A family is living in a small house in an obscure corner of a certain city—in that house lives the family’s spoiled four-year-old boy Kun-chan. When Kun-chan gets a little sister named Mirai, he feels that his new sister stole his parents’ love from him, and is overwhelmed by many experiences he undergoes for the first time in his life. In the midst of it all, he meets an older version of Mirai, who has come from the future. – ANN
Review: Please be aware that this review contains some plot and thematic spoilers for the film.
Change is difficult for us all, but as adults its inevitability is already mostly a known quantity even if its specific form almost never is. For young children, though, each change, no matter how small, can seem like a drastic upheaval. Just when they’re starting to learn their world’s rules, that world might change and transform into some new state of existence. As we grow older we begin to forget how unfamiliar and drastic these feelings are, and this is something that I think about quite a bit. Though we might grumble at the toddler throwing a tantrum in Target, we ought to consider the tools we’ve developed to handle the negative emotional waves that crash over our psyche, and understand that we didn’t always have access to those when we were their age.
Mirai is a film that demonstrates deep compassion and empathy towards children who are beginning to embark on the exhilarating and terrifying “firsts” that many of us encounter early in our lives. Kun-chan, the little boy at the center of the movie’s story, undergoes a very strenuous emotional journey during which he comes to realize the importance of the role he plays in his family, as well as the connections he has with its various other members, some of whom he never had the chance to meet.
Mizore Yoroizuka and Nozomi Kasaki are a pair of best friends in their final year of high school. They’re both obsessed with the school’s brass band club. With Mizore on the oboe and Nozomi on the flute, they spend their days in happiness–until the club begins to practice songs inspired by the fairy tale Liz und ein Blauer Vogel (Liz and the Blue Bird). Immersed in this story, Mizore and Nozomi begin to realize that there may be no such thing as being together forever. – ANN
Review:Please be aware, this review contains spoilers of the film, as well as of season 2 of Sound! Euphonium.
It’s often said that, if you truly love someone, you need to be willing to let them go. The other half of the saying suggests that if the relationship was meant to be, then person you love will eventually return to you. But what about the sometimes transient relationships that arise out of a particular moment’s necessity? There’s nothing that says friendships built around shared employment, a similar class schedule, or even an after-school club membership can’t last well beyond the time and place of their creation. But more often than not, it seems as though once the experience has ended and the opportunity for shared strife is gone, a relationship that may have seemed rock-solid suddenly might start to lose its context and fade away.
“Starlight” is the song and dance revue troupe loved throughout the world. Karen and Hikari make a promise with each other when they’re young that one day they’ll stand on that stage together. Time passes, and now the girls are 16 years old. Karen is very enthusiastic about the lessons she takes every day, holding her promise close to her heart. Hikari has transferred schools and is now away from Karen. But the cogs of fate turn, and the two are destined to meet again. The girls and other “Stage Girls” will compete in a mysterious audition process to gain acceptance into the revue. – ANN
Review:This review contains plot and thematic spoilers for the anime. Heavy spoilers are indicated; the section in question can be skipped.
Do you believe in fate? That once our life is set in motion, its pre-determined pathway is truly an immovable arc of destiny? Anime is filled with stories of prophesies fulfilled and traditions unbroken; it’s a theme whose expression allows us to believe in the possibility and comfort of things greater than ourselves. There are also plenty of anime, however, that dare to suggest that we, as human beings, are more responsible for our lives than some of us may be comfortable fully accepting. I tend to like these stories better, because rather than simply implying that our poor state of being is solely the result of our own mistakes, it suggests that we might also have some power to alter the flow of the river and set ourselves on a better course, given the opportunity and support of course.
Revue Starlight is, in its simplest form, a story about a group of girls choosing not to accept an exclusionary story – a fate which does not encompass the happiness of them all. Instead, they attempt to re-write the stage-play of their existence and to reinterpret their story as one which allows room for successful fulfillment of their desires.
Kōta Hasegawa is a high school boy who loves the yellow Pom Pom Purin dog. By mere coincidence, he ends up attending the same school as Yū Mizuno, a boy who likes the bunny My Melody. Yū tells Kōta that there’s nothing to be ashamed of for liking Sanrio’s cute characters. Together, Kōta, Yū, Shunsuke Yoshino, Ryō Nishimiya, and Seiichiro Minamoto learn to accept their love of the characters instead of feeling embarrassed. – ANN
Review:This review may contain spoilers for the series.
When was the first time you felt ashamed for liking something? When I was in elementary school, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was huge. I loved the cartoon series and the video games more than almost anything else. I really wanted to own some of the toys, but as a fourth-grader without a steady source of income, it was up to me to try to get my parents to buy them for me. Looking back as an adult, I can logically say that there’s nothing wrong with a girl wanting to own action figures, but all the toy commercials had boys in them and even at my young age I was afraid of being judged or laughed-at for wanting to play with toys made for boys. The happy ending to my story was that my mother never once judged me or made fun of me for my preference, and I went on to build a large collection of action figures, Star Trek figures, and other miscellaneous fandom toys that eventually led to the overgrown collection of anime figurines I have today.
That, of course, was just my experience, but not everyone has the luxury of crossing society’s arbitrary gender boundaries with their likes and dislikes, especially boys and men who enjoy things typically aimed at girls and women (because believe it or not being a girl or woman is valued as lesser by our society, even by people who might not necessarily think so consciously). I know my husband has gotten some flak for his enjoyment of My Little Pony and preference for pinks and purples, and in an even broader sense, there are people who are harassed and harmed because their gender expression doesn’t fit into a certain narrow binary. Sanrio Boys isn’t a heavy hitter when it comes to discussing the latter; in fact, the series doesn’t really touch on gender itself very deeply. But it does spend a lot of time looking at the former – boys who express themselves through their enjoyment of characters and products typically aimed at women.
Kouta was picked on for his love of Pom Pom Purin.
Each of the five main characters in this series exemplifies the different ways that people experience liking things outside the mainstream. Kota, the everyman protagonist, was picked on by his peers as a child because he carried around a Pom Pom Purin stuffed animal. Yu loves My Melody without shame, but his younger sister finds his hobby disgusting. Ryou is the youngest sibling in a family of older sisters, and fears being pigeonholed into the role of an effeminate younger brother. There’s nothing particularly complicated about any of the guys’ circumstances, but the simple injustices of their situations are laid bare for the audience in a way that I find very relateable. I like to think that most viewers would tend to realize how hurtful bullying someone for their hobbies is (and I imagine there are a lot of anime fans out there who have gotten picked on for being into “weird cartoons”), but the straightforward, sometimes ham-handed way the series insists upon the fact that young men can and do like cutesy characters and merchandise is something some fans may not have thought much about, even considering their own circumstances.
Beyond its central message, the show is pretty light on narrative and hits a lot of trope-y beats that would be at home in any high-school-based anime series. There’s a strong emphasis on friendship and relationship-building between the boys, a sprinkling of dramatic interpersonal conflict, a whole boatload of earnestness (and some dramatic overwork-to-the-point-of-self-destruction) from our main-man Kota, and a school culture festival to tie the entire thing up with a sparkly bow at the end. It also spends some time paying attention to its assumed viewer base (young women, the same individuals who tend to be major consumers of Sanrio products) by not only featuring cute guys being cute together on a regular basis, but also getting those same characters into situations where they hang out together buying merchandise or take on princely personas for the sake of a school theater production. There’s certainly nothing wrong with this; as far as fanservice goes it’s easily some of the more innocuous I’ve seen lately. It does distract a bit from what I see as an atypically good toy commercial disguised as an average anime series.
It’s a fun day at Sanrio Puroland.
The commercialized bits of the series are admittedly pretty entertaining and mostly forgivable. The boys go shopping for Sanrio toys and merchandise on a regular basis (naturally) and those bits made me long for the days when there was still a Sanrio store at the Mall of America (I’m probably showing my age by saying that). They also make a big mid-series trip to Sanrio Puroland, the Sanrio theme park in Tokyo with costumed characters and themed areas and performances. There’s a particularly ridiculous montage in the episode where the boys wander through all the areas and big attractions, dressing up in costumes and interacting with their favorite characters. It’s pure fanservice in more ways than one, but it’s indulgent rather than trashy – I’ll give it a pass (and be jealous that I’m not in their place). Having seen many more shameless toy commercials disguised as anime in my time, the fact that this series blends the fluff with some fairly substantial character moments is pretty good by me.
Ultimately whether viewers are likely to glean anything from Sanrio Boys’ lessons in subverting gender essentialism will be based on how much they can also tolerate being advertised to and whether they enjoy cute-guy pandering. I happen to be a Sanrio fan who likes shows starring cute guys, but it’s obviously not everyone’s specific cup of tea. I’d argue, though, that those who go in with an open mind will likely come away with something worth more than the price of admission (and some stickers and key chains).
Pros: The show is strongly in favor of people enjoying what they enjoy, gender roles be damned. If you like Sanrio, that’s an added bonus.
Cons: The second half of the series is especially filled with common tropes that stray away from some of the positive messaging in the first half.
Rin enjoys camping by the lakeshore, Mt. Fuji in view. Nadeshiko rides her bike to see Mt. Fuji, too. As the two eat cup noodles together, they behold the beautiful scenery around them. – ANN
Review:This review may contain mild spoilers for the series.
If you’re like me, you’ve long since accepted the fact that “Cute Girls Doing Cute Things” is a perfectly legitimate anime genre. I’ve even seen it abbreviated “CGDCT,” so it’s time to acknowledge that this slice-of-life sub-set is now firmly its own thing and has been for years. As with other genres, it comes with its share of identifiable tropes; these series sometimes have a tendency towards Seinfeldian “nothing actually happens” stories, and many give off an impression of being frothy and insubstantial (if not downright insulting to the intelligence of the audience). This is probably true for a portion of them, but what I find appealing about these shows is the emphasis on friendship and relationship-building between girls, which is often in short supply elsewhere. This isn’t to say that the genre isn’t without its problems, voyeuristic focus on girls’ interactions for the benefit of straight male otaku being the big one, but I think the best of these series do a good job of making it so I can push these concerns to the side for a half hour and appreciate what’s there to enjoy.
Rin sets up her campsite along the lake.
Laid-Back Camp is one of the better examples of this sort of entertainment due to its emphasis on developing the friendship between two characters who are very different from one-another. The story begins as Rin arrives at her campsite alone, and raises her tent in view of the lovely autumn lakeside environment. Her solo camping serenity is interrupted by Nadeshiko, a bubbly girl Rin’s age who accidentally oversleeps on a nearby bench until after sunset. When Rin shows Nadeshiko some hospitality and compassion, Nadeshiko immediately becomes enamored with the camping life. Back at school, she joins an outdoors club and she and the other members start to enjoy group camping. Though Rin goes to their school as well, she prefers not to join the group; while she maintains a friendship with Nadeshiko and occasionally camps with her, she prefers to enjoy the outdoors alone, on her own terms.
Rin and Nadeshiko do a little duo-camping.
What I appreciate about this set up is that it eschews the expected story arc that would likely focus on Rin opening up, becoming friends with the other girls, and learning to favor group dynamics instead of honoring her inherent loner-ism – i.e. fundamentally changing herself to please others. Instead, the series seems much more focused on exploring the positive aspects of both Nadeshiko’s group-oriented style and Rin’s solo-camp adventures while vilifying neither of them or obligating them to alter their personalities for the sake of storytelling. Rin and Nadeshiko fall into a comfortable rhythm of texting one-another photos of their excursions while the series follows them (mostly) individually from place-to-place. This gives off the message that there isn’t just one “right way” to enjoy camping or, by extension, many of life’s other wonderful hobbies. Just like there isn’t just one way to enjoy watching anime (and no one is going to convince me to change my stubborn fandom ways).
I also got a more basic level of enjoyment from the fact that this anime is not just focused on the act of going out camping, but also on the cool equipment available to make camping more comfortable and, more importantly, all of the delicious foods one can prepare while “roughing it” outside. Many years ago, a friend of mine who had spent some time in Japan had me try to guess what the most popular food is for Japanese campers. In the US it tends to be easy things like hot-dogs, granola bars, beans, and other items you can heat up easily with minimal equipment (or eat cold). I was surprised to learn that in Japan curry is popular, with rice cooked in special cookers over the campfire. It seemed counter-intuitive to me, what with the messiness and need for special utensils, but there you go. Laid-Back Camp features curry and more, including meats, fried rice, stews, soups… one of the characters even busts out a camping-specific cook book at one point. It’s no secret that I’m a fan of food-related anime and manga, so this aspect of the show was a welcome surprise (though as far as iyashikei (“healing”) anime go, it’s something that seems to show up in one form or another fairly often, so maybe I shouldn’t have been so surprised!). I’m not sure that I’d actually take any of these recipes on the road, but it is interesting to learn that, yes, cooking and eating fun, somewhat labor-intensive foods outside is something that people do.
Through Nadeshiko and the club’s camping adventures, we also get a look at the different types (and price points) of camping gear available, which is fun – watching other people shop for things fulfills a vicarious need in me, and I suspect others might feel the same. I also enjoyed watching the characters learn new skills and techniques through study and experience. Since much of the series takes place during the colder months, there are special considerations as far as sleeping bags, blankets, and ground coverings are concerned, so it was interesting to learn about those things while also getting a realistic look at how much those items cost. The girls all get part-time jobs to help support their hobby, which I thought was a nice touch.
Club members learn how to build a different type of fire.
What I think is the real success of this show, though, was that it was able to get me interested in something I was formerly averse to ever doing – camping. Call me soft, but I have never been a fan of the outdoors. I don’t like mosquitoes, heat/humidity, going days without bathing, smoky campfires… I’m a big wimp who spends most of my time connected to the internet and has an adversarial relationship with the sunlight. Strangely enough, though, watching Rin’s adventures in particular really taught me to recognize the appeal in spending some time disconnected from daily life, enjoying nature. It’s worth noting that camping alone as a woman is probably something more easily-done in Japan than the US; I’d feel fundamentally safer in a place with lower crime, especially if it were overnight in an unsecured sleeping situation. But if I ever make it over there, I might consider it as an option, assuming equipment rental is easy. And again, since the series takes place over the colder months, there are few heat concerns and no insects; it wasn’t until watching this series that I even thought about off-season camping as an option, so it’s encouraging to know that it’s something people can actually do.
Beyond that, this show is just a really pleasant, offbeat pseudo-travelogue that benefits from a naturally gorgeous setting (most of the camping takes place within view of Mount Fuji). The character relationships are healthy and low-pressure, the excursions are varied and soothing, and there’s even some light humor thrown in to keep things upbeat. I think it’s worth noting that viewers who are looking for something high-stakes and exciting are not likely to get past the first couple of episodes; by design this isn’t a high-energy piece with a lot going on. But set opposite something with a lot of action it might serve as a nice way to break up a more “serious” viewing experience. Or, if you’re like me, this is just the type of series that you might prefer when the rest of the world is stressful enough. And heck, if you’re driven to take a break from society for a bit, this might give you some basic skills to do so.
Pros: The show is exceedingly chill. There’s some fun focus on tools and eats. The relationship between the two main characters is positive and encouraging.
Cons: Some viewers may find the show fundamentally boring.
Retsuko is a 25-year old red panda who works in her dream company’s accounting department. But it turns out that she is forced to keep doing more and more impossible tasks by her superiors and co-workers. She doesn’t talk back to them, but she still has to let off steam, so she ends up going to karaoke by herself and singing death metal. – ANN
Copyright 2018 – Sanrio/Netflix
Streaming: Netflix
Source: Original
Episodes: 10 (15 minutes apiece)
Review: About two years ago I caught wind of Aggressive Retsuko, a new Sanrio property debuting in two minute chunks on YouTube. The concept really tickled me – a twenty-something OL who puts up with typical office politics during her day job, lets out her many frustrations in the evening by growling death metal into a microphone at her local Karaoke parlor. A bit of a one-note joke to be sure, but one that hit me the right way and provided some decent belly laughs. I never watched much of it because it wasn’t that easily available, but I definitely indulged in some of the merchandise when it started popping up in my local Hot Topic and other Asian pop-culture shops. When this sequel appeared it actually took my by surprise; I only caught wind of it after reading Jacob Chapman’s preview of the first couple of episodes the most recent Spring Preview Guide over at ANN, and initially questioned the choice to make the episodes longer than their original two minute format. I doubted that one gag, even a pretty good one, could sustain a longer episode, much less make it entertaining.
As they say, boy was I wrong. While Aggretsuko is still primarily what I would call a comedy, it’s also a fairly robust critique of some Japan-specific (but still widely-relatable) office issues, especially as they affect women in a workplace setting.
One of the series’s many successes is how Retsuko is presented as a character, because despite her cutesy, merch-ready appearance her situation feels so genuine. She’s a cute, earnest person who feels lucky to be working at one of her dream companies, but her accounting job is anything but satisfying and her situation is greatly complicated by the fact that she doesn’t interact well with some of her coworkers and doesn’t have the personality that helps her to play games and suck up to the right people. She tries to lay low and get through the day, but this only turns her into a dumping ground for others’ work and, unsurprisingly, she’s unwilling to tell anyone “no” and spoil the office harmony. While my work situation is leaps and bounds better than depicted in this series, I’m fully sympathetic to the idea that it’s just easier to become a “yes man” and take on more and more work than to speak up and potentially make someone else’s life more difficult. Maybe it’s due to my problems with social anxiety or my poor handle on how to maintain human relationships, but I can see how the idea of “harmony over all else” can be desirable while also ultimately harmful.
Mr. Ton is a literal chauvinist pig.
Retsuko is also exposed to some of the most blatantly awful chauvinism I’ve seen depicted in media in a long, long time. Every interaction with her boss, Mr. Ton, is a tension-filled exercise in suffering through off-color comments about women’s place in the office and what jobs they’re meant to perform. Each time Retsuko got caught in the cross-hairs I could feel myself welling up with frustration. I’ve luckily never been in her exact position or had a boss so profoundly terrible, but I have been made to feel like an outsider and I’ve heard my share of casual sexism, so subtle and insidious that it doesn’t register even with people who otherwise have a handle on those sorts of things. It’s exhausting and defeating, and even several days later I have to marvel at the ability of this series to capture that and bottle it for consumption. I’m reminded a bit of Hataraki Man, another workplace series that follows the trials of several women working for a magazine publisher and examines their specific hurdles and ways of coping with unjust and unequal treatment and expectations. In that case, the protagonist is hyper-competent and admired for her ability to “work like a man,” when the men around her don’t put in half the amount of work that she does. Both series are very telling about what we expect of men and women in the same setting, and those concerned with workplace equality will likely be similarly frustrated by both.
This is supposed to be a comedy anime, right?
Gori and Washimi help to mentor Retsuko.
If the series were nothing more than a string of upsetting circumstances for Retsuko to deal with via death metal therapy, it’s likely that it wouldn’t be upbeat enough to maintain its own sense of humor. What helps immensely is that the show allows Retsuko to get by with a little help from her friends, as well as with some personal mentorship from a couple of high-powered working women in her company who have seen it all and lived to tell the tale. Retsuko is by no means a loner and often gets support in one form or another from Fenneko, a snarky fennec fox who survives each workday through pure cynicism, and Haida, a hyena who’s an everyday normal guy nursing a crush on our heroine. There’s a good sense that these three have been in the trenches together for a while and the others do a decent, if flawed, job of talking Retsuko out of some situations. Fenneko in particular was a real source of entertainment for me just because of her deadpan delivery and ability to see right through the world’s fakery. She’s not a character who would work well as a protagonist, but in small doses she was hilarious. As Retsuko connects with Washimi and Gori, two women who she has only admired from afar prior to their meeting in a yoga class, she learns that there are opportunities to get things done even when the system seems rigged and unfair. There is a lot of depth in these interactions, especially when Washimi and Gori attempt to help Retsuko directly with her management or try to guide her towards making good life decisions, and I think they really elevate the show.
My one complaint, and it’s a relatively minor one, is that the series attempts to insert a sub-plot of sorts near the end and isn’t able to devote enough time to it for it to fully mature. In her desperation, Retsuko starts to believe that her only “out” from her job is to find a partner and get married so that she can live as a housewife. She ends up falling for a guy with zero personality whose only real distinguishing quality is his low-key lack of consideration for her. She grins and bears it for a while until she’s forced to face reality. The lesson, of course, is that we tend to tolerate so many things when we feel that our lives are hopeless, and in doing so give up our chance at happiness and dignity. I really loved that message, and only wish that the show had been a couple more episodes long to allow it to unfold more gradually. As a sentiment, it was absolutely right on the money and just another way in which the series surprised me.
In the couple of weeks that the series has been available I’ve seen the amount of fanwork for it blow up completely, so I doubt that my giving it a glowing review is somehow going to inform anyone who isn’t already aware and interested. But in case someone does randomly stumble across this anime blog (or, more likely, discover the show while adding dozens of things to their Netflix queue), I hope maybe my words or their own curiosity will give them the push that they need to give it a try. And then, maybe we can continue to try to dispel the myth that cutesy-looking cartoons are only for kids.
Pros: The protagonist is very sympathetic. Portrays Retsuko’s tough situations in a way that feels real and relatable. The character relationships and interactions add a lot of depth.
Cons: The late-game romantic subplot could have used a couple more episodes of exploration.
A certain point in time, in the continent of Telesis. The great war which divided the continent into North and South has ended after four years, and the people are welcoming a new generation. Violet Evergarden, a young girl formerly known as “the weapon”, has left the battlefield to start a new life at CH Postal Service. There, she is deeply moved by the work of “Auto Memories Dolls”, who carry people’s thoughts and convert them into words. Violet begins her journey as an Auto Memories Doll, and comes face to face with various people’s emotions and differing shapes of love. There are words Violet heard on the battlefield, which she cannot forget. These words were given to her by someone she holds dear, more than anyone else. She does not yet know their meaning but she searches to find it. – ANN
Review:This review contains minor plot spoilers for the TV Series.
I don’t like to get too hyped-up about upcoming anime because it’s so exhausting to be disappointed when the final production doesn’t live up to what was promised. I like to let anime happen on its own terms rather than measured against my often incorrect expectations. But I ask you, as one anime fan to another, what am I to do when Kyoto Animation releases a teaser trailer that’s such an incredible fever dream of flawless animation and the interplay of light and color? There was no possible way for me to ignore what I had seen and start with a completely blank slate once the series was finally posted to Netflix. Rather than try to fool myself into believing that it was possible for me to be impartial, I decided to embrace impartiality and read other reviews of the show, both episodic ones and those focused on the series as a whole. I prepared myself for possible disappointment by arming myself with information.
Was this the right tactic? I’m not entirely certain, but what I can say is that going into the experience expecting to be frustrated by certain aspects of the story left me feeling pleasantly surprised by how the series was not nearly as flawed as I had been led to believe. This sounds like faint praise, but I really did enjoy the show more than I had expected to and I’m left wondering why others were more disappointed.
The series is comprised of two concurrent story arcs – one about a country at war which has at this point reached an unsteady truce, and one about Violet Evergarden, the titular character, who comes from a place of darkness and must reacquaint herself with the subtlety and full range of human emotion. The former story is the weaker one of the two; it works well as a backdrop and helps to establish who Violet is and where she’s come from, but when it comes further into focus as part of the primary conflict it feels forced and uninteresting (one might even describe it as kind of “tryhard” if one wanted to be a little snarky). The latter is where the more meaningful and satisfying developments happen, and while Violet’s story occasionally gets a bit melodramatic, viewers like me who have a tendency to get emotionally-invested will likely eat this right up.
Violet’s scars from the war are both internal and, to the surprise of others, also external.
It does take a few episodes for Violet’s story to get moving, and as I commented to some friends after I’d watched the first three or so episodes I was concerned that the series felt overly-manipulative in its storytelling. Several of the early episodes feel like one-offs that serve to build the setting and put Violet where she needs to be, but don’t quite achieve the emotional highs they try to wring from the viewer using beautiful music and imagery. As a veteran of war remembered both for her youth and her emotionless brutality, Violet is clearly out of her element as an Auto Memory Doll. The Dolls are women who compose eloquent letters for paying clients by interpreting those clients’ feelings into written language. Violet, as an orphan who has seen (and committed) countless horrors as a child soldier, is more adept at reporting facts and taking people’s words at pure, functional face value. She may have emotions, but they’ve been so blunted by her tragic experiences that it creates a wall between her and others. Likewise, the first few episodes of the show where Violet stumbles through an ill-fitting civilian existence, feel like attempts at forced emotionality that are unsubtle and unnerving. I can’t say whether this was intentional or not, but looking back it’s interesting to me how much the structure and feel of the show mirrors Violet’s evolution.
As Violet becomes more accustomed to her work and begins to allow herself to feel and empathize with others, the show capitalizes on this to tell some of its most memorable stories. My two favorites were one in which Violet helped facilitate more genuine communication between a couple of soon-to-be-wed nobles (ignoring the squicky age difference between the two), and one in which she composed a large volume of letters from a mother to her daughter. Though both stories are still what I would qualify as one-offs, they also provided great snap-shots into Violet’s progression towards not only understanding others, but also understanding herself and the relationships that she values.
Violet returns to remember a painful moment.
I’m what I would call an empathetic viewer and I generally pay less attention to plot and continuity than many others, since I find little value in picking that stuff apart. I find more value in thinking about broad themes and considering how I was made to feel. This is the perfect example of a series that I think was made for that mode of viewing, since I recognize that there are some issues with the structure of the show and feel like it could have benefited from some reshuffling of priorities. As I mentioned earlier, possibly the weakest aspect of the show is its sub-plot revolving around the tenuous peace between its setting’s warring factions. Violet herself obtains a kind of personal emotional climax a few episodes from the end of the series, and much of the remainder of the show is devoted to a sort of shoehorned-in plot about a rebellion hell-bent on mucking up the signing of the peace treaty. The last two or three episodes of the series feature some great action pieces – an attempted bridge bombing, Violet parachuting into a war zone, a fist fight atop a moving train… all things that are cool to look at, but which feel as though they come from a completely different series (though they also provide a poignant resolution to the loss of Violet’s father figure that plagues her throughout the series, so it’s not all fluff). They’re ostensibly there to prove that Violet is no longer a cold-hearted killing machine (as she eschews using her strength and speed to actually murder anyone despite the fact that it would more easily resolve the situation), but we’ve already been shown so much evidence of her evolution that the reminder is unnecessary. The series as a whole easily made it into my good graces on its other merits and I could look at these last couple of episodes as mostly-extraneous, but I can see how many people would find this much more irritating.
The way in which Violet reaches a resolution in her troubled relationship with the Bougainvillea family is one of the high points of last few, weaker episodes.
As emotionally moving as many episodes are, they’re matched or exceeded by Kyoto Animation’s cinematic visuals and animation. If I’m being truthful, being able to watch characters move in front of gorgeous backgrounds is one of the bonuses of watching almost any Kyoto Animation series (and the main reason why I’ve pushed on through more episodes than I’d like of shows like Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maidand Amagi Brilliant Park) and this series is perhaps their most striking, detailed effort to date. It was the original commercial for the show that captured my attention, and while the series doesn’t quite sustain that exact look throughout, it still maintains a visual lushness that’s so far above and beyond what I’m used to as a TV anime viewer that I can’t rightly complain. I can only really fangirl in a basic way over how the show looks, but if you’re interested in some more educated commentary, check out Sakuga Blog’s series of production notes on the series.
I’m not a huge fan of Netflix’s delays when it comes to streaming anime series that I’m really anticipating, but I do appreciate the fact that I can watch an entire show (or cour, at least) in one or two sittings, so I suppose it’s kind of a wash in that sense. In this case, I got a chance to listen to lucky folks in other regions post their reactions, and despite the fact that my expectations were high they were also tempered and honed by what I was hearing. As someone with an (apparently) offbeat point of view on how stories are told it seems like I didn’t have much to worry about, as a lot of the complaints aren’t necessarily my complaints, and I truly enjoyed the show as a whole for its primary focus on feelings and human interactions and not as much on its weaker political plot. It’s gorgeous testament to KyoAni’s draftsmanship skills, as well as Netflix’s apparently pretty decent skills at picking anime series to partner with. It also gets a “5” on the Jessi Silver Cry Scale (TM) (I cried/held back tears at least 5 times while watching). If you’re someone who’s more into emotional through-lines in your entertainment, you might have a very good time with this series.
Pros: Visually beautiful. The feel of the story seems to mirror its protagonist’s development in many ways.
Cons: Political plot feels unnecessary. The real character climax arrives around episode 9 and parts of the last couple of episodes don’t fit in with those themes very well.
When high school student Sora Kashiwagi finds himself staring down a mysterious over-sized package sent to him by his self-proclaimed “adventurer” father, the last thing he expects is for it to be opened from the inside by a little mummy so small it can fit in the palm of his hand. – ANN
Review:This review contains minor plot spoilers for the TV series.
One of my favorite anime series is Natsume’s Book of Friends, which I think is an uncommonly good blend of supernatural fantasy and very sensitive human storytelling. As a fan of Japanese folklore, it’s also an excellent overview of traditional ghosts, spirits, and creatures that are inherently Japanese. But as much as I like Natsume, even I can admit that I’m not always in the mood to process its sometimes heavy story beats dealing with bullying, abusive family situations, and various forms of loss. That’s one of the primary reasons why I found How to Keep a Mummy to be such a pleasant romp. The series takes some of the components that make Natsume compelling and lightens it up to be a more comedic, fluffy distraction. It might not have as much emotional staying power, but it certainly is cute.
One aspect that makes this series a winner is its likeable lead character. From the instant that Mii-kun the mummy’s coffin shows up on his doorstep to the moments when Mii-kun and friends encounter some sort of peril, Sora proves himself to be not only a competent protector, but also a kind and caring friend and parental figure (or pet owner, I suppose?). In an age when many of us – women, men, and non-binary folks alike – are wrestling with the concept and consequences of toxic masculinity in our culture and media, it’s heartening to encounter a character like Sora who’s a teenage boy, caretaker, and friend with a special sensitivity to the world around himself.
Sora and Tazuki are close friends.
Likewise, this isn’t an anime series which banks on stories about characters working out their social hierarchy through brawling, nor is it one where characters spend each episode cutting each-other down with insults. It’s a series that revolves around its main character and his friends opening up to one-another and developing relationships, while confronting personal elements of their lives that have caused them trouble or pain. All three of the side characters have hurdles to overcome, whether it’s Motegi’s relatively benign fear of lizards that’s confronted when a tiny dragon arrives at her home, Daichi’s damaged relationships with his classmates that are the result of nightmares (cured by a friendly Baku), or Tazuki’s traumatic past encounter a mythical creature and the men trying to poach it. Part of me believes that the addition of cute supernatural creatures is somewhat redundant; while all of the character’s troubles are at least partly due to some supernatural element, they’re also real human emotions and interactions that could have mundane causes in a series without a fantasy element. I’m the type of viewer that’s satisfied watching a slice-of-life story in which the main hook is that nice people are nice to one-another and work through their interpersonal conflicts constructively, so don’t necessarily need the cuteness on top. But as a closet(?) connoisseur of cute, it’s a welcome addition that adds a little extra appeal for those viewers who are less willing to put up with low-conflict fluff entertainment.
Though I enjoyed the series, there were some bits and pieces that left me a bit cold. Sora, being that his father is out of the country, lives with his aunt Kaede. Kaede is clothing model and seems to have some amount of local fame, as other characters find her vaguely recognizable throughout the series. She’s beautiful, but also kind and supportive to Sora and friends… until she takes off her glasses, at which point she turns into a lusty sexpot with designs on her nephew. This “gag” only occurs once with a few additional references to it throughout the series, but it takes a show that I’d otherwise love to recommend to younger viewers or people who are less interested in anime’s overall penchant for goofy sexuality and complicates that recommendation. The trope of women becoming more sexual after they take off their glasses (think “sexy librarian” or “sexy teacher”) is tired and sexist, and in an anime series with really no other adult inclinations it stands out as a particularly poor choice.
Mii-kun just wants to be loved!
There’s also a push in the final two episodes of the series to make it more plot-forward, which felt unnecessary to me. There’s a recurring threat from poachers throughout the series who are on the prowl to collect monster specimens, which comes to a head when Sora and crew are attending a festival. While the provides a climax to the series, it’s also ill-fitting as the poachers never received any development and their actual threat level was questionable. I get that not everyone is satisfied when “nothing really happens,” but emotional climaxes can be just as cathartic as major plot movements, and I think that would have been a more suitable direction to take such a low-stakes show.
I watch anime from a very wide swath of different genres, some of which tend to be intense and/or depressing, so it’s nice to be able to unwind with a pleasant “healing anime” every once-in-a-while. How to Keep a Mummy was one of Winter Season’s great surprises on the front for me; cute, funny, and seemingly arriving out of nowhere to let us revel in an oddball relationship between a boy and his Mummy. I really enjoyed this anime, and if you too appreciate entertainment that, in spite of its flaws, is fundamentally kind, I think you will as well.
Pros: The main character is a good example of a male allowed to have feelings and just be nice to others. The character relationships are very satisfying. Everything is so cute!
Cons: There’s some plot conflict shoehorned into the final few episodes. There’s some sexist humor surrounding Kaede’s character that feels out-of-place.
It is Tib the black cat who leads Mary to the strange flower in the woods. When she discovers a little broomstick shortly afterwards, she is astonished to feel it jump in to action. Before she can gather her wits, it is whisking her over the treetops, above the clouds, and in to the grounds of Endor College, where: ‘All Examinations Coached for by A Competent Staff of Fully-Qualified Witches.’ – ANN
Summary: Young Mary Smith moves to the countryside to live with her great aunt Charlotte while her parents are away. Mary wants more than anything to be useful, but she’s a clumsy person and often causes more problems than she solves. While lamenting her situation one day, she encounters two cats – Tib and Gib – who lead her to a forest glade where a cluster of spectacular blue flowers are growing. Mary takes the blossoms back to her room to admire them, but soon discovers that they’re more than just attractive blooms – the flowers, called “fly-by-night” by magic users, bloom but once in seven years and have the power to grant magical abilities to even the most mundane of user.
Mary stumbles into these mystic powers and finds herself a magic broom, which takes her to Endor College, a witch school above the clouds. She’s mistaken for a magical prodigy and the headmistress goes so far as to approach her about joining the honors classes, but it isn’t long until her secret is discovered and the faculty of the school chases Mary down in search of the fly-by-night blossoms. Mary must them protect herself, rescue her friend Peter and his cats, and make sure that the flowers don’t fall into the hands of those who would try to use them for horrifying experiments.
Review: This review contains mild plot spoilers for the film.
It’s cliche at this point for one to speculate on what Japanese animation studio will turn out to be the “next Ghibli.” It’s difficult to define exactly what that’s supposed to mean – Ghibli’s output has encompassed films aimed squarely at very young children (Ponyo or My Neighbor Totoro, for example), to more intense adventures that families can enjoy (Nausicaa, Princess Mononoke, Spirited Away), to films that I’d argue take more maturity to appreciate (Porco Rosso, Only Yesterday, Grave of the Fireflies). Does Ghibli mean “animation quality?” “Story craft?” “Character and background design?” I’ve seen all of these traits thrown around as potential components of the Ghibli magic that’s captivated animation fans all over the world, and even somehow managed to gain credo with the incredibly insular, inscrutable, and in my opinion, sometimes downright infuriating Academy Award voters (seriously, Boss Baby over Your Name? You’ve got to be kidding me). Whether or not there’s a definitive way to identify the Ghibli style is a question that I’ll leave to others who are more invested in it. As for myself, I’m just enjoying the fact that, as animators and directors graduate from Ghibli, we’re able to enjoy the new perspectives they bring to this classic film making form.
Much like Hosoda Mamoru, Hiromasa Yonebayashi worked for Studio Ghibli as an animator and director before venturing off on his own to join the newly-established Studio Ponoc. Mary and the Witch’s Flower, the studio’s first feature-length animation, captures a lot of the classic family-friendly charm that typifies the bulk of Ghibli’s output, while providing a enough freshness to distinguish itself and its creative staff from their predecessors.
I commented on social media that one thing that charmed me about the film was that it seemed to speak to me as a little girl who always wanted to grow up to become a witch. Similar to the Harry Potter series, Mary and the Witch’s Flower suggests that there might be an entire secret world out there, where magic is real and those with a talent for it might be able to distinguish themselves and make impossible things happen. It helps that film eschews the tendency to make its heroine a strong but unattainable fantasy version of feminine purity, seen in such characters as Nausicaa or Kiki. It’s not that those characters are inherently terrible for women (and to be honest they’re much better role-models than a lot of “strong female characters (TM)”), but they also feel like an outsider’s perspective on what girlhood should be, when in reality it can be messier, more painful, and more awkward than it is often portrayed. I’m definitely not saying that Yonebayashi and friends have insider knowledge in pre-adolescent girlhood, but Mary feels closer to the type of person someone could meet in real life. She’s fundamentally kind and not overly-rebellious (which tends to be another direction writers take these kinds of characters), but she’s not particularly talented, gets bored easily, and goes against orders sometimes. She also lies by omission in order to feel better about herself, which ultimately gets her into trouble but is so understandable from the perspective of someone who often feels unworthy of praise. The idea that there could be a world out there somewhere in which the differences that one dislikes about oneself are seen as beneficial can become intoxicating.
The film also makes some attempt at real-world commentary, its most discernible issue-of-choice being animal (and human!) experimentation, as an offshoot of the typical environmentalism that crops up in similar films. Whether this is entirely successful is up in the air; my attitude was something akin to “I see what you did there” but more from the perspective of being repulsed by the mild body-horror aspect than buying into what I thought the creators were trying to say.
Visually the film doesn’t disappoint, and manages to combine traditional character animation, lush, vivid background art, and even some CG effects into a very appealing package. It straddles the line between traditional and modern very well, making an argument for utilizing new animation techniques even while trying to maintain a mostly hand-drawn look. After watching Shirobako multiple times, it’s interesting the kind of things I tend to notice when watching animation. In this case it was the animal movement- one of the film’s climactic moments involves a herd of animals escaping from captivity, and the horde of different creatures moving across the landscape feels very natural, chaotic, and whimsical as well. The depiction of the English countryside that serves as the setting for the more mundane parts of the story recalls some of the background art from The Secret World of Arietty; the lushness of the plant life and the misty hillsides are almost a character all their own.
One aspect of the film that I really liked was the revelation that Mary’s aunt Charlotte played an important part in the story when she was a youngster, and that Mary as a descendant of that family line is in prime position to draw things to a close. Even when young women have central roles in a narrative, it’s often the case that they’re the only female in a sea of men. In this case there are important connections between Mary and Charlotte, as well as the Endor headmistress. Additionally, Mary comes to the rescue of Peter, her male companion, multiple times throughout the film, which was a refreshing surprise.
The one thing that detracts from this story, and I suspect that others may agree with me, is that the whole package feels a bit rote. Stripping away the visual trappings and the spunky main character reveals a story that’s competently formulaic but not otherwise special in any way. It’s a fairly typical “heroine’s journey” in which a young girl is forced to look inside herself and make personal improvements, all in the guise of going on a grand adventure that, once completed, brings her back again to her mundane normal life. That said, it’s the type of movie that I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable watching with a child and which demonstrates an example of how to be heroic and fight for something ethical. It’s certainly more tolerable than your typical CG talking animal movie, and it doesn’t talk down to its intended audience.
The more creators there are making great movies, the better, and having graduated from Studio Ghibli I think Yonebayashi has a bright future ahead of him bringing to screen the type of anime films that have wide appeal. Mary and the Witch’s Flower is an above-average interpretation of a Western-style fairy tale that centralizes a somewhat-atypical female heroine and brings to life a magical world that might make some viewers long for the opportunity to attend a witch school. Check it out at a local film festival, or grab the disc when it’s released in May.
Pros: Mary is a spunky heroine with some realistic pre-teen flaws. The female relationships provide a good through-line to the film. The artistry is excellent.
Cons: The story is pretty average and can feel like a re-hash of old concepts.
Summary: Kagayama Shigeo, aka “Mob,” is one of the most powerful psychic forces in the world. However, Mob is employed by local spiritualist (and thinly-veiled con-man) Arataka Reigen, whose newest money-making scheme involves a novelization of their adventures from his clouded point-of-view.
Review: Fans hoping for a genuine bonus OVA or sequel to the wildly-popular Mob Psycho 100 will likely be disappointed by this special event episode, as it’s mostly a clip show summarizing the events of the anime’s first season. However, with a first-cour as strong as Mob‘s, there’s something to be said for the experience of reliving its best moments distilled into an action-packed and humorous hype-fest for the show’s upcoming second season.
Reigen the Miraculous Unknown Psychic is a retelling of Mob’s adventures through the eyes of Arataka Reigen, who in actuality played a small (but deceptively important) role in the original story. True-to-form, Reigen sees himself as the hero of this tale, and as he dictates his autobiography to Shigeo the recollections are embellished with his presence in situations where he didn’t, in actuality, have an active role. Most of the humor is derived from the absurd visuals of Reigen’s head pasted on Mob’s or Hanazawa’s body, as well as nagging feeling for those of us who are familiar enough with the original series to know that Reigen’s version isn’t quite right.
What’s interesting to note is that, despite Reigen’s puffery, he’s actually the storytelling conduit for the main theme of the series – having a talent doesn’t make one superhuman or above common-sense or responsibility – and this is evident even when he’s stretching the truth about his involvement in defeating the Claw group or mentoring Mob. It’s amusing that we the audience can immediately see the value in his words and mentorship, but Reigen himself seems to place more value on what makes him look good and how he deceives those around him.
I think perhaps the major draw of this event episode is the “big reveal” at the end that a second anime season is currently in production, but those who pay attention to anime news were probably already aware of that since the information had already been posted on the various news outlets. Still, despite the fact that this episode is mostly extraneous, it’s an amusing rehash of a series that could have been just another shounen action joint, but which happily coupled its awesome action animation with a perceptive story about giftedness and bullying. If you haven’t watched Mob lately, it might be worthwhile to check out this abridged (and slightly-altered) version of the show, if only as a pleasant reminder that it manages to hold-up to multiple viewings.
