My Hero Academia’s leads all got up a power up these last few weeks, which meant it was high time for one of my favorite traditions: enthusiastic tactical analysis of all their latest abilities. I friggin’ love tactics-based action shows, where battles generally adhere to some sort of internal logic, and My Hero Academia is a wonderful example of the form. Let’s get right to it!
Level Up: The Thrilling Possibilities of 1-A’s Ultimate Moves
Today I’ve got a review of the second Promised Neverland, which dispenses somewhat with the thematic ambitions of the first volume to focus more closely on the tactical mechanics of the kids’ escape. It’s a fine enough volume, but its narrative ambitions make for a somewhat messy union with the shonen formula, as I discuss in my piece. Still very much enjoying the manga, though!
The Promised Neverland, Volume 2
Alright, let’s check back in with Kuuchuu Buranko. Where we last left off, Kuuchuu Buranko/Trapeze was very slowly shaping itself into a relatively watchable show. Unfortunately, Trapeze just isn’t there yet – outside of its wild stylistic digressions, the narrative substance of these episodes is just totally unsatisfying. Its characters are simplistic, its stories aren’t engaging, and its solutions to all of its heroes’ problems don’t make any sense. There is just nothing to draw from this show in an emotional or intellectual sense, outside of how it uses mixed media to… well, use mixed media? Even there, its juxtaposition of various different realities within a single frame doesn’t often lead to any larger dramatic effect beyond “this looks weird” or “this is disorienting” or “this color scheme sure isn’t attractive.” The show reminds me of Mind Game or the first isolated episode of Kyousogiga – visual noise, experimentation seemingly designed only to prompt more focused creators to say “ah, I can see how that could be used in an actual narrative.”
I suppose this takeaway just reflects the fact that I don’t really come to anime, or media in general, for experimentation for its own sake. I love creative shows, but I see experimentation like this as a tool, not a goal – unique images are nice, but if they’re not being used to bolster some meaningful dramatic effect, they’re probably not going to impress me. Concrete Revolutio’s divergent character art echoed its nature as a hero history pastiche that emphasized what a living part of our world heroes are. The Tatami Galaxy brought us into the kaleidoscopic mind of its protagonist, letting us see the world he saw, brimming with possibility. Trapeze hasn’t really reached that point yet, but I suppose we’re still relatively early in the series. Let’s check out episode four!
Today we’re continuing our journey through Chihayafuru, as the team tournament finals draw towards an end! With all the establishing work Chihayafuru has recently done, this battle has felt like a validation of nearly every major character’s personal journeys, be it in a small way or a completely worldview-shaking one. While Tsutomu and Tsukuba have already fallen, our remaining three competitors each have their own fire driving them forward, whether it’s Taichi coming to terms with Arata’s presence or Chihaya finally internalizing Kana’s emotive approach to card reading. And of course, this is the last team match of the year – the last chance to shine as a group, and demonstrate their dedication to team karuta.
That “value of team karuta” point reflects what seems to be this match’s most unexpected dramatic focus, its impact on Shinobu. We learned at the end of the first season how karuta had essentially been Shinobu’s only friend, and thus she’d established a close emotional bond with the cards over time. Last episode, that knowledge was given context through learning that the adults in her life had intentionally isolated her from any peers her own age in order to foster that talent, actively forcing her to see karuta as a lonely activity. Given that history, it made perfect sense that Shinobu would have come to resent and eventually disdain team karuta, validating her own unhappy experiences by embracing the idea that team karuta is a fundamentally frivolous activity. If team karuta is bad, Shinobu wasn’t missing out, and her loneliness is just a necessary consequence of her excellence.
Of course, as it turns out, team karuta kicks ass, even if it’s not quite as serious and competitive as solo karuta. Arata framed the value of team karuta as its ability to draw new people into the sport they love, underlining the fact that even Shinobu’s lonely road demands other players – but for Shinobu, the more convincing argument seems to be Chihaya and Rion’s desperate match, a match as high-level and furious as the most competitive singles battles. Chihaya is reaching out to Shinobu without even realizing it, communicating a desire for friendship in the only language Shinobu has ever known. However this battle turns out, I hope Shinobu learns something from this day, and starts to escape her unhappy shell.
Alright, that’s probably more than enough preamble. Let’s dive right into Chihayafuru!
Let’s get right back to Magical Lyrical Girl Nanoha! Nanoha’s premiere was an interesting but deeply imbalanced episode, even down to things like having Kou Yoshinari delicately animate precisely one random dinner scene. In larger terms, I really liked how Akiyuki Shinbo’s many creative visual choices consistently sacrificed a sense of stable reality to further bolster each individual scene’s dramatic purpose. The actual visual tricks employed here (simplified color schemes, racking focus, ostentatious movement into depth, etc) don’t actually correlate to many of the visual embellishments SHAFT would later become known for, but the underlying philosophy of compromising on visual congruity for the sake of dramatic impact seems consistent through both. In visual terms, Shinbo asks more of our suspension of disbelief than the vast majority of shows, and the results aren’t always successful, but are pretty much always interesting. I don’t really care that this show is a little messy – I’m here to find the interesting stuff, and Nanoha certainly fits the bill.
Oh, also there’s a narrative. So far, Nanoha’s stuck pretty closely to a tried and true magical girl template, with its own notable features being its unusually thorough elaboration of Nanoha’s everyday life, as well as the heavy dash of science fiction worldbuilding. That worldbuilding seems to indicate Nanoha is something of a compromise between a standard magical girl’s show and a more general action platform, and with Nanoha having just conjured her big magical girl clobbering stick, I’m guessing it’s time for the show to follow through on that action promise. Let’s get to it!
Holy crap it’s already week three. This season’s extremely drawn-out preview schedule, along with my own vast wisdom in going on vacation directly after preview week, mean it’s taken me a quarter of the season to actually get any sort of handle on this season, and at this point I still haven’t really settled on a schedule. I’m almost certainly keeping up with Revue Starlight, My Hero Academia and Planet With are sticking around no matter what, but beyond that it’s basically open war between Angolmois, Banana Fish, Hanebado, and like three different reasonable comedies.
So far, Angolmois is the only one of that second set that I’ve actually caught up on, but it turns out I still had plenty to say about this week’s shows. Starting with the lovable dorks of class 1-A, let’s talk some shows and run this week down!
I wonder how Togashi himself feels, moving around his hundreds of chess pieces on his massive, three-dimensional chessboard. Surely he himself has a clear ending in mind, right? How could anyone possibly have the confidence to throw this many balls into the air and start juggling, with no idea how the performance will end? Any other author would leave me certain that the Dark Continent, or at least the Succession Arc in particular, will end in unfocused, shambling tears – but this is Togashi, and he pulled off Chimera Ant, so I’ll give him as much rope as he needs. As for this volume in particular, Togashi works very hard to simplify the sprawling madness of the boat setup into three core, parallel conflicts, each of them intersecting, each of them containing within them a variety of sub-conflicts. Let’s start where the volume itself starts, and dig right in!
Folks, we’re watching more Chihayafuru and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. My foot has been put down. I know the risks, I know the consequences, and I’ve made my decision – it is time for Chihayafuru, and that is unequivocally that.
Now that that’s settled, let’s take stock of where we’re at. The finals of the team tournament has seen Chihaya suffering yet another injury, and while it now seems impossible that she could compete in tomorrow’s singles tournament, she’s still holding on against her current opponent Rion. Last episode did a thorough job of establishing Rion’s personal circumstances and very lopsided play abilities, painting her as an opponent who has little chance of becoming a general purpose threat, but who can instantly become a monster when the right card speaker is at the stand. Like their early quiz show-trained opponents, Rion seems like an enemy designed to stress-test Chihaya by matching her own strengths, except Rion is actually a relatively well-rounded opponent, while Chihaya has sprained her dang finger. All the while, Shinobu sits in the front row, learning through the ferocity of Chihaya’s match that team karuta is just as legitimate as singles karuta. I’m not exactly thrilled to watch Chihaya engage in some My Hero Academia-style “victory comes first, I’ll fix my bones after that” desperation, but I am excited to see Shinobu fall for Chihaya’s karuta, and I’m eager to learn how this match resolves either way. Let’s dive right into one more episode of Chihayafuru!
The first image of Princess Tutu’s tenth episode evokes all of its theoretical protagonists, displaying Fakir’s sword, Ahiru’s pendant, and Rue’s black slippers and feather all in a row. With each of their fantasy-identity markers scattered on the stairs like that, the narrator’s retelling of the story of Cinderella feels like it could apply to anyone. All three of our heroes don a heroic mantle and new identity in order to reach out to Mytho, and all three struggle at the distance between their fantasy selves and ordinary lives. Sacrificing of themselves and playing unhappy roles and warring with each other over a goal they seemingly share, they are each haunted by the narrator’s final question: “did the prince really love that maiden named Cinderella?”
Today I’ve got a streaming review from last season, as I look back at the off-kilter but extremely charming Hinamatsuri. Hinamatsuri certainly wasn’t a perfect show, but its oddball stew of comedy and family drama made for a very satisfying watch all the same. Every season should have a solid comfort watch!
