Did you know that “yuri” means lily? Did you also know that “yuri” is used on Japan to denote a girls-love story? You did? Good. Shall we continue?

The first episode of Yuri Kuma Arashi introduced us to the girl pictured above, Konomi Yurikawa, as the mouthpiece for one of three groups of three friends shown following Sumika Izumino’s presumed death.

There are many directorial staples for Kunihiko Ikuhara. One of the more pronounced ones is the use of a Greek chorus element. In Revolutionary Girl Utena, The Shadow Girls appeared with their signature phrase, “Have you heard, have you heard?” to dispense cheeky commentary on the series’ proceedings. Mawaru Penguindrum used public service announcements on the Maranouchi Line to frame each episode.

Yuri Kuma Arashi presents tertiary information through whispered rumors from the peanut gallery of Arashigaoka Academy. When Sumika is attacked in the first episode, groups of girls are “interviewed” by the series, gossiping with one another as high school students are wont to do. They often sorted into groups of twos or threes, and offer insight such as, “It was her fault for being alone.” and “To survive, we need friends!” reflecting the insipid prevailing attitudes of the general populance.

Yuri Kuma Arashi‘s second episode reprises this with the sequence shown above. The Arashigaoka students are still gossiping about Sumika’s demise, this time questioning the Wall of Severance’s ability to keep bears separated from humans along with mentioning that another girl is already missing. Again, they are neatly sorted, although none are presented with titles.

These titles, when present, are subtitled with katakana that reads “yuri” underneath them. Additionally, there are multiple characters, all with the “yuri” subtitle, that bear yuri in their name as well: the two transfer student bears, Lulu Yurigasaki and Ginko Yurishiro, Mitsuko Yurizono the student council president, Yurika Hakonaka the teacher (whose given name is also written in katakana), and the aforementioned Konomi Yurikawa. Yuri Kuma Arashi confirms in episode two that all of these characters – aside from the teacher who is neither confirmed nor denied – are bears.

At Sumika’s wake, held at the school, these characters are also singled out due to the lack of a black gull pattern surrounding their presence, including Kureha, her empty chair pictured above.

Kureha, who is neither bear, nor has “yuri” in her name, has been grouped with the bears. Furthermore, the messages from the peanut gallery in episode two indicate a lack of public trust in the Wall of Severance. How effective is a wall, if what it is meant to keep out insists on forcing its way in?

Aside from her family name of Yurikawa, there were no indicators that Konomi would turn out to be a bear. She only began to show bear-like tendencies when she admitted her longing for Mitsuko and grew jealous when Mitsuko paid more attention to Kureha. Mitsuko appeared in bear form only after she confessed to having feelings for Kureha. All of these bears appeared following extreme feelings of jealousy or lust.

“Only excluded individuals are truly delicious.”

-Mitsuko Yurizono, Yuri Kuma Arashi, episode two

There are also these parting words from Mitsuko, that what smells most delicious to the bears are the strong emotions of humans who are isolated or excluded from the rest of society. However, these are the same emotions that end up isolating the bears themselves. “Bear” has not yet been established as a permanent state of being, and is likely a result of one’s actions or emotions rather than something able to be separated from humans by a wall, even one titled “Severance,” which embodies the act of ending a relationship.

Yuri Kuma Arashi‘s fourth episode reintroduces us to Lulu Yurigasaki as a princess trapped by her inability to accept the love of her brother. When unoccupied with nefarious activities like boxing up her younger brother and kicking him into volcanoes, Lulu spends the majority of her leisure time isolated in a tower befitting a story book princess. Similar to the use of Himari Takakura’s bedroom decor in Mawaru Penguindrum, Lulu’s surroundings, and how they change throughout the episode, reveal quite a bit about her situation and desires.

While our narrator speaks of how Princess Lulu was “special from the day that she was born” a haphazard collection of treasures is shown, presumably belonging to Lulu. There are toys, clothes that are obviously too large for her, and pieces of art strewn about carelessly. Unlike Himari’s room in Penguindrum – where Himari hoarded things precious to her and was indulged by the smothering love of her two brothers – Lulu’s room is not a reflection of her genuine desire, but instead acts as a framework for what she believes herself to desire. The nagging selfish hornet that pushes everyone away, and attempts to fill Lulu’s emptiness with meaningless flattery from her attendants, who don’t care enough to look at Lulu as they expound on her beauty.

Upon the birth of her baby brother, Prince Mirun, we see Lulu isolate herself in her tower. Her space is now devoid of possessions, with a simple rug, a few books, one small chest of drawers, and a modest bed. In this room she stares out of the window at her former attendants while they dote on her brother.

While Lulu is obviously preoccupied with jealousy – she spurns her brother’s affection three notable times – this absence of clutter in her bedroom coincides with the only time that another person, Prince Mirun, loved her unconditionally.

To Lulu’s outward glee, Prince Mirun disappears, leaving her as the sole recipient of the kingdom’s affection. However, it is still an empty love, and Lulu’s room begins to fill up with clutter once more. Most notably is a bear-ified version of Picasso’s “The Weeping Woman,” which was painted following one of his most influential pieces, “Guernica.” Of the two, the latter is more focused on the event of the Spanish Civil War, while the former focused on a wider depiction of suffering.

Lulu is still seated in front of her window, but even her chair is transformed with the embellishment of a small bear acting as the chair legs. Her bed is now ornately adorned with gold, a lamp similar to Himari Takakura’s now sits askew in the corner, and her wallpaper is polka-dotted. Random objects litter the floor and walls, including a basketball hoop mounted above the aforementioned painting.

When Prince Mirun returns to Lulu in a dream, her room is made to look as empty as it possibly can be, while maintaining its current cluttered state. This choice framing allows for Lulu and Mirun to be the focus, as Lulu admits that she will only reject Mirun’s love again, while he affirms that he will always return regardless.

Equally cluttered in it’s current state is the bedroom of Kureha Tsubaki. Others have noted the references to the Sankebetsu Brown Bear Incident, as well as Norman Bates’ mother’s room from the film, Psycho. It’s not difficult to believe that Kureha is equally stifled by her surroundings as Lulu previously was. In this same episode, she is shown rejecting Lulu’s offer of friendship while bedridden.

While the closing sequence of Yuri Kuma Arashi’s fourth episode serves to tie Ginko Yurishiro to Kureha’s mother by depicting an identical necklace, it also shows Kureha alone in her bedroom, surrounded by clutter, unhappy and alone.

“You really don’t know what happened, do you? It doesn’t matter. By all means, stay in this cozy coffin of yours and continue to play prince.”

-Anthy Himemiya to Akio Ohtori, Revolutionary Girl Utena, episode 39

Each Kunihiko Ikuhara series begins with a system, and the system always remains, even at the series’ end.

Revolutionary Girl Utena ends on a positive note. The shocked look on Akio Ohtori’s face as Anthy tells her older brother that she is leaving the academy says it all. For him, there is no life outside of Ohtori Academy and the rules of the Rose Bride and the duelists. Trapped within the system, we are meant to see Akio as foolish. Anthy’s parting words to him only serve to frame any of Akio’s further machinations as utterly meaningless. The scene is preluded by a montage that mirrors the first episode. This time, it’s of an Ohtori Academy not only without Utena, but freed of Akio’s influence. Utena’s absence is palpable, as is the lack of control that Akio has over the school. The system remains, but it’s a toothless one thanks to the actions of Utena Tenjou over the course of the series.

 “The train has left. You’re stuck here now.

‘The train will come again.’

I don’t know about that, but I’m leaving.”

‘I see.’

Goodbye.”

-a conversation between Momoka Oginome and Sanetoshi Watase, Mawaru Penguindrum, episode 24

Like Revolutionary Girl Utena, Mawaru Penguindrum ends with the shattering of an existing system and a sacrifice. Kanba and Shouma Takakura disappear from the world, leaving behind a new life for their sister, Himari. Penguindrum also ends with a bookending sequence, revisiting the series’ beginning without the presence of Shouma and Kanba. Their absence is felt, but again, the ending is a hopeful one. While Sanetoshi reiterates that the system remains – the train will come again – Momoka simply shrugs, smiles, and walks away, leaving Sanetoshi to his ghostly library. Sanetoshi isn’t made to look as foolish as Akio was – playing at being a prince while the world moves on around him, even within the academy – but there’s a distinct feeling that, when he tries to exert his influence again, Momoka, or a similar entity, will stand in his way.

In both instances, Akio and Sanetoshi’s influences are well-neutered by the events of their respective series. Each series also leaves a survivor: Anthy remains in the changed world of Utena, Himari remains in the changed world of Penguindrum.

Who survives in Yuri Kuma Arashi?

“People who refuse to fit in with us are a nuisance, agreed? People like that, who can’t follow social cues, are evil. Now, let’s decide on the next evil to exclude.”

-the closing words of the Exclusion Ceremony, Yuri Kuma Arashi, episode 12

While Yurikuma‘s ending sequence is similar to that of Utena and Penguindrum – with a sequence similar to its beginning – there is not a solitary survivor for whom the sacrifice has taken place. Kureha Tsubaki and Ginko Yurishiro cease to exist in the world, and the system carries on as normal. It’s a bit more of an ominous ending than Ikuhara’s two previous series, in that the existing social structure remains very much intact. There is no framing of a fool, like Akio’s end, nor is there an assertion that something or someone will be able to stand in opposition, like Sanetoshi’s end. Instead, the Exclusion Ceremony continues, poised to hunt down their next victim with one notable exception.

A former participant in the Exclusion Ceremony leaves the proceedings, travels to the Door of Friendship, and discovers the half-cyborg, half-Konomi Yurikawa. While there is no clear survivor within the world – Lulu, Ginko, and Kureha have all vanished – the vacuum left behind is filled by someone who was visibly affected by their sacrifice. There is a strong sense that Lulu, Ginko, and Kureha’s actions radiate outward. Even if change is slow it will eventually come, one heart at a time.

“In the arms of my love I am flying

Over mountain and meadow and glen

And I like it so well that for all I can tell

I may never come down again.

I may never come down to Earth again.”

-From “Ten Minutes Ago,” Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella

But come down to Earth we shall. After all, how well can you possibly know someone after only ten minutes?

One of the major things emphasized in every facet of The Idolm@ster: Cinderella Girls anime is time. Ubiquitous clock imagery, accompanied by oft-ominous “tick-tock” sounds, reiterates the fact that time is limited. Tying this into the “Cinderella” mythos is easy, as Cinderella only had a limited time at the ball before returning to her wretched home life as housemaid to her stepsisters.

Time is always something that animated iterations of The Idolm@ster have had to work around. With so many characters to work with – and a preexisting audience eagerly awaiting for the on-screen appearances of their respective favorite – choices must be made.

In the first animated series, an overarching narrative of 765 Production’s development, from an empty whiteboard to one overflowing with notes, is accompanied by a narrowed focus on Chihaya Kisaragi and Haruka Amami. The cartoon villains of 961 Production appear for the girls to cut their teeth on before delving into the muddier inner demons of both Chihaya and Haruka. Time that would have been spent getting to know all of the idols equally is instead redistributed to two of the girls. It works, and allows for fans to watch their favorites while also supplying a cohesive storyline to tie all 24 episodes together. At The Idolm@ster‘s end, there is a sense that this is only the beginning, and 765Pro’s burgeoning popularity will continue to grow in an off-screen future.

Continue to grow they do, if their minimal presence on large advertisements in The Idolm@ster: Cinderella Girls is anything to go by. Even in this world, 765Pro stands as the major success.

Underneath 765Pro in the hierarchy are the successful Cinderella Girls, featured in Episode One’s opening sequence, while the soon-to-be-featured characters of the series look at them from a distance. Immediately, the separation in their stations is felt, and the reiterated in the first short narrative, featuring Uzuki Shimamura, Rin Shibuya, and Mio Honda. The three become backup dancers for a more successful Cinderella Project idol, Mika Jougasaki, and this initial performance is immediately compared to their significantly humbler unit debut.

Throughout, there’s the continuing impression that time is of the essence. As the debut of Uzuki, Rin, and Mio’s unit, New Generations, is announced, Miku Maekawa leads the charge for the rest of the girls to demand their own debuts. Unlike The Idolm@ster, Cinderella Girls seems more interested with churning out single after single, using each episode to put a different unit, or character, on display.

With this more fractured approach – spreading the audience’s attention to cover as many Cinderella Girls as possible – comes a unique sense of urgency that the first Idolm@ster animation does not share. 346 Production and The Cinderella Project are more vast in scope. Gone is the scrappy underdog story of 765Pro, leaving a sleeker more distant approach that’s truer to life. While fans will still watch for their favorites, there’s an underlying current of cynicism unique to Cinderella Girls. 346Pro – in spite of their adorably awkward producer and cast of cute characters – is a well-established agency trying to pump out as much as they possibly can, hoping something sticks. Significantly more girls are available from the original source material, the Cinderella Girls game, and Cinderella Girls the anime only has a short amount of time.

Returning to the idea of time, and Cinderella herself, the would-be idols of The Cinderella Project have a limited window to catch the attention of the viewer and their in-universe audience, just as Cinderella had until the clock struck midnight to capture the eyes of her prince. The equal distribution of time across all idols leads to less of a personal connection, but also gives the series a more ephemeral feel that The Idolm@ster: The Animation did not have. There was always a sense that 765Pro would rise from the doldrums to stardom, the only question was how it would happen. In Cinderella Girls, gone is the feeling that these girls will find their stardom. Instead, they only have until their personal midnight, wherever that may be down the road, to capture our hearts.

“Sometimes, I think my students believe that I eat and sleep in the school, never leaving.”

-my mother, on being a teacher

There is likely no other profession that exemplifies the difficulty of seeing another person beyond their career, or role in society, than teaching. My mother often jokes about this, well aware that her students don’t see her as a person, with a life outside of the classroom’s four walls. The one time I visited her, she said, was the first time that any of her students began to see her as a person who teaches, rather than simply their teacher.

We all do this, even with our own family members.

I remember exactly when I recognized my father’s mother as someone other than my grandmother. She was clearing out her attic, and left out her high school yearbook for my brother and I to peruse. Flipping to her senior portrait, I saw that she had been the president or some sort of officer in at least six different clubs. She graduated at the top of her class. The page with her picture was littered with so many autographs that I could barely make out the photographs of her classmates on the same page. And in her picture, she was so pretty.

In that moment, I realized that this woman was the popular high school socialite, the single mother who raised both my father and aunt following her husband’s death, and the proud grandmother to my brother and me.

“If it has to be like that, then I wish I never had any memories.”

-Isla to Nina on losing her memories, Plastic Memories, episode 1

The first episode of Plastic Memories delves into this idea of one’s role in another’s life, and how varying others recognize that same person, through the Giftia androids that are seemingly ubiquitous in its science fiction setting. Tsukasa Mizugaki is a wet-behind-the-ears newbie, tasked with the ghoulish job of retrieving memories of Giftia models nearing their nine year lifespan. It’s a setup ripe for emotional drama and social commentary – especially with how corporate everything is – and while parts felt forced, Plastic Memories succeeded in navigating the tricky space between memory and perception.

Tsukasa and his Giftia partner Isla’s first order of business is to retrieve Nina, a model who is about to expire, from a woman named Chizu Shirohana. It is abundantly clear to both us viewers and Tsukasa just how close Nina and her surrogate grandmother have become, in spite of Nina not only lacking relation by blood, but also being an android. What matters is not only the role that Nina plays in Chizu’s life as her granddaughter, but the genuine relationship that the two have developed.

“The truth is, I wish I could say goodbye to her with a smile.”

-Nina, to Isla, Plastic Memories, episode 1

When speaking of her grandmother, Nina tells Isla that she is unsure whether she is afraid to lose her memories or not. However the fact that she would lose them, and her personality, would surely affect Chizu, and Nina doesn’t want that. This is why she is so willing to be taken by Isla and Tsukasa, and in hearing these words, why Chizu eventually acquiesces to letting go.

In a few weeks, I’ll be moving back to Boston to be closer to my family. One of the reasons is that my grandmother, who has Alzheimer’s disease, has rapidly deteriorated in the past few months. First, she simply forgot small memories in the distant past. Then she started to forget more recent memories, and simple things around the house. We used to play board games, card games, and word games with her all the time until she began to forget the rules.

Like Nina, the saddest part is not in the fact that she forgets, but the obvious frustration that flickers over her face when she does. She knows that there is something missing, and feels badly for not remembering it. When talking to my mom about this, she reiterated that my grandmother is still always happiest when we do visit, regardless of her frustration. Sometimes, in spite of the fact that it would be harder on me personally, I wonder if it would be better for her to forget all of us, so she wouldn’t have to be so sad when she can’t remember. I don’t know the answer. If you asked my grandmother, I think she would still cherish any time spent with us regardless, but I can only speculate. It becomes increasingly difficult to reconcile the person she is now with my grandmother, never mind the determined single mother or the high school queen. Letting go won’t be easy, but I’ll do whatever I can to make her happy in the time we have left.

The tea party before Nina’s departure is where, in spite of a few overly dramatic missteps, Plastic Memories gets it right. Simply spending time with one another can be heartbreaking, but so important.

The Disappearance of Nagato Yuki-chan begins peacefully.

In its carefully constructed opening sequence, Nagato Yuki-chan shows that it knows exactly who its target audience is: existing fans of the Haruhi Suzumiya franchise. Beginning with an establishing shot of North High, lingering on the hill that Kyon complains about in the original series, the lockers, and a window scene framing the line-marking machine that Kyon used in Bamboo Leaf Rhapsody to aid Haruhi in her message to potential alien life. Finally, there is a close up of the sleeping Yuki Nagato and her glasses, glasses that she loses in the original series following her encounter in Melancholy with Ryoko Asakura.

While Nagato Yuki-chan doesn’t absolutely require its viewer to have watched the previous series, or have read the light novel source material, this opening will indubitably resonate more with a fan. The glasses, the line-marking machine, the hill, they’re all fanservice. This sequence embraces the preexisting Haruhi viewer, welcoming them back to North High.

As a franchise, Haruhi Suzumiya has always played around with framing different narratives – primarily through atypical chronology – relying on the viewer to bring their previous Haruhi experiences along for the ride. However, Nagato Yuki-chan takes this a step further, venturing into the realm of fanworks, where the express purpose of the series is rooted in the desires of the fan.

There are glimpses of this fanservice in The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya, where a time shift offers protagonist Kyon the chance at a normal life without supernatural phenomena. Haruhi’s titular disappearance is the direct result of the science fiction and supernatural elements of the series, and forces Kyon to choose between a normal life and a life with the Haruhi that he knows. Kyon chooses Haruhi, taking the weird along with the good and the bad. It’s an important choice to the series, and following Kyon’s choice, the narrative shifts again into more science-fiction hijinks.

In this alternate world of The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya we meet a different Yuki Nagato. A Yuki Nagato that is not an alien interface – devoid of all but the slightest emotional affectations – but a timid shy girl who blushes as her shaking hand holds an application for the North High Literature Club. This is a bit of fanservice too, a taste of the human Yuki Nagato with the glasses that she had lost and a hapless demeanor. When Kyon makes his choice, he rejects this version of Yuki.

Fanworks are often created in the same vein of the world that The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya gives to Kyon, and the viewer by extension. Your favorite characters from the Haruhi series, only slightly different, with a specific narrative focus. The Disappearance of Yuki Nagato-chan takes this one step further, and offers an entire world with the characters known from Haruhi, but without any hint of the supernatural and science fiction elements that made the source material and preceding series a unique offering. In Nagato-chan, we are expected to bring our knowledge of the characters’ other selves, and bask in their return.

The Disappearance of Nagato Yuki-chan also plays specifically with The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya, as it is the alternate reality in that story that Nagato Yuki-chan uses for its entire premise. The scene above is reminiscent of Kyon and Yuki’s walk at night and also a reminder of when Kyon saw Haruhi for the first time in the alternate timeline of Haruhi Suzumiya. Nagato Yuki-chan teases the viewer with the promise of more Haruhi characters to come, including Haruhi Suzumiya herself as well as Itsuki Koizumi, who we briefly see walking with Haruhi, in addition to their presence in the series’ ending sequence.

Ryoko Asakura’s appearance and role in both productions is also similar. Yuki is presented as a hapless girl whom Ryoko cares for in The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya and Nagato Yuki-chan. This further cements a Haruhi fan’s emotional connection with the movie, or light novel, by playing with visual shortcuts to remind the viewer of the Disappearance universe. Even the condiment placement on Yuki’s table while the three eat hotpot is similar.

From the opening moments of The Disappearance of Nagato Yuki-chan to visual clues scattered throughout its premiere, all signs point to Yuki-chan as a fanwork of the original series and with good reason. The source material itself is a manga spinoff of the original with this exact thought in mind: what if the world of The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya was the only world for these characters? Gone are Kyon’s monologues, gone are the supernatural and the science fiction. Gone are the majority of the things that made Haruhi Suzumiya, for better or for worse, a smash hit. What’s left is a familiar fanfiction world for a specific subset of viewers within the franchise.

When Reina Kousaka needs to express her emotions, she plays her trumpet. When that doesn’t work, she screams.

The battle lines, so to speak, of Sound! Euphonium have been drawn. As Aoi Saitou had predicted in the series’ second episode, it’s a war between having fun and aiming to be the best. Framing this are her words that three years, specifically the three years of high school, pass by in an instant. From Euphonium‘s opening sequence, it’s apparent that Kumiko Oumae already struggles with identifying which side she is on.

“I’m so upset I could die. Why are people happy when we didn’t even make it?”

– Reina Kousaka to Kumiko Oumae, Sound! Euphonium, episode 1

When Kumiko and Reina’s junior high school concert band wins the gold medal but fails to make it to Nationals, Kumiko mistakes Reina’s tears of anger for tears of joy. It’s an important scene that sets the tone for the entire series, and additionally establishes their respective characters from the beginning. Aside from the obvious awkwardness and Kumiko pratfalls as she tries to talk to Reina in episode two, Euphonium also uses this to establish just how inwardly-focused Kumiko is, and how uncomfortable she is with emotional outbursts.

Forever muted in her responses, Kumiko finds it difficult to express her own strong emotions, never mind deal with the expressions of others. She doesn’t raise her hand in favor of going to Nationals, but she doesn’t raise her hand in favor of having fun either. She finds Reina difficult to deal with because Reina is so intensely focused, and wears her emotions openly. She can’t bring herself to stand up to her sister, but she doesn’t fully shrink away from her either, leaving a yawning chasm between the two of them. Yet, as soon as Reina begins to play an excerpt from the second movement of Dvorak’s New World Symphony, Kumiko knows exactly who is playing, and additionally, the emotional history behind the piece. In this manner, her true feelings are briefly revealed.

Sound! Euphonium‘s opening sequence is reminiscent of a similar situation in the manga Aozora Yell when Shirato High School’s brass band wins a gold medal, but fails to make Nationals. Protagonist Tsubasa Ono couldn’t be more different from Euphonium‘s Kumiko, as she wears her heart on her sleeve and is crushed when her seniors are unable to compete at a national level. This isn’t the first time Shirato has faltered, and their band motto of “With all one’s might!” was a message from the former seniors who failed to the current students. Tsubasa herself is a poor trumpet player. She attends Shirato with the purpose of joining the brass band, inspired by a performance that she witnessed, but finds herself woefully behind her peers. Doggedly working her way towards being a better player, she begins to exemplify the Shirato affirmation, even though she is far from the best in her section. As her teacher explains, it’s not necessarily about winning, but ensuring that the band is doing things wholeheartedly, leaving no room for doubt.

The same teacher promises to take Shirato High School to Nationals after witnessing the dedication of Tsubasa and her fellow first-year students. She is a harsh disciplinarian and taskmaster, constantly on top of her students in brutal fashion, and a complete foil to Euphonium‘s Noboru Taki, who rules far more indirectly.

Inheriting a concert band rife with internal issues, Taki’s hands-off approach is interesting, and goes a long way in pointing out how entitled many of the students at Kitauji High School feel about their performance. The previous year they went through the motions, performed mediocrely in competitions, and did not meet their goal of making it to Nationals. The majority of second-year students that were fiercely determined left the band because of this lack of dedication. Euphonium makes it apparent that many of the leftover second years not only don’t want to practice, but feel entitled to enter competitions, as they bristle at Taki’s suggestion that Kitauji not enter a competition until they can perform better.

“It’s ‘From the New World.’ I heard Dvorak wrote it while he was in the U.S., thinking of his homeland of Bohemia in a barren, brand new world.”

– Kumiko Oumae, Sound! Euphonium, episode 3

Unable to deal with the infighting, Reina expresses herself in the best way that she can, by playing her trumpet. While Kumiko struggles to speak with Reina, and is unable to communicate her own feelings as concisely, she immediately resonates with Reina’s music. There are similar instances of this in Aozora Yell as well. When Tsubasa is rejected by the boy she likes, her peers wordlessly play a song for her. And when Tsubasa witnesses the dejected look on the baseball players’ faces after a loss, she alone stands up and plays for them, even when it gets her in trouble afterwards. In both series, these expressions reiterate the idea that one must leave everything on the table, specifically through one’s music.

Most importantly, having fun and aiming seriously for a goal are not mutually exclusive. It’s a battle line that doesn’t necessarily need to be drawn. Aozora Yell knows this, and Sound! Euphonium is surely headed in that direction, into a new world for Kumiko and all involved.

When Puella Magi Madoka Magica initially aired in 2011, watching it was an experience. Following up on my experience with Star Driver, Madoka was the second water cooler series that I participated in, eagerly vomiting my thoughts into the ether, and chatting with various people on Twitter about the show. When the final two episodes were released, I was one of the eager fans continuously refreshing their browser while waiting for translations. Watching the finale as soon as I possibly could following the fansubbed releases, I jumped into the fray that was unpacking the entire series with vigor.

In discussing the series with others, I became quickly disillusioned. Common Madoka commentary immediately after the series aired was restricted to one of two schools of thought. The first posited, or vehemently insisted, that Madoka was a deconstruction of the magical girl genre. The second was awestruck by how gritty or, for lack of a better word, dark Madoka was. Needless to say, I disagreed with both of these interpretations.

For me, Madoka was always a celebration of the magical girl genre. It takes existing tropes from other series of its ilk and revels in them, rather than repositioning them to say something new. The ending of Madoka, where Homura Akemi and Madoka Kaname embrace each other in a galaxy is a fantastic homage to the finale of Sailor Moon SailorStars. Both end on a hopeful note. Sailor Moon‘s Usagi Tsukino asks her adversary Galaxia to believe that the hearts and hopes of humanity will overcome the creeping darkness that can never be eradicated. Madoka Magica‘s Madoka says that whenever someone tells her that hope is pointless, she’ll deny it every single time, believing hope to be the only way to deal with all of the world’s grief and sadness. In the end, what matters to both series is not that bad things are gone from the world – it’s impossible for them to be – but that their respective characters are provided a means to deal with their pain.

I came into watching Sailor Moon, and subsequently picking up every manga volume as soon as it was released, at a time in my life where it was necessary for me to hope. Since then, I have watched countless magical girl series. While others may fixate on the cute outfits, the toy marketing, or overly bubbly transformation sequences, all of these become a vehicle for dispensing an age old truth: being an adolescent girl is a fantastic and horrifying experience to live through.

Being a magical girl gives one an easy target in a world that’s morally grey and tricky to navigate. For better or for worse, a magical girl series tells its audience that the world is awful, but that one can learn to deal with it through hope. When Usagi says that darkness is in the hearts of everyone, it’s not an uplifting ending but rather a shaky instruction manual for how to overcome that darkness: believing in one’s self and others.

This is why, when thinking of other magical girl series – specifically Pretty Cure, Cardcaptor Sakura, and Sailor Moon – Madoka hardly seemed dark in comparison aside from its visual direction, and even there Kunihiko Ikuhara had something to say about that in his seasons of Sailor Moon. Madoka was more obvious in relaying the hopelessness of its characters’ situations, but no more dismal than its counterparts once one scrapes off the fluffy pink exterior. In trying to discuss this, my voice was quickly drowned out by those singing Madoka‘s praises. I slowly began to despise Madoka because of the never-ending glorification the show received. It went from a series that I had thoroughly enjoyed watching and discussing with others to something I never wanted to talk about again. If someone asked me about it, I would change the subject. If someone mentioned the word deconstruction, I would stop talking altogether. Admittedly, it was my fault for allowing the opinions and reactions of others to taint my perception of the series; however, as my experience with Madoka was intrinsically tied to the virtual water cooler, this meant that the event of watching was a large part of my enjoyment.

Yet, I could never quite abandon the series completely. I still loved it for its celebration of a genre that was so important to me, and after years of putting it off, I finally marathoned all three Madoka Magica movies, including the oft-denigrated Rebellion.

Knowing a fair amount of other people who watched Puella Magi Madoka Magica as it was airing, the experience of watching and discussing the series cannot be fully removed from many viewers’ perception of the series as a whole. Rebellion revels in this, offering a continuation of the Madoka mythos that reads more like a fanwork than anything else.

“Fighting Nightmares is not supposed to be fun. But I guess it’s true that the way things are now is the kind of life I could only dream about in the old days. To think that I could live so happily, even while shouldering my destiny as a magical girl.”

– Mami Tomoe, Madoka Rebellion

The moment I fell in love with Rebellion was at this dialogue from Mami Tomoe. For me, the crux of a magical girl story is always that in comparison to the world of magic, it’s inevitably the real world – even with all of its despair – that’s worth protecting. This is where the instruction manual for those struggling through adolescence shines through in the narrative. When Mami admits that this is the most fun she’s had, it was genuinely creepy to listen to. Fighting evil, even with the costume changes and magical trappings, is never supposed to be fun. It’s the flawed reality of the world where fun, joy, and love are found in spite of the darkness. Prefacing this line is the dissonant chanting around a table of sweets where a giant cake is born of the five girls’ magical powers. It’s all wonderfully weird and beautiful because everything in these scenes is just off enough to make the viewer uncomfortable.

As Homura makes her way through tearing down the dream world that she created for herself, Rebellion winks at us in the image above, asking us if we are entertained. After all, Rebellion is specifically crafted for the Madoka viewer. It’s indulgent, horrifying, and so very pretty to watch. Unable to leave things alone, Homura’s false world crumbles under her own investigation, leading to her eventual transformation into a demon that traps Madoka in another false world that allows Madoka to live a so-called normal life with Homura and company.

It was this insistence on saving Madoka from any sort of suffering that is the most interesting thing about Rebellion as it actively challenges what I came to love about magical girl series and left me personally unsettled at the film’s end. As mentioned previously, magical girl series acknowledge that pain is a necessary part of life, but can be overcome with hope. The magic is a way of protecting this ordinary way of life, not a manner of eradicating pain completely. What Homura does is completely contrary to this, sealing Ultimate Madoka away against her wishes, selfishly ensuring that Madoka lives this life with her. Homura eschews the saccharine dream that she created as a witch only to rewrite the universe as something far more false and horrific.

Completely contrary to the original hopeful message of Puella Magi Madoka Magica the series – and additionally, magical girl series through the ages – Rebellion Homura revises the universe and perhaps discourse on Madoka as a whole. While it doesn’t mesh with the rest of the series, Rebellion certainly invites discussion. For me, it’s this discussion that drew me to Madoka in the first place, and now has renewed my love of the franchise.

“Life, which is hard enough as it is, is even harder here. Even more so for a small timer like me, whose only redeeming feature is that I’m normal.”

– Leonardo Watch, Blood Blockade Battlefront, episode 1

Both viewers of anime and in-universe characters alike often yearn to be exceptional. The traditional special teen narrative focuses on plucking protagonists from their humdrum lives and plopping them elsewhere, bestowing upon them universe-breaking powers. Blood Blockade Battlefront‘s Leonardo Watch is no exception, only he never wished for the all-seeing eyes of god. They were given to him unwillingly, as his sister Michella was able to act more quickly in a high pressure situation, offering her eyes as part of a sacrifice.

As a result, his ordinary looks become his greatest asset, hiding his one of a kind power.

While we, as an audience, can easily identify with being normal, possessing the eyes of god is something completely unrelatable. It becomes the task of Blood Blockade Battlefront to convince us just how powerful Leonardo’s eyes are through visual representation.

This begins with an overall focus on characters’ eyes, or lack thereof. Leonardo now stands out from others, even with his ordinary character design, as his eyes are nearly always shut or covered by tinted goggles. The only times that they are not shut, are when he is actively using his power, or is forced to open his eyes by others.

 Activating the eyes of god is accompanied by an auditory cue and the presentation of the scene through our eyes – what a normal person would see – and a haze, before the true image that Leonardo sees is revealed.

Pictured above is an instance where Leonardo accidentally sees through the facade of an underground human trafficking scheme. This is contrasted with Leonardo seeing the character of White for the first time. While the opening of his eyes is noticeably not accompanied by the sound indicating the activation of his powers, the eyes of god are visible but White appears as a normal girl.

This continued focus on eyes, specifically within the context of what the average person sees in comparison to what Leonardo sees sets the scene for Blood Blockade Battlefront‘s fourth episode, where vampires are thrown into the eclectic mix of in-universe creatures.

Bringing things full circle to Leonardo’s existence, his survival relies on the fact that he appears unassuming. Like the facades that he can see through with his god eyes, his outward appearance hides the truth of what is present. Similarly, the vampires of Blood Blockade Battlefront have full control over how visible they are to others, and what form they take. Most of the time, they cannot be seen at all, although when they allow it, they appear as normal humans.

Red eyes denote the Blood Blockade Battlefront vampire; however, this is solely for our benefit. We, unlike Leonardo, do not possess the eyes of god, and therefore require visual aid from the series itself.

Through the character of a mysterious blond boy, we learn that vampires don’t always have to have red eyes, and can seemingly choose to display them at their, or our, convenience. Pictured above speaking to Leonardo on the train, the boy has aquamarine eyes. Later, when speaking to White, he reveals that his eyes are red.

Most notably, this boy has been present since Blood Blockade Battlefront‘s first episode, and was shown observing Leonardo at his favorite diner.

Like Leonardo, the boy’s eyes remain hidden until it’s necessary to reveal them to the audience, often shrouded by his glasses. In addition to the visual cue of red eyes, he cements his identity by telling Leonardo that he knows his name, presumably from the piece of paper that Leonardo was able to read earlier in the series’ fourth episode.

It is this list of names Leonardo can see with his god eyes that precipitates Klaus Von Reinhertz’s ability to seal one of the vampires away. While Leonardo relies on his ordinary outward appearance for self preservation, the vampires in his story rely on their lack of identity. All of this is reiterated beautifully within the visual direction of the series.

“Her character was locked in as translucent — like a shadow, or the air. The kind of girl you can’t touch. The girl you long for, but there is nothing about her that you can hold.”

– Yoshiyuki Sadamoto on Rei Ayanami’s character design in Neon Genesis Evangelion

So many have followed in her footsteps that it’s now difficult to believe that Rei Ayanami’s design was unique. While her specific character has stood the test of time, her appearance, along with her more superficial character traits, has not. Plastic Memories’ Isla is one of many expys attempting to capture the elusive allure of the original “premium girl.”

“Rei is someone who is aware of the fact that even if she dies, there’ll be another to replace her, so she doesn’t value her life very highly. Her presence, her existence, “ostensible existence,” is ephemeral. She’s a very sad girl. She only has the barest minimum of what she needs to have. She’s damaged in some way; she hurts herself. She doesn’t need friends.”

– Hideaki Anno on Rei Ayanami

This outlook on Rei’s character from series director Hideaki Anno paints a similar picture of what Plastic Memories wants its audience to feel towards Isla. As a giftia android, her personality and memories – both false ones of a time before she came to be Isla and the memories she makes while living as Isla – have a distinct expiration date of 81,920 hours. There will be another to replace her, so to speak, when she expires. While speaking to one of their clients, she expresses the wish to never have memories at all. At work, she shows a distinct lack of self-preservation. Her character design fits the Rei Ayanami mold down to her striking red irises.

Yet Isla fails on several levels where Rei, and others who have also followed in the original premium girl’s footsteps like Haruhi Suzumiya‘s Yuki Nagato, did not.

Countless essays have been written on Rei Ayanami’s characterization, her role within Evangelion, and even the process in which her most basic character traits spawned an entire archetype. For the sake of brevity, Rei’s personality is intrinsic to the narrative of Evangelion and is additionally informed by other characters in the series who are equally emotionally distraught. One of her key moments involves looking back on her own memories within the series’ timespan, asking herself what she is, and reflecting on how the people she has met have shaped her unique experience. Throughout the series, changes in her expression are slight as she grows into her own emotions.

In Haruhi Suzumiya, Yuki Nagato is an alien observer, sent to gather data on Haruhi Suzumiya. She hardly has a past as tortured or significant to the narrative as Rei Ayanami does in Evangelion; however, she shares a similar visual progression through facial expressions. Every tic and lingering moment counts, culminating in emotional buildup so powerful that it alters reality.

As an aforementioned giftia with limited time to be the unique entity of Isla, Plastic Memories‘ heroine certainly fits the Rei Ayanami mold. Unfortunately, the series spent more time on stereotypical romantic comedy mishaps than showing nuances in Isla’s character. While Plastic Memories has hinted at prior struggles that she has had – to the point where other characters remark that she’s trying to be a machine in order to avoid the heartbreak that accompanies the end of a giftia’s life – every other giftia in the series acts like a normal human. Within the Terminal Service where Isla works, there are three giftias, all whom blend in easily with the staff. Additionally, the giftias they meet while working are all fully functioning human personalities no different than the average person on the street.

So what makes Isla different? Why does she alone act like a robot?

One can make the argument for Rei, whose existence is significantly different than the humans she meets, that retreating into a nebulous shell under the realization that she is expendable, makes sense, especially within the context of Evangelion as a whole. Likewise Yuki’s detached coldness, within the context of Haruhi Suzumiya, is understandable. Haruhi’s protagonist, Kyon, even comments off-handedly that Yuki’s superiors should have given her more of a personality following his encounter with a similar being, Ryoko Asakura. The Haruhi franchise also offers an alternate, human Yuki Nagato in The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya and The Disappearance of Nagato Yuki-chan timelines. In these iterations, Yuki is a shy and quiet girl, but lacks the cold detachment of her alien counterpart.

Isla is a completely different case than either Rei or Yuki, because Isla’s circumstances are not unique.

Unless Plastic Memories follows a similar path to Chobits, making Isla a prototype of some sort, Isla is simply another giftia, much like male protagonist Tsukasa Mizugaki is just another human male. The series reveals that Isla’s expiration date is swiftly approaching, but also makes it apparent within the same episode that giftias aren’t programmed to forget or decline. In further episodes, it is revealed what happens following the end of a giftia’s lifespan, and while it’s not pretty, it is also completely different than Isla’s remote personality.

There are two primary reasons for Isla to act the way she does. The first is for the benefit of an audience who gravitates towards the Rei Ayanami archetype. The second involves Tsukasa’s role as a potential romantic partner for Isla.

Every other giftia in the series acts just as the in-universe humans do. In the words of one of Tsukasa’s co-workers, you wouldn’t know a giftia from a human upon meeting them. That is, unless the giftia is Isla. Her circumstances aren’t unique but her actions are, and the dissonance it causes while watching Plastic Memories is striking.

In showing and developing various narratives, Sound! Euphonium invites character comparison. The most obvious example is of Reina Kousaka and Kumiko Oumae. Both struggle with verbal communication – Reina preferring to express herself through music and Kumiko seemingly possessing large amounts of anxiety – which is what makes their developing friendship work. As evidenced in the series’ fifth episode, Reina begins to open up to Kumiko, and while Kumiko still stumbles over her own words, she has managed to overcome her fear of starting a conversation.

While Kumiko is the primary character, Sound! Euphonium relies on dialogue with others, along with her actions, to speak for her. In spite of the audience’s access to her thoughts, Kumiko is one who has trouble identifying what she truly wants, and her inner monologues reflect this, rarely offering her actual emotions.

“There isn’t really a reason I chose Kitauji. I just wanted a new start, going to a high school where I didn’t know many people, afresh, from scratch. That’s all.”

– Kumiko Oumae, Sound! Euphonium, episode 5

This makes her more enigmatic at first than many other anime leads, whose incessant thoughts we are privy to. It’s up to the visual direction and Kumiko’s reaction to others and her surroundings that does the proverbial heavy lifting. When Kumiko does reveal her thoughts, as quoted above, she often does so as an afterthought, or verbal affirmation of her prior actions within the series. Sound! Euphonium shows Kumiko struggling to make friends with Reina, while also struggling with her own position and value within the band. She goes from saying that she will not join, to joining but refusing to play the euphonium, to playing the euphonium but still undecided as to how seriously she wants to involve herself in concert band, to being wholeheartedly involved.

In personality, Asuka Tanaka could hardly be more different than Kumiko. She is loud, brash, and commands attention. First introduced to Kumiko and her friends as they tentatively watch the concert band practice, Asuka immediately plays a prank on them, presumably to welcome them into the fold. When speaking of her instrument, she comes up with a thesis rather than a minute-long overview. Her movements are accompanied by loud hand gestures and dramatic pauses, regardless of whether she is in her role of drum major or not. Where Kumiko drifts from place to place, Asuka owns the ground she walks on.

“Everyone really wanted Asuka to be the president, but Asuka doesn’t like doing that kind of thing. She was reluctant about being vice-president too. I guess you don’t necessarily like the things you’re good at.”

– Natsuki Nakagawa, Sound! Euphonium, episode 5

Senior euphonium player, Natsuki Nakagawa, reveals that Asuka refused to become the concert band president, leaving those duties to the far more timid Haruka Ogasawara. Natsuki herself is somewhat of an enigma to Kumiko, lounging alone in their sectional practice until Kumiko asks her to join. As another wayward personality, Natsuki is somewhat similar to Kumiko. Had Kumiko decided not to wholeheartedly participate and make the most of her her new start, it’s likely that she would have become a similar entity to Natsuki, who seemingly allows the current climate to make decisions for her.

The added context from Natsuki paints Asuka is an entirely new light. In eschewing the duties of club president, it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that Asuka wanted a new start for herself as well. Due to her personality and innate talent, she is a natural leader; however, as Natsuki succinctly states, being good at something and enjoying something are sometimes two completely different things.

“I’m your faithful servant, President.”

– Asuka Tanaka to Haruka Ogasawara, Sound! Euphonium, episode 3

In hindsight, this scene from episode 3 toes the line between genuine support and sarcasm. While Asuka indubitably supports Haruka as a president, and additionally is very passionate about the band, the fact that she turned down the position now adds weight to her dramatized bow. Haruka has to live with the fact that, in the eyes of many, she is at most a second choice to Asuka, while Asuka must watch as Haruka struggles to bring the band together.

“Everyone is subtly hiding their feelings, and gathering in the safest direction.”

– Aoi Saitou, Sound! Euphonium, episode 2

Sometimes, it’s as Aoi states in the series’ second episode, a scattering of people holding their feelings close to stay safe. In doing so, they may inadvertently hurt others, especially if an undercurrent of emotion is still palpable. That being said, Sound! Euphonium offers the solution of coming together as a unit, even if it’s only for one performance.

No sooner had she muttered, “Man, I’m hungry,” as the camera lingered on her mostly uneaten lunch than I loved Hajime Ichinose. She was colorful and quirky, but had trouble expressing herself clearly through speech. A person of action, she was restless from the moment that Gatchaman Crowds introduced her in her school classroom.

Throughout its 12-episode run, Hajime and Crowds enthralled me, telling a modern superhero story within the frameworks of art history and social media. It inspired me to blog incessantly, chattering about art movements and Constantin Brâncuși while alluding to my own personal resonance. Watching Crowds, and sharing my thoughts, were immensely personal experiences. Now, a bit more removed from my initial reactions to the series, I can safely say that it’s one of my all-time favorites.

And yet, when I heard that Gatchaman Crowds would have a second season, I wondered why.

Gatchaman Crowds wraps up well, albeit with a few production hiccups in scheduling, and while there were certainly other ideas it could have explored, Hajime’s final clash with Berg Katze effectively brings her story to a close. In the first episode, she was hungry for something she couldn’t quite define – even after the central Galax conflict is resolved she remains dissatisfied until she merges with Berg – and communicating with Berg fulfills her desires. While director Kenji Nakamura never lacks for something to say, I approached any and all news of the sequel with cautious optimism.

That is, until I watched Episode 0 of Gatchaman Crowds insight.

Insight Episode 0 is part recap and part reintroduction, bridging the two year gap between the original Crowds and insight. The G-Crew fights a new foe, Vape, a group of individuals wearing black masks who virtually appear as red crowds units. They are also behind a rash of anti-crowds graffiti – in spite of using crowds themselves – and activate their cyber partners with the slogan “Kill. The. Crowds.” mirroring Rui Ninomiya’s initial “Play. The. Game.” Fun and fast, insight‘s initial battle reunites the viewing audience with their favorite characters from Crowds, while giving Vape a minimal introduction. It’s hardly a forced nostalgia, but the nature of insight Episode 0 strengthens the preexisting audience’s emotional connection to the original.

In other words, it’s hardly avant-garde.

The majority of episodes in Crowds are named after art movements or terms, framing the content within. This includes the premiere, titled “Avant-garde.” Meaning at the forefront, or at the vanguard, Crowds‘ first episode set the tone for the rest of the series, stating its intention. An avant-garde work aims to challenge existing societal structures, just as Crowds aimed to challenge the sentai genre through the Gatchaman franchise. In an infamous 1939 essay titled “Avant-garde and Kitsch,” critic Clement Greenburg placed the two movements side by side, determining them to be eternally at odds with one another. Something that was kitsch was mass-produced for capitalist purposes, while an avant-garde work creatively criticized consumer culture.

Most interestingly is the examination of avant-garde within a capitalist society. In its avoidance and active condemnation of mass production, avant-garde art became increasingly derivative of the medium itself. Artists were surrounded by other artists and furthered their art for the sake of art. In contrast, kitsch is more of a forced sentimentality or nostalgia, using well-regarded methods or imagery and mass-producing them for the sake of money or simply imitating something beautiful. While kitsch has often been discussed as a threat that dumbs down or caters to popular culture, it’s difficult to ignore how close these two movements have become as time passes.

The original Science Ninja Team Gatchaman may have been groundbreaking in its time, but as seasons stretch on and time passes, it becomes progressively more unoriginal. This happens with many long-running series. Sentai or superhero shows are especially susceptible as they often already employ seasoned tropes and storytelling methods. Furthermore, they are always marketed to the masses. Crowds‘ fresh take on Gatchaman was successful because of how far removed it was from the original Gatchaman, which was now an icon in its own right.

However, this was only possible within the scope of the original series. Crowds insight is already derivative by nature because it is a sequel to Crowds. This isn’t to say that it can’t be good or enjoyable. However, the initial spark and incisive nature of Crowds will indubitably be lessened ever so slightly in insight. In order to continue, superhero series always require a new “bad guy,” or likely in insight‘s case, new ideas to explore and challenge.

More specifically, there is the Hajime and Berg dynamic, which insight displays as lighthearted with a somewhat sinister undercurrent. Hajime now sports a red backpack instead of her signature yellow duck one, giving off an ominous tone while reiterating his presence in her body. He is able to commandeer her gatchaman, albeit only for a moment, and while she tells him to pipe down, his presence is never forgotten by the viewer. Almost the entirety of insight Episode 0 occurs at night, which gives it a different color palette than Crowds – a surprisingly subdued one for a Nakamura series – even the lighted scenes are either shot at sunrise or under yellow artificial lighting. It’s a stark contrast in colors to the brightness of the first three minutes, which are all recycled scenes from the first season.

After her gatchaman rescue duties are finished, Hajime leaves for Niigata to, in her words, meet an alien and the new G-Crew member. Interestingly, the visual introduction to Niigata includes a “What’s Niigata” sign in a park. The sign is part of the N-Vision project, a city revitalization endeavor that calls citizens to action – similar to how Galax facilitated Crowds‘ Tachikawa Crowds Game – for the future of the city.

As previously mentioned, Kenji Nakamura has yet to make a series without something to say, even if the message is muddied. Insight will likely be thoughtful and interesting, albeit no longer at the vanguard. I’ll be eagerly awaiting it regardless, but as a fan of the original I’m already a member of the masses.

When children tell stories, they’re often stymied by an inability to communicate. Adults are frequently too far removed from their own childhood to understand, or the child is unable to make adults comprehend – much like the narrator of The Little Prince who, as a young boy, draws an elephant inside of a snake which is then interpreted as a hat. Additionally, when adults look back on their youth, they look at it from the eyes of an adult, reframing their experiences in a different context.

This makes portraying children in fiction and varying forms of media incredibly difficult. All too often a creator will underestimate a child’s intelligence and show them doing unnecessarily stupid things rather than a more nuanced display of ignorance. It’s remarkable when a director or creator gets children right.

With that being said, I’d like to draw your attention to Rie Matsumoto, director of Kyousogiga and Blood Blockade Battlefront.

The eleventh episode of Blood Blockade Battlefront eschews its episodic romp through Leonardo Watch’s present and delves into the childhood of Mary and William Macbeth – better known as White and Black respectively. Mary is a precocious kid with a yawing maw of an inferiority complex thanks to her talented caster parents and prodigious brother. As the only person in her family without psychic powers, she puts herself on trial to the amusement of her loving mother and father.

This scene strikes a perfect balance between childish precociousness and Mary’s genuine insecurities. It never writes her emotions off as insignificant, and showcases both her intelligence and the disconnect in her understanding of why her parents would love her. To Mary – in contrast to her mother and father as well as brother William – her lack of psychic prowess makes her useless, a sentiment that her parents naturally disagree with. For them, Mary’s existence is enough for them to love her.

Additionally, Mary grows up watching her parents be shepherds by day and powerful psychic casters by night. In spite of the fact that they obviously dote on her and Will when able, they aren’t always present in her life. This, combined with her lack of powers gives Mary a believably pragmatic outlook, even as a child. Will is often a crybaby, leaving Mary as the “strong child” to step up in her parents absence. Mary puts on a brave front while inwardly struggling with how to leave her personal mark on the world.

Will and Mary bidding their parents goodbye at an airport in Blood Blockade Battlefront calls to mind a similar scene from Kyousogiga, also directed by Rie Matsumoto (and not simply because all three share the same voice actress: Rie Kugimiya).

Like Mary, Koto is precocious and pragmatic, albeit with a different disposition. Thanks to encouragement from her father – who is hardly doting and often distant – Koto is told to toughen up repeatedly, and often uses violence to express herself or solve her issues rather than speaking. Where Mary acquiesces to her bullies, adopting an air of indifference that’s half-genuine, Koto immediately responds with force. Naturally, this often lands both her and Inari in hot water, making them more of a dynamic duo rather than a parent and child.

Yet, Koto is genuine and emotionally resonant. She lacks an understanding of familial relationships, but her innocence is never portrayed as stupidity. Forced to grow up quickly, her disposition is is incredibly educated at times and completely ignorant at others. When faced with the fact that her father wishes to disappear and die, it is Koto who bludgeons her way into her father’s heart, shattering his own personal inferiority complex. In spite of the myriad of ways that Inari failed in raising her, Koto still chooses her family above all else.

While we don’t yet know the anime ending of Blood Blockade Battlefront, both Mary and Will have already put their family first, regardless of the consequences.

In both series, Kyousogiga and Blood Blockade Battlefront, it’s remarkable how believable Koto, Mary, and Will all are. They’re intelligent, but don’t speak like miniature adults in the bodies of children, and have their own individual hangups that come part and parcel with their respective upbringings. Mary is intelligent with understandable self-esteem issues. Will is afraid of his own power and additionally feels inferior to Mary because of the way she projects an attitude of strength. Koto is required to act first and save her questions for later because no adults will answer her questions. All of these emotions are relatable to any viewer and beautifully replicated within their respective series without ever looking down on the three for being children.

One of Sound! Euphonium‘s more remarkable traits is that, within its captivating world, not everyone is equally talented. Where other series use those left behind – by their lack of skill, practice, or motivation – for dramatic effect, rarely returning to them once they’ve served their purpose on the main character’s decisions, Sound! Euphonium celebrates them.

Natsuki Nakagawa is the series’ most obvious example. Initially introduced as a listless senior with little interest in participating, Natsuki provided a key emotional hurdle for Kumiko Oumae to clear. Once motivated, Natsuki’s true personality is revealed, and it’s far more complex than what most would expect from a tertiary character.

Having only played the euphonium for a year, Natsuki knows that, come audition time, she doesn’t stand a chance against the likes of Kumiko. Due to her prior experiences – and first impression of Natsuki – Kumiko is terrified of Natsuki until the latter reassures her that she had expected to not make the cut.

This isn’t to say that Natsuki is particularly enthused about this, but more that she accepts it and moves on with her life. There are still times when her face falls when she recognizes the talent of those around her. However, because she grows to care so much about music and the band itself, Natsuki eschews simply watching the band move on without her, and actively participates behind the scenes. This includes anything from facilitating conflict resolution between bandmates to making initialed charms for the members that passed the audition.

It’s easy to say that Natsuki’s development represents the band’s overall growth from a quarreling group replete with de-motivated members to the Nationals-bound product of Episode 13, but Natsuki also feels like an actual person. Her initial lack of motivation is as understandable as her willingness to support those who left her behind

Two members of Sound! Euphonium‘s cast choose to leave the pressure of concert band behind to focus on their studies. The first, Kumiko’s sister Mamiko, pressures Kumiko to do the same, citing the fact that Kumiko isn’t going to study music in the future. Still, Mamiko Oumae shows signs of regretting her decision, or at the very least longing for the other side upon seeing how much Kumiko applies herself. When Kumiko tells her sister that she loves playing the euphonium, and that’s reason enough for her effort, Mamiko is clearly a bit rattled as she leaves the room with a patronizing, “Good for you.”

It’s unclear how much Mamiko looks back on her own decision, and she does seem to have an honest inability to relate to her younger sister’s overwhelming passion. Sound! Euphonium leaves the interpretation of her character up to the viewer as Mamiko walks the line between jealousy and genuine misunderstanding.

Walking a similar path is Kumiko’s childhood friend, Aoi Saitou. Aoi quits band when they begin to seriously aim for Nationals to focus on her studies. When Kumiko asks her if she regrets it, Aoi responds that she didn’t have a reason to continue. Regardless of any previous effort she had put in to learning tenor saxophone, Aoi realized that her own motivation was lacking and chose to apply her efforts towards studying for entrance exams. While the series revolves around Kumiko rediscovering her love for the euphonium, it also doesn’t denigrate Aoi’s decision to leave. Different people will enjoy, and want to apply themselves, to different things. Aoi’s willing departure from the concert band exemplifies this.

Sound! Euphonium also explores different levels of talent within the post-audition roster, reiterating the constant battle between hard work and innate talent. While senior Kaori Nakaseko has both loved playing trumpet and worked incredibly hard to improve. In previous years, Kaori patiently waited her turn, losing solo parts to her upperclassmen because seniority took precedence over skill. This changes in her senior year when Noboru Taki takes over the concert band and Kaori has to compete for the part.

She loses out to Reina Kousaka, a first-year. While the series frames Reina’s victory as the correct choice for the band as a whole, the viewer still feels for Kaori – an immensely talented girl in her own right who will now never have her chance in the spotlight during her high school career. As Reina plays her solo in their Regionals performance, focus shifts from Reina to Kaori, highlighting a trace of sadness in Kaori’s face. Still, she presents a resigned smile immediately afterwards, knowing that Reina was the best choice.

There are countless others in Sound! Euphonium who work tirelessly, yet fail to make the cut for whatever reason. One of Kumiko’s closest friends, Hazuki Katou, is hit doubly hard. She doesn’t make it into the Regionals group because she just took up tuba recently, and she is also romantically rejected over the course of the series. Sound! Euphonium presents a world that isn’t fair – where success for some means that others will be left behind. In other words, a world that is heartbreakingly real and overwhelmingly relatable.

While the people of Gatchaman Crowds are well aware of the existence of extraterrestrial life, it’s still a frightening experience when a UFO crashes into sleepy Niigata. Fortunately, Hajime Ichinose is a master of marketing, even if her successes are usually unintentional.

The first episode of Gatchaman Crowds insight is aptly named “Contact Point” piggybacking on Episode 0, “Inbound,” reiterating a focus on marketing that the “insight” subtitle brings to this second season of Gatchaman Crowds. Through the lens of marketing, we’re all targets to be examined – and potentially exploited – as necessary.

Gel Sadra’s crash into a Niigata rice field could have been a disastrous point of contact between alien and human. An anxious observer cries out that their rice had just been planted, as other witnesses scream of an alien invasion. All in all, it’s a bad first impression from Gel whose brand, so to speak, could have been irreparably tarnished both as an individual and for future alien and human interactions.

In contrast, Hajime’s name alone has become a brand in and of itself. As the cellphones of witnesses to the crash begin to ring with her ID, Tsubasa Misudachi and friend Kodama celebrate that they’re about to meet Hajime Ichinose: Gatchaman extraordinaire. Deftly, in her usually overly-excited manner, Hajime navigates the situation, ensuring that Gel’s first impression on humans is a good one.

Gel brings with her a built-in tool for gathering insight on her potential customers. Able to turn people’s impressions into colored speech bubbles directly above their heads, Gel monitors the atmosphere of a conversation. This also allows her, consciously or not, to directly affect the tone of her interactions with others and their interactions with each other. As she acclimates herself to Tsubasa’s home, she mentions several times that she wants everyone to be united.

While this is an admirable goal, Gatchaman Crowds know that it isn’t that easy. Even when gathering data on both the Prime Minister’s popularity and citizens’ current thoughts on the use of CROWDS, Jou Hibiki acknowledges that not everyone is going to be the same. While the previous series showed time and again how people can come together to do great things, it also is well-aware that not everyone is going to get along all of the time.

Additionally, that public opinion is easily swayed in one direction or another, especially in the world of social media, where events can go viral in seconds. When Paiman states that the planet still needs to be placed under their protection as a reaction to a television broadcast the insight bubbles above everyone’s heads immediately change, reflecting different – most likely opposing – viewpoints. Similarly, Gel’s sadness equally affects the opinion of those around her and their speech bubbles change color becoming uniform again, in spite of those same people having very different views on the situation only moments before. With Gel Sadra’s power, Hajime is given a visual representation of their thoughts from which she can draw conclusions on how to market to them, or change their opinion. Needless to say, the opinions and insight bubbles of others change quite frequently.

One thing that doesn’t change, seemingly regardless of the situation, is Hajime herself. Her insight bubble is grey, signifying that she will not be influenced by the actions of others, and always relies on her own thought processes regardless of what is marketed towards her. Tsubasa’s great-grandfather is another person shown with a grey bubble, indicating that he is similarly-minded, and his thoughts are equally difficult to impact.

Another contact point within this first episode is Tsubasa’s transformation into a Gatchaman. Nearly a public relations disaster, Tsubasa’s induction as the newest G-Crew member is publicly broadcast to all of Japan. Instantly marketed and celebrated, similar to the birth of a royal family member, Tsubasa becomes a celebrity within seconds. While the news of revolutionary group VAPE continues to garner influence and support for the group, Tsubasa’s transformation conveniently interrupts the negative news cycle, exerting a more positive and uplifting influence across the country.

The first Gatchaman Crowds series was steeped in art history references and a focus on others’ personal context. Thus far, insight piggybacks on this tradition by draping its narrative in marketing terms and further examining our influences.

Professor Ursula carries with her many lessons from when she was Shiny Chariot. A few of the more important ones are how to draw a crowd, and how keep their attention.

After all, advertising is it’s own kind of magic.

Prior to the explosion of popularity that accompanied Kill la Kill, Hiroyuki Imaishi’s Studio Trigger had released two other anime offerings. The first was Inferno Cop, a low-budget ONA that aired on Anime Bancho along with similar cult hits like Turning Girls. The second was a short 26-minute film titled Little Witch Academia that aired as part of the Anime Mirai project.

Little Witch Academia thrived on quick characterization, allowing viewers to easily identify and sort themselves as they wished. Headed up by former Gainax veteran Yoh Yoshinari, Little Witch Academia was tightly written, wonderfully animated, and appealed to a wide variety of viewers. Like in-universe protagonist Akko Kagari – who was inspired to become a witch by Shiny Chariot’s magic show – audiences clamored for more. A Kickstarter campaign to extend a pre-planned 15 minute sequel, $625,518, and a little over two years later, Little Witch Academia: The Enchanted Parade was released.

Clocking in for 30 minutes more than its predecessor, Enchanted Parade expands – as much as it can within 53 minutes total – on the one-note personalities established in Little Witch Academia, primarily Diana Cavendish and the aforementioned Akko. Both desperately wish for magic to be revered by the general populace; however, their individual methods are completely different, reflecting their respective upbringings.

While Diana secretly loves Shiny Chariot, and also was inspired by her as a child, she’s bound by family obligation and knowledge of her social position. Draco Malfoy comparisons are apt, although Diana’s familial influence isn’t nearly as negative. Due to her upbringing she is put in a position of privilege which she uses to her advantage by studying hard and honing her craft. By studying, and through her measured actions, Diana is a shining example of how powerful and talented a witch can be.

Meanwhile, Akko is pure energy and ambition with no nuance or natural skill. She is driven by raw emotion, and has delusions of grandeur directly related to her desire to prove both herself, and how wonderful magic is. Her heart is technically in the right place – and Akko does great things when inspired – but she lacks the follow-through, care, and education of Diana.

Framing their actions throughout Enchanted Parade‘s climax is Shiny Chariot herself. Masquerading as the demure Professor Ursula at Luna Nova, Shiny Chariot hypes up the crowd, and sets a tone of wonder for their parade audience. This conveniently disguises the fact that more than half of the events were unplanned and nearly catastrophic. For Akko, this provides direction and a spotlight. For Diana, it allows her to move more freely, momentarily shedding her social skin. All the while, the witches’ boat magically meanders down the street in a scene eerily reminiscent of Madoka: Rebellion, prodding the audience and asking if they are entertained.

If one chooses to look at Enchanted Parade within a meta framework, it becomes an in-universe celebration for backers of the project. Shiny Chariot is their Master of Ceremonies accompanying the recent digital release and Anime Expo premiere, hyping them up for Enchanted Parade‘s grand finale. All in all, Little Witch Academia is a charming offering that somewhat sells itself. However, just like Akko and company draw from the support of their crowd, the project always has room for a bit more publicity to cast a larger spell.

Relatively early in the movie Mean Girls, Regina George claims that she will help the then-hapless Cady Heron snag her dream date: Regina’s former boyfriend Aaron Samuels. At a Halloween party, Cady watches as Aaron and Regina talk, eagerly trusting her new friend Regina.

“How could Janis hate Regina? She was such a good– SLUT!?”

Cady’s inner monologue devolves into a screeched slur as the friend whom she had trusted leans in to kiss the object of her affection. For Cady, this is a major step in her transformation from unsocialized homeschooled child to manipulative school idol. Mean Girls rings true in a myriad of ways. The manner in which girls are taught to both preen and fight for male attention is only one of the movie’s focal points, but it’s an important one.

Keeping this in mind, let’s turn our attention to the world of Bakemonogatari. More specifically, Nekomonogatari: Shiro.

Tsubasa Hanekawa and Hitagi Senjougahara love the same person: Koyomi Araragi. Naturally, this pits them against one another, both within the series and in the keen eyes of viewers looking pair Araragi off with their favorite girl. Much of Sengoku Nadeko’s narrative is focused on the similar societal trappings of her feelings towards Araragi, but in Nekomonogatari: Shiro – which wraps up a large piece of Hanekawa’s story – the audience observes a genuine attempt at friendship between Hanekawa and Senjougahara.

While one could make the case that all Monogatari women are vying for Araragi’s affection, Hanekawa’s case is unique in that – prior to his meeting and subsequent romantic relationship with Senjougahara – Araragi was attracted to Hanekawa at one time. This makes Hanekawa a far more dangerous, for lack of a better word, threat to Senjougahara and her relationship with Araragi.

Yet, in Nekomonogatari: Shiro, Hanekawa serves as a vessel for Senjougahara to fill with the latter’s newly-discovered feelings. While Senjougahara had shown emotional development at Araragi’s side in both Bakemonogatari and Nisemonogatari, her treatment of Hanekawa in Nekomonogatari: Shiro does far more in proving how much she has matured.

Fanservice is abundant throughout Monogatari, and Nekomonogatari: Shiro is no exception. In fact, it contains – depending on how one personally feels about oral hygiene – the most sensual scene in the franchise to date: a romp in the shower between Hanekawa and Senjougahara.

When naked women start feeling each other up in anime’s endless parade of bath, beach, pool, and hot springs episodes they inevitably begin to compare their assets to one another, always finding themselves lacking.

There is a scene in Mean Girls where the school’s popular trio look in a mirror together and each find a pointed insult aimed at a personal physical feature. When they turn to Cady, expecting her to follow their lead, the confused girl responds that she has really bad breath in the morning. It’s an insult that doesn’t fit the mold for a few reasons – it’s universal and not specific to Cady, and it’s not an outward physical attribute on which she will be judged.

Mean Girls is meant for a North American female audience and as such creates a scene that, when removed from the context of one’s self – the target viewing audience watching the characters do something that they do themselves on a daily basis – looks very silly. These are four beautiful young women who shouldn’t be spending their free time denigrating their respective appearances.

Anime, overwhelmingly aimed at the Japanese male viewer, is far more concerned with girls comparing themselves to each other for that specific audience.

“Thinking of the sheer weight of everything she’s overcome recently, I feel miserable about myself because, in the end, I haven’t overcome a thing despite having a similar experiences. That’s right, I have not overcome one thing. Despite the commotion during Golden Week and the day before the arts festival, I have not matured. I have not changed. That’s why I envied Senjougahara so, and loved her so. I couldn’t bring myself to hate her. I honestly thought that.”

– Tsubasa Hanekawa on Hitagi Senjougahara, Nekomonogatari: Shiro, Episode 2

Where Hanekawa finds herself lacking is not in bust size, nor hips, waist size, or any physical attribute. The scene is not accompanied by the traditional lack of consent and forced sizing up, so to speak. As the two young women explore each other for their own – and obviously the viewing audience’s – arousal, Hanekawa finds herself lacking is in maturity or temperament. Recognizing that Senjougahara cares about her as a friend, Hanekawa acknowledges how difficult it must have been for Senjougahara to trust other people, especially when Hanekawa herself trusts no one.

As a private place, Senjougahara’s shower sets a far more homey scene than the average bath or hot springs. It calls to mind her first shower within the scope of the viewing audience in Bakemonogatari‘s second episode. Then, Araragi is forced to wait for her. In Nekomonogatari: Shiro, Hanekawa is expressly invited to join Senjougahara in an intimate setting, another reflection of how far she has come since the days of Hitagi Crab. Conversely, Hanekawa has barely advanced emotionally, eschewing her internal stress, bitterness, and jealousy into two oddities: the cat and the tiger.

At the start of Nekomonogatari: Shiro, Hanekawa can’t be true friends with Senjougahara, regardless of how often the latter reaches out. It would be a false friendship built on their mutual love of Araragi – which naturally pits them against one another anyway – and proximity. When Senjougahara extends her hand to Black Hanekawa, accepting the consequences of the cat’s energy drain, she additionally acts as a catalyst for Hanekawa to acknowledge and understand herself.

“But I think something’s wrong with living like that, Hanekawa. It’s not something limited to your eating habits. You know, you always accept anything and everything as it comes your way. To have something you detest is about as important as having something you love. Yet you accept everything that comes your way, right? That may be the case with me, and that may also be the case with Araragi.”

– Hitagi Senjougahara to Tsubasa Hanekawa, Nekomonogatari: Shiro, Episode 2

This is furthered in a conversation sparked by the plain food that Hanekawa serves to Senjougahara. Senjougahara ends up challenging Hanekawa to truly examine her feelings. If all food is the same to Hanekawa, she may as well not have a sense of taste. Similarly, if all people are the same to Hanekawa – which they are for as long as she refuses to welcome the darker parts of herself – she may not love Araragi after all, and additionally, Hanekawa will remain unable to receive Senjougahara’s friendship. This angers Senjougahara, who cares for Hanekawa but knows that nothing will change until Hanekawa accepts all of herself.

“Finally I get an answer, and finally I can be sad.”

– Tsubasa Hanekawa, Nekomonogatari: Shiro, Episode 5

Hanekawa eventually grows to accept herself by Nekomonogatari: Shiro‘s conclusion. This leads to her confession to and subsequent rejection from Araragi. At the time of airing, many took issue with Araragi’s sudden romance novel cover appearance to save the day. However, the first person that Hanekawa cries out to for help is not Araragi, nor is it Senjougahara. It’s Black Hanekawa, an embodiment of her own negative feelings and stress. Araragi appears almost as a stage prop so Hanekawa can admit her feelings and move forward.

A major catalyst for Hanekawa in her long journey of self discovery was the intimacy she experienced from Senjougahara. In a situation where the two would typically be pitted against each other, Senjougahara reaches out instead, gently pushing Hanekawa forward.

The new heroine of Gatchaman Crowds insight is energetic above all else. She springs out of bed in the morning, bounces down the stairs, and never seems to walk anywhere, choosing to run instead. She cannot calm down long enough to do her morning exercises properly, and when chastised by her grandfather, she huffs, “I’m exhaling properly!” rather than changing her own behavior.

All energy, all emotion, and all hot-headed rookie, Tsubasa Misudachi is all Red Ranger.

“I spent a long time as a solo hero, so I can recognize a quality leader immediately.”

“In other words, you ended up scouting a bunch of Red Rangers.”

“Yeah, that didn’t work.”

– a conversation between Hekiru Midorikawa (Flamen Green) and Joji Kaname (Red Axe), Samurai Flamenco, Episode 11

There is a hilarious scene in Samurai Flamenco when the sentai team Flamengers assembles for the first time and every one of their individual members enters as “Flamen Red.” Initially, everyone wants to be the red ranger – codified as the default team leader – and Joji Kaname can only recognize other Red Rangers, being a Red Ranger himself. Red is also typically characterized as one who acts first and thinks later, while being the de facto or first hero of the group.

Gatchaman Crowds eschews the Red Ranger archetype in its first season, giving the viewer Hajime Ichinose instead. A polarizing figure for audiences and in-universe characters alike, Hajime is not a Red but a new kind of Grey – similar to the insight bubble that appears above her head courtesy of Gel Sadra. She communicates with and befriends her supposed enemies, to the initial dismay of her gatchaman compatriots. She wants people to come together, and dabbles in arts and crafts. She’s hardly hot-blooded, she’s neither cold nor calculating, and she refuses to be placed into a preexisting sentai category.

While this is fantastic for those around her, who are either inspired or infuriated enough by her presence to act, Hajime is a bit lost throughout the first season. Her gatchaman journey begins with the exclamation that she’s hungry, and she doesn’t seem truly happy until Berg Katze merges with her at the end of the series. Above all, Hajime is true to what she believes, which makes her difficult to influence – this is why the bubble that appears above her head is grey – however, she still seems lost at times. When Katze tells her that naturally her bubble wouldn’t change color in reaction to others because of who she is, Hajime reflects on it without understanding.

In contrast, Tsubasa Misudachi is easily influenced and quick to act without thinking. Her default is a plucky, energetic girl with a dream, who immediately feels things and acts upon her emotions immediately. Reflected in the color shifts that her insight bubble goes through in the course of the first episode, Tsubasa’s thoughts are affected by the atmosphere around her; however, she is also quickly charmed by the alien Gel Sadra without questioning her. While Tsubasa’s actions are similar to Hajime’s, she is so enchanted by Gel that Hajime appears subdued in comparison. Hajime acts as a mediator between Gel and the people of Nagaoka, but never loses herself to Gel in the same way that Tsubasa does, immediately enthralled once Gel is revealed to be a peaceful presence.

It’s no coincidence that Tsubasa’s first transformation is incited by frustration. She is initially chosen by JJ to become a gatchaman when she instinctively rushes through a crowd of reporters to aid a small boy: a distinct act of generic heroism. Unable to transform on command, Tsubasa turns into a gatchaman only when she can no longer stand the media horde that descended on her doorstep and is about to lash out in anger.

Unlike Hajime, Tsubasa is Red Ranger through and through. Her thought process is simple, while her actions are immediate and without calculation. As the bearer of a more well-worn archetype, Gatchaman Crowds insight places another character next to Hajime for the audience to consider. Tsubasa is a more personal point of comparison than Hajime’s initial matchup with Rui Ninomiya and subsequent worldview clash with Berg Katze, which could make all the difference.

In the first season of Gatchaman Crowds, Rui Ninomiya had the market cornered on using social media networks as a tool for social improvement. However, it’s a new season now, and Rui must rebrand GALAX in order to stay competitive. Perhaps lessons from Gel Sadra are in order.

Entering Rui’s market is VAPE, and its orange-haired leader, Rhythm Suzuki. The easiest way to successfully penetrate an existing market is by luring away customers of one’s competitor, which is exactly what Rhythm and VAPE have been doing to Rui’s GALAX and CROWDS. One can additionally find another parallel in the ongoing election – where voters can conveniently use their smartphones and tablets to vote – as varying politicians jockey for the top position.

Framing this narrative of battling brands is Rhythm’s staple, “We aren’t so different, you and I,” speech to Rui, revealing that he too was given the power of CROWDS. Unlike Rui, he purposefully chose not to use it, because he didn’t trust humanity. Now that Rui has dispensed CROWDS with the belief that ultimately humans will use their powers for good, Rhythm has appeared to oppose him and presumably has dispensed the red CROWDS power to like-minded individuals.

This runs parallel to Rui’s initial thought processes in the first Gatchaman Crowds season, where The Hundred were a select group of people he trusted with the power. At that time, Rui was also of the belief that people would become dependent on superheroes operating within a preexisting hierarchy. Now Rui owns the existing saturated market, and Rhythm has crept in, taking away Rui’s customers.

Equally expanding her brand through far less nefarious means is Gel Sadra who charms a larger audience at an event to celebrate Tsubasa Misudachi’s recent induction into the G-Crew. Gel also shows off her ability to collect insight bubbles from people in order to get a clearer read on their emotional state and thought processes.

Unassuming and naive, Gel possesses an incredibly potent power, especially within the context of Rhythm and VAPE, Rui and CROWDS, and even the G-Crew themselves.

As of Gatchaman Crowds insight‘s second episode, Rui’s only method of gathering insight on customers is through X. Imagine instead, a Rui who could use Gel Sadra to read others’ emotions and relay back what users thought of GALAX and CROWDS. Insight makes it abundantly clear that Rui has lost some of his trust in humanity following Rhythm’s untimely appearance. Surely Rui would love a change to further monitor client preferences.

Or perhaps Jou would like to use Gel’s power in service of Prime Minister Sugiyama. As Sugiyama’s popularity declines, Gel could provide insight as to why, and additionally offer advice or a statement. Following her reading of the crowd at Tsubasa’s failure to transform, Gel immediately turned to Tsubasa, reassuring her. It’s possible that Gel could somehow translate her valuable emotional research into something that both Sugiyama and Jou could use to their advantage in the upcoming election.

Rhythm claims that he is only using his power to stop Rui, and had initially sealed his own power – unlike Rui who dispensed it to The Hundred – out of fear. Logically, it stands to reason that Rhythm wouldn’t want Gel’s power revealed to the public either, for fear of misuse. However, he would likely use it himself if it meant that he could stop Rui and the dispersion of CROWDS. Imagine what he could achieve with Gel’s insight.

From its first season, and now continuing into insight, Gatchaman Crowds has always pondered the idea of power. Who has it, what one does with it, how it should be granted, and to whom are all questions that the series continues to mull over. Where the first season was focused on who was behind the computer screen, insight is more interested in stewing over how various parties in the series will manipulate them, especially when everyone has an all-access pass to information.

“I did give them power, a hundred capable GALAXters I chose. But we’ll update the world without relying on that power!”

– Rui Ninomiya, Gatchaman Crowds, Episode 3

For someone who is now labelled an optimist who believes in the good of others, Rui Ninomiya was, and remains, quite the opposite.

It’s now difficult to recall the pre-Hajime Ichinose Rui. A snarky, doubtful genius, Rui distrusted humanity as a whole. This included the elite Hundred who were chosen specifically by Rui to carry out the mission of “updating the world” with increased powers that their social media network GALAX could not provide them.

GALAX exploited others’ need for recognition through gamification – Gatchaman Crowds‘ third episode and the milk incident is still the best example of GALAX working as intended – calling attention to just how distrusting Rui was of humanity in general. Recognizing that many people will refuse to help others unless prodded, Rui created GALAX to push people towards aiding one another regardless. The milk incident clearly delineates the two sides – crowd-sourced “equality” versus traditional power structures – and identifies Rui’s supposed greatest enemy: the preexisting vertical social structure. Rui notes that the primary opposition to GALAX is not necessarily those in traditional points of power, Hajime’s schoolteachers for example, but those who are afraid of responding due to societal pressures keeping said power points in place.

“X, you know why I formed the Hundred, don’t you? I have to make the world update itself, my Hundred and you, we’re the ones who can change the world.”

– Rui Ninomiya, Gatchaman Crowds, Episode 4

By Crowds‘ fourth episode, Rui already feels significant pressure to make a move against Katze and push the updating revolution forward. By Episode Five, it’s clear that Berg Katze and members of the Hundred, are continuing to shake any faith Rui had in humanity. Following Hajime’s gatchaman reveal, Rui declares an intent to use the gatchaman in service of updating the world. At this point, Rui has been pressed by both Katze and the Hundred, yet still continues to espouse an ideal world where gatchaman, and traditional power structures are not needed, all the while hypocritically holding a figurative thumb over the hole in the dam that is CROWDS.

It’s important to note that Rui never intended for CROWDS to be used – just as Rui never intended to have superpowers in the first place – yet initially bestowed them upon trusted individuals. This reflects a distinct distrust of humanity as a whole to not fully follow the GALAX system, even with in-app rewards, and offers Rui an alternative should people not buy in to GALAX. Later, when pressured by Katze’s release of CROWDS to about 23,000 people, Rui grants CROWDS to all combining their powers with the gamification of GALAX. It’s not until this point, towards the end of Gatchaman Crowds, that Rui expresses any genuine faith in humanity. Even then, Rui uses GALAX to manipulate them, hoping that good will ultimately prevail.

From Rui to the Hundred, to all GALAX users, CROWDS cannot be stopped once granted. This is where Rhythm Suzuki enters the Gatchaman Crowds stage.

“You’re the ones who are using dangerous powers.”

– Rui Ninomiya, Gatchaman Crowds insight, Episode 2

In his self-introduction to both Rui and the Gatchaman Crowds insight viewer, Rhythm claims to also have been given a similar power from Katze, which he now brands as VAPE. Unlike Rui, Rhythm feared the power and sealed it away. Rhythm trusted no one with CROWDS, not even himself, where Rui immediately used them to start a revolution, beginning with one incredibly important person: Rui Ninomiya. In contrast to Rhythm, Rui’s natural self-centeredness becomes apparent, even if it’s in service of something Rui considers good.

Conversely, Rhythm’s powers are labelled “bad” by Rui largely in part because Rhythm is using nefarious means to take down Rui’s existing CROWDS institution. In Rui’s mind, this makes Rhythm worse than someone like former Hundred member Umeda, who at least claimed to use “bad” actions for the greater good.

Rhythm leads VAPE on guerrilla-style raids purposefully creating dissent and a distrust of Rui’s CROWDS. More importantly, he reaffirms Rui’s prior distrust in people as a whole, and additionally shakes Rui’s confidence. This is later exemplified when Rui forcefully terminates the accounts of CROWDS users that had appeared to stop VAPE, prompting the confused reaction, “But we were the good guys.”

Claiming to be a radical peace activist makes Rhythm out to be a cartoonish villain at first; however, Gatchaman Crowds rarely deals in black and white absolutes, only in convoluted grey messes. The first season mixes Rui’s ideals, Hajime’s ideals, and Katze’s ideals before chaotically dumping them out and asking the viewer what they think. Few people are as one-sided as Katze or Hajime – which makes their union all the more interesting – and it’s likely that Rhythm’s narrative will parallel Rui’s more than anyone else. What Rhythm wishes for, the eradication of CROWDS, was something that Rui initially wanted as well. Unfortunately now that the CROWDS box has been figuratively opened, there’s no going back.