majority of the show. The downside is that none of the jokes are funny, because they rely exclusively on a zany feeling
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derived from each character's single gimmick. It feels like a series of halfhearted gags that, in normal shows, would have a tenth as great a presence. But then again, Kare Kano's greatest strength is that it defiantly rejects normality.
Even the animation is far removed. The creators had absolutely no problems using uncolored sketches and text boxes, to the extent that those things are actually as prevalent as regular animation. Some of it, like a live-action episode featuring cardboard cutouts of the characters, is experimentation. Given how persistent some of the qualities are, however, it's more akin to a new style – one that is being fleshed out alongside the characters. It works especially well since Yukino and Arima are such good characters.
Arima is particularly interesting. We're shown enough glimpses of his past to know how he came to be, and enough episodes from his perspective to know how he is, but his intentions are still hard to guess. Despite being a nice guy, there is a profound sense of malice for himself and others that creeps up surprisingly often. It can't be described as evil, but it goes beyond simple insecurity. Yukino has multiple layers as well, but they aren't as serious and in some cases are created deliberately to match Arima's complexity.
Unfortunately, none of the character's efforts amount to anything because the story mires in secondary plot threads and recaps. More than that, the series itself ends abruptly at the beginning of a new arc. Maybe it wouldn't have been so distasteful if the supporting characters, who frequently had their own episodes, weren't hyper-boring cliches. They were though, and it shows.
I won't be forgetting the good scenes from this anime, but when something spends so much time disappointing it's hard to say I enjoyed it.
Reviewer’s Rating: 6
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