In seventh grade, my friend Jackie thought it would be fun to have our fortunes told for her birthday party. After loading up on Chinese takeout and piling into her mother’s station wagon, we arrived at a small, one-story house on Main Street. Wedged between doctors’ offices and minor law firms, a large neon sign stood outside of the house that read, “Madame Athena’s Fortune Telling” followed by a list of divination types: palm-reading, tarot, and the like.

Chattering nervously, we waited on a couch in the living room. One by one, we went into a small side room. My turn approached when my friend Erica exited the room, smiling widely at whatever fortune she had received. I walked in, greeted by a small woman approximately the age of my mother, and a folding card table with two chairs.

She asked me a series of questions, designed to draw out as much information as possible. I responded to all of them, but was fairly tight-lipped with my answers. They were not long, and I did not elaborate. As such, what she was able to tell me about my future was very limited.

“My fortunes are for people who are alive, like you, Chrollo. I’m guessing that the requiem is meant to help you, not the dead.”

-Neon Nostrade, Hunter x Hunter 2011, episode 51

Neon Nostrade is presented as a vapid, silly girl for the majority of her screentime in Hunter x Hunter. She has an outlook that is similarly selfish to the view my friends and I possessed at the same age of having our fortunes told. However, Neon shows glimpses of empathy and intelligence regarding her fortune-telling.

This is required of a good fortune-teller, and Neon regards herself as one of the best, because divination acts as a contract between the diviner and recipient. For example, when Jackie suggested Madame Athena for her birthday party, she indubitably had something specific in mind that she wanted an answer to. She went into that little side room with the folding table and two chairs. She offered the correct information to the diviner, and the small woman provided her with advice, which Jackie translated into what she wanted to hear.

“A one-hundred-percent accurate fortune written in verse. The ability to see the future. I stole this power from Nostrade’s daughter.”

-Chrollo Lucifer, Hunter x Hunter 2011, episode 54

Where Neon asserted that her fortunes were always correct, she also saw them as more of a roadmap to one’s future rather than a hard and fast truth. In her own words, her fortunes are for the living and made to help them. However, upon acquiring Neon’s power, Chrollo sees them as a definite future. His interpretation of divination is far more rigid than Neon’s. Chrollo’s reliance on a future defined by Neon’s power is what leads to Hisoka’s exploitation of that power.

Upon receiving his fortune, Hisoka immediately manipulates the information flow from himself to the rest of the Spiders. As Chrollo had already established that the fortunes are 100 percent accurate, Hisoka receives little questioning in regards to the verse he shares. Ultimately, his personal interpretation of his true fortune is what becomes Hisoka’s undoing. It predicted that events involving Kurapika would lead Hisoka to being alone with Chrollo. Hisoka narrows in on this piece of information because he has wanted to fight Chrollo.

When my friend Jackie received her fortune, she told us bits and pieces of it. Within a week, she ended up confessing to, and dating, the boy that she liked. Most likely, the information she focused on involved this boy. Indubitably, the questions that she asked and the answers that she gave allowed the fortune teller to offer a road map for Jackie’s actions. However, ultimately, it was still a road map. Based on my own experiences with the same fortune-teller, I can assume that the fortune was painted with a broad enough brush to prove true provided that Jackie filled in the blanks herself, leading to the desired event of a boyfriend.

Likewise, both Hisoka and Chrollo’s fortunes are open to interpretation from the recipient. Hisoka’s machinations lead to his desire to be alone with Chrollo; however, the event is hardly a happy one for Hisoka, because Chrollo has been completely neutered by Kurapika.

Just as Neon says, her fortunes are guidelines for the living, rather than Chrollo’s initial impression of a defined future. The name of “fortune teller” suggests exactly this. Neon, and now Chrollo, are telling the fortune of a specific person. Hunter x Hunter makes it clear that their future is still ultimately decided by the choices that they make.

“But you know, terrible food has value in a sense too. I mean, do you even remember the food we ate in that place? I can’t remember the taste of it at all. In that place, eating was just another task.”

- Twelve regarding Lisa’s burnt cooking, Terror in Resonance, episode five

Lisa Mishima is no cook. This does not deter her from a dogged attempt to make herself useful by providing Sphinx with sustenance. Food is often used as a shortcut for building an emotional connection with another person. If one wants to get to know someone better, they share a meal with them. If one wants to show how much they care about someone, they prepare a meal for them.

Through food, Terror in Resonance gives its audience a read on Twelve’s emotional state. Previously, while in the institute, Twelve couldn’t taste the food. It looks to be standard cafeteria-style fare, likely with little to no taste. If one is numbering children instead of naming them, dressing them in the same white uniform, and expressing the desire to eliminate any and all hint of individuality in each of them, then it is reasonable to assume that one wouldn’t bother to spice up their food.

Lisa’s food tastes awful, but at the very least it tastes like something. As the three children gather around a table to eat, the food brings them together. The conversation is not anything scintillating – as one might expect, it involves how horrid the food tastes – but they talk directly with each other. In scenes shown at the institute, the children ate in silence, placed equidistant from one another. Twelve describes eating in the facility as just another task while eating with Lisa in a dirty apartment, regardless of food quality, is shown to be something he values. His effort to stay distant from Lisa quickly disintegrates the more time that he spends with her.

In the same episode that Lisa, Twelve, and Nine share a meal, Terror in Resonance reintroduces a fellow student of the same institute: Five. Five was first seen in Nine’s dream in episode one, and reintroduced in episode three in the first flashbacks to the Child Broiler-like facility that Nine, Twelve, and Five all attended as children.

Five is someone who easily could have been a friend, or accomplice, had she managed to escape with Nine and Twelve. Terror in Resonance shows Five stumbling just short of a chain link fence that both boys presumably climb to leave the facility. The last image that Nine has is of Five on the ground, spattered with blood and disappearing into flames.

Presented as a distant, cold, and whimsical figure, Five offers a comparison to Nine and Twelve. If Nine and Twelve had stayed in the institute, they may have ended up more like Five. Contracted by Shibazaki’s higher-ups, Five is capable of keeping up with Sphinx. However, unlike the two boys, she is more than willing to allow the explosions that the boys promise as punishment for failing to solve their riddles.

“What do you want to do? At this rate, in a little over an hour, we’ll be mass murderers.”

- Twelve, to Nine, on the late response from the police, Terror in Resonance, episode 5

As the pieces slowly come together on Shibazaki’s end in his investigation of the sites that Sphinx has targeted, it becomes clearer from the boys’ conversation with each other that they do not want to kill people if they do not have to. This makes them fundamentally different than Aum Shinrikyo, the Japanese cult that perpetrated the 1995 Sarin Gas Attacks on the Tokyo subway, or Aum’s anime counterparts in the Takakura parents of Mawaru Penguindrum.

“We can’t do anything about it. We can’t save them. It’s a frozen world. They become invisible. They will never amount to anything.”

- Kenzan Takakura to his son Shouma, Mawaru Penguindrum, episode 20

In episode 20 of Mawaru Penguindrum, a young Shouma Takakura questions his father on the Child Broiler, and invisible children. All Kenzan has to offer him is rhetoric. He has already given up on this world and is prepared to destroy it in his upcoming acts of terrorism. In contrast, Shouma simply reaches out and befriends Himari, thereby saving her from the Child Broiler by coming to care about her as a person. His father is too jaded and too far gone to see how the simple answer of befriending someone or loving someone can validate their existence, effectively removing their invisible status. Instead, he only sees one solution: destruction.

Nine and Twelve do not see destruction as their only option, but wield the threat of it as their primary weapon. Even their first bombing – before Sphinx becomes a household name, and their warning videos instant viral sensations – is prefaced via social media. Additionally, they ensure that the fire alarms are set off prior to the main blast, evacuating occupants in an orderly fashion. It is no accident that there have been few, if any, Sphinx casualties because they have organized their plots as such. This makes Twelve stumbling upon Lisa a true accident, and their initial saving of her life makes more sense in light of episode five. Nine tells Lisa that she is an accomplice, and that this was her own choice; however, he chooses to save her. He presumably couldn’t save Five in the past, but he can save Lisa now.

Lisa continues to occupy a nebulous space between friend and stand-in for the boys’ past experiences. Their meal together is both awkward and adorable, serving as a vignette of what could be. Although Nine is none-to-please with Lisa’s presence, Twelve seems to care more for her by the minute. This is paralleled by Nine’s flashbacks and reaction to Five’s reentrance into his life. She is not only one who could have been a friend and is now opposing them, but she’s willing to kill innocent people in the process. Meanwhile, in befriending Twelve and Nine, Lisa has the power to end their status as an invisible beings. Perhaps even burnt, awful-tasting food can act as the fruit of fate.

Human beings are such dense creatures.

“I hate the word fate. Births, encounters, partings, success and failure, fortune and misfortune in life. If everything is already set in stone by fate, the why are we even born? There are those born wealthy, those born of beautiful mothers, and those born into war or poverty. If everything is caused by fate, then god must be incredibly unfair and cruel.”

- Shouma Takakura, Mawaru Penguindrum, episode one

The premiere of Mawaru Penguindrum had me at the word “fate.” Stars drifted over Himari’s four-poster bed, as “Children of Fate” played in the background while Shouma Takakura spouted a monologue that I would later learn was almost a word-for-word quotation from an Aum Shinrikyo cult member.

“Things like inborn talent, family background. No matter what the situation, bright people are bright, people who can run fast can run fast, and people who are weak never see the light of day. There’s an element of fate that I thought was too unfair.”

- Shin’ichi Hosoi, former Aum Shinrikyo member, “Underground” (p. 320)

For 24 episodes I watched, enraptured. I reread Kenji Miyazawa’s “Night on the Milky Way Train.” I purchased Haruki Murakami’s “After the Quake,” “Sputnik Sweetheart,” and “Underground: The Tokyo Gas Attack and the Japanese Psyche.” And I wrote at least 1000 words a week. Penguindrum was my life for half of a year.

Mawaru Penguindrum reinforces its thematic elements in every facet of the series. The music (background tracks, insert songs, and opening/ending pieces), dialogue, and visuals (iconography, color, cinematography, lighting) are all crafted by director Kunihiko Ikuhara and team to communicate with the viewer. As I watched while it was airing, each episode held secrets to uncover and pieces of a larger puzzle that challenged me to see a larger picture.

Every week, I waited eagerly for the next episode. Episodes were digested quickly, and immediately written about in a flurry of compulsive activity. The remainder of the week was often spent discussing Penguindrum in comments and reading what others had written about the series. A significant letdown followed the show’s conclusion, as there was no other currently-airing property to direct my energy and attention to. I realized that Penguindrum was an exception and not the rule.

On the heels of the first-week rush, bloggers settle in and assign themselves series to cover throughout the season. Writing about a series week-to-week means that one will be included in the discussion that follows an episode; however, it also assumes that one will have something substantial to contribute to that discussion every week. Just as there’s only so much a sportswriter can say about a one-sided stomp, there’s only so much one can say about an episode of anime. In most series I watched prior to, and following, Penguindrum, I found it difficult to find something to write about every week. It is a unique series. Watching it while it aired was a special experience.

However, it was also a limiting one. There’s a certain myopia that lends itself to following something current. Participating in the discussion is both euphoric and limited in scope.

“Mary cried on and on, and the lambs’ consolation fell on deaf ears.”

- From Shouma Takakura’s story, Mawaru Penguindrum, episode 12

Episode 12 of Mawaru Penguindrum contained an allegory told by Shouma Takakura that began with the common nursery rhyme “Mary had a little lamb.” What followed was a mash-up of nursery rhyme, parable, and myth to tell the story of the Takakura Family.

Upon watching, I immediately rushed to draw whatever conclusions I could before vomiting these ideas from my fingertips into this post. A lot of the information in that post has since been proven completely false. The heady rush of speculation and desire to not only participate in the discussion, but further understand the series as a whole is contained in every word. The facts are wrong, but the post is earnest.

Recently, I coordinated with the writers at Isn’t It Electrifying? to rewatch Mawaru Penguindrum, in the hopes that the mysterious Penguinbear Project Kunihiko Ikuhara teases from time to time would air soon, placing the related series fresh in our hearts and minds. This time, there was no rush to publicly discuss, although we would gush and chatter amongst ourselves. Each episode provided more pieces to the puzzle upon rewatching, which only led to more unanswered questions.

Revisiting Mawaru Penguindrum stretched over several months – due to our conflicting schedules – giving each niggling thought more time to stew in my mind. For this viewing, the narrow focus that accompanied me while watching the series for the first time was gone. I had traded in the heady euphoria for something calmer and more comfortable.

The allegory of Penguindrum‘s twelfth episode is a microcosm for how I experienced the series then and now. Mary and her three little lambs now have a completely different meaning for me as a viewer. At first, I scrambled to pair each character in the story to their Penguindrum counterpart. Who was the goddess? Who were the black bunnies? What did the tree represent? Digesting the information immediately after watching led to a stricter interpretation.

“It might be hard to generalize and say that all of them do, but I think inside all Japanese there is an apocalyptic viewpoint: an invisible, unconscious sense of fear. When i say that all Japanese have this fear, I mean some people have already pulled aside the veil, while others have yet to do so. If this veil were suddenly drawn back, everyone would fell a sense of terror about the near future, the direction our world is heading in.”

- Hidetoshi Takahashi, former Aum Shinrikyo member, “Underground,” (p.348)

As soon as the allegory appeared in episode twelve, I listened to it as a whole. Knowing the events of the entire series, I saw the story not in pieces, but how it related to the overall thematic narrative. Where I had previously tried to fit it into my predictions for where the series would go, I now tied it into my own emotional interpretation. The lambs cries fell on deaf ears because, although Kenzan and Chiemi loved their children, they were more concerned with their own existential crisis: a fear of what was to befall Japan. Later in the series, Shouma Takakura, Kanba Takakura, and Ringo Oginome circumvent this cyclical fate by staying true to the personal bonds that they made with one another, similar to how Shouma initially befriended Himari when she was lost as a child.

I love both interpretations as they each act as reflection of myself at that point in time. Mawaru Penguindrum became a series that emotionally resonated with me, and I consider every attempt at digesting it worthwhile. This is not because each attempt contains correct facts – many of my first posts are far more incorrect speculation than anything else – but because they act as mirrors for the “me” of that time. Rewatching Penguindrum was as much of an invaluable experience as it was watching for the first time. It dredged up different, but no less powerful, emotions. I connected different dots. I cannot wait to watch it again.

Prior to Twelve revealing his synesthesia to Lisa by telling her that her voice is a “pale yellow,” another character in Terror in Resonance had already been associated with that same color by her unruly mop of hair.

Nine is haunted by Five. His recurring dreams of her always include the tow-headed girl stopping short of a chain-link fence that the Nine and Twelve climb, presumably to escape the institute that all three children were placed in. At first, we see him shout back at her before she is engulfed in orange flames and disappears.

As the series progresses, we are privy to more of Nine’s dream. Episode three offers the first flashback to the group of academy children. Five’s pale yellow hair immediately stands out from the rest of the children. The shot below occurs in a scene where a researcher speaks of eradicating any illusion of love or caring by eliminating their names.

The children listen to her, all looking somewhat horrified save for Five, who merely appears to be bored. Nine and Twelve peer into the room to watch the attendant deliver her speech and their eyes immediately focus on Five, as do ours by default. While the faceless researcher explains that they will be renamed with no pretense of love or individuality, Five stands out regardless to both us and the boys.

This sequence is then combined with the pieces of Nine’s memories that we already know. The two boys are chased by Five until they reach the chain link fence. As they climb, Five collapses onto the ground. Nine turns to yell. Five bursts into flames.

Episode five introduces present-day Five in a sequence of cool blues and purples. Gone is her signature pale yellow mop that identified her in the crowd of abandoned children. It is replaced by a head of white hair that reflects the blues that frame her entrance. Terror in Resonance tends to associate blue – even in its most vibrant forms – with distance. Although she lands in Japan to chase after the two boys that she grew up with, the distance between Five and Sphinx continues to grow.

Nine’s recollections in episode five build on the mysterious institution shown in episode three. The same music track used for previous nightmares and memories screeches through quick cuts of the previously established sequence: the kids at the academy, Nine and Twelve, Five standing out in the crowd of children. This transitions into Five holding her hands over her eyes in a game of hide and seek, repeating “Are you ready?” in a sing-song melody that matches the music.

In all of Nine’s flashbacks, Five stands out due to her hair color. This particular sequence is interspersed with Five’s furious typing and her swaying silver earring which, like her hair, is the slightest shade of blue.

Terror in Resonance dresses Five in both pale yellow and blue throughout the above sequence. The blue figure is the flesh and blood Five, sitting in a car following her triumph over Nine. Shown in the car window and illuminated by streetlamps is the pale yellow Five, only seen in reflections and Nine’s recollections.

Notably, in the sixth episode sequence, Five’s hair begins to glow. The shadows are where these characters are made more comfortable within the series, while the brightly-lit scenes are far more terrifying. As the figure of Five begins to laugh maniacally, her yellow hair – the defining feature that draws our attention to her – is illuminated from front to back. Unlike previous flashbacks, where Five was engulfed in flames before disappearing, Nine can only watch in horror as Five bursts into light before exploding.

“I wonder if she holds a grudge against us.”

“At that time, if she had wanted to run away, she could have. I’m sure she just wants to play a game.”

- Conversation between Twelve and Nine, Terror in Resonance, episode 6

Twelve and Nine are of two different mindsets when they speak of Five, just as they are when they talk about Lisa Mishima. While Twelve’s words hold a certain amount of guilt in them – perhaps if they had tried harder to save her, Five could have escaped with them – Nine is resolute, asserting that Five could have come with them had she wanted to.

However, Nine’s nightmares haunt him more with each passing episode, and they all center around the image Five falling short of the fence, unable to escape with the boys. Twelve audibly expresses guilt, but Nine’s every action is steeped in it, in spite of the fact that he maintains Five is simply playing a game. Meanwhile, he continues to rebuff Lisa, who is effectively Five’s stand-in.

“It’s a pale yellow. Your voice. You know, I have this thing called synesthesia where I can see colors in sound. Yeah, but you know, I hardly ever see a voice in that color. It’s rare. I mean it.”

- Twelve to Lisa Mishima, Terror in Resonance, episode six

Thanks to Twelve’s words, the color of pale yellow, featured first through Five’s hair, further unites Lisa and Five. In the entire scene that follows, and previously while folding laundry, she is placed near clothing of that color. There are a myriad of questions that Lisa could have asked of Twelve in this moment. She could have wondered what colors he saw in other sounds, or other voices. Instead, she speaks of  her loneliness by saying that she’s in the way. While hiding at Nine and Twelve’s place was a brief respite, there is still no place for Lisa with the two until they let her in.

As Lisa affirms that there is not yet a place for her with Nine and Twelve, she grips the chain-link fence of the roof. Like Five, she has chased the boys to a chain-link fence and a point of no return. She must choose to aid them or lose her last place in the world.

“Um . . . Kokonoe . . . I mean, Nine! I want to be one of you. So even though I can’t handle bombs and stuff yet, I’ll try hard!”

- Lisa Mishima to Nine, Terror in Resonance, episode 6

Terror in Resonance once again shows attention to detail in naming. When Lisa begs to be included in this operation, she calls Nine “Nine” as opposed to the false name of Arata Kokonoe.

Lastly, when Lisa is shown at the airport, she is illuminated from behind with pale yellow light and framed with foliage much like the Five in Nine’s flashbacks. However, the edges of the shot are tinted with green, not a foreboding orange. In lieu of the screeching background track of “lolol,” the music stops for the same amount of time that the camera lingers on Lisa. Only the muted sounds of the airport can be heard. Everything is quiet, and her figure serene.

Following Chimera Ant – where Hunter x Hunter challenges humanity’s collective existential crisis in an arc that is equal parts uplifting and depressing – manga artist Yoshihiro Togashi knew exactly what his emotionally exhausted viewers needed. Someone to hate. Pariston Hill fits this role perfectly.

A conniving and manipulative individual who projects a wonderfully urbane demeanor when speaking to the public, Pariston Hill is the very caricature of a modern politician, actively loathed by his peers while maintaining the majority of votes in an election. Watching Pariston for too long on screen can induce rage in a viewer, as they grit their teeth along with in-universe acquaintances forced to associate with him.

Pariston is a welcome respite from Chimera Ant, where we come to know the intricacies of the East Gorteau Palace architectural floor plan, but are left with our own muddled thoughts on the Chimera Ant King Meruem. Meruem’s demise is not meant to be felt as a happy victory for humanity, but rather an expression of it’s highest highs and lowest lows. Viewers leave the arc understandably exhausted, with conflicting emotions of pride and disdain.

The scars from Chimera Ant hang over the 13th Hunter Chairman Election, never allowing us to fully store our thoughts away. Knov now wears a cap to hide his balding head after he was reduced to a stammering mess by Neferpitou’s Nen aura. Morel is shown attached to both his cell phone and an IV. Killua Zoldyck’s entire mission is steeped in both guilt and anger towards his best friend, Gon Freecss, whom he is trying to save, while Gon himself lies lifeless in a hospital bed.

With the arrival of Gon’s father, Ging Freecss, a reunion of father and son is all but inevitable. However, Ging is as complex of an individual as King Mereum. Like Gon, we are presented with different facets of Ging and left to develop our own conclusions regarding his character. He is admittedly self-serving. Ging left Gon in the arms of those who would take care of him with churlish regard for becoming Gon’s father figure himself. While we mourn Netero, Meruem, and countless others, Hunter x Hunter also presents us with the enigma of Ging. In turn, the series also gifts us and the various Hunters with a repository for our nebulous feelings in Pariston.

Pariston an easy character to loathe, and additionally an easy character to vote for. The quintessential politician – the closest to an incumbent in this election as the Vice-Chairman – Pariston represents the easy way out. While the other Hunters and Zodiacs squabble amongst themselves, Pariston is already well-known. He desires to win the position, regardless of whether he actually wants perform the duties of chairman, which make his machinations easy to understand. He appears to accept terms that would put him at a distinct disadvantage, and then molds his plans accordingly, demonstrating no small amount of intelligence. Voters may not agree with his ideas, but voting for Pariston is simple as one doesn’t have to educate themselves on other candidates. A vote for Pariston is also a vote to expedite the election process. This is to the dismay of his fellow candidates, who are driven to band together in an effort to stop Pariston.

Additionally, Pariston is surrounded by the people’s choice in Leorio Paladinight and the person most suited for the job in Cheadle Yorkshire. The presentation of these choices highlights how easily swayed voters tend to be. Upon punching Ging in a public setting, Leorio skyrockets to the top of the polls, in spite of his admission that he would devote all of his time and effort as Chairman towards saving his friend, Gon. He hardly has the interests of the Hunter Association in mind; however, Leorio appeals to us and the voting populace, as a reminder of the facets of humanity that were so celebrated in Chimera Ant. Meanwhile, the person who does have the Association’s best interests in mind, Cheadle, quietly garners votes as the one best fit to be Chairman.

Happy days aren’t necessarily here again in the 13th Hunter Chairman Election, but simpler days seemingly are. Every flash of Pariston’s pearly-whites potentially induces an involuntary twitch from audience members and Hunter x Hunter characters alike. We still may not know how to feel about Meruem or Ging, but we can unite in our loathing for Pariston and the entire bureaucratic process.

Before I knew it

Even my nonsensical dreams

Passed me by

And my feelings were tangled.

Run, run!

It’s the one thing I can always do.

- From “Ambivalent World,” opening to Bakemonogatari episodes 6-8

I don’t know when running began to mean something to me.

Like Rouka Numachi, I grew up playing soccer. Had she been on my team, Rouka surely would have looked down on me, wondering to herself, “Why was I blessed with a talent that no one else has?” I would have been grouped in with the other unfortunate no-ones.

My coaches eventually settled me in at midfield. I was willing to work hard but lacked the bursts of speed and precision needed for an attacking forward. Additionally, I was told that I was too small to be a defender.

“If only everyone was equally talented, nobody would come to hate me. So why does the world have to be divided into the talented and the untalented? I strove to hide my talents after that.”

- Rouka Numachi, Hanamonogatari

Had Rouka been on my team, I wonder if I would have seen this side of her. For me, soccer wasn’t about my talent but something to do to increase my lung capacity. It was not for fun. I took it seriously. However, against someone like Rouka, or even placed on the same team as a Rouka, I did not stand out. I was just another kid on the field. That being said, I wouldn’t have been jealous of her. Soccer, for her, was easy mode. Soccer, for me, began at hard mode.

I said that I ended up as a midfielder. Midfield is a physically-demanding position. Specifically, you must have stamina to play midfield, and stamina was the very thing that I lacked when I initially took up the sport. By the time I reached junior high school, I was in the midfield. It was a significant personal accomplishment. Regardless of others’ talents on the field, I felt amazing about my position as a midfielder.

Rouka still would have looked down on me. However, had I looked back at her, I would have seen someone whom I stood no chance of challenging in the first place. She would have been that good. As her perception of me, as an outsider, would have been with the no-ones, she would have considered me a no one too, and assumed that I harbored jealousy of her talent somewhere. In a way, this would have been genuine. I harbored jealousy towards talented people on other playing fields than a soccer pitch. In this specific case, it wouldn’t have applied, but this outlook would have been true elsewhere. In this manner, her assumptions of me would have been correct.

“Long story short, she did have her share of problems and worries, but she didn’t want to be pitied for it. Troubled as she was, she didn’t want the advice of someone who’d look down on her. Why didn’t I get mad at her? That’s because she was under a grave misunderstanding. The truth is, listening to her served as great consolation to me. There is nothing sweeter than schadenfreude.”

- Rouka Numachi, Hanamonogatari

By her own admission, Rouka took up this position before her injury. Her perception of others’ misfortune caused her to mute her own talents as to not stand out, but she still saw herself as a being above others, deriving pleasure from their inability to perform at the same level. Those same people suddenly appeared at her hospital bedside, cooing that they had pushed her too hard. As both sides cried, it was Rouka’s former teammates who partook in schadenfreude. Their once-invincible teammate was now irreparably damaged. Now “equally talented,” to quote Rouka’s earlier words, no one hated her.

Rouka listened to her teammate’s problems, reveling in the idea that others aside from herself were experiencing pain. Meanwhile, Rouka’s former teammate reveled in the fact that Rouka was far less fortunate than her. Both parties’ perceptions of one another are genuine, even if the actions are lies. What matters is Rouka’s ability to take some sense of solace in her former teammate’s misery, even if that same person had come to Rouka specifically to feel superior in comparison.

It was only when Rouka wished to aid another that she took on the devil. However, it didn’t change anything. Rouka asserts that she knows nothing of what happened to the girl from whom she collected the devil’s leg. Additionally, Rouka continued to take on others’ misfortune, having previously accepted that her sports career, the one thing she had lived for, had ended. Her life had already ended.

Similarly, Suruga Kanbaru gave up basketball because her arm remained that of the devil. Previously, due to a wish to the same monkey’s paw, Suruga had given up on running, after a wish to be faster resulted in the hospitalization of four of her classmates. She still runs at the time of Hanamonogatari, but not competitively. She technically could play basketball, but must keep up the appearance of an injury, due to possessing the devil’s arm. However, Suruga’s life does not end.

I began running because it was something to do, not unlike Rouka who took up basketball because it seemed like the logical next step. If growing into my midfield position in soccer was hard mode, then running long distances was expert mode. However, where Rouka neither relied nor played with her own teammates, I took up running because I had friends who were on the cross country team. Friends significantly better than me at running.

“It was only after I lost basketball, the sport I’d started playing simply to raise the bar for myself, that I realized how much I loved it.”

- Rouka Numachi, Hanamonogatari

When I first began, as a freshman in high school, I was lazy about it. It was another thing to do. I lacked Rouka’s talent, so in addition to not improving as a runner, I did not start from a talented place to begin with. If I had to pinpoint a time when I actually realized how much I loved the feeling of running, it would be the fall of my junior year. I fell ill with pneumonia. This was nothing new, although it hadn’t happened in a few years, due to an increased lung capacity from running. Healthier lungs meant less bouts with lung infections, but did not eradicate them completely. Once again, I found myself locked in the house, unable to do much of anything.

The night I was diagnosed was the night of our cross country banquet. I was supposed to present something to the senior class, along with my fellow juniors, but could not. I ended up calling a friend to tell her that I had pneumonia and couldn’t make it. Later on that night, my phone began ringing incessantly, with people calling to make sure I was alright.

I don’t think that a single one of my teammates was reveling in my misfortune. The reason for this is two-fold: one, I wasn’t the best runner on the team, and two, I had genuinely become friends with my teammates. Running is ultimately a solitary sport. Once you take off, you’re alone with your thoughts, your will, and your athleticism, or lack thereof. The dynamic of my cross country team was a curious mix of personal goal-setting and inspiring one another. You didn’t have to rely on your teammates to pass a ball, or set a formation, or block a pass. You didn’t have to rely on your teammates at all, yet somehow, we all relied on each other for encouragement. This is the primary reason, the latter of the two that I mentioned, that I didn’t feel they were looking down on me when I fell ill.

Not only did I want to be at the banquet that night, but I simply wanted to go running. I can’t name moment where I suddenly crossed the line from not caring about running to it being a part of who I am. I don’t know when it began to mean so much to me. It was a gradual process. However in that moment, as phone calls poured in from my peers, I realized how much I loved it. Much of the process was due to encouragement from my friends.

“My teammates rarely passed me the ball. Getting a pass from my opponent caught me off-guard. It’s a nice feeling. I forgot – no, I never realized that basketball is a team game. I quit before I realized that.”

- Rouka Numachi, Hanamonogatari

One of the few passes that Rouka receives in her basketball career is from her opponent, Suruga. The primary difference between Suruga and Rouka is that the former finds others who care about her while the latter does not, until Suruga happens upon her. Much of Hanamonogatari attempts to frame them as two copies of the same person placed on opposite paths that converge again later in life, with the two having developed into distinct people. Suruga met Hitagi Senjougahara, and subsequently Koyomi Araragi. Rouka continued on her solitary path, taking misfortune from others without recognizing her own death.

Both encounter the Rainy Devil, and their respective desires of it show their character. Suruga first wishes to be fast; however, that wish additionally offers retaliation against her classmates for teasing her. Later, she wishes death on Koyomi, jealous of his relationship with Hitagi. Hitagi reaches out to Suruga, stopping the devil and cementing their friendship. From this point, Suruga is able to truly befriend not only Hitagi, but Koyomi as well.

Rouka takes on the burden of the devil when she genuinely wishes to help another, unlike Suruga who had wished ill upon her classmates and Koyomi. However, Rouka’s ultimate goal for the future is already rooted in taking misfortune from others. The injury to her leg both figuratively and literally ended her life. The future that stretches before Rouka is static. Suruga still has many choices having already realized that, mind the cheesiness here, life is a team game.

“Suruga, you’re sure to lead a more troublesome life than others – one that’s all too tedious and annoying. However, I don’t say that because you’re better than everyone else, but because you are weak. And you’ll have to spend the rest of your life shouldering that weakness. I just hope your troubles don’t become your raison d’etre.”

- Tooe Kanbaru, neé Gaen, to her daughter Suruga, Hanamonogatari

These are the words that Suruga remembers her mother by. While she claims to hold her mother in contempt, Suruga repeats these words without malice or anger, expressing confusion instead. Confusion as to how her father held her mother in such high regard, and why her mother chose to elope with her father at all. Tooe Kanbaru’s words are applicable to nearly every person alive, and Suruga recalls them as she is about to begin her school term without her seniors Hitagi and Koyomi. Later, she bristles at the moniker “Gaen’s Legacy” from the mouth of Kaiki Deishuu, but cannot help asking him if she resembles her mother. Finally, when she resolves her own feelings towards Rouka, and Rouka realizes her feelings towards Suruga, Suruga dreams of her mother after helping Rouka’s ghost ascend.

“To tell the truth, I wasn’t so confident I’d win. Maybe you admired team play, but I was always good at team play. And I admired you when you held off five opponents at once.”

- Suruga Kanbaru, Hanamonogatari

I mentioned previously that I was never jealous of my soccer teammates. If Rouka had been on my team, I would have felt lucky to have her, as opposed to being jealous of her talent. A lot of this has to do with the fact that I could never have seen myself as Rouka. I would have known that there was no physical way to match her talent. However, I had a different experience in high school. My thought process changed around the same time that I realized that I loved running. Around the same time that I contracted pneumonia, again. Upon realizing that I loved running, I wanted to improve. Upon showing improvement, I wanted to improve further. Upon desiring to improve further, I began comparing myself to others. Upon comparing myself to others, I still found myself significantly lacking. Relationships with others take on a certain fragility when your personal insecurities rear their ugly heads. Fortunately, like Suruga, by the time I reached high school I also had friends. My troubles didn’t become my raison d’etre.

“One day I will be grateful to my mother. I will understand her feelings. But today is not that day, and not anytime soon either – first I need to outdo her, or at least match her achievements. I don’t think I’ll ever feel the same as she.”

- Suruga Kanbaru, Hanamonogatari

When Suruga dreams again of her mother, Tooe tries to explain Suruga’s encounter with Rouka in grander terms of good and evil. That good stems from a desire to do harm, and doing harm stems from a desire to do good. Suruga’s response is appropriately grounded and simple: that it’s fun to meet up with people you once knew. Having found friends in Hitagi, Koyomi, and now Rouka, Suruga knows that she is not alone, regardless of the future that she chooses for herself. As self-described hot water, Suruga asserts she possesses few interesting facets, but she chooses to keep moving forward regardless. She has those whom she looks to compete with as well, namely Hitagi and her mother. Koyomi cuts her hair, to prepare it for her return to basketball, and the locks fall like the pieces of tape Suruga had once used to restrain her devil’s arm.

Hanamonogatari is not a story meant for me. It’s meant for someone younger, whose life stretches before them on a longer track than mine. However, as soon as I realized that Suruga’s first reaction was to run, I was sold. There’s no better feeling than pushing yourself to the limit in order to clear your thoughts, even if you collapse shortly after. Somewhere between Suruga Monkey and Suruga Devil, running became a healthy coping mechanism rather than a means of ignoring obstacles, or burying emotions. It resonated with me as a person who has alternated between thinking and running and still hasn’t figured out the right path. At this point, I wonder if anyone really finds “the right path.” The world will always be ambivalent, but there’s one thing that I, and Suruga can always do. Run. Not away from anything, but just run.

Creativity springs from familiar and unlikely places. As an artist, of any medium, one can fluctuate between immediate compulsive reactions to life experiences in addition to falling back on a comfortable style or source of inspiration. In painting, and additionally while writing for this blog, there are times where I work on crafting the familiar, and other times where I see something and am suddenly compelled to produce something.

Aikatsu! is a series that assigns inspiration to each of its characters fairly neatly, while accounting for both of these sources. Main heroine Ichigo Hoshimiya is a perfect example of this. She carries with her the love and support of her mother, represented by a rice paddle from her mother’s bento shop that Ichigo often brandishes, along with her own love of food. Initially, Ichigo is influenced after attending a Mizuki Kanzaki concert, but later finds out that her mother was also an idol prior to opening the bento shop. This revelation allows her to move forward with her own idol career, now using her mother as an additional source of motivation.

The first season of Aikatsu! focused on the performance aspects of idoldom. However, with the launch of rival Dream Academy, Aikatsu!‘s second season shifts focus to the offstage personnel that make the performance happen. Kii Saegusa of Dream Academy is a producer and a performance idol. Sora Kazesawa is a fashion designer first and an idol second.

“The teachers say that’s what it is, but I don’t think about concepts at all. I just make what comes to mind.”

- Sora Kazesawa, Aikatsu!, episode 61

When the headmistress of Dream Academy tells Sora to make her own brand, Sora complies with reservations. She takes her designs seriously, but approaches the idea of fashion as a career with cautious optimism. As she mentions to Kii and Seira, she doesn’t think of specific concepts. Instead, she creates whatever comes to mind, and the labels are assigned to her articles of clothing by others who see them. For example, when Kii walks into Sora’s fashion exhibit, she immediately calls out a specific style for each piece.

“I’m actually conflicted about how I should proceed. You see, I’ve always made clothes how and when I’ve wanted to. But if I started my own brand, I wouldn’t be able to do that. I’d have to keep announcing new clothes periodically. Even if I had no inspiration, I’d still have to make something because it would be my job.”

- Sora Kazesawa, Aikatsu!, episode 61

Sora’s concerns highlight the fear of any artist’s attempt to transition from art as a hobby to art as a career. When one relies on periodic and compulsive bursts, producing at their personal highest level becomes a challenge, often fraught with self-doubt. This doubt is exemplified in Sora’s personal muse, Mimi.

Mimi formerly traveled the world, creating jewelry and accessories, and meets Sora when Sora is a child in Morocco. Inspired by Mimi, Sora asks if she can try making accessories, as opposed to simply receiving them. From that day on, Sora sits beside Mimi and creates her own accessories. Their relationship is reciprocative. Sora says that Mimi’s accessories give off a kind of magic that acts as a catalyst for her own efforts while Mimi tells Sora that she is inspired by Sora’s diligence and growth. Prior to befriending Sora, Mimi had said that she was stuck in Morocco because she was afraid to open new doors. In her parting letter, Mimi cites Sora as the reason for her renewed drive and ability to move forward, leaving her with a pink flower accessory that she wears, much like Ichigo carries her rice paddle.

Recalling Mimi’s story gives Sora the strength to advance in her own career as a fashion designer. The idea of a brand is one rooted in marketing. Everything branded under a certain title in Aikatsu! ties to a specific look, and additionally a set of collectible cards to sell outside of the series. In spite of this, Aikatsu! lovingly shows Sora as an artist who will not be able to escape labels assigned from others, but instead work within them to still create something that represents her personal influences, hopefully inspiring others like Mimi inspired her.

Monopoly is, and always has been, a boring game to me. Growing up, my brother and I would try to spice things up by playing something we called “Mafia Monopoly.” This is a fancy way of saying that we slipped each other money beneath the table and made clandestine deals with one another in an attempt to gang up on my parents and end the game in under an hour. Our parents turned a blind eye most likely because they wanted to spend time with us, even if we were dirty rotten cheaters. Similarly, I had another friend who would say the classic, “Oops! I dropped my cards!” after melodramatically performing the act before slipping extra cards into his hand. We put up with it because we liked him as a friend, even though he was a horrid card player.

When Five lays the groundwork for her chess match with Nine, she presumably also sets the rules. It is the job of Nine and Twelve to respond accordingly. She chooses the playing field. She sets the stage. She decides the goal. Unlike the rules of Monopoly – or the game she is modeling her interactions with Nine after, chess – the rules are hers to construct and break as she pleases. This makes the chess match in episode seven of Terror in Resonance a bit of a boring game for the audience; however, the parry and riposte from Sphinx and Shibazaki speak to the crumbling of established rules within the series.

Sphinx have always relied on the general public to follow the rules. This is something that they take advantage of in their attacks, often to ensure the least amount of injury possible. In their first attack, they ensure that the fire alarms go off and citizens exit in an orderly fashion, relying on them to do so. When Twelve initially hands a stuffed animal to Lisa, he tells her not to let go of it until he says so and she complies. They also set the rules of their own interactions with the police through their riddles, and rely on someone within the force to solve them. Their trump card is the plutonium that they stole from Aomori, and the police are more than well aware that it’s still in their playing hand.

“Then, Mr. Kurahashi, please take responsibility if anything happens.”

- Shibazaki, Terror in Resonance, episode 3

The police have their own set of rules to follow. Exemplifying Nakano Chie’s “vertical society” the police consists of unequal relationships that strain once the outcast Shibazaki is brought back into the fold by Chief Kurahashi. This makes it impossible for younger members of the force like Hamura to protest his inclusion and counsel. However, there is an undercurrent of struggle as to whose rules to follow: Sphinx’s or the police hierarchy. In spite of being a senior member in age, Shibazaki has been firmly labelled as a social outcast. It’s no wonder that the younger Hamura balks at Shibazaki’s reappearance, initially going against his advice – the advice of Sphinx themselves – in the fourth episode, causing Sphinx to leak all of the police’s investigation reports.

Five’s arrival acts as the catalyst for Hamura’s change of heart. Chief Kurahashi has no choice but to follow the orders from his superiors – again, the structure works from the top down, even with Five and the Nuclear Emergency Support Team (NEST) overriding it – even when such inaction guarantees civilian casualties. When Shibazaki refuses to follow societal rules and chooses to follow the rules of Sphinx, he gains a small following that begrudgingly includes Hamura. With the revelation that the police are the ones setting the trap, Hamura sets aside his own adherence to rules and fully acquiesces to Shibazaki, earning him the withering look above.

“This is the last stage, Nine. Can you clear it?”

- Five, Terror in Resonance, episode 7

Five cares not for rules other than her own. She uses preestablished rules much like Sphinx, relying on others to follow them in order to achieve her own personal goals. While Nine still has the recurring nightmare of Five disappearing into the flames, Five saying that she arrived to settle their score reveals that all of her involvement is personal. Unlike Shibazaki, whose focus is on the nuclear threat, Five simply wants to toy with Nine and Twelve in spite of her presumed position with NEST, an American organization formed to research and neutralize nuclear threats. In response to Nine pointing a gun at her, she calmly outlines the information that she knows, and subsequently reveals her next move, altering previous regulations that she had set. Five will continue to move the goalposts provided that it suits her, and has been given quite the arsenal to do so. She also shows little to no care for what the end result is, challenging Nine to clear her obstacles. In spite of asserting that Nine and Twelve are more vulnerable having found a friend in Lisa, she is expressing her friendship with the boys throughout the episode in her own warped fashion.

The series falters a bit for this, as we are not the targets of Five’s game. My parents suffered my brother and I sliding each other money under the table presumably because they were rewarded through spending time with us. We have no such attachment to Five, and continues to create her own guidelines only to move them. Watching someone cheat repeatedly hardly makes for an interesting viewing experience. However, it matters a great deal in-universe to Nine, who still harbors guilt over abandoning Five at the facility. Ultimately, this is the reason why he chooses the more difficult path of saving Lisa, mirroring his actions in the first episode.

“Anyway, do you really think those guys have a future?”

- Five, to Lisa Mishima, Terror in Resonance, episode 8

Five has a future. She chose – according to Nine – to stay in the Rising Peace Academy, and therefore has been able to fashion herself quite the future from this decision. Thanks to the academy, Five has a cozy gig with the ISA and does not have to worry about her career. She commandeers an entire airport, blows up an airplane, and bombs an apartment, receiving only the gentle admonishment of, “Please show some moderation.” from her superiors. She has little need to worry about her own future, provided that she meets their goals.

Terror in Resonance‘s eighth episode focuses heavily on various characters’ respective future outlooks. In their time away from the academy, Nine and Twelve’s focus has been trained on exacting revenge for the manner in which they, and the other orphans, were treated. Their actions within the scope of the series, and a bit outside of it in Aomori, have all been done with this goal in mind. Without the academy, their future is now bleaker than it would have been had they remained in their orphanages. Like Mawaru Penguindrum‘s child broiler, the Rising Peace Academy aimed to make the children identical to one another in order to cement their place as cogs in the societal machine. Nine and Twelve’s personal realization that the two of them have no future is instrumental in understanding why they would steal plutonium, why they would destroy Japanese government facilities, and why Nine now insists that they continue with their plan.

Mawaru Penguindrum explores this through the Takakura parents, higher-ups in the series’ version of domestic terrorist group Aum Shinrikyo and perpetrators of the 1995 Tokyo Subway Attacks. In episode 12, Shouma tells a story to Ringo that’s part parable, part myth, and part nursery rhyme, beginning with “Mary had a little lamb.”

“But one day, Mary awoke to a surprise. The apple tree in the garden had withered. It was the first tree in the world. The tree that bore golden fruit each year. It was Mary’s other dear, dear treasure . . . The apple tree’s light had once been the source of the world’s love, future, and dreams. Now the world is shrouded in darkness.Mary cried on and on and the lambs’ consolation fell on deaf ears.”

- Shouma Takakura, Mawaru Penguindrum, episode 12

Mary could be anyone. However, in this example, she is Kenzan and Cheimi Takakura, parents to three children with a presumably bright future. Shouma says that Mary couldn’t wait to spin the lambs’ wool into thread, meaning that the Takakuras were eager to see to the future of their children: Shouma, Kanba, and Himari. This all falls apart when, in Shouma’s words, the first apple tree in the world withers. Suddenly, the Takakuras could no longer see a future for their own children or anyone in the world. The consolation of those close to them, their own family, was not enough to stop them from despairing at how they felt about the direction in which they perceived the world to be traveling.

In Shouma’s tale, Mary breaks a taboo, earning wrath and an unjust punishment from an enraged goddess. In 1995, Aum Shinrikyo released the nerve agent sarin in a coordinated attack on the Tokyo subway, killing 13 and affecting thousands of others. In Penguindrum, the Takakura parents commit acts of domestic terrorism on the Tokyo subway system, forever branding their children in the eyes of society. Himari Takakura, an orphan taken in by the Takakuras, falls ill as perceived punishment for their atrocities. What is important is not the punishment itself, but how it resonates through the Takakura family. Kenzan and Chiemi are shown throughout the series as incredibly loving parents to all of their three children, but as they could not see any future for them in their current society, they resorted to terrorism and their children must live with that burden.

“A long time ago, when I was young, there were teenagers who threw rocks at the riot police and fought against the government. Even though Sphinx are called terrorists now, in a different time . . . they might have been called something else.”

- Shibazaki, Terror in Resonance, episode eight

Shortly following Shouma’s story, Penguindrum shifts, choosing to center on how people can avoid falling into this mindset, rather than what one does once this mindset is already in place. Penguindrum offers the solution of growing to love and care for others – the Takakura parents could have done this by listening and caring for their children but were unable to see a future in that alone – rescuing them from feelings of isolation, depression, and lack of a sense of self. Terror in Resonance focuses on the far more dangerous mindset of what one does once such feelings are already in place and, following Shibazaki’s words in episode eight, whether such actions are necessary in the face of continued systemic oppression.

“Don’t misunderstand me. I want to help them. They still have a chance to atone for their crimes right now. But if they do what they’re planning on doing next, they will be beyond redemption.”

- Five, to Lisa Mishima, Terror in Resonance, episode eight

These are the words that Five uses to coerce Lisa into telling Five how she knows Nine and Twelve. When Lisa tells her how they met, Five berates her, saying that she should have died. Lisa is unable to use her life for leverage, as Five tells her that even Lisa’s life is worthless. Her existence is worthless. She is another ant among hundreds of thousands with no future, while Five is a member of an elite special operations force. Five then asks Lisa if she believes that Sphinx has a future.

It is here where Twelve diverges from the plan that Sphinx had set in motion from the moment they escaped from the academy. Having befriended Lisa, lived with Lisa, eaten Lisa’s atrocious cooking, he suddenly finds himself devoid of the mindset needed for the final stage of the plan. A final stage that presumably involves the stolen plutonium from Aomori and a potentially devastating body count.

Nine has not formed the same relationship with Lisa – although he has come to care for her in his own way – and suggests that they leave her out of their plans for her own safety. He knows that, once they leap into the final stretch of their scheme, there is no turning back. Nine would rather see Lisa uninvolved than dirtied by their vengeful intentions. Where Five sees that Sphinx may have a future, provided that they are not allowed to move forward with their plan, Nine sees Lisa similarly. As long as she does not involve herself further, there is hope for her future.

Meanwhile, Twelve sees potential in a different future. One outside of the Sphinx and terrorism. He feels hope from building a relationship with another person, rather than a spray-painted word on the floor of a nuclear facility, and can no longer drum up the same despair that he once had.

“And start to feel mortality surround me.

I close my eyes and think that I have found me.

But life inside the music box ain’t easy.

The mallets hit the gears are always turning.

And everyone inside the mechanism is yearning to get out.

And sing another melody completely”

- Regina Spektor, “Musicbox”

When speaking of Samurai Flamenco, there is a clear turning point that demarcates where the show aims to go. The series’ seventh episode – titled quite literally as “Change the World” – introduces Guillotine Gorilla and suddenly everything you knew about Samurai Flamenco changes. Your heartwarming, cuddly, and cute buddy-cop friendship becomes something else entirely, and you’re not quite sure what to do.

Admittedly, I stopped watching Samurai Flamenco at episode seven. It unfortunately the first show on the chopping block when hours at my job slowly crept into any hours I had for watching anime. In a season with Kyousogiga and Kill la Kill!, I put the little superhero series on hold, not quite certain as to what to do with it when actual supervillains appeared.

The series begins with the boredom – if not “boredom” than perhaps restlessness – of Hazama Masayoshi. Masayoshi has a fairly successful, albeit sometimes stressful, job as an up and coming model. He’s pretty, if not a bit dim, and socially anxious with an overwhelming sense of justice cultivated from a childhood diet of superhero television shows. Masayoshi is bent on fighting evil not because of a tragic backstory – which eventually comes to him – but for the sake of “good.” This becomes a problem in the world outside of television, where good and evil are far more difficult to define, and their relationship with one another constantly muddied. Most importantly, Masayoshi is an adult. At 20 years-old, he is someone who should have given up on his dream long ago. In striking up a friendship with dull policeman Hidenori Gotou, he is confronted with the fact that those who once shared the same dream have long since accepted their fate as a mechanism in the social music box.

Thus, Masayoshi takes it upon himself to change Gotou’s heart along with our own. He stands up to wayward junior high school students, and reprimands those who steal others umbrellas. In forcing his world to have a superhero, he becomes a catalyst for all that follows, including additional superheroes and yes, eventual supervillains, beginning with the infamous Guillotine Gorilla.

The episode prior to the primate’s arrival places a bounty on Samurai Flamenco’s head, and the city descends into chaos in order to claim the sum. In the process, the superhero saves a person who was attempting to capture him, leading to the young man’s exclamation that perhaps heroes do exist. In that moment, Masayoshi accomplishes what he unwittingly set out to do: convince others of good in the world. Most importantly, he does this before the series gives him a Big Bad to do so.

Masayoshi’s actions also inspire Mari Maya, a bored idol who is living the dream, but not her dream. In donning a costume and taking to the streets as Samurai Flamenco, Mari claims that Masayoshi stole her thunder, while effectively taking his name – at the very least, the “Flamenco” part in Flamenco Girl and later, Flamenco Diamond – and using his established brand to dispense her own form of justice. She becomes the model of superhero that Masayoshi refuses to be, one who metes out justice in violence and fear. Rather than trying to change the world one person at a time like Masayoshi, Mari readily accepts her world for what it is and uses the guise of Flamenco Girl to rail against it.

Lastly, the first of Samurai Flamenco‘s supervillains, King Torture, readily admits that he was raised on the same diet of superhero cartoons and sentai series that Masayoshi was. Where Masayoshi drew inspiration from the heroes, King Torture drew inspiration from the villains, seeing a united world under “evil” as an easier solution to solving the world’s problems. Upon seeing Masayoshi as Samurai Flamenco, he realizes his own dream of being the villain, King Torture. In a standard “we’re not so different, you and I” monologue, King Torture proves that he is the stereotypical antithesis of Masayoshi’s idea of the hero. Like Mari, he claims to have prepared far more thoroughly than Masayoshi for his part in the narrative. In fact, everyone claims to have taken steps prior to Masayoshi, seemingly waiting for someone as naive and reckless as he to appear.

As Samurai Flamenco moves forward, further down the rabbit hole, away from the comfort of watching Masayoshi struggle with encroaching adulthood and just what heroes mean to him, everyone he meets bends to his presence, but not to his goal. In seeing his attempts at heroics, they are inspired to showcase what the idea of the hero means to them specifically. Similar to real life, not everyone agrees on a standard definition of what a hero should be. I’d like to think that Samurai Flamenco encourages this in its audience as well. It will always be a pre-Guillotine Gorilla world for those of us watching the series; however, the questions raised in the post-Guillotine Gorilla world of Samurai Flamenco could prove to be the most pertinent.

The four young women in the image above don’t appear to have a care in the world. Joking around and laughing with one another, they head out, enjoying the day together. Perhaps they’ll go to a café or an amusement park.

Their reality is nothing like this carefree snapshot, taken from the opening sequence of Amagi Brilliant Park. Instead, it’s displayed in the image above. Forced to perform in front of an audience of two, the four women are obviously miserable with no outlet or avenue to channel their magical powers. The energetic redhead smiling and laughing in the opening shot is formally introduced to us as apathetic and without regard for keeping up appearances. Her cohorts are similarly despondent, one chokes back tears as she attempts to perform. Escape from the dire nature of their jobs is impossible when their profession so encapsulates who they are: fairies from another world. Doomed to display their powers to the most meager of audiences, the four women seem impossibly distant from the happy image in the series’ opening song.

Amagi Brilliant Park presents the four fairies of Elementario – and the other wonders contained within the amusement park – through the reactions of Seiya Kanie, quick cuts to debris and desolation, and the deadpan narration of Isuzu Sento. To her credit, Isuzu manages a greater apathetic demeanor than Salama, our aforementioned fire fairy, while introducing the various attractions, like the “Heart-Pounding Coaster: a bullet train of thrills and excitement.” As Amagi Brilliant Park‘s most unenthusiastic hype woman, Isuzu’s emotionless voice drones regardless of whether she is introducing an event or affirming that Amaburi’s staff are magical denizens of a place called Maple Land.

Yet, one can’t help but feel that Isuzu cares deeply about the fate of the decrepit amusement park and its inhabitants. This is exemplified not in the tone of her voice but through the amount of knowledge she possesses and her forcefulness in dragging the hapless Seiya on a date turned expository info-dump. At their core, amusement parks are determined to remove one from the real world, placing them in a fantasy land for a day. The enjoyment one derives from attending a theme park often depends on how willing they are to buy into the fantasy. In the case of Amaburi, the cast members are all magical, but the park’s aura is anything but.

“‘If you want to make people dream, you have to start by believing in that dream yourself?’ Harsh, but true.”

- Isuzu Sento, Amagi Brilliant Park, episode 1

The end result of Seiya’s whirlwind tour is not the revelation that he – as a former childhood actor – has been chosen to lead Amaburi out of the doldrums and into prosperity, although this will indubitably drive the narrative. Instead, Amagi Brilliant Park makes it a point to show that Seiya is actively angry with the state of Amaburi, as it makes no effort to bestow the actual magic that the cast members have onto the few visitors that happen to stumble through its gates. While the reality of working at an amusement park involves far more cleaning up vomit and preventing teenagers from copulating in the restrooms, it is a reality to be hidden behind a curtain of magic, and some excellent acting.

In Seiya, Amagi Brilliant Park offers the standard story of a young man rediscovering what he loves – presumably acting – while inspiring others in the process. If images from the opening sequence are anything to go by, he has a very long way to go. Even in this montage of happy faces and a cleaner, more inviting Amaburi, there’s still the chance of unearthing a dildo in front of children, and drinking one’s self silly after a hard day’s work. The disgusting bits will never be eradicated, as escaping these things are part and parcel of what makes theme parks work. Amagi Brilliant Park understands this, and manages to make one look forward to how the magic will return.

The Fate franchise has previously both bored and terrified me. What little I experienced of it – Fate/Zero and varying descriptions from close friends who happened to be fans – felt too heavy both in subject matter and consumption with little emotional substance to make me care about its major players.

For this I do not slight Kinoko Nasu nor the series itself, but the way I interact with a story. I’m willing to forgive all types of plot inconsistencies provided that the characters resonate with me in some way. Fate/Zero did not keep my attention, as the only endearing characters were Waver Velvet and Rider. All other characters were simply mouthpieces for in-universe minutiae or lofty philosophical ideals. It was with trepidation and distrust that I approached Fate/Stay Night: Unlimited Blade Works.

Fate/Stay Night: Unlimited Blade Works begins with Rin Tohsaka, and simply Rin Tohsaka. The narrative will indubitably shift to Shirou Emiya; however, for this prologue Fate offers us Rin, revealing her personality and circumstances in a surprisingly careful manner.

I remember little of Tokiomi Tohsaka from Fate/Zero aside from his steely demeanor and eventual demise. Therefore, the above image had little emotional impact on me until this one was shown a few minutes later. In her flashback dream, Rin sees her father off at the gates of a larger, imposing estate than the house she inhabits in her present. Her current abode still boasts an impressive amount of space, but is obviously untended since Rin is the only one who lives there.

Fate/Stay Night: Unlimited Blade Works lovingly portrays every detail of Rin’s house as she goes about her morning toilette, with each room allowing a different look into Rin’s life. Her bedroom is completed by a four-poster bed, elaborately decorated curtains, a Persian rug, and French furniture. It’s large and fairly organized aside from the piles of books, an askew lampshade, and her chair as she topples it by launching her alarm clock. She walks through her living room, still with French furniture and another Persian rug. The curtains and paneling are less ornate, but the room boasts wall-mounted candelabras and an imposing fireplace decorated with swords. Her bathroom has a modern faucet, but patterned wallpaper and what appears to be a marble sink along with a plant. She straightens her tie in a dusty mirror.

This presentation of Rin’s habitat shows that, aside from the basement where she presumably hones her mage powers, she puts little effort into living inside the house. While the basement is strewn with papers, tomes, scrolls, a victrola, and various other oddities, the rest of her house is a museum. It protects her, and reflects the monetary situation of her now-absent parents, but doesn’t reveal her personality at all. Rather, it suits to show us the aloof and majestic persona she adopts while in public. Fate/Stay Night follows up this introduction to Rin through her home by presenting Rin at school as a girl who forces herself to stay just distant enough from others in order to doggedly fulfill the role that was passed down to her through birthright.

It is fitting that when Rin summons her Servant, as she was trained to do, it’s neither neat nor pristine, and ruins her living room. Archer is not the servant-class that she desired – she wished for Saber – but her new found companion suits her well. Both characters speak in half-truths, with Rin assuming the mantle of the house of Tohsaka, while Archer is noticeably closed-lipped regarding his identity. Later episodes will surely move away from the intricacies of Rin Tohsaka’s house and into the details of the Holy Grail War. However, for a week, Fate/Stay Night gave me Rin Tohsaka at home.

“I look up as I walk,

So that the tears won’t fall,

Remembering those spring days,

But I am all alone tonight.”

- “Ue o Muite Arukou,” lyrics by Rokusuke Ei, 1961

Signed on Sept. 8, 1951, the Security Treaty Between the United States and Japan – along with the San Francisco Peace Treaty of the same date – wholly disarmed Japan while allowing the United States an optimal military foothold in Asia. Encapsulating postwar relations between the two nations, the documents dismantled the Japanese war machine, leaving the United States in sole possession of Japan’s defenses.

Nearly ten years later, discussion turned to a new Treaty of Mutual Cooperation and Security Between the United States and Japan – commonly known as Anpo – in 1959. The treaty granted the United States continued military presence in Japan. Early drafts of the new agreement were spearheaded by then Prime Minister Nobusuke Kishi of the Liberal Democratic Party in Nov. 1959, and introduced to a National Diet suspiciously devoid of opposition. Kishi’s actions along with Anpo itself, inspired mass protests. Demonstrators were met with police resistance on the steps of the National Diet Building in Nagatachou, and approximately 500 people were injured.

This initial clash laid the groundwork for continued grassroots demonstrations against the Anpo treaty throughout 1960. In spite of growing opposition and student protests, Kishi secured ratification of the treaty on May 19, 1960. Rare was the day that did not go without resistance, and unrest continued to grow throughout May and June. On June 15, thousands of protestors were met with police opposition at the parliament building, leading to the death of student Michiko Kanba and injuries to approximately 600 people. At the request of Kishi and the Japanese government, President Eisenhower cancelled a June 19 visit to Japan because of the Anpo protests. Millions participated in the demonstrations, and although Kishi did see out the official ratification of Anpo on June 17, he subsequently stepped down from office on June 23.

These protests would later prove as a template for future Japanese student activism in the 1970s; however, they were seen as largely unsuccessful by participants due to the fact that the treaty was ratified regardless. While walking back from an Anpo demonstration, Rokusuke Ei penned the lyrics to “Ue o Muite Arukou” (I Look Up as I Walk), expressing his frustration. Saddened by the perceived ineffectiveness of the protests, Ei wrote of a man who looks up at the sky while he walks, lest his tears fall to the ground. The song was released in Japan in 1961 and sung by Japanese pop star Kyu Sakamoto. It quickly conquered pop music charts both in Japan and abroad to become one of the best-selling singles of all time. In the United States it was released under the title “Sukiyaki” in spite of having nothing to do with the Japanese dish, as the shorter title was thought to be catchier for an English-speaking audience.

“Destroy the old, and you destroy our memory of the past. Don’t you care about the people who lived and died before us? There is no future for people who worship the future and forget the past. Democracy doesn’t mean you can ignore the minority.”

- Shun Kazama, From Up on Poppy Hill

“Ue o Muite Arukou” is used multiple times in Studio Ghibli’s 2011 film, From Up on Poppy Hill. Set in in 1960s postwar Japan, Poppy Hill embodies the 1960s period of civil unrest and student activism in Japan. Shun Kazama, quoted above, initially meets protagonist Umi Matsuzaki during a demonstration against the destruction of The Latin Quarter, an older school building that houses various student activities clubs. As the head of the Journalism Club and school newspaper, Shun leads the activist movement at his high school along with the student body president.

Throughout the film, there are nods to the growth of Japan in the postwar era, along with its struggles to establish itself as an independent nation, attempting to cast off the yoke of the United States and the shadows of World War II. Additionally, Umi’s father was killed in the Korean War, when the supply ship he was on was sunk by a mine. Due to the state of Japanese-US relations, and the United States’ desire to oppose China in the Korean War, Japanese suppliers were pressed into service by the US military, reiterating the position of Japan as a US way point. From Up on Poppy Hill is first and foremost a period piece, and the Latin Quarter narrative acts as a microcosm for Japanese unrest and activism.

“You could say that the festival was the culmination of the energy that ran rampant through Japan at the time.”

 – Youko Itoigawa neé Kooriyama, Hyouka, episode 5

Another series that touches upon student activism in postwar Japan is Hyouka. The first mystery that the Classics Club, and known deductive mind Houtarou Oreki, must solve is the story of Eru Chitanda’s uncle, Jun Sekitani. Forced to take the fall after a series of student protests ended in the accidental burning of a building, Sekitani was expelled from school, in spite of the fact that he was not the true leader of the student movement. In one of his last acts as a high school student, Sekitani named the Classics Club anthology, “Hyouka,” as a pun on “ice cream” and “I scream” to express his inability to speak out.

At the cultural festival that was re-nicknamed in his honor – as the Kanya Festival – Chitanda stops to listen as the A Cappella club performs “Ue o Muite Arukou,” another nod to the student movement.

While “Ue o Muite Arukou” was written to express disappointment in the ineffectiveness of the Anpo protests, the lyrics are deliberately ambigious and can represent any unrequited or painful love. In the recent movie, Tamako Love Story, heroine Tamako Kitashirakawa performs to the song with her baton club, following the acceptance of her feelings towards next-door neighbor Mochizou Ouji.

What follows is a lovely moment between Tamako and her best friend, Midori Tokiwa. Midori has come to terms with her own feelings for Tamako; however, had settled into a state of pleasant acceptance under the assumption that Mochizou would never confess his affection. Following his confession, Midori is left to face the futility of her love for Tamako, while simultaneously guiding her best friend through her respective feelings. Prior to their club’s performance – which Tamako had been struggling with due to her emotional confusion – Tamako accepts that she loves Mochizou and thanks Midori for her help.

As “Ue o Muite Arukou” plays, the two pass each other during the routine. They both look at each other, blink, and then look ahead, each able to move forward with their respective feelings.

The sung benediction of “Miracle ro-ma-n-ce,” in Sailor Moon‘s opening, “Moonlight Densetsu” never resonated with me in spite of its inherent catchiness. For me, Sailor Moon was never about romance. Instead, it was about kicking butt – figuratively, in the case of Ami Mizuno, or quite literally, in the case of Makoto Kino – and looking amazing while doing so. Additionally, was the message that even I could find friends who would like me for who I was, as trite as that sounds. I may not have resonated with Usagi Tsukino, but I desperately wished for a friend like her.

Usagi Tsukino, in all of her iterations, remained a kind-hearted girl whose attitude and willingness to befriend others led to those others naturally flocking to her. We are are relatively unaware of what her past life as Princess Serenity was like, and only use her previous status as a reason for why such strife continues to follow Usagi in her present. Usagi’s future is used similarly, as a tool to affect her present-day narrative. Ami Mizuno, Rei Hino, and Makoto Kino all pledge their loyalty to the Usagi of the present, not Princess Serenity. The revelation of Usagi’s past identity as the princess of the moon further inspires the inner sailor scouts’ devotion to Usagi, rather than causing it.

My discovery of Sailor Moon happily coincided with my parents’ acquisition of a new computer. Naturally, my Sailor Moon affinity, innate curiosity, and new-found internet access led me into the depths of the Sailor Moon fandom. In addition to learning the basics – what yaoi and yuri were – I was also introduced to the term shitennou (four heavenly kings) as a name for the four generals that served Mamoru Chiba’s past self, Prince Endymion.

Mamoru Chiba’s relationship with Usagi is an interesting case. The “miracle romance” of the opening song, the development of Usagi and Mamoru’s relationship in the Sailor Moon present varies from manga, to the original television series, to the newest series in the Sailor Moon franchise, Sailor Moon Crystal. However, what I always loved about Mamoru and Usagi’s relationship is the way that she inevitably enables him to open up to other people. Mamoru’s present is nebulous, with the majority of his memories missing and mixed up with memories of the Silver Millennium and his previous self. Usagi’s prying, along with her uncanny ability to genuinely care about others’ welfare regardless of circumstance, makes it possible for Mamoru to move forward in his present and go about having a future. Additionally, Usagi is always grounded very much in her own present, making her an anchor for Mamoru.

“You’re right. You aren’t the princess. You don’t need to walk the same path as her.”

-Rei Hino/Sailor Mars, Sailor Moon Crystal, episode 9

Episode nine of Sailor Moon Crystal reveals Usagi’s past identity to her inner circle of sailor scouts. Later on in the episode, Usagi wakes up to find that her hair has grown in response to the flood of memories. Awkward in her own body, her friends console her in a wonderful little bedroom scene reminiscent of junior high school sleepovers. They cut her hair, fret over her appearance, and assure Usagi that she is a stronger person than she gives herself credit for. I loved this scene as it, along with Rei’s words quoted above, reiterated the tried and true message that it’s Usagi’s life and actions in the present that matter most, particularly to those around her.

However, the wrench that Sailor Moon Crystal has thrown into this message is in the continued existence of the aforementioned shitennou. As an adaptation without the stylings of Kunihiko Ikuhara, Junichi Sato, and Tatsuya Igarashi, along with countless others, this most recent iteration of Sailor Moon has been somewhat soulless for me, especially in its visual direction. Sailor Moon Crystal is arguably a closer adaptation of the Naoko Takeuchi manga with one notable exception: the shitennou do not die at their appointed times.

In the original 1992 television series, the four shitennou – Kunzite, Zoisite, Nephrite, and Jadeite – also stick around longer than their manga counterparts. In that version of Sailor Moon, they also are shown to lead lives separate from their past selves. For example, Nephrite has a heart-wrenching relationship with Usagi’s close friend, Naru Osaka, which delves into the guilt that he feels for his current, and previous, actions. Again, there is a focus on being a different person in the present, without remaining chained to transgressions from a previous life.

While the role that the shitennou will play in Sailor Moon Crystal remains to be seen, their continued existence smacks of a desire to neatly pair them up with their Silver Millennium romantic partners: Ami with Zoisite, Rei with Jadeite, Makoto with Nephrite, and Minako with Kunzite. This rings falsely to me because of Sailor Moon‘s past and continued assertion that it’s not who you or your family was in the past, but your actions in the present that matter. Mamoru and Usagi’s relationship is a miracle romance for many other reasons aside from their previous lives as Prince Endymion and Princess Serenity respectively. I would hate to lose that importance on who we are in the present, and how we affect those around us on a day to day basis.

Sometimes, we’re all idiots.

The second season of Love Live! School Idol Project was full of ups and downs. It was largely unable to maintain the strength of its predecessor, and floundered without the clearly-defined goal that propelled the narrative of the first season. With no school to save, the series leaned on the appeal of its characters, leading to an uneven presentation.

All too often, sequels fall into this trap, leaning too much on audience fanservice where some of the personalities presented cannot carry their weight against others. However, Love Live! did reach greater heights in its second season, and they happened when the entire group was together.

Love Live!‘s heart has always nestled in the same goofy spot as an MGM 1940s movie musical – with similar marketing and moneymaking desires – where someone’s farm, career, or unrequited crush on the boy next door can only be solved by song and dance. Season one saw the nine girls become school idols in order to save their high school from imminent destruction. Season two returns to these roots in episode nine, “Melody of the Heart,” when μ’s is unable to attend the preliminary round of the Love Live competition due to a snowstorm. Fortunately, what appears to be the entire student body shows up to shovel a pathway for the girls to use. Group leader Honoka Kousaka promptly calls them idiots before the girls run down the cleared path en route to their performance.

Is this improbable? Yes.

Is it corny? Yes.

Does it work? More than anything else in the entire second season.

What follows is a showstopping performance of the single, “Snow Halation,” a song born of the girls’ respective desires and loves. In a season full of focus on the individual personalities within the group, a simple moment before the performance where each girl reflects on their respective love is as cheesy as it is wonderful. It’s a rare episode that encapsulates everything that Love Live! succeeds with, and allows the viewer to relish in their own emotional attachment.

In the spirit of the holidays, I sang “Snow Halation” for you all.

Late August of this past year, I was informed that my presence was required at a weekend-long business trip in Oklahoma. Without delving too much into my day job, the majority of my peers are in Texas. Prior to these meetings, they did not reach out to me, a remote member of their group, preferring to stay within their own, impenetrable clique.

Business trips are an odd thing, particularly when 11 of the 15 people in attendance are already close to one another. It turns the dynamic of the forced fraternization that occurs following the meetings into a high school party where the popular kids are already separated from the rest of the group. Limited interaction with them occurs when they deign to speak to you out of curiosity, and comes in the form of generic questions about your family or love life.

Following an exhausting few hours of this over the finest Hibachi restaurant that Durant, OK. had to offer, I snuck back to my room, promising my peers that I would meet them on the casino floor shortly. However, as I sat down on the surprisingly comfortable hotel bed and looked around the room, I found myself without the energy or patience to deal with pretending any further.

It likely wasn’t the correct decision – it certainly was a choice that could have served to further close me off from the rest of my group – but I decided to hole up in my hotel room.

As we were staying at a casino, and casinos are shrewd with their resources, free wireless internet was provided but its reach was mysteriously spotty once one moved up from the first level of the playing floor into the hotel proper. Therefore, I was left with what little I had on my new laptop: the Kill la Kill OVA.

The OVA in and of itself was nothing outstanding. However, in that moment, it created an oddly comforting place for me to return to. It immediately reminded me of my feelings following the K-ON! movie, where half of the enjoyment that I felt from watching came from revisiting the familiarity of the franchise, rather than the actual quality of the product I was watching.

Upon first glance, Kill la Kill and K-ON! have few to no similarities. The former is a high-octane love letter to Go Nagai, Osamu Dezaki, Japanese mythology, GAINAX’s Daicon animations, and many other things. The latter is a relaxing, oft-comedic, look into the world of five close friends who happen to form their high school’s Light Music Club. When I want a series to pump me up before a workout, Kill la Kill is the perfect choice. When I want a series to relax and chuckle along with, there is no better selection than K-ON!. The two properties are opposites when it comes to content.

However, for me personally and countless others, watching these respective series was an experience. And in that moment, curled up in a hotel bedroom alone by choice, Kill la Kill was the perfect experience to return to.

With two days of long meetings, and forced fraternization, coming to a close, my boss rose from his seat at the table. The waning moments of this business trip, he said, were to be spent talking amongst ourselves, as requested by one of my co-workers. As the door closed behind him, 14 of us looked around the table at each other quizzically. The coworker in question stood up and declared this a time to air our grievances with one another.

In my previous post, I discussed choosing to hide in my room and watch the Kill la Kill OVA instead of making an effort to know my coworkers better. I don’t regret that decision, because it was it’s own relaxing experience, but I cannot wholly defend it as something I should have done. When various coworkers began to stand up one by one and truly express their opinions without corporate sugarcoating, I had an epiphany. After speaking with a few of them following this portion of the business trip, I know many of my peers did as well.

The third episode of Amagi Brilliant Park portrays Seiya Kanie’s first attempt at wrangling the lazy and hapless members of the dilapidated amusement park. His suggestions are all valid from a business sense, but are met with opposition from the existing cast of characters, all of whom are stuck in their respective ruts. In particular, Amagi Brilliant Park’s most well-known mascot Moffle is resistant to every idea that Kanie brings to the table, never making an attempt to understand Kanie’s thought processes.

The two come to an uneasy understanding after Kanie posts a video of Moffle beating up customers that goes viral. With clever editing, Moffle is made to look like the hero in the fight, and the traffic brings viewers to an advertisement for the park itself. When asked how many visitors the videos will bring in, Kanie admits that it will likely be very few, but emphasizes that one more visitor is better than no new visitors.

This marks the beginning of an uneasy truce between the mascot and Kanie. The two may never like each other, but following this episode, they can at least understand where the other is coming from.

When I watched this episode of Amagi Brilliant Park, I was immediately reminded of that business trip roundtable, which quickly devolved into a shouting match, expletives included. We all exited the meeting room knowing that we had all been scared for our jobs this year, that times had been tough for everyone, that we hadn’t meant to ignore one another, that we all had our own fears. I still may not like, or agree, with many of my coworkers, but I can now better understand where they are coming from, and respect them for it.

“That is why this is the beginning of the end. About how a human named Koyomi Araragi. About how myself, Koyomi Araragi, is going to end and begin.”

-Koyomi Araragi, Tsukimonogatari

Koyomi Araragi says that Tsukimonogatari, the story of Yotsugi Ononoki, marks the beginning of his end. However, he only speaks of the end that he is aware of. There are a variety of ends for different facets of Koyomi. The most interesting end begins not with Ononoki, but with Nadeko Sengoku.

When Koyomi arrives at the shrine where Nadeko had made her lair following a magnificent transformation into a snake goddess, he is too late to save Nadeko. Instead, Deishu Kaiki has already pacified Nadeko, telling her that there will be many opportunities, many love interests, many possibilities waiting for her in the future. In Kaiki’s own words, he tells Nadeko what one would tell a child, because she is still a child. Not only is Koyomi too late, but his usefulness to Nadeko has also run its course. In spite Koyomi’s insistence that Nadeko’s current state is his fault, Kaiki stands his ground and tells Koyomi what he needs to hear: there is nothing that Koyomi can do to help Nadeko.

“Don’t you get it? There is nothing you can do for that girl. If you’re around, that girl will just be useless. Romance can strengthen people, but it can also make them useless. Because you were with her, Senjougahara was able to strengthen herself a bit, but Nadeko Sengoku will just be useless if you’re with her.”

- Deishu Kaiki to Koyomi Araragi, Koimonogatari

The difference in the way Koyomi affects both Senjougahara and Nadeko is tied to the manner in which he respectively treats them. He sees Senjougahara as a formidable opponent, an intelligent conversation partner, and most importantly, a lover. There is a mutual respect between the two, in addition to a shared romantic chemistry. However, Nadeko will forever be the friend of his sister, Tsukihi. Nadeko, in Koyomi’s eyes, is a cute younger sister stand-in. Regardless of how he toys with her, Nadeko will never be a love interest. The story arcs of Nadeko Medusa and Hitagi End show how Koyomi was complicit in actively compartmentalizing Nadeko, even when his intentions, in his mind, were good. While he thought he was protecting and helping her, he was actually furthering the false characterization that her classmates, teachers, and the Monogatari viewing audience, had already given her.

“I see. All I could say was, ‘I see.’ I had no qualifications to say anything else. But I’m glad if she was able to be released from the hospital. Though I’m too ashamed to see Sengoku ever again. But still, I can say that I’m glad.”

-Koyomi Araragi, upon hearing that Nadeko Sengoku was released from the hospital, Tsukimonogatari

When Tsukihi announces that Nadeko has been released from the hospital, she is less than enthused by her brother’s lackluster response. Koyomi’s monologue at that moment shows that he understands that he must stay away from Nadeko, but may still not fully grasp why. He mentions that he is too ashamed to see her, but if he is following Kaiki’s instructions, he would not see her regardless. It is unclear as to whether the shame he feels is because he could not save her himself, or because he is ashamed of his overall treatment of her.

Ononoki cuts a similar figure as Nadeko as a living doll in a far more literal sense. Tsukimonogatari sets up a rescue mission for Koyomi. This assignment comes on the heels of a promise to both Ononoki and her mistress, Yozuru Kagenui, that Koyomi will not become a vampire ever again.

This struggle between becoming a monster or being human, framed by Koyomi’s slow descent towards his more vampiric tendencies, is the overarching narrative of Tsukimonogatari. The showdown occurs at the same shrine that Nadeko had called home as a snake goddess against a throwaway character named Tadatsuru, who is more than well aware of his role in the story. However, running parallel to this is another end for Koyomi, an end in the way he treats certain others that he comes across.

Koyomi arrives at the shrine on schedule, unlike his attempt to save Nadeko. His plan progresses as scheduled until both Tadatsuru and Ononoki deviate from it. Going against Koyomi’s wishes, Ononoki kills Tadatsuru outright.

“You told me not to do it, but I went against your wishes and did it on my own. That’s not true, devilish big brother. I’m sure that there was a way to not kill him in an effort to protect or save. Yet the reason why I still killed him, was because I’m a monster.”

-Yotsugi Ononoki to Koyomi Araragi, Tsukimonogatari

There are many differences between Ononoki and Nadeko. Where Nadeko has an entire life ahead of her to make mistakes and reinvent herself, Ononoki does not have the same luxury. There’s a heavy-handedness to her words, admonishing Koyomi for not thinking more of his humanity.

Additionally, Ononoki’s refusal to listen to Koyomi’s plan marks another end of an arc where Koyomi is unable to be the hero. Where the series actively defies his wishes in one way or another, and prevents him from playing the role that he wants. The beginning of an end to Koyomi Araragi.

One day, while listening to a friend speak about music, he remarked that he often dislikes listening to strings only. He was quick to add that this was a personal preference, but expanded on the statement by saying that he prefers a mixture of piano and strings. In his mind, the presence of a piano keeps the strings grounded.

Similarly, I can say the same thing for an anime series directed by Kunihiko Ikuhara, where the grounded narrative serves to enhance any symbolism or subtext that arises and relate to the viewer immediately. In the first episode of Mawaru Penguindrum, one can find a simple story of two brothers treating their terminally-ill sister to a day of her own at the aquarium. The penguins, survival strategies, and monologues regarding fate are placed strategically around this setup. Utena Tenjou’s scenario is arranged as a fairytale in Revolutionary Girl Utena. She searches for the prince of her childhood while that prince serves as inspiration for saving a classmate from perceived abuse. This tale comes with setpieces, a Greek chorus, and daily after school duels with the student council.

With its more airy trappings, Yuri Kuma Arashi‘s first episode lacks a similar foothold to ground the production as a whole. Kureha Tsubaki’s search for her missing classmate – and lover – Sumika Izumino, is intrinsically tied to the supernatural elements of the story.

This narrative gains traction not from what Kureha does – she takes little action – but what it sets around her. Pictured above is the overall setting of the world, complete with a wall separating the alien bears from humans. There’s a sense of industry choking out the greenery and active deforestation.

As the series peers closer into Kureha’s immediate surroundings, the buildings become slightly warmer in color while remaining distinctly angular. The number of trees increases around her school, Arashigaoka Academy.

Kureha’s lily garden, which also serves as a meeting place with Sumika, grows in front of homey pink building. Rather than pushing nature out, it is embraced by vines.

When Kureha and Sumika meet up on the roof for lunch, they look out at the cityscape, which is made slightly more distant through atmospheric perspective. It places hominess side by side with industry. There is still an ominous sense of encroachment; however, the couple’s warmth staves it off.

Against this backdrop, Kureha and Sumika are noticeably the only two people – aside from the humanized bears, Ginko Yurishiro and Lulu Yurigasaki – who show any genuine affection for one another. Based on the limited scope of their conversations, their time together is limited, and their relationship is presumably frowned upon by others.

Interestingly, what social mores we are introduced to within Yuri Kuma Arashi‘s first episode push the girls to stick together against the alien bears. Their teacher urges them to pair up and use a buddy system, all while Kureha and Sumika’s classmates are shown as a generic pattern, devoid of individuality. When the entire class is in view, both Sumika and Kureha are conspicuously located in a row of their own, seated at the back of the classroom.

Following the mysterious destruction of Kureha’s lily garden, student council president Mitsuko Yurizono stumbles upon the couple and awkwardly attempts to make friends. Although her efforts are seemingly genuine, her actions are stunted, both by the lack of animation and her placement in relation to Sumika and Kureha. In the shot above, Mitsuko’s feet are noticeably distant, enhancing the closeness of Sumika and Kureha. Sumika is shocked when Mitsuko reaches out and touches her hand, indicating that touching another person is generally frowned upon. There is a transfer of dirt from Sumika’s fingertips to Mitsuko’s, reiterating the presence of nature.

It is only sincere affection – Mitsuko touching Sumika’s hand, Sumika and Kureha as lovers – that is taboo in the world of Yuri Kuma Arashi. When Sumika vanishes after a bear attack, the mantra that one needs friends to survive is spouted by the convenient mouthpieces of Arashigaoka Academy students. As various classmates whisper about Sumika’s demise, they are always shown in pairs or threes.

Additionally, in the majority of the establishing shots, students are also shown in twos and threes.

Without Sumika, Kureha is at the mercy of the bears. Paired with the sterility of Kureha’s world, particularly now that she has lost Sumika, Ginko and Lulu’s actions are outrageous and overwhelming but provide a stark contrast. Arashigaoka Academy is presented as a place where one must do certain things, but not indulge in those same things. One may have friends, but not lovers. Additionally there are the visually reinforced narratives of deforestation and references to the Sankebetsu Brown Bear Incident.

This leaves Yuri Kuma Arashi in a precarious place. Where viewers of Mawaru Penguindrum likely resonated with the characters along with the symbolism in its premiere, there’s not much to Kureha Tsubaki as a character, aside from what her setting has told us. In spite of this, the overwhelming feeling of isolation – along with off-putting societal signals of disingenuous closeness – provided by the visual direction has a certain indescribable value. Hopefully Ikuhara will be able to spin a grounded narrative within Yuri Kuma Arashi‘s shorter time frame to go with his airy one, providing a figurative piano to accompany his exceptional strings.

I’ll never know what it’s like to be a younger sibling. Growing up, my personal heroes were ones well beyond the scope of my immediate family. At their closest, they were charming upperclassmen, and with the manner in which both my junior high and high schools stratified themselves, they may as well have been on the moon. On my younger brother’s good authority, it’s indistinguishable from hero worship.

As the eldest, hearing tales idolatry from your younger sibling is awkward to say the least, and completely unrelatable to your personal version of the same history. By the same token, my own version of our childhood was full of annoyance at my brother’s existence along with fierce feelings of protection.

The Rolling Girls takes these simple but strong emotions and manages to pack it in a revisionist Warring States-era history that bursts with color and style. Between frenzied fights, explosions, and dastardly amusement park plots, The Rolling Girls‘ most impressive moment arrived quietly at an evening stoplight as a conversation between two sisters.

The setup is simple, as Nozomi Moritomo is presented to her audience through visuals and in-universe conversations, with only a small bit of exposition in the introduction of the series. She’s energetic, hapless, and wholly average. In a world where young people are sorted into “Best” and “Rest,” Nozomi is firmly a Rest, both figuratively and in actual job title. Photographs of her childhood depict a stereotypical sibling relationship between Nozomi and her older sister, Masami Utoku, aided by Nozomi enlisting in the same organization where her sister is a higher-up.

“I don’t want to be with her, I want to help her.”

- Nozomi Moritomo, The Rolling Girls, episode one

This is the response given by Nozomi, as she insists to her mother that it’s not about being in her sister’s presence, but aiding her cause. I received a similar response from my brother growing up when he would inevitably break something of mine by accident, or hurt himself accidentally while trying to do something for me. Naturally, Nozomi finds herself in trouble on the first day, when she tries to help by bringing her sister food on the battlefield, blissfully unaware that her sister is the sentai-suited Best, Matcha Green.

There is an easy line to be drawn between actual superhero and older sister, depending on who holds the pencil. Nozomi already views her sister as a hero, while living an average life herself. Masami sees Nozomi as anything but average, and wants to protect her like a hero, simply because she’s her older sister.

That night, on their way home, the two stop at a red light. It’s easily the slowest part of an otherwise frenetic episode, as the two are bathed in cool tones while Masami carefully drives the speed limit with her younger sister in the sidecar of her motorcycle. As Nozomi pouts, there’s a small flashback to a traumatic event in both of their pasts that alludes to Nozomi nearly drowning, while Masami yells helplessly.

You can’t always prevent your younger sibling from doing dumb things, particularly when they moonlight as your shadow, mimicking your every move. There were many times that my brother was hurt because of me, and while I didn’t bear responsibility for those circumstances, I still felt horribly guilty afterwards. When Masami tells Nozomi to avoid dangerous places from now on, Nozomi incorrectly mistakes her sister’s concern for standoffishness.

Masami is quick to correct her by simply stating, “That’s not it.” before a small pause. She then changes the subject to include something that only her and Nozomi understand, shutting out the audience while allowing the sisters’ relationship with each other to breathe.

In the loudest, most explosive premiere of this season, it was this quiet moment that made The Rolling Girls truly sparkle. For all of her actions as Matcha Green, Masami was already a hero to Nozomi.

A/N: Shortly after writing this post, I discovered that Masami and Nozomi are not true sisters, but have lived as sisters in spite of not being related by blood. I believe this post still holds up, but you can feel free to argue in the comments. ^ ^