That’s right, the stalkertron is a filthy, dirty rainbow lover, the depths of her seven colour loving knows no bounds. Evidently unready to reveal her lusty proclivities, she continues the façade of interfering with the protagonist while she sleeps.

From the dialogue that follows, one would assume that Nagisa has been at the school a few days as her outfit has “just arrived”, time moves differently here however so your assumption would be wrong. The ensuing outfit fashion show involves Tamao forcefully undressing Nagisa (left ambiguously unresolved) and some hardcore hair brushing; all of this non-stop excitement causes both to be late for breakfast and run into the Étoile and her entourage who are evidently also late for breakfast.

After some morning molestation by the Étoile whose amount of hair is quite extraordinary and a scolding from the class president, none of them end up having breakfast and instead head off to class.

Where they are promptly mobbed by a group of fangirls with the warm and fuzzies for the Étoile. Despite the ability to get information from one end of the school to the other before the principal participants get there, they all seem oblivious to the fact that the Étoile tried to do exactly the same thing in the cafeteria in the last episode. Some sort of first episode memory loss, an intriguing condition… Hopefully it’s confined to this series alone.

Ol’ Rainbow Pants decides to come out and admit her lurid fascination of technicolour friends; it seems however that she is in good company when her “Literature Club” friends eagerly ask her to repeat her poem about her feelings. Musing on the blue-haired temptress’s confession, perhaps even being a little jealous of it, Nagisa decides to take a walk.

The vixen doesn’t only woo the protagonist but also passing young girls as well, gotta catch ‘em all I suppose. Having escaped the tyranny of a lunch time meeting, the Étoile prowls the grounds, looking for the stragglers, the sick and the weak.

Fleeing the scene of the Étoile’s latest conquest (and before anything saucy happens), Nagisa comes acropper of a library which seems to have been built on a flood plain. Great planning there, or perhaps a heavilly fortified library ala Toshokan Sensou. Regardless, she explores the library and finds a couples’ makeout section, is startled by a stained glass window and is then molested by the Étoile. Again.

Twice in one day is just careless. At least this time she puts up a cursory fight to build up the tension but ends up going all gooey nonetheless. Lamentably, they are once again interrupted by a dunce with a book on her head.

By the end of the series these interruptions are going to be so outlandish as to be surreal: “Let’s kiss…” “Come quickly! The prime minister has been attacked with a badger!” “Curses! Foiled again!”.

And so the episode comes to a close with some cryptic words from the class president to the Étoile and some healthy pillow time between Nagisa and and Tamao, ignoring why you would put on nail polish before going to bed; girls move in mysterious ways.

Thoughts

The Étoile system is obviously being painted as some kind of burden or curse, one which makes an otherwise ordinary grey-haired stick figure go off and abuse young girls rather than attend a lunch meeting. Nagisa’s place within this system is still to be determined, whether she’ll be forced into a power-play for Étoile or perhaps try and abolish the system is yet to be seen, I’m going with neither side as it’s likely this will be all emotion and no actual motion. Still watchable if not for the rapidly spiralling ridiculousness of it all.

It starts rather inauspiciously with a girl talking to trees; apparently her hair-colour is indicative of her vision as she muses on how the trees no longer contain any colour. This does not bode well for her pilot training.

Things continue with a suitably spunky lass late for her first day of school, an original and riveting plot development this early in the show is un heard of. He tardiness is of course made better with her clumsiness, creating a wholly new character never before seen. Ever. Falling down a hillock and losing her way brings her to a copse of trees.

Forsooth, the twain meet! The talkative aborist, tired of wood, goes for the flesh. Alas, the poor protagonist is useless against her Poison Ivy-esque ways and after only a kiss on the forehead lapses into unconsciousness.

Having been sexually assaulted, she is carried (wheeled? dragged? levitated?) into an infirmary where she is watched over by a blue haired psychopath. No comforting words when Aoi awakes, simply “Your sleeping face was cute”; just what you need someone watching you while you sleep. Concerned loved ones doing this: just about okay, strangers doing this: way too creepy. I bet she got a lock of hair as well just for good measure. Apparently they’re in the same room as well so perhaps Suzumi is easing her in gently.

After molesting her for her sizes and likely scrawling something lewd on the page opposite, Suzumi proceeds to tell Aoi all the rules and regulations of the school, like a 6pm curfew. This couldn’t be at all relevant in the next few minutes could it?

Why yes, yes it could. Having been idly wandering the grounds for an age, it takes her over half an hour to return to the dorms which seems a little unrealistic, even if there are three different all-girls schools on campus. Now trapped outside, it requires someone with a key to let her in…

Ah yes, a domineering figure, finally. Time to whip some much needed discipline into this girl. Lord knows staying out seconds past curfew on your first day is a pitiless crime, reprehensible even.

Saved! By someone else with blue hair… Blue hair dye must be used like cigarrettes in prison here, the shivving numbers must be astronomical. Despite appearances to the contrary, this one seems to have her head in order, doubtless she’ll have some kind of affection for a superior she is too proper to act upon. Moving into the cafeteria, we get a montage of all the archetypes pilfered from years of anime and manga that we’re about to be subjected to over the next few episodes.

Gossiper, intellectual, fruitcake and token loli, dark past, nervous wreck soon to be cleaver wielder, snobby foreigner with blatant insecurities, shy lesbian and overbearing lesbian also known as drama queens. Ah such a delighftul cast, and there are even more blue-hair dye dealers in there; no doubt the black market for the stuff will be a core tenet of the series. After a stupidity leak from Aoi about who is Étoile, a familiar face enters.

Well who’d have thunk it? The colourblind tree hugger is in fact the Étoile and decides to sexually assault the protagonist. Again. Who goes all soft focus. Again. I’m all for the direct approach, but it’s no fun if they don’t fight back. Ah but what does this school need? Good Christian values.

PRAY ALL YOU WANT LADIES. JESUS DOES NOT APPROVE OF YOUR LIFESTYLE.

Hmm, how best to finish off this cornucopia of yuri?

Goth-loli twincest! One of whom looks and sings like they had a botox treatment that hasn’t quite settled yet.

Thoughts

For what it was, the first episode wasn’t too bad. Its main problem is the formulaic nature of the characters whom I hope will be fleshed out in episodes to come. Reviews have said the contrived incidents in the series are what bogs it down, but really, when you have the ridiculous situation of three snooty, hoity-toity private schools on top of a hill (all sharing the same cafeteria…), what do you expect? It’s familiar ground but I know this going into the series, I’m here for the buds of lesbianism ready to bloom, I have no allusions otherwise; that the protagonist is pure and innocent is all the better, it makes corrupting her to their wicked ways all the sweeter.

If I was forced to choose between the three uniforms, so far Spica is winning if not simply because it’s more business casual than traditional sailor or psuedo-maid.

So far, this is watchably mediocre.

How would a studio approach a manga known for its wordplay and focusing on a depressively suicidal teacher, a manga that was notoriously (even infamously) claimed to be untranslatable? Surely even SHAFT, known for their off-the-wall adaptations of other, more straightforward manga such as Pani Poni and Negima, could manage such a feat? They did, and with such reckless disregard for obstacles such as plot, continuity and sanity; Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei is bizarre, satirical, cynical and rambunctious and solidifies SHAFT as a skilled and confident studio.

» Gallery

Describing the premise of the series would never be enough to encapsulate what it is actually about: the histrionically pessimistic Itoshki Nozumu is at thwarted in his attempts to kill himself by the outwardly naive and interminably optimistic Kafuka. This satisfies the first twelve minutes of the series as it then goes on a journey involving stalkers, hikkikomori, escape routes and courting rituals but most of the time it concerns itself with nothing in particular: a multicoloured collage of gags, perceptions on life and randomness. Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei has very little to say and has a damn good time saying it. The series doesn’t cover a specific time frame or tell a coherent story, it is a staccato whimsy of wordplay and wonder; a möbius strip of pop-culture references and banter on the thralls of modern existence.

If all this sounds like the series occupies a different existence to the rest of the world, you wouldn’t be far off the mark. An episode can focus on one specific topic, often meandering along the way, veering off on tangents of logic but ultimately digging through an obscure subject such as what can be accepted as minimal culture, or clearing away impurities or escaping from blame and responsibilities. Other episodes which make up the majority of the twelve episode barrage concern themselves with frittering away on whatever shiny issue takes its fancy, the opening episodes concern themselves with introducing the core set characters and their associated archetypal personality quirks then strobing fanservice, insults, family members and all points in between. Episodes are sometimes over before one knows it, other times the closing animation can be just a punctuation mark before it continues, seemingly unabated.

From a birds-eye view SZS is a muddled, chaotic show with no direction or overall message, but the delights are to be found week by week rather than in a contiguous stream. SHAFT once again take up writing incidental notes on the signs and plethora of blackboards dotted around the backgrounds, the contents of which vary from other anime references to onomatopoeias. At times it seems like the show delights in naughtiness with the bondage packed second opening to the blonde bombshell whose skirt has a propensity for blowing all too frequently in the wind; yet the show is all too aware of itself, sometimes plastering the face of (what one can only assume is) Koji Kumeta on supposedly racy parts and having the aforementioned blonde threaten to sue when her undergarments are inevitably exposed.

Given all of this it may be hard to see what allure the series has beyond its bizarreness, yet it is exactly that which makes its examinations of life all the more adroit. Sometimes these can be rapid-fire distractions from the main flow of the episode, other times like the concept of too much evidence or the celebration of innocuous attributes they are the entire premise. Faulting the series inevitably ends in splitting hairs given that each episode is a scatter-shot of styles and content, the speed and veracity of each bite-size skit causes as much humour as the subject matter. All of this is wrapped up in breathtaking aesthetics, never one to be pinned down by one style, SHAFT can sometimes illicit fear and horror as much as it can desire and lust, a remarkable feat given the relative simplicity of the character designs.

Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei revels in the small details, rewarding subsequent viewings and a strong pop-culture knowledge with enough comedy to keep one laughing but never feeling slapstick or belittling. It is peerless in its presentation and wit, and were it not for the training runs the studio seemed to do with Pani Poni Dash and Negima?!, the series would be unique amongst its forebears. While each episode merges into the amorphous idea that is SZS, each concept stands out proudly and memorably and I can think of no other series that is more deserving of a second, than this one. There scant few words that fully encompass the caliber of work on display, but one would be: genius.

Having a character in a series attempt to win an argument using squirrels seems like it would go down well around these parts; thankfully squirrel related tomfoolery is not all Minami-ke has to offer as it manages to break out of its well trodden, all-girl-school-comedy premise and develop into a raucous look at the life of a family of oddities and the selection of characters which get pulled into their orbit.

» Gallery
» 3 Episode Taste Test

The first season of Minami-ke seems to constantly better itself by proving time and time again that it will not beat a dead horse, providing capricious situations that seem patently obvious when shown, but on reflection take on Rube Goldberg-esque set up. For instance: Makoto, a typically brash and uninteresting character whose only lot in life seems to be to provide a catalyst for Chiaki’s deadpan cynicism, add in the desire to visit the Minami household without incurring special kinds of wrath, mix in some typical gender-bending and atypical cross-dressing, sprinkle in some adoration for Haruka and the result is something that never seems anything less than hilarious. Time and time again the off-the-wall comedy provides sporadic moments of howling laughter buffered by constant amusement with a boy with a propensity for loosening his shirt and sparkling to the trio of straight-faced brothers who also share the name Minami.

Episodes are all but worthless in isolation and rely on the build-up of characters and events to lift it out of randomness and drudgery. The measure of the show is how well it manages to convey the world surrounding the three titular sisters without ever marginalising them or letting other character steal their spotlight; the slow growth of affection with the sisters and their interplay is easily its most skilful accomplishment and never does the pace languish in expected “dead zones” of humour. The comedy focuses on several core themes: age, friends and routine. Most of the opening episodes’ laughs stem from Chiaki’s lack of knowledge of “adult” topics or Kana’s misinterpretation thereof; the show then ensnares a selection of the Minami’s closest friends either providing foils to their oddball attitudes or embracing it wholeheartedly; interspersed with all of these are the short vignettes of daily life from kicking a stone all the way home or greedily devouring a cake bought for your sisters.

Characters, situations and comedy are stitched together so deftly that it’s hard to think of Minami-ke as a series at all and more the ongoing tribulations of the characters, a weekly window into their lives and intimate moments. The series wisely steers clear of the drudgery of modern existence, avoiding moments of repose or showing the characters at anything less than full-bore; it also knowingly dodges pointless titillation with comparatively well-proportioned curves and using brief flashes of undergarments as set ups for even cheekier and more worthwhile moments. The thirteen episodes cover an entire year in the lives of the Minami sisters from new-year to new-year and with predictable activities for each season, the show reveals more about contemporary Japanese life than one would have perhaps thought; scathing looks at culture such as the sitcom “Sensei and Ninomiya” whose protagonists rarely utter anything else to the obligations of mundane, yearly events.

All of this jocularity is supported by a solid voice acting cast with Minori Chihara (Yuki in Suzumiya Haruhi), Marina Inoue (Yoko in Gurren Lagann) and Rina Satou (Negi in all Negima incarnations) providing some seamless and fitting performances for Chiaki, Kana and Haruka respectively. The opening sneaks in many later series revelations, relying on the infectious but ultimately forgettable song to divert attention; the ending meanwhile is perfunctory and mirrors the slide-show scenes accompanying it. The art-style is awash with shades of brown and beige, never quite breaking out into full technicolour even in the obligatory beach episode; the animation on the other hand never shows the bullet-time budget burn of the first episode but remains serviceable without overexerting itself.

The second series from a wholly different studio inherits the voice actors and groundwork laid by this first, but whether the wit and captivating characters carry over to the different creative team will take another thirteen episodes to conclusively say. Fundamentally though, all of this is just a clinical way of saying that Minami-ke is never anything less than entertaining, remarkably original and tirelessly endearing and manages to evolve beyond its all-girl roots and become something marvellous.

Given such an auspicious and confusing opening three episodes, it would have been easy for ef to fall into obscurity and abstraction with deep symbolism and obscured plot; thankfully this is not the case and the series manages to make the absurdly stylistic symbolism part of itself while still a sometimes unique, not wholly original story which ends well at a petite twelve episodes.

» Gallery
» 3 Episode Taste Test

In between the astounding opening and changing ending are two stories: one about a high school boy trying to find colour in his world while trying to deal with the affections of two girls, one overt and another covert; the other is about a girl whose memory lasts only a scant thirteen hours before events begin slipping away and her relationship with a boy she meets at an abandoned train station. The plot may sound akin to an atypical dating-sim territory but the storytelling is first rate and deftly draws one into the world and its characters. The supernatural elements that nagged the opening episodes are present but downplayed; the ephemeral figure of a long haired woman who imparts advice to all of the central characters and then vanishes is never explained even slightly, the same with the silent, world weary caretaker of the memory-challenged protagonist. The only time these elements are brought to the fore is in the final moments of the series, hinting more at a desire for a second season rather than anything that would affect the first.

ef’s strongest point is that of symbolism, whether through the art style, audio, characters or props, the series excels at providing an inconspicuous subtext that doesn’t impinge on the scenes themselves. Crutches and colour, countdown and cameras, all speak volumes of how well realised the characters are; far from the vacuous facsimiles found in other romantically focused shows, the symbolism serves its purpose as a reinforcement of what is happening in the foreground rather than appending artificial depth or obfuscating development. Opposite to these are the jarring times when all apparent animation is removed and only the sound of a character’s phone conversation is heard; so confident and unyielding are these that it’s difficult not to give SHAFT credit for simply including them, let alone making them just as powerful as the myriad of softly spoken, sunset beach moments. With only two such scenes they aren’t overused and don’t ever feel like padding, classical music and cicadas are nowhere to be heard.

When one strips away the undertones and the art style ef is, at its core, an excellent story of personal growth and romance. The characters strafe in and out of momentary clichés, sometimes typifying the brash, sportswoman or the tortured auteur, but never do they stay any longer than a scene before revealing passions, weaknesses and ethos that would take a lesser story longer to divulge and half as skilfully. It is them that drive the series forward and while each storyline keeps very much to itself, they complement each other with an unspoken duality, neither feeling quite as whole without the other. The most saddening moment is unfortunately the climax: having closed both stories, there is a brief summation of the characters achievements as if being doled out experience points for effort; it feels vulgar and obtrusive after the adroitness demonstrated before and achieves only in punctuating the ending rather than offering a satisfying conclusion.

Technically there is very little to fault the series on, animation is crystal clear and beautifully fluid throughout while the soundtrack pales in comparison to the opening and relies far more on the subtle soundscape to carry it through. Even the soulful melodies played at the most wrenching of scenes fall short of providing anything more than innocuous accompaniment rather than accentuating focus. While the aesthetics are of superlative quality, SHAFT wisely chose to retain only a select number of visual analogies: sticking closely with the grayscale visions of Hiro, the stained glass technicolour of Chihiro and the sunset beaches for everyone. The techniques are clever, sometimes arresting, and never overused but it seems that SHAFT slip all too easily into providing style for style’s sake with paper-flat moons and some of the most gorgeous skies since 5cm/s, there is little that doesn’t make ef an absolute joy to watch even if some of the flair is superfluous.

The series is of course not flawless; while some may find the material trite and drawn out, others would find the art style intrusive and unnecessary, valuing candidness over coyness. ef certainly doesn’t transcend its genre, but it never feels hindered by it, even a bittersweet ending was possible and the message of reliance on others and communication would not be lost, though perhaps the impact would have been. It would have been easy for the series to rely on the character’s foibles, some alluding to the series’ subtitle, to impel one to continue watching; its excellent that those quirks are never oppressive but never ignored and are just one facet to an brilliant core story. ef - a tale of memories is smart, stylish and engrossing and while it does nothing outlandish enough to brand it a cult title only, it is an excellent example of elegant writing and characterisation buffed beyond a visual-novel-translation sheen.

Coming from a franchise that started in 1989 and comprises seven manga volumes, three separate sets of OVAs, a movie and two extended TV shows, it would be easy for Full Throttle to be weighed down by a lot of baggage that has gone before it. Thankfully this isn’t the case and, while the minutiae of ongoing relationships is perhaps lost, the core dynamic between the two female traffic officers and their outlandish adventures takes centre stage.

If one goes by the plethora of promotional images surrounding nearly all incarnations of YUA then the show would be nothing more than series of trite incidents designed to throw the two protagonists together and expose hidden lesbian tendencies. Whether that is forthcoming is unknown, the first three episodes consist of a two part arc concerning a young billionaire’s son who is first chased by gangsters, then goes to live with his kendo uncle to become a samurai and an episode where a body builder turned vigilante ends up as a taiyaki chef but not before a tense SUV pushing battle. It is as bizarre and off-the-wall as the synopsis suggests, whether this is simply due to the franchise running short on ideas or simply the ongoing style of it will be for an audience more familiar with previous outings.

For want of a better description, Full Throttle feels very much like a nineties anime. It has the same kind of raucous disregard for plot and character development and instead focusing on action led abandonment championed by shows such as Sol Bianca, Burn Up or the divisive Bubblegum Crisis. Sure the animation is as bright and detailed and the synthesized opening isn’t out of place amongst its peers, but there are evanescent and indefinable qualities that bely its heritage. When viewed analytically, You’re Under Arrest - Full Throttle is blighted with minor but persistent problems. The eccentric storylines suit the episodic nature the show is known for however predictability is all to often a concern with episodes conclusively ending on a high note. The narratives lack any punch or humanity to them, mechanically relying on the established traits in the two protagonists: brash strength and charmed intelligence. The first three episodes refuse to use supporting cast members beyond cursory scene setting, a strange choice given the expectation to focus on these relationships instead of tepid action.

The series may not rely on previous series, movies or OVAs, yet it’s hard not to think that one would be better off watching those instead of the languid pace of Full Throttle. Both Natsumi and Miyuki obviously trust each other, but their bond isn’t tested or explored at all, instead there is some strained dialogue and not much else. Visually, both are iconic characters that few anime fans would be hard to recognise (especially given Miyuki’s figure being used for Belldandy in Kosuke Fujishima’s most famous series, Ah! My Goddess) and Studio DEEN continue to animate the franchise, this time with predictable results. While bright and recognisable, the animation frequently fails to impress but stays serviceable throughout the three episodes.

When all is said and done, Full Throttle is made up of the same studio and voice actors used throughout the franchise’s lifetime and does little to reinvent or innovate, it is very much a continuation of what has gone before and will thus appeal to fans looking for more Traffic Violation fixes. As an introduction to the cosmos You’re Under Arrest inhabits, there are likely far better ones given the breadth of work available; however the timbre and pacing will be familiar to those acquainted with more aged anime. The series is enjoyable to watch primarily due its effervescent, squeaky clean portrayal of the police force and city life in general although it is without surprise or teeth when it comes to plot or characterisation. Whether it is a worthy addition to the canon is something only fans will be able to answer, otherwise it is likeable but ultimately shallow.

Putting together Production I.G. and Shirow Masamune is cause for celebration nowadays; most noted for his hand in the blindingly excellent Ghost in the Shell universe, even his lesser known works such as Appleseed and Dominion Tank Police stand out as unique and filled with his trademark personality. Given that, it may seem odd that Ghost Hound seems such a vast departure from his other works.

» Gallery

It is less odd when one realises that the series is liberally adapted from a work that Shirow created twenty years ago, that the screenplay is penned by Chiaki J. Konaka and is directed by Ryutaro Nakamura, both of whom were in the same positions for Serial Experiments Lain. It then becomes all the more apparent where the mind bending, perception altering experience comes from. Starting with a trip into the protagonists dream, Ghost Hound never quite lets go and always has that ephemeral, dream like quality to its story, visuals, and most prominently, its sound.

To call the audio anything less than extraordinary would be an understatement; every sound is meticulously sewn into the series fabric, effortlessly evoking emotions and cramming more subtext into a scene than the visuals could hope to manage on their own. Music is conspicuously absent, replaced by helicopter blades blended to a heartbeat, a fly’s buzz warped into radio static and a panoply of indistinct and subsonic noises in between. Dialogue is sparse but there is enough to feel natural, never slipping in to art-house silence for the sake of it; more often the audience is treated to the protagonists hearing, a sometimes strained experience with distant sounds or voices from underwater. The entire soundscape is superb and benefits immensely from multi-channel speaker set up.

Beyond the technical and crew aspects of the series though, Ghost Hound has a lot to offer in both characters and narrative. In predictable fashion, the story is obtusely guarded in the introductory three episodes, but with deft hands guiding, it never feels protracted and the temptation to pad time with emblematic dream journeys is reigned in with the third instalment. The protagonist, Taro, underwent a traumatic kidnapping when he was young which took the life of his sister, now several years on he struggles with odd dreams and a disassociativity with the world around him. Flawlessly researched, each episode is interspersed with Taro’s visits to a school counsellor who speaks of obscure psychotherapies, mirrored in the titles of each chapter and setting the tone for each of the three main characters.

Each of the main cast harbours a troubled past which, thanks to the loquacious Masayuki, leads them to an abandoned hospital which, likewise, has a very troubled past. This is as far as the first three episodes manage and despite the lack of forward momentum in the narrative, the episodes weren’t spent idling; instead a deep understanding of the core three characters is built up, long before they set out for the hospital. This development is skilfully done and is another part of an all round excellent whole. Indeed it is difficult to pick fault with Ghost Hound when it is so expertly produced in all areas; the only criticism possible would be to say that it borrows a lot from the mind-fuck genre pioneered by the leading crew: symbolism over exposition. What Ghost Hound represents, even in the scant three episodes of a twenty two episode series, is a mastery of its craft.

The series is never bizarre for no reason: it doesn’t extend scenes either for padding or out of auteur bloody-mindedness; neither does it skimp on plot or characters, leaving no one as a cypher or unknown entity for long. The animation is superb all round, as expected from Production I.G. and their 20 Year Anniversary project, helped along by the simple but emotive art-style whose most prominent feature is the eyes on which much attention is lavished. There is no part of the series so far which fails to amaze and the rest of it needs to merely keep up this quality to be something unquestionably stunning.

It’s inevitable that Mokke is going to be compared to the seminal Mushishi: it deals with a similar “hidden to all but those who can see” neer-do-wells, has a similar way of dealing with them and maintains the same kind of morality about their place within nature. This may sound like Mokke is nothing but a substandard copy of Mushishi but in actuality, the similarities are minimal at best.

» Gallery

Ostensibly set in modern day with two sisters, the younger of the pair has the ill fortune to be easily possessed by wandering spirits while the other older of the two is able to see and hear the ephemeral critters, a gift she shares with her grandfather. The first three episodes take different approaches to dealing with the entities: the first is about the older sister wanting to protect the younger one culminating in her banishing a shadowy antagonist, the second is about a helpful but tricksy fox spirit, while the third is about a spirit which follows a doubting person around, devouring their confidence and vitality. The nature of the entities is stated on a case by case basis and borrows more from Buddhist and Shinto mythology than the “part of nature” route taken by Mushishi. In terms of comparisons, Mokke borrows more from Dennou Coil than it does anything else; the similar focus on younger children rather than teenagers or adults, even the first spirit is akin to Dennou Coil’s digital aberrations.

The most pressing issue with the first three episodes is how flat it feels despite its rich subject matter. Both of the protagonists are easy to like and certainly display enough substance to last a season, however the overall feeling of self-containment is hard to shake. While dealing with supposedly naturally occurring micro-deities, there is never any sense of an ecology or busyness about them; there is only one new spirit per episode which means that it will likely fall into an episodic, monster-of-the-week series rather than one with an overarching plot. This isn’t a negative in and of itself but Mokke unfortunately lacks the depth to make that format work if the first episodes are anything to go by.

Despite centring on younger children, the show rarely feels childish and has a charming innocence to it that is remarkably endearing. This is helped along by both the stirring, traditional Japanese soundtrack and the visuals which, despite coming from the venerable MADHOUSE, are remarkably simplistic; the younger protagonist is in some scenes cute as a button while in others is barely recognisable as a child. Despite her possessive-spirit affliction, she is refreshingly energetic and child-like, certainly very different from the invalid as one would expect given a synopsis of the series. The older sister is aesthetically generic and unremarkable but more than makes up for this by being the most interesting of the two. The first episode paints her as a typical protective figure for her younger sibling yet in the latter two she displays far more subtleties in terms of growth and maturity.

The greatest obstacle the series needs to overcome is its lack of polish. Pleasant and charming it may be however it doesn’t have the humanity or the depth to maintain interest. Mokke is certainly not a bad show by any stretch of the imagination, however its portrayal of spirits and hidden supernatural elements is, ironically, sorely lacking any real substance. The spirits come across more as curios, mere side-notes to facilitate the day-to-day aspects of the sisters’ lives rather than being what they should be: the most engaging part of the series. It is uncertain what the other episodes will hold for Mokke, if it maintains its current tone and template then it would be a great shame given such promising subject matter, if however it instates a tangible narrative and sheds the teething troubles the introductory episodes have then it should be an unassuming but fun series.

A mix of French, English and what one can only assume is Japanese in the title? It must be the school-romance genre. Kimikiss is unashamedly pedestrian in its subject matter and plants itself squarely in the mid-teen age range in both content and audience. The first three episodes do little else other than set a suitably solid foundation for future angst and trauma from the bevy of humdrum adolescents.

» Gallery

Beginning inauspiciously with a returning childhood friend, a confusingly out-of-place kiss and other paraphernalia which is sure to be over-analysed as the series progresses. The characters of kimikiss, supposed to be the meat of the series, can initially be written off as typical and uninteresting; sporadically however they staunchly refuse to resort back to their obvious archetypes and plough forward giving the illusion of momentum when in fact nothing has changed. The set up of ditzy boy liking introverted girl has been recycled innumerable times before, most memorably the recent School Days, although there is little indication of murderous tendencies here; instead it is a gentle, soap-opera flow with no ideas above its station except to entertain its audience with predictable sentimentality.

While typical of the genre, kimikiss falls short by making bland and uninspired characters dance to the tune of mediocrity. The narrative is non-existent and holds all the lure of a box of frogs and the series seems content to wallow within the tepid confines of its genre. The only alluring characters are the enigmatic Eriko Futami, who’s forthright manner is refreshing in comparison to everyone else’s reticence, and the similarly tight-lipped Eiji Kai who would be annoyingly curt were he on screen for a long period of time. Primarily, it’s a lack of empathy which blights the troupe, each one feeling like a substandard character rather than a believable, or at least engaging, person: what one would think as a prerequisite rather than a nicety. This is not helped by the art-style which on a cursory glance seems detailed, especially for a J.C. Staff production, but suffers from extreme exaggeration of proportions, far beyond the expectations of anime; eyes, while not on the same level as KEY creations, are absurdly spaced while limbs frequently take on anorexic or at least boneless proportions.

These are perhaps niggling, yet more tangible points in comparison to the other more fundamental problems the series exhibits. These concerns could all be for naught if the worth is more slow-burning and emotional; this is unlikely unless the series were to undergo a meteoric upswing in writing quality. Perhaps these detrimental aspects are simply cruft accumulated and now expected of the genre and as unchallenging as it may be, romance aficionados may find much to get wrapped up in; although one doubts there are subtleties beyond those invented by the viewer themselves. Other similar series such as the lauded Kimi ga nozumu eien or even the prototypical Ichigo 100% showed more inventiveness and willingness to not stoically conform to expectations and are much easier to recommend over kimikiss.

Based upon a clean dating sim, the series eschews the obvious harem trappings and instead wordlessly pairs off everyone with the first episode without so much as a second glance, this makes anticipation of a climax fruitless. There is little conflict or drama and without anything to raise it above competition from other shows, kimikiss is a paint-by-numbers school-life and romance show for an audience with little else to do other than watch trashy, unexceptional series; the anime equivalent of an airport-novel.

How do you rearrange the old and tired “childhood friend” romantic comedy? Fundamentally, you can’t, but setting it from the perspective of the returning childhood friend is a pleasant change. Unfortunately “Myself; Yourself” is still rigidly defined by the same romantic comedy template that has been recycled again and again, in the first three of a potential thirteen episodes it explores none of the obvious avenues of character development and somehow manages to shoehorn a swimsuit episode in…

Instead of examining the shock of coming back to the place you grew up and seeing how stark the differences of then and now are, “Myself; Yourself” barrages the viewer with an instantly familiar cast of characters: the busty ditz, the flat-chested tsunderreko, the affable best-friend, the obvious ice-cold love interest and the token diversion from said love interest. If it weren’t a wholly standalone project, it would be effortless to peg the series as straight out of a dating sim or ero-game. The majority of the comedy and fan-service stems from the buxom pixie, voiced by the distinctive Tomoko Kaneda, it is at first odd to hear Azumanga’s Chiyo in another character, but her boundless enthusiasm and plethora of almost inaudible noises make the character, what one can only assume is, the very epitome of “moe”. In contrast, the terminally bland protagonist sports an everyman personality which only makes him all the more distasteful despite his apparently dark past.

The protagonist’s reason for moving back to his hometown is contained within that past however it is portrayed without subtlety, the ending of each episode closes with an enigmatic phone-call from his mother which only serves to highlight, then underscore the series vapid attempts at holding interest. It’s a worthwhile tactic if skilfully used, the promise of harbouring serial-killer tendencies would be enough to promote further viewing; however the series has done nothing but provide a flowery, rose tinted view of returning to one’s birthplace. Sana Hidaka slots immediately back into his old circle of friends without any conversation as to what transpired in his missing five years from either party, instead there are some torturous character collisions, blatantly manufactured as Sana extols the importance of a song written by an old friend while said friend lurks, listening in the next room. It’s trite, obvious and saps credibility from the story, tainting any further developments that may occur.

Studio Dogakobo, whose previous credits include the interminable Saikano, provide a generic and rapidly disintegrating art-style to the show: character art frequently distorts and most scenes are bookended with a statically blank stare from the protagonist. “Serviceable” would be the only adjective to describe the production, the exception to this is the energetic opening which kicks off the beat that the rest of the episode tries to keep up with. The ending is the polar opposite of this consisting of little more than a suggestive still frame, painstakingly panned; both are reminiscent of the Love Hina format, but without the constant visual (and mental) barrage, “Myself; Yourself” does little else other than enter with a bang then mill aimlessly around the debris.

To its credit, the series sporadically manages to elicit a smile although this is by far the exception to the rule; the majority of each episode is little more than straight-faced teenage drama without any form of innovation or hook. Despite all of this, “Myself; Yourself” is enjoyable to watch insofar that it is inoffensive in its delivery. There is nothing beneath the surface and the introductory episodes at least manage to stay on the brighter side of mediocrity; whether this averageness will be maintained beyond the forthcoming exposition highlighted by the obvious foreshadowing will be the test of the series; although anything except the most pitch-black of endings would be a sore disappointment.