The Next Thing

Thoughts on Visual Media love is coming back

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Images: ROUGH

Rough (Mitsuru Adachi, 1987-1989)

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On Mitsuru Adachi's ROUGH

I’m not going to go on too much at length regarding Mitsuru Adachi’s Rough. I only really wanted to remark on a couple of things about it, which struck me as being significant enough that I should even make a point of laying out why I find them interesting.

Adachi is mostly known to me as The Baseball Manga Guy. I’m aware that he has many other works where has dabbled in other genres, sports, etc., but it would be hard to argue that his reputation isn’t based on his baseball works (primarily Touch, H2 and Cross Game). Before I continue, I should lay out my biases (where I’m coming from): I hate baseball, and find it an unbearably dull sport; and I’ve only read one actual manga of his work (I’ve seen the entirety of the Cross Game anime, and about a third of the Touch anime). So, please bear in my mind that my observations regarding Rough and Adachi are based on a pretty small sampling of his oeuvre.

First observation: the main characters in Rough have complex interior lives that are revealed not through soul-bearing monologues, but through action. One of the strengths of Adachi’s work is that his characters are completely aware of themselves. Sure, they might not want to admit what they’re feeling (let alone verbalize it), but at every point they’re acutely aware of what they’re doing and why. Compare the protagonist of Rough to any similar work, and the level of self-knowledge is staggering. These characters aren’t confused or lost; they’re remarkably self-assured. But, more wonderful and more intriguing, is the way that Adachi lets us know completely what’s on their mind. There are numerous panels after panels where his characters witness something, or are in a situation that should warrant some kind of line of dialogue that will illuminate their thought process, but instead Adachi holds back. He gives us a panel full of only a side-long glance, or an almost blank reaction; but what Adachi trusts us to do as a reader is to fill in the blank, and notice that his characters’ brains are at full-throttle at all times. So even though there are no crazy love declarations, or angsty nonsense, when the romantic gestures do come out, they’re based on volume after volume of accrued body language, subtle visual information, and nuanced, elliptical storytelling. It’s a whole lot more complicated than just saying “I love you” - it approaches the sublime.

Which leads into my second observation: Adachi’s confidence in his style, his approach. In reading Rough, I often marvelled at the simplicity, the clarity, of Adachi’s storytelling. He’ll often start chapters with a couple of pages of nothing but still life scenery (a panel of an empty baseball diamond, a classroom, the classroom clock). It isn’t simple scene-setting; it’s almost the manga equivalent of Ozu’s pillow shots. These panels allow us to get into a particular mode of consciousness, a more receptive wavelength, where the interactions of the characters can be understood not just on a plot level, but also perhaps on a wider, more emotional level. By easing us into the story by giving us these partial slices of it, I think Adachi allows us to connect the experiences of the characters to our own memories; the empty classroom (though I think by now a Japanese visual trademark by itself) recalls images from our own life, and allows us to emotionally connect on an instinctual level with what’s happening with the character. Adachi allows us to both see the story, and see how the story is just a representation of certain rhythms, philosophies, attitudes. And, just like Ozu, he seems to return to the same basic subjects and themes, reworking them, putting them in different combinations, sometimes starting out at the same place, only to end up something different.

But that last part is something that I’ll have to investigate further. It’s all research after all.

Rough (1987 -1989)

12 Volumes

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Blurbs: CLANNAD (2007)

KyoAni adaptation of a Key visual novel; it's par for the course for the studio that made Air and Kanon (the latter earned a grudging acceptance from me). A young delinquent, with a heart of gold, wastes away his senior year of high school. One day he bumps into a young woman named Nagisa and all of a sudden they're changing each other's lives. As in Kanon, he meets other girls and he goes around listening to their problems, becoming their confidants, all the while pretending that he's still a delinquent and not actually the most sensitive, understanding guy ever. At first, I thought I had a handle on what the structure would be. He meets one girl, learns her back story, and solves her emotional problems over the course of a few episodes (this structure, and it's roots in erotic video games, made it hard for me to take Kanon all that seriously). For the first half of Clannad, that structure remains. But after a certain point, the strands combine, and instead of focusing solely on one character, the show juggles all the main characters at once, finally breaking free of that old tired formula. In Clannad's latter half, the emotional high points are reached more organically, and don't feel as manufactured or as crafted or constructed as they do when they're treated as the lynchpins of an "arc." In the latter half of the series (specifically post-Kotomi), the emotional scenes come off with a sense of discovery, not a sense of calculation (although that's exactly what they are). Clannad, on a pure plot level, is all about repressed traumas, broken families, unfulfilled dreams, unspoken emotions; our main character's role in the show is about bringing those things out into the open. He's the audience surrogate; we learn about the girls as he does. But even his role is complicated. At first, he is simply a conduit for our emotions. We wish to take care of Fuuko, or figure out why Kotomi freaked out. But, later on, he becomes a character in his own right, saddled with his own issues about trust, family, and forgiveness. And it is here that the show truly shines: slowly but surely Tomoya builds his own life for himself, outside of his shitty relationship with his dad, outside of his so-called delinquent status, something new that he has created. He has found people who can understand him - warts and all. Note: None of which would've mattered at all if the music hadn't been there to save the day. The series MVP, by far, is the soundtrack. It's always there to paper over any scene that's missing some pathos (twinkling piano keys, moody synthy orchestras, etc.) It's been a while since I've seen so much of the emotional heavy lifting being done by the score (I have lots of pieces on constant replay right now). This is not to discount the grand command that Tatsuya Ishihara, the series director, has over the visual language of this particular kind of melodrama, only to suggest that it would've been hard to move me without these magnificent songs.

Clannad (2007)

23 episodes

Kyoto Animation

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On MYSTERIOUS GIRLFRIEND X

Mysterious Girlfriend X is a show that’s pretty icky. There’s no getting around it. As a viewer, one always has options, one can always make decisions. So, if you’re planning on watching this show, you have to get past the hurdle that is the synopsis of this show. A high school student one day discovers the new transfer student asleep at her desk after school. After she hurriedly leaves, he sees a small pool of her drool on the desk, and for some unfathomable reason, he puts his finger in said drool, and takes this finger into his mouth. He licks her drool.

Without getting into the other bizarre things about this anime (the main character’s proclivity for randomly laughing, the scissors she keeps in her panties, etc.), the drool issue is the most major one to contend with. Part of this piece will be about hopefully putting “the drool issue” into a larger context regarding what this show’s actually doing. It’s fairly obvious that the show is on some level about how love, at one point or another, must lead to intimacy. The protagonists of our show, because they’re weird, don’t take the usual path in these matters. They’re inching toward intimacy, but they do it in their own particular way. Mysterious Girlfriend X, in its own weird way, celebrates the time of our lives where we groped and felt around and decided what worked and didn’t work for us, what felt right; it’s a show about our sexual exploration, and how it’s a necessary aspect of relationships.

After Tsubaki, our male protagonist, tastes Urabe’s drool, he just knows he has to be with her. It’s not a question of psychology or of motivation; his body dictates it. After not tasting her drool for a couple of weeks, he’s actually bedridden and sick. It’s only after Urabe shows up and gives him her drool that he recovers. So he asks her out. She says yes. The reason behind this is simple – he had a reaction to her drool, and to her that means he’s special. Every day after school, in order to stave off sickness, Urabe sticks a finger in her mouth and lets Tsubaki suck on it for a bit. It’s a moment of an awkward physical intimacy; and, I think, an undeniably erotic moment for both of them. Later on, we find out that Urabe’s drool can also serve as a communication tool (Urabe can find out about Tsubaki’s dreams and they can even find out what the other is feeling because of it). This daily ritual is no different than kissing before saying goodbye. I think if the drool itself were animated in a more tasteful way there wouldn’t be as much resistance to this show. Hoods Entertainment, the company who made it, do the series no favors when they choose to animate the drool, as being not at all dissimilar to other bodily fluids. The drool lingers, drips from fingers, forms puddles; in the op, it even splashes like we’re suddenly in a hentai or something. It’s distracting. In Mysterious Girlfriend X, the exchange of drool comes to represent other possible exchanges of bodily fluids. The act is both literal and metaphorical. This is really what we are talking about, isn’t it?

Tsubaki and Urabe both understand where their relationship will end up. Every time they exchange drool, they come to realize the fact of it. This is where we’re heading, this is what’s going to happen. But many of the 13 episodes are about the slow crawl toward that goal (in this series, that goal is unfulfilled). One episode finds Urabe going over to visit Tsubaki wearing nothing but a coat, because apparently this is a normal remedy for the common cold. Like Junko Nakano’s Chisa x Pon (though nowhere near as explicit), the series maps out how over time, they become more comfortable with each other. Whereas in the first few episodes, Urabe almost kills Tsubaki when he tries to hug her; near the end, it’s Urabe who demands that she be hugged.  There’s even a moment later on where in a fit of blind passion, Tsubaki licks Urabe’s ear, and she’s completely overwhelmed by the sensation. Although this sense of experimentation and play is lighthearted in the show, I believe the show takes absolutely serious the drives of the main characters. Tsubaki has nightly dreams about Urabe where they dance in some strange circus-like town (not hard to understand what’s happening there), and Urabe herself often finds herself blushing and testing her own limits regarding what she’ll do (one episode finds her stripping completely down and letting Tsubaki lick her drool while his eyes are closed). The way they approach the issue is unorthodox, sure, but everyone’s different. The show even provides a foil couple to accentuate how different they are.

Although the show is relatively straightforward in its depiction of teenage confusion, hormones and love, there’s one really interesting strand that I haven’t mentioned. Tsubaki and his friend, Ueno, both get girlfriends during the show, but they insist on keeping this a secret. Whereas in other shows, there’d usually be a scene where everyone whispers about the new couple, in this show our main characters never acknowledge their girlfriends in any special way while they’re at school. While I don’t think this is done for any real reason by the characters, it betrays an uneasiness about their own sexual development. I couldn’t help thinking that they were hiding their relationships because it meant that they were growing up, that they were embarrassed by their sexual curiosity/progress/etc. And, yeah, it’s completely embarrassing. During this time in their lives, we have no idea what we’re doing. Tsubake and Urabe may understand the mechanics of where this is all going, but it doesn’t mean that they have any idea of what it means, of what it looks like, of what it feels like; and not knowing, looking foolish while you figure out, is completely embarrassing. It’s easier to pretend you don’t have a girlfriend, because then you can keep that side of yourself completely separate from people’s image of you. The only one who can see you at your most vulnerable, most ridiculous, state is your Mysterious Girlfriend; and only she knows how much her drool turns you on.

Mysterious Girlfriend X (2012)

13 episodes

Hoods Entertainment

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Blurbs: HYOUKA (2012)

Hyouka is another in a long line of Kyoto Animation shows that is impeccably animated, and reflects a certain storytelling sensibility that I always have to adjust to. It's a slice of series wherein nothing much happens. There's a school club that meets after school everyday and we spend time hanging out and getting to know them. But what sets Hyouka apart is the mystery aspect. You see, what the club actually spends most of its time doing is solving a series of painfully banal and strange little mysteries that pop up around them. Some of the mysteries stretch several episodes, but some are just one-offs. There are long stretches of the show where you sit at the table and listen to their theories about the mystery (this is livened up by incredibly beautiful cutaways to an "imagined" space that's more interesting than their club room). The longer arcs on the show also lead to pretty nuanced character development (think about Oreki's development during the student film arc, or about Fukube's doubts about himself in the school festival arc). The stories themselves are banal, almost matter of fact, but even though nothing too out of the ordinary, nothing fantastic, ever happens, Hyouka retains a mysterious, elusive quality. I would love to dismiss it as "nothing happens" nonsense (and sometimes I felt that way), but it stuck in my mind too much. Something wouldn't let met get away. You can't escape, as it were. So although I've sort of complained about the fact that the mysteries and situations of Hyouka are banal to the point of you sort of asking "what is the point of this? why would anyone exert any intellect on trying to figure this dumb crap out?" I cannot dismiss it. And here's where I lay out why I think this show is mysterious and elusive and actually kind of special: it's a series that is filled with possibility. Not once during those 22 episodes did I have any idea what kind of show I was watching. It's a show I felt could go anywhere, do anything; that it wasn't tied down to a simple formula (although it may have been). Like Chitanda's character, it possessed an intellectual curiosity (though in Chitanda's case, it may have just been an instinctual one) which then got filtered through a deep knowledge of western mystery novels, slice of life tropes, moe checklists, beautifully detailed animation, etc. Hyouka is a series where the sensibility is key; the mixture of those elements could've turned out awful, but because they're done in this particular way (slow, thoughtful, relaxed), they become more than the sum of their parts. Again, it helps that it's aesthetically perfect; sequences made me tear up just in the way they were conceived and executed (a complete mastery of high school slice of life tropes, and just plain beauty). The final sequence of the final episodes is a master class: the pinks, the swell of the strings in the soundtrack, the precise editing and the knowledge and wisdom to leave us facing an uncertain future. The future's a mystery, too.

Hyouka (2012)

22 episodes

Kyoto Animation

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Blurbs: TENGEN TOPPA GURREN LAGANN (2007)

bratty, hyper-active shounen show about a group of humans using their spirit power or whatever to overcome any and all obstacles. The humans are forced to live underground thanks to some unknown force, but our young heroes manage to break out almost immediately, and not only that, form a sort of ragtag rebellion just in the first few episodes. The series' strengths rely solely on making you turn off your brain and marvel at how badass everything is. It mostly works. Imaishi brings his chaotic, energetic style (Dead Leaves) under control for most of it, but unleashes everything he has during the battle scenes. Compositions are frequently dynamic and aim to bring out the often ridiculously exhilarating nature of the mecha fights. In Gurren Lagann, nothing is subtle, and as such, its animation and composition follow suit. There is no logical progression to any of the battles. Everything is predetermined. Because our characters have "spirit," whereas our villains don't, everything is resolved thru yelling loudly and "feeling" things more than the opponent does. It isn't a drawback of the series, though; it's more like a philosophical viewpoint. Because to be human is to be reckless, emotional, ever-changing. Had some other notes about the first few episodes being a secret remake of FLCL (with the drills, erections, boobs and teenage confusion), but it only extended to the first few episodes, so I didn't bother thinking more about it. Although, as a Gainax show, it's playing around with the mecha formula, but this time taking it to different, more operatic heights.

Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann (2007)

27 episodes

  Gainax

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On KIMI NI TODOKE

Kimi Ni Todoke is one of the most optimistic and beautiful shows that I’ve ever seen. Watching it again only made it clearer how much other shows simply do not compare. The story’s about a teenage girl named Sawako Kuronuma who, because of her scary-looking appearance, is doomed to be an outsider. But one day she meets a boy, Shota Kazehaya. And it’s thanks to this boy, and the spark that he provides in her life, that she is able to muster up the courage to try and make changes to her life. The show is then less about the love story, and more about Sawako’s growing world, growing self-confidence, growing capacity to interact with the people around her, and how this manifests itself throughout the show (relationships, friendships, her self-esteem, and even the way she's drawn). Sawako's personality is ultimately what gives the show its unique aesthetic and worldview.

Sawako has remained alone throughout most of her school years. There are constant rumors and misunderstandings about her. Some say she’s cursed, some day she does black magic; all anyone can agree on is that she’s kind of creepy. It doesn’t help that any time Sawako tries to force a smile, it looks like she’s just killed her husband and drowned her children – it’s scary. But Sawako remains a bastion of positivity and optimism. She always helps out, volunteers, and does things for others, never expecting anything in return. She notices how Kazehaya always seems to be around people, talking, laughing, the center of attention; she admires that. Soon enough, he’s making an effort to include her in the dynamic of the rest of the class (going so far as to sit next to her when everyone else refuses to).

It’s because of this initial effort from Kazehaya that Sawako starts making more chances. She puts herself out there, hoping for the best. Soon enough she makes two friends, Yano and Chizu. But, even still, her self-confidence and her knowledge about these matters is so poor that she isn’t even sure that she qualifies as being a friend to them. Part of Sawako’s problem is that she’s become so accustomed to being alone that she doesn’t even recognize the importance of her own feelings. She knows of things, but has never experienced them. This is why she doesn’t even know if she qualifies as being a friend, or later why she doesn’t even understand that her feelings for Kazehaya are romantic (a shoujo standby, but given psychological depth here).

As Sawako begins to make friends, the central conflict becomes internal. It is no longer about her classmates or friends accepting her, but rather about Sawako thinking enough of herself to see herself as an equal to her peers. Most of the time she believes that she should put her wants and desires on hold to let other people get what they want. That’s why she volunteers or all the jobs that people don’t want at school – she’s completely selfless in an almost self-denigrating way. She casts herself down in order to bring up others – in order for her to aspire to become like them. Part of the growth o Sawako’s character is finding out the ways in which all the people she admires and wants to be like are all flawed in their own ways.

Even after acknowledging her feelings of love and friendship and seeing what she’s on equal ground with everyone else, she still has moments when she reduces herself again. I’d like to discuss Sawako’s “chibi” moments. I’m aware of the long history of these in anime; however, in Kimi ni Todoke, they serve an explicit thematic purpose. Sawako’s “chibi” moments are an expression of her current standing within the situation. If she feels awed by a situation or if she can’t understand it, she’ll go into that mode; her height is changed, her facial features become simplified, etc. She makes herself sub-human, even; unable to comprehend the situation she finds herself in. This is because she assumes she’s not equipped or on the same level as the people around her. It’s an issue of self-esteem. But these situations become fewer and farther in between. Part of the show’s strength is seeing Sawako rise to meet the challenge in situations that are important (notice that she does not go “chibi” in these confrontations).

There’s a formal elegance to the construction of Kimi ni Todoke that still baffles me. It is a balance that seems perfectly realized. It always seems to know exactly when to leave our mundane world behind and replace it with colors, sparkles, floral patterns – it taps into Sawako’s psyche even, and the animation is derived from her emotion. How else does one explain the pinks, the greens, the effervescence, the transcendence, the almost utopian ever-optimistic sensibility that seemingly is able to only come from being able to intensely identify with this teenage girl’s feelings?

Kimi ni Todoke believes in a world where people are good and darkness is there only to allow for opportunities to grow; it is a thoroughly uplifting vision. Through Sawako, we experience the world not as it is, but how it should be.

Note: I should mention that this write-up focuses more on the first season than anything else. The first season concerns itself more with the growth of Sawako’s inner strength and confidence, and the tentative steps she takes to have a life that she can be happy with. The second season, on the other hand, tries to resolve the romance between Kazehaya and her. As such, it’s beyond the scope of what I was focusing on in this essay. However, the second series is quite worthwhile, just necessarily different.

Kimi ni Todoke (2009 - 2011)

Season 1 - 25 episodes

Season 2 - 13 episodes

Production I.G.

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Blurbs: PSYCHO-PASS (2012 - 2013)

In order for this blog not to die, I've decided to include shorter impressions. You can find these under the Blurbs tag.

Sleek, dark, noiresque sci-fi about a future Japan where everyone's crime potential is scanned by some infallible, impartial computer system (hint: it isn't). Our protagonists are government agents who are tasked with implementing the system's judgment (whether that means arresting someone whose "psycho-pass" level is too high, or killing those who are too far gone). We learn about all these characters and their ideals and their back stories (all of which seem to have been affected by this system). I appreciated that although there a few one-off episodes, all of it is more or less connected to the larger plot arc of the show.

The show's protagonists are in love philosophizing their way through dialogue scenes, bringing up what's implicit in the action of the show and then commenting on it at length (what is this, a Christopher Nolan movie?) Gen Urobuchi, the show's writer, also seems to be in love with references; Shakespeare, Rousseau and Terayama are all name-checked at different points throughout the action. Granted, the references are not random, and actually help to illuminate what's going in the show, but I just thought it was prevalent enough to mention it.

PSYCHO-PASS' strengths ultimately is not its philosophical inquiry, but rather its portrayal of the maturation of its lead character from rookie to professional. It's surprising that that's what ends up the thing that I take away from the show, and not none of the free will, police state technology shenanigans. It might just mean that the show's engagement is more shallow than it at first seems. However, this does not prevent the show from being massively entertaining.

Psycho-Pass  (2012 - 2013)

22 episodes

Production I.G.

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On ORANGE DAYS

Orange Days is a Japanese drama series based around the lives of college students. There’s Kai Yuuki (Satoshi Tsumabaki), a senior studying social welfare, and his group of friends (Hiroki Narimiya and Eita). They’re a tight-knit group, hanging out whenever possible, and just generally having fun. Kai is in the middle of applying for jobs, however, and this is stressing him out. One day he sees a young woman named Sae playing the violin near the school. He gives her an orange. Sae, however princess-like she may look, is all full of attitude, fragile emotions, and complexities. A few years ago, she went deaf, and it’s only recently that she’s gotten back to her normal life. The show is then about their complicated relationship.

I would like to mainly focus on just one aspect of Orange Days (though I’m sure I’ll end up mentioning a lot of stuff anyway): how it shows the time of your life when you start to love someone more than your own family, who means something completely different to you and can give you a completely different sort of happiness.

There’s a moment late in the series where Sae’s mom tells Kai he has no business meddling with Sae’s health issues, since he’s a stranger. It’s an understandable attitude coming from a mother. She’s worried about Sae, and she sees this boy Kai as relatively unimportant in the scheme of things. But what we’ve learned throughout the show is that Kai is not just a stranger. In fact, to Sae, he’s become her most important person. She has her friend Akane who she can talk to, sure, but when it comes to Kai, it’s different. There’s a great conversation in the show where Sae talks about what she imagines her future to be like, and in every scenario, Kai is there. The series is largely about the crucial time when the bonds and friendships you’re going to have for the rest of your life are created; it’s something different than your family, because this is something that you created yourself.

It’s something that’s inevitable. We each create our own world, separate from our parents at some point during our life. One of the key struggles for Sae is trying to figure out how to deal with her loyalty and love for her mother (and respecting her feelings) while still trying to be true to her own heart and do what she wants to do. In a sense, these thoughts and feelings are a little selfish. We must come to the conclusion that our happiness is what matters the most, and to seek that will mean forgoing some other person’s idea of happiness. Sae tries to go along with her mom’s vision of her happiness, because she’s trying to be a good daughter and she respects all the sacrifices that her mom had to make because of Sae’s illness. But it is not her happiness. Kai, the one who can make her laugh, the one who can make her cry, the one who can make her feel like “just a girl.” In Orange Days, Sae and Kai change each other’s lives, they motivate each other to keep trying hard, they hurt each other deeply; no one else could do those things for them. So when Sae’s mom calls Kai a stranger, the audience immediately knows that she is wrong. Who else could Sae share her fears, her insecurities, her tears, other than with the one she truly loves? No one could provide the same comfort, the same assurance that he could.

Most love stories are about this, in the end. But they rarely affect me with the same power as Orange Days does. Perhaps it’s because I relate more to the college setting, the level of maturity and self-awareness of the characters that this strikes me as the best Asian drama series I’ve ever seen.  Most of these shows are fun, charming, and all that, but it’s very rare that I find one that I think has beauty and grace. It’s a show that dares you to become a better person. After watching Kai and Sae try their best to find their happiness, it’s up to us to go forward and seek out our own.

                 There are many different aspects of the show that I think are worthwhile and worthy of analysis: the character’s awareness of “coming of age” tropes, the different paths and definitions of “adulthood” and, most of all, its take on friendship. So this might not be the only time I write about it. This is the 3rd time I’ve seen this show in the last 7 years, and I continue to find new things in it. I think it’s a show I’ll keep returning to as I grow older. It’s absolutely one of my favorites.

Orange Days (2004)

11 episodes

TBS

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On MY LITTLE MONSTER

My Little Monster is a show about two high school students (Shizuku and Haru) who meet each other and change each other’s lives; which, you know, big deal. Haru has been absent from class for a long time now because of his past bad behavior, and Shizuku gets tasked with bringing him back to class. The series then concerns him their relationship to each other, and how each of them grows from that.

Haru is seen as a scary, impulsive thug who glares at everyone. Shizuku is the serious, responsible type who always studies. But they each have hidden sides to them that the series then explores. Part of the fun of the show is finding out about those hidden sides to their personalities. My main focus here will be the main relationship between these two characters, and their general attitudes toward not only each other, but toward the world. Most of the comedy of the series comes from the clash between their viewpoints, and also a clash between their desires and the constraints of the “normal” world.

Arguably the most interesting thing about the Haru character is his enthusiasm. At the beginning of the series, he’s hiding out from school. He beat up some upper classmen and  got suspected; but his suspension had been lifted, and he simply refused to go. When he meets Shizuku, he escapes by jumping out a window. But later on, he accosts her and stops her from leaving. The truth is: he’s curious, he’s anxious about school; he wants to go. His tough exterior actually hides a soft, rather inquisitive nature. He wonders out loud that since Shizuku brought him his school papers, it must be because they’re friends; and he later asks her school was. His knowledge of friendship, of school, of all sorts of things, seems to be derived from media; he yearns to experience it for himself. Shizuku is the excuse he gives himself to attend school, but soon enough we see how important going and being there is for Haru. He earnestly believes in the significance of the rituals of youth; he wants to make friends so they can all hang out together after school, wants to meet them in the weekend, wants to live out his high school life the way it’s supposed to be done. But, again, he’s too weird, a little too intense, to get along with other people; in the end, only Shizuku seems to be able to handle him.

Shizuku, on the other hand, is a loner by choice. She comes across as cold, unfeeling, and stuff like that. But really she’s also as intense as Haru is. She focuses all her energy on her studies. She’s not interested in what happens around her, or what other people say, or that she might be missing out on some better life. For her, high school is just a thing she has get through, make good grades in, and get an amazing job later on. Which, fine; that’s actually a pretty great way to look at it. But immediately the show takes great care to show another side to her. Although she tries not to get involved in Haru’s problems, she cares too much to let things pass. She’s blunt and says what she wants, sometimes without thinking of the consequences, as when she calls out Haru’s friends for not treating him right; her truth-telling can be brutal. But Haru’s presence radically changes how she perceives her life. There’s a beautiful moment in the school rooftop (where else?) where she falls asleep. When she wakes up, Haru’s there watching her; it’s the first time she’s ever skipped class. She allows herself to relax, to feel the moment around her, to know why it might be an important experience, “my world is growing.”

What’s refreshing about these two characters is how these characters aren’t tortured souls without any clue about their real feelings. In the first two episodes, both characters have confessed to each other. Just like any good old-fashioned romantic comedy, a bunch of complications pop up; romantic rivals, past wounds, etc., just to put off what is inevitable. But I loved how sure they all were of their feelings. I’ve seen so many shows where the characters are completely clueless or never have the courage to say anything about what they feel that it becomes annoying. Haru and Shizuku may be clueless as to how to navigate the world and deal with people, but they are remarkably sure about their feelings; and honestly it’s thanks to that that the series remains solid and engaging. Haru and Shizuku are characters who are weird, too intense, to fit in “normally” with everybody else. They’re people who can’t turn off their personality just to fit in. The show, almost imperceptibly, allows them to build a world for themselves. By the final episodes, our main characters have found people who care about them, even though they themselves remain as stubborn and as weird as they started.

It’s a shame that we’ll probably have to wait for a sequel to find out what happens in the romantic lives of these characters, but that’s okay. The show has the confidence to basically end on a totally filler episode because we’ve already learned to love the characters and love to spend time with them. Perhaps a second season will introduce more drama into their life, perhaps not. The series allows our main characters to feel some new emotions, have their lives be changed, all without too much angst or anything like that. Haru and Shizuku have learned to enjoy themselves.

My Little Monster (2012)

13 episodes

Brain's Base

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On FUTURE DIARY

Future Diary aka Mirai Nikki is a series about a middle school kid named Yukiteru who’s all observant and distant and disaffected. He, apparently, has some imaginary friends called Deus and Murmur. However, these imaginary friends turn out to not be so imaginary. Deus turns out to be the god of space and time. Not only that, he’s turned Yukiteru’s cellphone into one that can predict the future. Oh:  and there are also 11 other people who have this power, and now you have to kill each other so you can become my replacement as god.

Though I think the series is largely uneven and, by its conclusion, has completely jumped the shark, I do think it touches on some rather interesting ideas; or, rather, the central relationship and the character behavior/personalities offer more to chew on than whatever the central conceit is supposed to do. The relationship between Yukiteru and Yuno (his love interest) arguably drives most of the series’ action, but it also highlights the series’ attitudes towards dependent/abusive relationships. This is the only interesting part of the show.

Yukiteru’s diary and Yuno’s diary are oddly compatible, so they team up in order to survive the game. However, it’s less of a “team” and more of a “Yuno goes crazy any time Yukiteru is even remotely in danger.” The thrust of the entire relationship is thus: Yukiteru completely relies on Yuno to save his ass, and then feels horrible after she goes way overboard and kills everyone. Not only that, at points, Yukiteru almost begins to feel afraid for his life, that’s how intense Yuno is. Yuno pledges undying devotion and love and bodyguard services, and Yukiteru takes advantage of this, basically using her and lying to her, while benefiting from her protection. This dynamic is deeply screwed up.

First of all, we have the way in which Yukiteru almost seems like an abused spouse character. Because of Yuno’s diary ability, he can’t really escape from her (she knows everything he’s going to do), and it’s because of this that he allows himself to think of her company and her actions as normal. She’s just trying to protect me and win the game (because she likes me). But every time that Yuno goes all ruthless and flies off the handle a little more than the previous time, Yukiteru has to keep making compromises and excuses for her. He’s told repeatedly by other people that she’s dangerous or that she’ll be the death of him. Little by little, her behavior becomes rationalized and coded as “normal” or “acceptable” and soon the feeling that this is what he has to deal with to survive becomes inescapable. He’s trapped in the relationship; Yuno keeps him safe, and he can’t get away even if he wanted to.

Also of interest are any moments where there is opposition between Yukiteru and Yuno. There’s a particularly great episode where Yukiteru tries to make new, “normal” friends. They invite him out to take a look at a dead body (because that isn’t suspicious) and he cheerfully goes, because the prospect of getting away from what he knows is a toxic attachment to Yuno is mighty appealing. She tags along, but mostly watches from the sides, as Yukiteru laughs with everyone, cracks jokes, and whatnot. But then the narrative of the episode kicks in, and Yukiteru’s friends turn out to be not so friendly. Which is exactly what Yuno thought would happen. The drama of the episode is then about Yukiteru’s struggle to redeem this friendship, and make it real; and Yuno’s constant refusal to make friends with anyone else, throwing doubt on anyone who would get close to him, almost stabbing everyone whenever they do something unexpected. But this opposition never even lasts; Yukiteru’s too weak to ever put up much of a struggle. Even after everyone witnesses how crazy Yuno is, he still ends up making excuses for her. He’s terrified by her behavior, but he can’t quite say that he doesn’t need it. Yuno loves Yukiteru, wishes to protect him and all that; but it’s a love that’s selfish, possessive and obsessive. It’s a love that includes no one else. At points, it doesn’t even include Yukiteru. It’s her love alone.

And, ultimately, Future Diary, if nothing else,manages to dramatize this unique dynamic very well. Although it often succumbs to ludicrous plot twists, silly Yandere antics, and literal deus ex machine shenanigans, the series manages to show how crazy and twisted this relationship is. The series’ denouement shows the utter ruination of the main character; he’s destroyed everything he loves for a lie. And still he lives a lie.

Future Diary (2011 - 2012)

26 episodes

Studio Asread

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On Shinkichi Kato's BAKA AND GOGH

Shinkichi Kato’s Baka and Gogh is about the friendship between three people and how that friendship changes over time. The Baka of the title refers to two friends who are in a high school band. They’re desperate to play in their senior year festival-type thing, but it seems like they’re destined to be disliked or shunned. The Gogh of the title refers to a girl in their class who’s constantly being picked on. One day, the Baka step in and help her out. They then become best friends. But it isn’t that simple.  What follows is a beautiful portrait of outsider friendships, the strange paths that those friendships can take, and a subtle critique of the possessiveness of love (or obsession).

One of the most beautiful things about Baka and Gogh is how it treats the main friendship between all the characters. The characters are outsiders and they seem to be fated to never quite fit in. But, more than that, they’re far too alive and unpredictable to be restrained the expectations of the world. The two male characters, realistically, go straight from high school to the work force; there isn’t any worry about college entrance exams, they’re never in the picture. There aren’t any mentions of the rituals that high school students might be expected to participate in. None of that matters. Our characters are far too invested in their dreams to really pay that much attention to anything else. What matters is the bond that’s created between everyone here. Throughout the first volume, these characters find something that they want to protect, something that they want to cherish; but what’s beautiful is how Kato understands that it must necessarily change. The things that are precious do not seem to last.

There comes a moment about halfway in Baka and Gogh where one character confesses to another. It’s an embarrassing moment, for both the person who confessed and the person being confessed to, and even almost to the reader. Embarrassing because how real it feels, yes, but also because it feels like you’re suddenly not wearing any clothes; the people who you love have seen all of you now, and there is no taking that back. This is the moment that is the catalyst for what happens next in the story. This is the moment that begins the new phase of the friendship at the heart of the series.

Friends come and go from our lives. Some our always with us, while others may drift away. What Kato manages to beautifully highlight is that even if a friendship changes, even if the role that someone played in your life is different, they don’t truly go away. They stay in your heart, in your memories, wherever. You carry them with you to whatever new destination you’re going to. And sometimes the people you thought were gone from your life come back. Maybe you see them in a different way now, maybe they’re going to play a new role in your life; what matters is that the bond was strong enough that it could survive that time apart, that your friendship was strong enough to begin with that it could withstand that change in definition. The final chapter of Baka and Gogh shows how each character has changed, and it shows their new role in life. The Baka are still wildly enthusiastic and hilarious and still chasing their dreams, but experience and pain have matured them; they also no longer mean the same thing to Gogh as they once did.

 I think I’ve played down the importance of Gogh in my analysis of the series, and this is a mistake. She’s arguably the most important character, because it’s through her that the other characters define themselves. And she’s the one who undergoes the most change. Her journey is different than from the male characters. They’re all about introspection and brooding and whatnot. Gogh has the strength to reject the things she doesn’t want, to know what is right for her. Kato draws out that inner strength and by the final panel she looks luminous; she’s found her own path and it’s led her to her own happiness.

In the background of this story about personal growth and friendship, lies a more interesting subtext. Both male characters have unrequited feelings for Gogh. One of them actually confesses those feelings, gets rejected, and leaves town. The other one keeps it inside, bottled it up, knowing that nothing would ever come of it. They both have an image of Gogh in their head, of what she should be, of what they want her to be. There’s a possessive quality to their feelings for Gogh, which is an outgrowth of their romantic feelings, that can’t be denied. She’s our Gogh.  When she declines to go along with them and stay behind, she asserts her status as an equal to them; she does not need their protection, she can make decisions for herself. This is what throws off the balance of their friendship. So much of their friendship has been based, at this point, on everyone trying to take care of Gogh and helping her out, that when she makes this big decision on their own, they get flustered.

Both characters are essentially trying to protect their own image of Gogh. They want her to remain the same, to stay in the same role that she’s always been in. The maturation, redemption even, of the male characters only happens after they let go of their possessive feelings toward Gogh. Their feelings must change, their role in Gogh’s life must change, their conception of what Gogh means to them must change. When a character late in the series says: “it’s the sound of the whole universe,” it tells us that his love for Gogh isn’t the same anymore; it’s transformed into something different. It’s a repudiation of his previous belief system; he even has to say goodbye to “my Gogh.” She isn’t the woman he knew, or that existed in his head. She’s her own person. But the beauty of what Kato achieves here is that he doesn’t say: “okay, so now that you can’t be together, that’s it; that’s the end of your friendship.” He allows the possibility for growth. In essence, Baka and Gogh speaks to how friendship can evolve and become even truer and more powerful as we grow older, as we accept the fact that our friends change, and our role in their life also changes. It’s one of the most beautiful expressions of this feeling that I know of.

Baka and Gogh (2000)

2 volumes

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Images: HETAKOI

Hetakoi (Junko Nakano, 2007-2011)

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On HANASAKU IROHA

The story of Hanasaku Iroha is almost ridiculously simple. A young girl named Ohana, thanks to the irresponsible behavior of her mother, is sent to an inn out in the country to spend her days. This inn is run by Ohana’s grandmother. But she isn’t a cozy grandma who’s going to spoil Ohana. She’s all business, all work, almost cold; and her coworkers are all rather ambivalent about Ohana, too. And although it does feel rather depressing at first, the beauty of this show (and of Ohana) is that, rather than get overwhelmed and feel miserable about her situation, she tries her best to make this place her own. She tries to take a situation that seems bad, and not so much find the positive, but rather tries to find a way to grow from it. The series is then about her growth as a person, the way in which she learns to find meaning in the work she does, the way in which she learns that she’s not the center of everything happens; it’s one of the finest portraits of a young woman I’ve ever seen in any visual media.

There’s a great line near the end of the series that handily summarizes a lot of what I thought was going on in this series: “what you gain from hard work can never betray you.” Time and time again the characters in the series strive to become better at their jobs. Whether it’s Ohana’s struggles to find her own routine and her own place, or Minchi’s struggles to learn the trade of being a chef or, hell, Ohana’s uncle struggle to become good enough to one day become the true successor to the inn – the characters in this series define themselves by how they do their job. Their job performance seems interconnected with their personal growth, but it’s also connected with their character – if I’m not working my hardest, what kind of person am I?

There’s a telling episode about halfway in the show’s run where the main trio of girls visit another inn for a school trip. The inn apparently has a new automated system for taking plates up and down the floors; this saves time and it does away with having full-time waitresses so the inn has some part-timers to do the work. Ohana is at first impressed with the work that everyone’s doing, but then she sees some of the waitresses talking on their phone while still at work, and of course they’re typical “high school” girls who have an attitude. Later on, these girls walk off the job because they say it’s too hard and you have to remember too many things. These girls, because of their unserious attitude toward their job, are painted as bratty monsters (later on we see them all wearing makeup and making fun of the inn of where they worked at). In Hanasaku Iroha, if you’re not trying to do your best, then that reflects badly on your character. In one of the funniest scenes in the show, Ohana more or less attacks them. Ohana only has patience for people who are trying their best, every character in Hanasaku Iroha is giving it their all.

This series reminded me of one of the most overlooked movies of the past few years, Margaret. One of the most important lines of dialogue in that film is: “We are not supporting characters in the fascinating story of your life!” During the first few episodes, Ohana is only concerned about what is happening to her. She sees the situation she’s in as hers alone, and she kinda steps on a few toes around the inn as she struggles to acclimate herself to this new place. She even gets called out as “inconsiderate,” at one point. One of key themes in the show is realizing that everyone around has their reasons (as in Renoir), their own beliefs, their own dreams. The great realization later on in the show where she learns to actually place herself in someone else’s shoes (first with her mom and then later on with her grandma) is so fantastic. She’s such a strong-willed girl that for her to give in and rescind her original feelings is marvelous.

I can’t write about this show without also mentioning how much it understands how impermanence of life. The show spans roughly 6 or 7 months. In this period of time, all the characters grow and are shaded with depth and are fully realized. But the reason why the time we’ve spent with these characters is special is because it’s something that’s untenable. People are destined to move away from you, your group of friends won’t always be there in the same exact configuration that you’re used to; things will always end. What Hanasaku Iroha understands most of all is that things are meant to change; it can be a positive change, it can be a negative change, whichever. Late in the show’s run, Ohana’s grandmother makes a decision that disrupts the natural order of what we’ve been watching for the last 20 or so episodes. She forces a change in these characters’ lives. Now, we may want these characters to remain the same way, like in Ranma ½, and never deviate, always acting out the same patterns of behavior, but that betrays a misunderstanding of how life actually works. We’re all working toward our own goals, and sooner or later, we might have to go our separate ways. The places that meant so much to us might become a memory, an important one, sure, but something that was not meant to last. Hanasaku Iroha feels like that. It’s a series that reminds me how much pain and how much laughter are required before you can truly grow.

Hanasaku Iroha (2011)

26 episodes

P.A. Works

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On Junko Nakano's HETAKOI and B-SHOCK

Junko Nakano’s Hetakoi  is about a young man who, upon turning 20 years old, decides to head over to a hot spring. He’s by himself, trying to relax, while still kind of feeling miserable about the fact that he’s all alone. But while he’s there, he sees a young woman completely naked for the first time.  Which, you know, is a momentous event in any young man’s life. After heading back to Tokyo, his outgoing friend ends up convincing him to join the Hot Springs club, since there are a lot of cute girls in it; it goes without saying that the “naked girl” is also a part of this club.

It’s at this point where you may decide to check out on Hetakoi and think to yourself: “oh, it’s just generic shounen romance, who cares.” This would be a mistake. Hetakoi largely concerns itself with the growing attraction and romantic feelings between said young man and naked girl, but within that template it manages to touch on many other emotions and ideas.

One of the main reasons that I chose to start reading Hetakoi was because I’ve grown tired of weak-willed, nothing high school protagonists and their love troubles and their school rituals which are all the same, and never change from series to series. I’ve consciously tried to find anime/manga that has college and/or adult settings because, not only do they speak more to me at this point, but they’re also rare enough that the ways in which they’re different are distinctive enough for it make a difference. Sure, Hetakoi  may have a school festival chapter, but it’s surrounded by chapters where adults make decisions that have ramifications and are treated seriously.

Sex is something that’s constantly on the minds of the characters in Hetakoi.  There are many humorous passages where sex and/or nudity are treated like a punchline. Think of the many scenes where our main character pictures someone naked and can’t even look at their face because of the embarrassment. Or how the main character’s best friend, nicknamed Obscene Dick, propositions every female member in the Hot Springs club. But sex is also something that’s completely serious. In Hetakoi, sex changes everything about a relationship. Two friends who had previously relied on each other solely for advice embark on a sexual relationship that’s unhealthy and based on consoling each other and trying to deal with each other’s pain. One young man wonders if the girl he likes has done it before, and wonders if that will make him think differently of her. Instead of dealing with problems, characters often try to lose themselves in sexual abandon, immerse themselves in their passion and forget everything. But this is something that’s new for the characters; this new way of dealing with their problems. Often they will think that what they’re doing is wrong, but be unable to stop. One of my favorite moments is when, with an absolutely brutal honesty, a character thinks to himself that it isn’t so much a partner he desires, but someone’s warmth.

There are moments in Hetakoi  which speak to me for reasons I can barely process or comprehend. I think of how it handles those moments in your life where everyone around you is having fun and laughing, and in the middle of that you’re feeling completely miserable. There’s a great chapter near the end where such a thing happens. Our main character, although inside he’s completely alone and suffering, resolves to make the occasion a lively one. It reminded me of times where I’ve tried to block everything I may be thinking by simply doing stuff.

Nakano’s series is special because it understands how serious and how utterly silly we can be while in the pursuit of love; how much meaning we can assign the smallest things, and how utterly humbling getting to know other people can be. And it does this while being utterly hilarious. Hetakoi is a work that understands and embodies the passion of youth; and it made me completely miserable.

  Nakano’s B-Shock, on the other hand, is an entirely different proposition. It’s on the whole more outlandish, more ridiculous, a high concept series. It’s about two engineering students who, thanks to their mad professor, get bombs stuck to their wrists that don’t allow them to be more than 10m apart. In essence, it’s a series where two unlikely people are forced to be together at all times. It’s also a romantic comedy.

Part of the fun of the series is seeing the realistic response to the situation. The characters begin to ask themselves: what happens if I have to use the restroom? How do I keep a job like this? Things gets even more funny/interesting when the distance gets reduced to 1m. The scenes where the characters have to constantly stick together (this means pretending to be boyfriend/girlfriend in public because otherwise why are they holding on to each other) have an absurd, but iron-clad sense of logic to them. It makes sense to tie a rope between you – what would happen if one of you fell out of bed and one of you got separated?

When the series has that laser focus on the particulars of their situation and the growing affection between the characters, it excels. But I keep getting reminded of the long stretch in volume 2, where the lead characters have to deal with a pesky ghost, and I can’t help but feel that it’s wasted time. It’s space that is being taken away from the most interesting relationship/dynamic.

  I hope to cover more of Nakano’s work as it becomes available, Chisa x Pon specially. Nakano passed away in 2011.

Hetakoi (2007 - 2011)

10 volumes

B-Shock (1999 - 2000)

4 volumes