How to make a Student Council Arc episode of Utena:

1. Introduce a member of the council as your focus
2. Make sure that character has a run-in with Utena
3. Optional bitch-slap
4. Challenge
5. Grab the handle, close-up on the water hitting the rose ring
6. Begin JA Seazer’s Absolute Destiny Apocalypse song
7. Climb the stairs
8. Transform Utena’s uniform
9. Power of Dios, Utena for the win (usually)

Previous discussion on Utena in the comments saw some people decrying this pattern as monotonous and boring, while others declared it ritualistic and symbolic in itself. Me? My design schooling kicked in and said hey — Utena is in fact a “series.”

Yes, of course, you say. Utena is a series. A television series. But there is a design trick called a series as well; it’s a group of items that illustrate the design principle known as repetition.  Repetition is exactly what it sounds like. But any series, in order to avoid monotony or maybe to express a point (if you have that in mind; when designing wallpaper it seems imprudent to try to make any kind of explicit statement), usually incorporates another design principle: variation. This, in turn, creates a third principle, emphasis. The changeup in the series is emphasized by virtue of its difference from the rest.

The variation or anomaly usually doesn’t come at the end, but then again straight design doesn’t have a temporal element. When elapsed time comes into play, obviously pulling the old switcheroo at the end is going to provide maximum impact. Utena’s student council arc puts the variation near the end but not at it — and brings back the familiar Utena victory to neatly cap off the arc.

So it’s a great design tool, extrapolated across 13 episodes as a motif. Lots of fun, too. But what about that lingering possibility that there is a representative purpose to the “ritualistic” repetition? Well, I’m not sure about ritual, but the options are there:

• End of the World seems to be some sort of puppet master, and it might require (or at least desire) a degree of religiosity in order to operate. The Council’s devotion to the dueling process is certainly quasi-religious, and until Touga subverts the process with his faux End of the World letter, they seem to hold the process in strict regard.
• Dios, too, might be looking for Catholic-level ritual worship in order to fully awaken — look at his name, even.

But regardless of the purpose of the repetition, the end result (for me) was to reinforce the futility of the Student Council’s quest for Revolution. For all of their dedicated faith in dueling, they can’t keep Utena from beating them and walking away with Dios’s power, and the Rose Bride.

I have nothing much to really offer in the way of interpretation; that was just how I viewed the arc, and part of what made it so satisfying to me. I’ll say it again: it’s clear to me that Utena is something. It’s the real deal, and it’s been a while since I saw something with quite this much going for it.

Except it’s fall, and anime is made by dirty old men. Case in point, Sora No Otoshimono, which is (choose one):

• One of the many high caliber titles available this season from Crunchyroll’s online stream, along with season 67 of Shugo Chara
• Standard wish-fulfillment anime crossed with a standard comedic anime
• Obsessed with panties
• Something something cancer

If you answered “uuuuuuugh,” you’re right!

I know I said I wasn’t watching anything new this season, but I thought I’d give this a shot for no really good reason. Sora No Otoshimono is, in all likelihood, a steaming pile of crap, an underpants-obsessed shounen comedy romp with the typical 9-year-old’s giggle-giggle view on sex. And it will likely turn into a harem.

But then again, perhaps it’s a deep meditation on the nature of desire, the effects of indulging your basest fantasies, and the dangerous consequences of getting what you wished for — you know, like The Monkey’s Paw with drawers.

I suppose the only way to objectively discover which of these is true is to lay out the good and bad.

Sora No Otoshimono: The Cons (also known as: the cliches and tropes used)

1. A pervert no-good Tenchi of a lead character
2. An obsession with breasts
3. A girl falling from the sky who warrants her own sub-list
   1. An alien
   2. An angel
   3. A robot
   4. who grants wishes
   5. on a leash
4. Oh-so-tsundere Karate chops from a cute childhood friend who takes good care of good-for-nothing lead (see #1)
5. Naked and/or “on top of” misunderstandings (I never would have imagined she’d walk into the room right then)
6. “[character name] no baka”
7. Wacky extras
8. “Kiddy” panties with animal mascot, worn by lead girl (This one’s for you, Akamatsu-sensei!)
9. Sweet moments of wonderful cuteness after an episode-long debacle, re-ruined by baka character just as things get lovely

The pros

Called attacks. These were all magical crotch coverups as lead character (whose name was… hmmmm it’ll come to me) tried to save the modesty of lead girl (ah, shit, her name was…), whose modesty he had of course compromised himself. I’m not going to say we’ve never seen a comedy that parodies the dirt-old concept of the called out attack, but maybe this one just hasn’t gotten quite old enough to me yet.

Flying panties. Let’s reiterate. Flying. Panties. I mean, seriously, majestically flapping their way across the landscape, migrating in formation, being observed by the masses, briefly lighting on a tree before moving on, shining in the sun. The idea is stupid, as is the whole panty-obsessed episode 2, but the execution of this one idea is colossal. Perhaps it’s even enough to justify the existence of the whole series. Doubtful.

Use of the best phrase in the world. Whether this is a subtitling coup or an actual line of dialog, it matters little.

The verdict

Obviously the balance is not in favor of Sorta Not Entirely Unwatchable, but as its name implies, it’s not entirely unwatchable. It’s certainly less awful than To Love-Ru’s anime adaptation so far, and it brought a few laughs that weren’t just boneheaded physical comedy, tit-groping, or cheap references. Not many, but a man dying in the desert doesn’t scoff at tap water.

I mentioned my viewing to ghostlightning and he seemed to think that watching, or at least starting, a truly awful show just for the sake of doing so was actually an SOS tradition. Do I? Really? Do that?

Does anyone else ever do this to themselves, or is masochism a unique character flaw? And more importantly…

Darker Than Black

However, there is Darker than Black, and my illness conveniently laid me up in bed to finish the original series. Have to say, it was, uh, “better than it should be.” Light chuckle here because, putting the ridiculousness of that statement aside, it was just about as good as it should be. Tensai Okamura and Bones created something that is, in a way, very typically Bones — think RahXephon,  Eureka Seven and its red-headed stepsister Xam’d — in the way that the story was put together. The method: Create a compelling but mysterious world, and don’t reveal too much about its nature until near the climax. In some ways, it’s a cheap way of keeping the viewer hooked, but I can’t say I don’t prefer it to A Certain Expositional Infodump that a large amount of anime is guilty of to some degree.

It’s not typically Bones in that its characters are distant, sort of unknowable. The warmth you can feel in Xamdou’s most aloof character Nakiami, for example, is far stronger than what I got from DtB’s Hei or even the human Misaki. I suppose part of it comes from the fact that Contractors aren’t supposed to feel emotion (though Hei’s case is a little more complicated). This makes them distant from anyone, so the viewer should be no different. All in all, I liked the story, I liked the action, I liked almost all of the characters, and the “cool” factor was in place. I’m skeptical of the new season, with its lack of Yoko Kanno, but I enjoyed the first enough to make this a no-brainer.

Cowboy Bebop

Speaking of Yoko Kanno and Fonz Factor, I also spent some time re-watching Cowboy Bebop. It’s been a lot of years since I saw it, and my subsequent re-education in anime allowed me to view it with new eyes — which is what second and third viewings are all about. It hasn’t diminished in my eyes; if anything I have even more respect, plus I watched it in Japanese for the first time and was delighted to hear Coach Emperor Wakamoto as Vicious. I’m not going to go on about Cowboy Bebop too much, you could fill a library with what’s already been said. It did get me thinking about something Zaitcev mused a while back about Honey & Clover: “What is particularly ‘anime’ about this anime?” In the case of H&C, I disagree, there’s plenty there to keep it in the realm, but with Bebop, I’m less certain.

For one, romantic drama is kept to a minimum. A mixed-gender spaceship in most anime, at the least, would create some sexual tension or maybe a Naked Misunderstanding or two. But for the crew of the Bebop, romance is a thing that happened in the past. Each of the three majors gets a “past coming back to haunt them” episode chronicling their turbulent experience with the opposite sex, most notably Spike. The present is a time for work — dangerous work with no room for such distractions. There’s only one “baka” from Faye that really carries the typical meaning, and it’s very late in the series.

Secondly… everything else. Really. Why break that out into bullets? Cowboy Bebop skips over almost everything. Teenage characters: One, briefly. Something to protect: Sorry, not really, unless you count cash. Tsunderes, seifukus, people crying a lot, techno-babble, mecha, evocation of moe, forget them all.

What it does have, of course, is an obsession with music and an amazing soundtrack to match. Both the anime and its Kanno music seem overflowing with ideas and hooks, a feeling that’s rare in something as polished and tightly executed as this. But that’s another tired subject when it comes to Bebop. If the series has a significant fault, it’s that we’re asked to take the story’s word on a great deal of things that happened in the past, rather than made to feel their significance. And that can lessen the impact of the otherwise astounding end.

At any rate, if for some bizarre reason you’ve never seen it, you’re missing out on one great example of what happens when some talented people get together and treat anime as a medium rather than a genre.

Planetes

I’ve watched 4 episodes of Goro Taniguchi’s space-junk saga so far, and the jury’s still out, but it’s an interesting take on near-ish future Sci-Fi. I wouldn’t exactly call it “hard” SF but the notion of space garbage getting in the way of progress is a realistic-sounding one anyway, and a lot of attention is given to the technological details and the mechanics of zero-G. A future where astronauts are skilled but un-amazing laborers and the whole of space is mired in bureaucracy, politics, and nepotism is a depressing future, but of course our idealistic naïve lead shoujo is here to brighten the picture.

Oddly, I see parallels to a more recent series, Production IG’s Library War: Cute, short-haired underachiever joins an exotic but ultimately unglamorous job that isn’t quite what she thought it would be, is beset by a tsun-tsun coworker, and tries to foist her wide-eyed idealism onto the world. I’m sure the comparison will pretty much end there, but it’s the kind of story that’s not hard to get behind, even if Ai can be a little shrill at time.

That about covers my recent viewing, aside from Utena and the various things I occasionally watch but will never finish, like Harlock and Legend of the Galactic Large Amount of Episodes. You should expect to see more on that soon as well. As of Fall ‘09 week 2, do you agree with my “alternative” choices or is there anything this season I’m missing?

But a re-release, such as the recently remastered Revolutionary Girl Utena, provides a great opportunity for a new group of people to share the experience they might have missed the first time around. One such person I’m fortunate enough to share this particular series with is animekritik, who’s braving a less than optimal computer to get his fix of swordfighting fantasy… shoujo?

kritik: I actually think when well done, shoujo is the most powerful of anime genres. What’s more powerful than the emotions of a teenage girl? rage, love, envy…
otou-san: you mean what’s more histrionic and melodramatic?
kritik: melodramatic, yes, overboard, yes. I like that in anime.
otou-san: I can’t argue that anime is a medium that does melodrama well.
kritik: What you do is you take all that emotion, which usually an outsider would think is plain silly, and make it the key to saving the universe or something of that sort.

He makes a good point. You want drama, teenage girls have it in spades. Though for some reason it surprised us both, Utena’s unmistakably shoujo— from the flowery borders, to the spindly, curly character designs, to the (cool and spicy) heroine in a boy’s uniform, this is aimed at the fairer demographic. Maybe that’s why it never made its way into my VCR the first time around — the shoujo overtones didn’t mesh with my more Kawajiri-focused taste. But if a pink-haired girl swordfighting amidst a metal soundtrack doesn’t sway you, I question your male status as well.

The story revolves around Utena Tenjou, who was given a rose ring as a child by a prince. Like any normal girl, she decides that she herself will become a prince. What? Utena has lived her life in a princely way thus far: she acts noble but never snobby, and she’s devoted to protecting the weak and bullied. One day she’s challenged to a duel — kendo, or so she thinks — for the honor of her friend Wakaba, but it turns out to be a bit more than a kendo match.

Neither kritik or I have a very clear idea of where this is going, but it shows up with all guns blazing and makes no apologies. The show doesn’t feel the need to over-explain just yet, it’s too busy exciting and confusing you. I thought that at the very least you could say that few first episodes were executed with incredible confidence:

kritik: Yes! Notice the show is done with the same confidence Utena shows in her dealings with the world… it’s like they’re in sync.

Then there’s the ballsy move to toss the viewers into a weird world without much explanation; it isn’t a move that a lot of anime tends to make. Recounting what happens to Utena from when she sets foot in the woods:

1. Bizarre door that appears to open via her rose ring.
2. Floating stairs that lead up to a surreal floating castle-like structure.
3. Anthy Himemiya in a dress, apparently engaged to a student council member, spouting a sword erotically from her chest.
4. A duel, between her with a kendo stick and her opponent with a real sword.

And not only does Utena appear ready for it, she manages to brush it off by the time she gets home.

kritik: [It's] fantasy after all. she wants to be a man (i.e., do as she wills, be strong) while she’s quite strongly against men (they travel in groups and beat the weak). She wants to be a prince, basically…
otou-san: but most fantasy has that grace period where the hero/ine, despite her dreams and imaginings, has to adjust to whatever fantastical situation she’s thrown into. I mean, I’d poop my pants, but the girl totally rolls with it.
kritik: it’s like a dream, where you immediately accept what’s happened and move on.

The dreamlike events and equally dreamlike logic of acceptance makes Utena’s opening episode one of the most unique out there. Where do we go from here? Well, our combination will start to take a more definite shape as the series itself does, and I hope that some of our volleys will unearth some thoughts and conclusions that we might not have come to alone. I’m sure that those of you who’ve seen Utena will enjoy reading our missed conclusions and wild speculation, but that’s part of the fun. Look forward to it — next week it’ll be kritik’s turn.

Neo-Venezia

Cropped. Click for full size on pixiv.

It probably won’t surprise any Aria viewer that this one would go at the top of the list. Yes, there are cute gondoliers and suteki~ oneesamas like Alicia, but the lead character of Aria is not the titular cat, but Aqua — and its fake Italian city. Built by human hands, and mostly as a tourist destination, but not to be a gaudy Vegas/Cancun/Dubai statement of “look what we can do” or a faux-experience Disneyland. Instead, Neo-Venezia is an authentic locale born from the dedication of a few intrepid souls to recreating a simpler time and place. It’s the best kind of future, really: Technology ensures that all of the wonderful baked goods and none of the diseases of the past live on in a pleasant and welcoming place that neither gets you too dirty nor reeks of touristy “plastic”-ness.

Glie

If any anime gives off a similar vibe to Aria, it’s Haibane Renmei. I don’t mean in the sense of stories, characters, or even mood (Haibane actually has a story, which doesn’t make it superior to Aria necessarily, but different for sure). It’s that indescribable something special that makes you feel like you’re the only person who’s ever watched this, regardless of how many other people you know who find it wonderful. And like Aqua, Glie is a place that affects the story as strongly as any of its residents. Unlike Aqua, it has a complex set of rules and physics that separate it from the rest of the universe — at least, people assume that, but seeing as how they can’t freaking leave, it’s hard to prove anything about the outside world. Glie provides a wonderful mirror to the characters’ minds. Rakka loves it at first, but mistrusts its intentions more and more as she comes to empathize with Reki, who finds the town to be a comfortable cage from which she can’t escape.

Mayan

Leave it to Kawamori to name his island ode to vanishing culture and environment so plainly after a nearly-decimated American culture. Obvious message is obvious. Mayan serves two main purposes: it inspires a desire in Shin, Roy, and the viewer to protect it (wait… geographical moe?), and it provides a unique perspective on the story of the final world war on Earth. So it’s not the most well-developed location, but it does what it does well. In Macross Zero’s pre-SDF timeline, the world has yet to unite behind the giant ship to fight the Zentraedi, and is instead fighting itself. Honestly, it’s probably a more compelling story, and that’s largely because it’s told from the perspective of the Mayan Islanders — the collateral damage who can understand neither the motivations nor the sophisticated weapons of the mainlanders. The low-tech, spiritual world that they inhabit lends a mysterious new meaning to the Protoculture for fans of Macross, and their mythology does more to explain exactly what the Protoculture is (and means) than Exedol’s visit to the edge of the universe in Macross 7.

There are more, many more…

Even a completely real place (like Tokyo) can be an effective focus of a story, especially if, like other fictional characters, it’s put in a unique situation or circumstance (a massive earthquake). The question of place is often what elevates an otherwise ho-hum anime beyond average, whether it’s a school life or post-apocalypse setting. So what are your favorite anime places? Is there anywhere that’s crucial to a plot, fascinating to think about, or just well-drawn enough that it catches your brain as much as the characters and story? I, for one, would like to watch it, so I can take another vacation without having to get the days off work.

Well, the holidays got me sick. Not fun. But being bed-ridden was a great excuse to do my first legit series marathon in a very long time. I chose the supernatural action thriller Ga-Rei Zero. There may be minor spoilers, but considering the bulk of the story is laid out within a couple episodes, there’s not a lot to spoil in this series.

Story

Ga-Rei Zero is the origin story of the Ga-Rei manga, showing the path a young girl named Kagura took to become a powerful exorcist in a world full of demons and government “spiritual defense” organizations. Told mostly in flashback, Zero recounts the love she shared for 3 years with her surrogate sister Yomi.

There’s not much way to talk about this series without talking about the bizarre beginning: The non-traditional structure is a make-or-break point for Zero. By starting somewhere near the end, telling in flashback, then finally joining the two ends, writer Katsuhiko Takayama (also series writer for ef) constructed a horrible ode to inevitability that anime doesn’t deal in often, and some people just aren’t gonna go for. I can think of a live-action parallel: In Scorsese’s Casino, Robert De Niro’s character dies in a firey car bomb in the first couple minutes. The ensuing movie is entirely a flashback, and three hours later you remember: oh, yeah. He dies. Ga-Rei Zero takes an even more desperately depressing approach. Scorsese aimed to shock you with your forgetfulness, but this series constantly twists the knife to remind you what awaits.

On a superficial level of motorcycles, government demon-fighting teams, heroes-turned-bad, and depressive mood, Zero strongly resembles Blassreiter. It has a few key traits that separate it, though: half length, devotion to standard anime-“isms,” superior animation, and more personal themes of love and individual destiny versus Blassreiter’s focus on faith and duty.

Characters

I really wish Kagura were a more interesting character, but in truth that goes for most of the characters of G-RZ. Rather than a complex collection of emotions, they often feel like they’re just a product of the things that happen to them throughout the series — can you honestly say there are many people out there who wouldn’t have taken Yomi’s route, given the absolute emotional and spiritual pummeling she suffers?

That said, their generic qualities might serve to make them more sympathetic (same question applies here), and as the climax approaches, it’s hard not to feel for Kagura and, to a degree, Yomi’s erstwhile fiancé Noriyuki.

Technical

There isn’t a whole lot to say here. Nothing animation-wise, or audio-wise, went over-the-top for execution, but it’s appealing and more than solid the whole time. Character designs and overall style project a Production IG vibe, but maybe that’s just because Kagura = Saaya (Blood+) to some degree in my mind and it colored everything else. Fight scenes are well-directed and there’s no slippage in the high quality over 12 episodes.

Themes

Amidst all the standard anime junk — dead mothers and distant fathers, swordfighters in seifuku (not complaining), a world of improbable science-meets-magic — Zero manages to raise some interesting points. It’s really too bad that it spends a lot of time broadcasting those points through viewer proxies, dramatic monologues, and its lovely Engrishy tagline, “Would you kill someone you love, because of love?” Not that I expect the average anime to stop holding its viewers’ hands, but Ga-Rei Zero teased that it was going to give me lots to chew on, then took that away by outright verbalizing almost all of it.

While the show really wants us to ponder the question of whether Yomi overcame the Stone’s power or it just granted her true wish, what’s the difference? Either way, love tragically triumphs over greed and revenge, not that it helps anything. In hindsight, it’s kinda like the Haibane Renmei question of intent, except with damnation in place of salvation as the end result.

The Y Word

If you’ve read anything on blogs about Ga-Rei Zero, you’ve probably heard the word yuri tossed around a few times. In fact, ANN’s page lists “yuri” as the only theme. Glad I wasn’t watching it for that, or the other themes of “senseless suffering,” “inevitable tragedy,” and “sweet swordfighting” would have really distracted me.

But you can feel the sisterly love, and it really has to be ramped up for the horrific result to be felt. In the end, out of 4 hours of series there are about 30 seconds worth of anything that could be called yuri. There is one mouth-to-mouth kiss (a sort of Lady and the Tramp thing with Pocky), but that scene is there for a reason: it’s paralleled later, with horribly sad (if slightly overplayed) results.

So don’t watch this for yuri anymore than you’d watch it for guro — there’s enough blood, bathing, and shortness of skirts to cover your perverted needs, but it’s just not that kind of show. You’d have to be pretty depraved to get your jollies from something so damn depressing.

Bottom Line

Ga-Rei Zero caught me with its surprises in the first couple episodes, but after those were over, it continued to entertain and satisfy with good animation, cute girls with swords, and my ultimate anime fanservice, ludicrous tragedy (geez, maybe I am an extremist after all, clearly some people are not up for that and I guess I can’t blame them).

1990s OVAs full of tits, blood and total apocalypse fed my early fandom, and while this isn’t strictly an update to that it does provide the same kinds of thrills with a little more depth, a lot more heart, and a modern edge. Plus, it’s a lot better than Mnemosyne. Take its 12-episode length into account, and it’s hard for me not to recommend Ga-Rei Zero to anyone who likes their anime dark, action-heavy, and depressing.

I’m not going to go too much into why it’s made of awesome and win — many have seen it, plenty of blogs praise it even if they don’t agree on the methods, and most people already know lots about JC Staff’s occasionally brilliant skills of execution that can make something as rote as Hatsukoi Limited into a winner and something well written into animated gold. The true strength of Honey & Clover is not its humor, underplayed dramatic moments, or unwillingness to insultingly explain key points to you out loud; it’s the writing, plain and simple. As a fan you’ve probably spent at least a little time justifying why anime isn’t kids’ stuff, but you’re often repaid by archetyped characters bouncing around a high school and crying a lot. Honey & Clover is your true reward. Even the theme that I most wanted to talk about is a little more “mature” than what you normally see: That’s letting go, one of the series’ many central threads that runs throughout. I’m picking ONE because apparently I can write almost 2,000 words about it, so to take on the whole thing would be extreme fucking insanity.

Something atypical for me: I try to leave them out normally, but there will probably be big spoilers.

What do I mean, specifically, when I say “letting go?” Easiest way to explain is through the characters, and how their ability to “let go” is directly proportional to how much they grow as people.

Rika and Shuu. Rika’s pretty easy: she is still hanging on to her dead husband. In a way, Shuu-chan is hanging on to him as well. They both lived a depressed life, feeling half complete without their counterpart and unable to even be around each other. Rika fully planned to off herself after completing their last joint project, which seems counterintuitive to me (seems that finishing that would be the last thing she needs to move on, but she’s taking “move on” in a very different way). She’s the only person who’s somewhat unclear at the end of the story: did Mayama really open her eyes to the kind of love that can free her? Not sure. But she did get the benefit of a very shock-treatment method of therapy when they visited her childhood home. Shuu of course, freed himself by admitting his feelings about Hagu, — he’d already been dedicating himself to her, but to truly live for her was his way of finally facing the future.

Kaoru. He’s the next simplest to explain. Though his father specifically told him not to pursue a grudge, he dedicated his life to just that. Was it about redeeming his father, reclaiming the company, or revenge on the villain? It didn’t matter. He wasn’t even sure anymore, and besides, everything he did from a very early age was colored by his envy of Shinobu. He couldn’t stop his hanging on to the past until the deed was done, and then he was left without a purpose for quite a while. Clinging to something, especially a grudge, for so long causes you to really lose sight of everything and get serious tunnel vision.

Yamada. Speaking of which. Boys from her childhood, good looking suitors with successful careers, even a better job — they all existed outside her narrow field of vision that encompassed only Mayama. What was it that finally broke the spell? More than likely being around Rika and throwing herself into her work had the largest effect on her, but of course cool guy Nomiya’s clumsy and vulnerable persistence finally opened the door. She might be the most cartoony of the characters, like a shoujo heroine (Kotoko from Itazura Na Kiss, anyone?) who just can’t stop. But when she became free, it happened in a realistic enough way: not a snapping realization, but a gradual stepping into the light.

Mayama. Here’s the flipside of that equation. What is there to talk about? Mayama’s hangup is obvious. It’s Rika. Wrong. At least, not all the way right. Yes, he had a serious problem with his one-way feelings for Rika, but that (sort of) paid off in the end. The moment when his folly ended was when he loosened his iron grip on Yamada, the poor, beautiful bench warmer. Even he wasn’t 100% sure whether he was keeping an overly big-brother hold on her or if he really was keeping her on the back burner, but neither one was healthy. He found it very easy to blame her until Nomiya went on the offensive and he stopped bemoaning his own situation long enough to realize how badly he was fucking her up by maintaining his hold.

Shinobu. The younger Morita seems to have had the opposite problem of everyone here; instead of clinging to something that’s holding him back, his unwillingness to cling to anything is what stopped him for so long. His feelings went unexpressed, responsibility was an ignored nuisance, and he even tried to bring Hagu on that train of irresponsible apathy with him. In that way he’s actually like Takemoto gone unchecked, but more on that in a second.

Hagu. For most of her life, until college, drawing was her only escape. And when she was told that she was better at art than most people, she reacted in a way that infuriated her “fans.” But Hagu’s desire to move back to the country and spend her adult life painting the forest and the mountains shouldn’t be confused with a clear-headed decision or an adult way of thinking. She just hung on to that life from before, and the more time she spent in Tokyo the more she seemed to  block out her own opinions and keep her focus on that goal that she might not even want. Combine that with being unwilling to trouble her beloved Shuu-chan, and by the time of her injury she wasn’t even sure what she wanted and what she was doing for others anymore. Morita put a stop to that with his selfish but caring request that she just stop her art and be with him. Paradoxically, she was able to feel her love of drawing again just by being told that she didn’t have to do it. And that same paradox freed her.

Takemoto. Poor Takemoto. It’s easy to think of him as Anthony Michael Hall in The Breakfast Club (RIP John Hughes), the nerd who went through the same (actually, more effective) journey of self-discovery as the rest of the crew but who didn’t get the girl and ended up writing everyone’s report for them.

Takemoto was cursed by his own self-awareness. Every year since Mayama’s graduation was progressively more sad, and it became harder and harder to hold on to his memories of carefree days filled with the love of friends and dominated by the image of Hagu. For Takemoto, even the very literal journey of self-discovery brought him only to realize the value of the things and people he wanted to come back to. I thought sure he’d wind up replacing Shuu as a teacher, his attachment to the school and reluctance to commit to the future were so great.

At the end of the first series, it was in debate whether the naïve and crying Hagu was confused about her feelings or just plain couldn’t return his; by the middle of the second series the truth was heart-wrenchingly obvious. And that, long past the point of unequivocal defeat, was really hard for Takemoto to stop clinging to. It partially served as a reminder of how much different this is from most anime: as with Yamada, just working hard to win over your unrequited love won’t necessarily change anything. It just makes you lonelier and less tied to reality. But more importantly, this is about how the things that were holding Takemoto back were tied together. When he finally cut the ties to both his college life and his unrequited love, he could rest. Hagu let him do that with her trip to the train station and her goofy bittersweet sandwiches. And when Takemoto was finally able to cry and let it go, we the viewers finally got the chance to be free as well, left with our own bittersweet taste.

Close to home (do you remember love, and how it ruins everything?)

Putting aside the flowery talk that always sounds better in your head than in print, how does this contribute to me, my viewing, and the fearsome oyaji hate machine that is Honey & Clover? Simple, on one level. It makes for a story that someone like me (a bit older, out of school for quite some time) can not only identify with, but be hurt by in a way that more juvenilely focused plots (no offense) just can’t deliver. While that KeyAni gut punch is swell at first, it fades quickly. For the feeling to really sink in and last through time and repeated viewings, it has to resonate. There must be identifiable pain in your own life behind it.

I suppose that’s why Takemoto’s character creates a dull ache in my heart. He’s the reliable but not-too-sexy dude who doesn’t get the girl and can’t quite be okay with growing up. Eventually I did get the girl, but Honey & Clover showed me that I still haven’t quite shaken the Takemoto-like desire for things to just “stop spinning” for a while. That’s painful, as it refers to mortality, which is an even more agonizing subject than unrequited love — you cannot go back, no matter how much you want to. But even that realization is a beautiful thing.

And it means that for all those marvelous characters, great humor, and tasty music, the thing that really sets Honey & Clover apart is that it has the power to hurt, help, and look inside its viewers. You don’t see that too often. It also apparently has the power to end all the usual irreverence in my blog posts, so I apologize for that. Back to dick jokes and Macross references next time.

But that resonance was important for me to get across, and I know plenty of folks love the series for different reasons so I ask this: did Honey & Clover hit you very hard personally, compared to other anime? Was there a character that you identified with particularly, as I did with Takemoto? And might H&C help you move on from something?

Three things, I guess:

1. Haibane Renmei is a series that was recommended a few times. I couldn’t remember by whom, so I checked MAL to jog my memory: turns out 16 of my MAL friends have seen it: for some reason CCY did not rate it, and lelangir called it a 7 by virtue of the fact that it was not Gunbuster (understandable), and the rest were in the 8-10 range. I realize MAL is a severely unscientific research tool, but it does give me a pretty good impression of people’s thoughts. Also, I do remember that coburn and TheBigN were the biggest proponents, although others call it a 10.
2. I watched it too friggin’ fast to do any mid-series posts.
3. I’m trying in vain to translate that little lump in my throat into an appropriate post.

So I’m not sure where to begin, but let me say this: my overall impression is that Haibane doesn’t play out like one anime… more like three. They don’t have hard demarcations, instead they flow seamlessly into one another. But if you took say, episode 2, episode 7, and episode 11, they would each feel like they could have come from a different series.

First, there’s the introduction. This lasts fully half the series or so, and it gives off a decidedly un-ABe-like vibe (if you’ve seen Serial Experiments Lain and/or Texhnolyze you know what I mean). We, the viewers, get to see the town of Glie through new and wondrous eyes — Rakka’s eyes. The beginning of her journey is painful. She’s born lonely into the world, devoid of her memories, and her own body becomes a foreign thing as she’s transformed into a winged angelic Haibane. But others who’ve been through this shelter her, and the residents of Glie are lovely people, so she’s surrounded by love. In this way, it’s very Aria-like. And like Aqua, Glie is a unique location because it’s almost ridiculously mundane in its day-to-day life but fantastic for the simple fact that it exists. As Rakka fits into this world, there is little to no plot development to speak of, just a wide-eyed sense of wonderment and discovery, and Aria’s same simple magic that leaves you smiling.

But Haibane is a creeper. As suteki~ as that first part is, the second arc is equally crushing. Things change, Rakka enters a deep crisis of faith and personality, and like any good fictional hero, must overcome this. Unfortunately, it’s pretty hard to talk about it, or the third arc, without giving away the farm, and the unexpected way in which the story unfolds — though never jarring, always kind of morphing — is one of the series’ strong points.

One of the unexpected turns (if not quite a twist) is like Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann’s most masterful one: it turns out the series isn’t actually about who you think it’s about. Well… it is and it isn’t. But let’s say Haibane Renmei has two fantastic characters in Rakka and Reki, the oneesama-type character who takes selfless care of her fellow Haibane. It’s an interesting proposition, the idea that all the characters are half-lives whose more putty-like years were spent in a world (presumably ours, but maybe not) that they can no longer remember. That means that they get a fresh start, so the things weighing down Reki’s mind are particularly powerful, and Rakka quickly learns that life in Glie can be an easy stroll or the world’s most pleasant prison depending on where you sit.

Haibane Renmei, according to Yoshitoshi ABe, is a religious story, although it doesn’t mirror or endorse any particular religion. The Haibane’s angel-like appearance probably serves no other purpose than to make this obvious (that and he probably liked drawing wings and halos).

If it doesn’t really tell the story of a god, then how is it religious? I suppose it’s because the central topics here are salvation and the nature of sin. The Haibane Renmei (communicator) tells of the circle of sin, a thought paradox that characters like Rakka and Reki become hopelessly trapped in. It’s heartbreaking because it’s a bit like original sin in that they carry it from their birth, and are powerless to stop it when they emerge naïvely from the cocoon. But salvation also comes whether they like it or not.

The assessment of sin and salvation goes something like this: Being deserving is not a matter of intent; intent only clouds the issue. That’s not how you’re saved.

No one is entirely devoid of sin. Even if you’re just selfishly trying to absolve yourself of sin, if you’re good at it, you become good in the process. I love that. In that way, it’s a lot more idealized then your average actual religion, but makes such beautiful sense. In the end, that anti-paradox becomes the fix for the first paradox, the circle of sin. Though much is lost along the way, Haibane Renmei leaves its viewers feeling saved.