Submitted for your approval: A reviewer of anime is lost in the desolate netherscape of Winter 2012. Amidst the droning plots and uninspired voice acting, he spots an anomaly. It is revealed to be a discrepancy in space and time where shows are interesting, budgets are obscured, and humor is relatively intelligent. He also finds a weird mirror and some sort of ghostly story of impostors. Dare you venture further, there’s a sign post up ahead (watch out or you’ll hit it). Your next stop: the Twilight Review.
Nisemonogatari
Now with 40% more harem.
In Bakemonogatari, the story centers on Koyomi Araragi, a third-year high school student who has recently survived a vampire attack. Subsequently, he finds himself mixed up with all kinds of apparitions: gods, ghosts, myths, and spirits. Nisemonogatari continues this story by focusing on other characters from the original series, such as Koyomi’s vampire-servant Shinobu and his siblings, the Fire Sisters.
Also fan-service, lots and lots of fan-service.
For those who were painfully unaware at the showing, Nisemonogatari is the second season of the more famous Bakemonogatari. Fortunately, the story is crafted in such a way as to allow newcomers to relatively easily deduce the story’s previous events. The seasons are also split into problem arcs which have little bearing on one another. This makes the show feel a bit more episodic that most stories, but there are enough ongoing connections to alleviate that issue. The main characters, although all connected by their association with Koyomi, suffer from their tenuous connections to each other. Aside from loose association, they seem practically autistic, and that tends to limit their individual and collective development. Fortunately, each character already has enough facets to keep viewers satisfied with such limited growth.
The formula established in the first season also carries over: Koyomi stumbles across a problem, he talks with someone, montages ensue, rinse and repeat, and a resolution is finally reached. The problem is that Nisemonogatari amplifies that formula. The usual conversation involves some sort of jaded pleasantry, some trolling from the female, some counter-trolling from the male, some philosophical banter, and then the actual purpose of the conversation. Sound long? That’s because it is, and in season 2 it often approaches the point of tangible frustration, and even the characters feel it. Unlike the first season, however, this series is trying to slow things down with longer arcs. Unfortunately, that means…padding. The original characters get to talk and pal around with Koyomi, and then things finally get down to business, but it all lacks any sense of urgency. The longest arc (at a whopping 7 episodes) even gets a “villain” in Deishu Kaiki, but he too falls prey to the same tepid atmosphere the show champions.
About as pleased to be here as he looks.
Of course, Studio Shaft knows that talking heads won’t excite a fan base, so it has armed the franchise with a frighteningly large budget. The voice acting that made Bakemonogatari so compelling is back in full force, and the tone and quality of the voices for Shinobu and Kaiki are instantly memorable. The music remains strictly instrumental, amplifying the tone of any given scene. The sound is rich enough to enjoy by itself, but it never fights with the animation or voice acting for your attention. Then there’s the animation.
The Araragi’s commissioned M.C. Esher to design this house.
Yes, the animation you fell in love with has returned and it’s as gorgeous as ever. Lighting, shadow-play, architecture, and character designs are beautiful and inspired. Colors are vibrant, and even the prevalent ultra-white surfaces exude a unique character. However, the silly tell-tale Shaft touches are also abundant here, and you’ll probably need a clicker just to count all the head tilts in every episode. Yet more all the shows beauty and quirks, it remains highly entertaining, and that takes an incredibly refined sense of execution. A perfect example of this is the scene with Karen and Kaiki. The show doesn’t even have to cut to a montage while they are talking, the scene becomes animated around them. Kaiki’s theme music also comes off as masterful, conveying the scene perfectly as Kaiki’s views slowly smear Karen’s clean separation of black and white into a pasty grey.
Hell, he needs 3 million Yen just to pay for that office.
There is an exceptional sense of balance that filters through practically every aspect of Bakemonogatari and Nisemonogatari, and there is an overwhelming satisfaction when those various elements perfectly blend into a cohesive product. For better or worse, Nisemonogatari remains firmly rooted in the ways of its predecessor, and that’s certainly not a bad thing.
Double-J
AKA Newgrounds: The Anime
In a school where after school activities are mandatory among all students, Hajime and her friend Sayo come across the Cultural Activity Preservation Club.” The two enter the room to find all kinds of analog jobs and activities, such as handcrafting mats and toothpicks. So it turns out that the club tries to find the most obscure arts and crafts to work on. Against their better judgment, the two join the club ans cheap machine-based shenanigans ensue.
Cue forced art house laughter.
It’s relatively easy to see how much faith studio executives have in an idea: simply look at a show’s budget. Stuff that an executive thinks can sell discs usually gets more money to work with, and the others…have to get creative. That usually means conveying comedy in the cheapest way possible, and it also usually results in overwhelming failure.
Guess which one this is.
Double-J uses a 5 minute format for its episodes, which means jokes come rapid-fire, and plot becomes non-existent. It’s a shame, then, that jokes are stale, the music is of elevator quality, and the animation is literally a collection of gif files. The artwork is reminiscent of Super Milk-Chan, mixing seemingly random real-world craft footage and frequent show references. While Double-J does try to provide some semblance of entertainment, each 5-minute episode includes 40 seconds of OP and ED. That means the time is just too short for anything but the most shallow of comedy, and even then, the series often falls flat. Then again, this is simply an 11-episode series, so an entire run is just under 40 minutes. If you have some time to kill (and I mean really murder it), then give Double-J a shot. You might just find something worth chuckling at.
Kyousogiga
/review
The show opens with a quaint poem, and then all hell breaks loose. A girl named Koto and her two younger brothers A and Un are stuck in some alternate world called “Mirror Kyoto,” and are being pursued by the forces of a female scientist named Shouko. It seems that Koto has stolen a colorful, all-powerful hammer, and the trio is busy enjoying the destruction it causes. Fortunately, Mirror Kyoto is a special place where literally anything that suffers damage becomes instantly repaired, so the children are really just a nuisance. After they’ve had their fun, they are recalled by their current guardian, a monk called Myoue. The area is split into two sections, one ruled by a priest named Kurama and the other by a female aristocrat named Yase, both of whom are the monk’s siblings. As for the children, they are trapped in Mirror Kyoto until they can find a rabbit. Although there are many rabbits and rabbit-like creatures here, Koto is looking for a black rabbit. During a large festival, the kids inquire which god it is being held for. After interviewing various morons, they find out it is for an older goddess who is also named Koto – a humanoid black rabbit. Unfortunately, the god has left Mirror Kyoto long ago. In her depression, Koto separates from A and U for a while, who are subsequently captured by Shouko.
The Matrix has you.
Meanwhile, Koto is brought before the Triumvirate (Myoue, Kurama, and Yase), who believe her to be their mother, the elder goddess Koto. Of course, Koto protests using character designs as a reference. However, as parents and children often do, the Kurama and Yase wish to impose their will unto Koto so that they will be reunited with their mother. Myoue disagrees with their decision and picks a fight with Yase. Meanwhile, Koto gets to fight Kurama’s giant golden robot, Bishamaru. Expectedly, Myoue is defeated, and Koto gets eaten. However, while floating around in the universe inside Bishamaru, Koto finds the goddess she had been after.
And she looks an awful lot like Inga from UN-GO.
So the two Kotos bust out of Bishamaru, and Kurama and Yase are ecstatic that their mother is alive. Unfortunately, now Koto and her brothers are all trapped in Mirror Kyoto…forever.
Quit game, un-install, throw chair.
Most ONA’s come and go with the seasons, but Kyousogiga tries its very hardest to be memorable, and it succeeds in every aspect except the actual story. If you’ll recall my argument about shows and budgets, the shows with more corporate backing have larger budgets, while the rest must fend for themselves. Instead of thinly spreading the animation budget to tell a longer and more cohesive story, the producers of Kyousogiga decided to super-condense the plot and create a highly stimulating environment encapsulated in 25 minutes. And what an environment it is. Colorful visuals, various camera styles, interesting fight scenes, and the ubiquitous rainbow spiral of squares make the world of Mirror Kyoto come to life. That said, the actual character designs are rather uninspired. Koto and her brothers look like they came straight out of a sketch pad, and even the giant robot looks absolutely generic. Myoue and Koto have by far the best designs, and they get a grand total for 4 ½ minutes of shared screen time. The music, while equally cheesy, is oddly appropriate for every scene, regardless of tone. The show does make room for some quiet moments, but I guarantee you they don’t even last 60 seconds.
Then there’s the story, and it really does take a back seat in Kyousogiga. There’s just too little time for the film to breathe. However, the producers do make a decent effort to story what little story there is. While the first 2-3 minutes are rather disorienting, the show is crafted so that you can discern Koto’s plight and the Triumvirate’s plans without too much thought. You just accept the situation as it is and work from there. It can seem like a cheap trick, but many shows incorporate a subtle recap of the first 1 or 2 episodes through casual conversation, and it works well enough here. The Triumvirate’s lair, filled with stellar and planetary mobiles, seems particularly unique since it best illustrates how the rulers of Mirror Kyoto are both just children looking for their mother. In this sense, they are the same as Koto. Parallels are also drawn with how Miyoue took care of his younger siblings and later Koto and her siblings, just as an actual parent would. However, that’s where the ride gets bumpy. Aside from knowing that Koto is crass and wants to return to her world, we know nothing else about her or A or Un, and character development is non-existent in any part of Mirror Kyoto. Everyone just stays in their original form, and that trait begins to feel stagnant rather quickly. And that’s the problem: nothing else is said about anyone because there’s no time to. The show is just a runaway train and you’re stuck watching the pretty pictures as they zip past.
Kyousagiga does attempt to pique the viewer’s interest with many references to the classic tale of Alice in Wonderland. For instance, the direct quote of Lewis Carroll’s introductory poem to Wonderland begins the ONA. The Triumvirate refers to their Kyoto as the final destination on a game board, a place that everyone eventually wishes to go to fulfill their desires. The vibrant colors, odd shapes, and curious creatures all lend to the dream world atmosphere. The “instant recovery” feature that everything in Mirror Kyoto possesses is particularly interesting, since if this is a mirror world, then you can’t really harm a reflection. There’s even a nod to the white rabbit (although Koto is a black rabbit) leading the main character further into the abyss before she can go home. Sadly, therein lies the ultimate letdown. The story resolves by stating in no uncertain terms that there is no return ticket home, and the characters are practically right back where they began in this place. This not only feels like a supreme slap in the face due to budget constraints, but it oozes a sense of wasted effort on the part of the characters, the storytellers, and the audience. Kurama comments that “even a joke must have some purpose to it.” Unless this is all a cosmic joke, then what meaning is there to a story with no direction, no conclusion, and no message?
Kyousogiga could have easily been more satisfying if it were given more time, but it seems that external constraints snuffed out any life this show could have had. Instead, the producers decided it was best to go out with a bang and not a whimper, and armed with this information, that certainly seems to have been the best move in an altogether hopeless situation. While Kyousogiga does shout above the noise, that single shout is not a song, and therefore is sadly not enough to make someone stop and listen.
Thermae Romae
When in Rome, do as the Japanese do.
Thermae Romae takes place during the height of the Roman Empire in 128 AD. Lucius is a bathhouse architect who has struggled to innovate in a time of unprecedented progress, thanks largely to Emperor Hadrian. When he loses his job, a friend takes him to a bath to relax. There, he is somehow transported through time and space to a bathhouse present-day Japan. After a brief period of marveling at the many modern conveniences, he is just as suddenly returned to the Roman bathhouse. Despite his crude imitations, Lucius is widely praised for his amazing impact on Roman society.
Lucius: The original patent troll.
During my time in junior high and high school, I spent most days studying ancient western civilization. I was inspired by the might and intellect of the Greek and Romans, and even more so by their mechanical and architectural insight. It remains a major reason why I chose a career in mechanical engineering. So imagine my pleasant surprise when an anime comes along that trolls Roman culture. Now, it’s pretty well known that much of Roman culture was “borrowed” from the Greeks and Egyptians, so the premise of Thermae Romae makes absolute sense. The story is simple and episodic enough. Lucius has a creative slump, gets sucked down a bathhouse drain to a modern Japanese bathhouse, gawks at the modern innovations, gets sucked back to Rome, ???, and profits. The comparisons and contrasts between these two cultures are almost comical, since civilized Rome and Japan have always obsessed over the experience of bathing. Even with the obvious language barrier, Lucius almost immediately understands the purpose of each invention, which of course speaks to the intuitiveness of many modern tools. Lucius then goes on to curse the irony of his situation: somehow the great and powerful Roman Empire, undergoing unprecedented growth and prosperity, is actually pathetically primitive compared to “the flat-faced tribe.” The entire show becomes just a big Japanese circle jerk. That said, Thermae Romae is less a comedy of jokes as it is a comedy of errors, and a surprisingly funny one at that.
Japanese culture has left me in despair!
In terms of budget management, Thermae Romae is one of the rare series that has succeeded. Given the episodic nature of the show, limiting the length of each episode and constricting the series to only a handful of episodes has allowed the series to convey its message without feeling repetitive. That gives the producers room to work on the audio and video. Regrettably, the animation is almost non-existent, with the vast majority being still frames, lip movements, layered still movements, and Flash gifs. However, the story is still able to come across thanks to the artwork. The character movements (across the screen) are fluid, and the timing of reactions is never forced. Thermae Romae uses many different art styles based on ancient western techniques, including mosaics, Grecian urns, sculptures, and Roman architecture. Oddly, the designers use very little Japanese styling in comparison. The character designs are also highly expressive and hilarious, showing a stark contrast between the overtly chiseled Lucius and the feeble Japanese males. The series also regularly slips in ridiculous character designs that only the viewer is aware of. In this sense, the show itself becomes a more successful form of Manzai comedy that affects only the outwardly stoic Lucius and the ever-disoriented audience. The music is strictly orchestral, highlighting the inspirational works of both civilizations. Despite the obvious anachronisms prevalent in the musical selections, the music successfully leads and augments Lucius’ journeys through time. The voice acting is also unexpectedly pleasant. The Japanese are understandably laid back, while the Romans remain serious and proud (as manly men should).
For the next campaign, we’ll conquer Future Japan.
While I do wish the series were a bit longer, it’s easy to understand how the risk to overall quality far outweighs the minimal reward. That said, Thermae Romae achieves a unique balance using a small budget, and it should serve as a model for those series that wish to leave a positive impact in an industry of growing economic disparity. If you have some time to kill and have a deep appreciation of ancient and modern civilizations, then Thermae Romae should definitely be seen to be believed.
Join me next time as I trudge through [Another] week of anime.
Nisemonogatari is something that wouldn’t be for everyone, much like Bakemonogatari wasn’t, as it is extremely dialogue heavy, not to mention there’s a metric fuckton of fanservice. It gives up traditional pacing and plot development for witty banter and off-kilter characterization. Nothing really happens most of the time, which can lead to some frustration when simple plot points take multiple episodes just for the show to get around to them (kinda like students and homework). It’s also a sequel, and while it does a respectable job providing exposition to its predecessor, it certainly helps to have watched Bakemonogatari to really understand the relationship Koyomi has with all of the girls. I really like it, as the strange animation and funny dialogue cater to my interests, and Bakemonogatari was one of the most popular shows of its season, but it might not be everyone’s cup of tea. Hey, you gotta take what you get, what with this season holding out on the quality.
I’ll be the first to admit I was paying zero attention to the middle two shows in favor of Scumbag Anime Trivia, so I’ll defer to Matt.
Thermae Romae was an incredibly amusing show, working its humorous juxtapositions and awkward settings quite well. Timing and flow is key in comedy, and it’s important to order jokes correctly and move on, never lingering too long on any single punchline (something Kill Me Baby didn’t really read in the manual). Nothing should require explanation, and the humor should come from the situation itself rather than a literal punchline or forced joke. As Matt points out, Thermae Romae does this unusually well. If comedy can do this, it needs nothing else – the animation and sound just really need to not detract from it. In this case, it was perfectly suited for the source material.
