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A few episodes into this series, I couldn't quite tell what exactly was especially grim about this series, it being one of the quintessential dark magical girl narratives. Fairly ordinary girl meets fairly odd ferret. Fairly odd ferret provides her with a charm of sorts, granting her magical abilities to fight off malevolent creatures and contain arcane energies plaguing her hometown. Fairly standard magical girl setup. Then, several episodes later, I understood.

Beside the universe that the events of the story that takes mostly in place in are other dimensions. Within these other dimensions exist legendary artifacts of power known as Lost Logia. Several of these ... Lost Logia in the form of Jewel Seeds inadvertently made their way to Nanoha Takamichi's space, in Nanoha Takimichi's city, where their unstable potentials are reeking havoc. The mage-archeaologist who accidentally triggered their migration makes his way to Earth and Japan, taking the form of a telepathic ferret and enlisting the help of a native with an unusually high magical potential, aka, Nanoha Takamichi, to retrieve them, or seal them, before they fall into the wrong hands. Produced by Seven Arcs, directed by Akiyuki Shinbo (before he went completely Shaft), conceived and scripted by Masaki Tsuzuki, with character designs by Yasuhiro Okuda, the show's first half is a pretty textbook example of magical girls in action.

We're introduced to Nanoha, a third-grader with a loving family and equally loving friends in a “Meet _____” sort of sequence. We're introduced to magic as Nanoha explores the berth of her newfound abilities via a “Monster of the Week” sort of scenario. And during this time, Nanoha develops into her position, from one who reluctantly took up her staff, to one who wields it consciously and confidently for the sake of others, in spite of numerous opportunities to retire and return back to her safe life.

And then we're introduced to Fate Testarossa, a character who, in many respects, is the titular character's opposite. Aloof as opposed to affable, reserved as opposed to sociable, yet, if only by the look of her eyes, full of sadness rather than frost, she is also, in many respects, the titular character's equal, a person, a girl, gifted, but battered, yet otherwise normal, who wants to be loved by the one person in her life who is supposed to cherish her. And so the second half leads its audience from sunny peaks to dark valleys as the show explores Fate's sickening backstory and Nanoha's increasingly determined attempts to reach out to her from her tortured shell.

It's also at this point where the story branches out of its preset genre boundaries by blending narrative elements of sci-fi, bringing the story to a grander plane while simultaneously moving the plot. But perhaps the most consistently prolific sci-fi elements in the show, and arguably one of the most impressive things, are the magic staves, which simply ooze this sense of weightiness whenever they crackle into existence, crash into formation, and steam into and out of being. This, in turn, adds weight to the kinesthetics of the attacks. The attacks, in other words, look powerful and feel meaningful.

The OP “Innocent Starter” by Nana Mizuki uses a mixture of electronic keyboard, electric guitar, and steady drum beat, and vocals to imbue melancholy in an otherwise dynamic movement. The singer flexes her talents pretty expressively at the music's climax, weaving between one octave and another. The OP's visuals do a decent job highlighting the differences between Nanoha's and Fate's situations before having them confront stare down the other in a decisive flourish. The ED “Little Wish ~lyrical step~” by Yukari Tamari, on the other hand, is one note saccharine both to the ears and eyes, and potentially immersion breaking, given that it plays after every episode, even after the serious ones.

The main problems with this show are predominantly found in the aforementioned first half. The animation's fairly inconsistent from episode to episode, some of it due to Shinbo's idiosyncrasies, which were present in his direction even back then, but the rest probably due to limited budget. In addition, a significant portion of what is consistent is padding, stock magical staff and girl transformations, plus one episode dedicated mainly to... hot springs? Yeah, let's go with that. It's a non-issue by the second half, where it's clear where much of the budget went. But by far the most egregious dilemma is the show's generically formulaic beginnings. It's, perhaps, enjoyable for individuals who are fans of the genre, but to me, it's trends toward being too safe, too sappy, too simplistic. It's only later on when Nanoha's family and friends are explored in more depth.

Regardless, Mahou Shoujo Lyrical Nanoha is one of the first magical girl series that proved that the genre could handle mature issues without losing sight of what distinguished the magical girl genre to begin with, outside of, well, magical girls, themes such as righteousness and friendship, even if Nanoha has to “befriend” you to get that point across.

I give Mahou Shoujo Lyrical Nanoha a 7 out of 10.

Tell me if you've heard of this before. A high school boy dreams to be with his ideal girl. Not too uncommon among romantic tales, but here's something that might run your blood cold, pun intended. He likes zombies. He really likes zombie girls, and one day, POOF! Due to plot, he gets to live with one. With a premise like this, what could possibly go wrong? Quite a bit actually, yet Sankarea stands out as quite the opposite, as something special. It, however, requires some context.

Adapted from a manga of the same name by Mitsuru Hattori, Sankarea was directed by Shinichi Omata, with in-show ... character designs by Kyuuta Sakai. Produced by Studio Deen, for something designated with genre labels such as “comedy” and “ecchi,” the series begins rather morbidly. Chihiro Furuya has spent the last several evenings putting his enthusiast facet to work searching for a way to revive his beloved deceased cat. During a couple of these dusks, he overhears the strained cries of a girl his age, desperate to lead a normal life with friends and outings. She's no other than Rea Sanka, the school idol of the local prestigious girl's academy and the sheltered heir to a rather wealthy and influential name. And, through one direct encounter, the zombie otaku and the school idol end up hanging out and working through the nights on what now became a joint project, neither being intimidated by the other. In the most natural of fashions, through this relationship the show breaks down the walls of the stereotypes that would have otherwise defined these two. Chihiro, outside his odd persona, and Rea, outside her perfect exterior, reveal themselves to us as characters of depth: sensible, quirky, considerate, kind. In fact, the show does very well, for the most part, in coaxing out the stuff of substance from many of the cast, even the most despicable ones.

Make no mistake, comedy is a prominent fixture in this show, and a welcome one at that, characters playing off one another in funny and even clever ways that forgo heavy reliance on exaggerated visuals. In fact, such restraint promotes that underlying sentiment of unease that balances the frivolity and serves to make the show compelling in a meaningful way. It's this ever-present feeling of tragedy that makes the moments that are meant to be tragic doubly so and the instances that are sweet more bitter than before, tragedy that's driven by two factors:

One is zombieism itself. Far from being just a fun, but ultimately needless accessory, the show utilizes key aspects of this condition to derive really compelling drama. The specter of mental health and physical well-being wasting away overtime looms in whatever air our two leads breathe, and while the living dead gain abilities such as super-human strength and insensitivity to pain, they also lose precious things that we, as people, take for granted. The capacity to bask in the sun, to feel warmth, to shed tears.

Two is how zombieism is applied to Rea. To live under the confines of a suffocating patriarch who's, at best, neurotically obsessive and, at worst, possessively abusive to his daughter, where his affection for her is that of a blur between love and lust, and a jealous matriarch who doesn't give a damn, she's like a songbird in a cage, crooning for her freedom. And so the songbird becomes a zombie. A tragic paradox rings true: She feels more alive dead than she otherwise felt living, and here's where everything falls together. No matter how much she aches to be normal, she can't. She's cheated out of experiencing life to the fullest because her condition chains her down.

While the show flirts around humorously with the premise of zombie love, it also holds no illusions to its implications: wish-fulfillment, if not precisely necrophilia. But taking care of a zombie girl is a lot more emotionally demanding than can be preconceived, Rea living with Chihiro as much a romantic nod as it is sanctuary and liberty from her folks, the chemistry of this relationship, from before the girl becomes a zombie, to after the girl becomes a zombie, feels undeniably genuine, and the question is brought up constantly, aloud and not. Is this a lust toward zombie girls, or a love toward a girl that now happens to be a zombie?

Any review of this show would be remiss without at least a mention about the direction. While this is Omichi's first project as the head director, he's worked on a number of Shaft projects. He's a Shaft veteran, and, for anyone familiar with Shaft's style, that influence is apparent from the get-go: camera angles, theatrical metaphor, abstract imagery etc. But rather than being a mere copy and paste of Akiyuki Shinbo, whose application of said style can be heavy-handed and sometimes irrelevant to the narrative (to make the visuals superficially striking through its unorthodox-ness, in other words), Omichi co-opts the style as something his own, that carries meaning every time is utilized in place of the mundane (which I think is rather beautifully rendered, by the way) rather than something that is abused for novelty's sake. Something like a painting or curtains rising and falling to bring the audience in and out of flashbacks adds to sad and bad memories in not only a new way. It adds a whole new layer of melancholy by probing the emotional implications of these ruminations. Something like an arm fading away into nothing in place of a normal slap of the hand conveys far more than a one-fold rejection. In addition, the pacing goes at a slow, but natural pace that's embedded with a decent amount of subtly that allows the audience to really know about the characters rather than know of them. An example of said subtly can be found in the male protagonist's usually reserved deadpan of a snark sister, Mero, both in Episode 1 and Episode 9.

Also, if it can be helped, I recommend watching Episode 9 before watching Episode 8, since Episode 9 takes place chronologically before Episode 8 anyway, and has unfortunately been perceived as a rude detour, what with it being placed in a middle of an ongoing crisis, so much so that its beauty and genius has been dismissed as mediocre filler.

All of these wonderful things being said, the show suffers substantially on a few fronts. Ecchi. There are actually interesting uses for it in the show. Sparingly, it's great when it's used to convey atmospheres of the frankness of freedom and the desperation for affection. Sparingly, it's amusing in comedic moments, or at least tolerable. However, the show also goes somewhat heavy-handed on it for titillation's sake, something which mars characterization and, in general, is just in bad taste, what with how grim, but well-told the series otherwise is. And while the characterization is very good, for the most part, the show also plays up the gimmicky troppiness of some of the characters in a way that can get irritating at times.

Now to end on a happy note, pun intended. Well, maybe not happy, per say, but the audio and visuals of the OP and especially the ED are impressive. The OP “Escoragoto” was done by nano.RIPE, and while I can't say I'm a fan of nano.RIPE's vocalist on her own, the melody, combined with the musical accompaniment, drum set, electric guitar, electric bass, makes for an energetic, uplifting piece that, even then, is tempered somewhat by some of its bitter visuals. Outside of introducing the cast, the OP does a great job saying a lot about each major character without saying anything, in particular, the segment involving Rea surrounded by her parents and household, this really fake, almost dead countenance of geniality pasted on her face when gripped on the shoulder by her father. Even the title “Escoragoto,” translated from Japanese, means “fabrication” or “pipe dream.”

But if there's any one concise thing I could show to anyone that demonstrates the level of respect the show has for its material in a brief one minute, thirty minute music video, it would be the ED “Above Your Hand,” by Anabel. Soft, sincere, beautiful vocals accompanied by classical guitar, then electric bass, then the drama of the drums set and embellishing echoes, before revolving back to guitar, the visuals, which take place in the backdrop of the bowling alley Chihiro and Rea first met personally in, plays well with the classic dichotomy of dark and light which, when the female protagonist faces the light's source, is greeted by the male protagonist. She's much a figurative as well as literal person brought back to life.

There's not a whole lot wrong with Sankarea. In fact, it does a lot of things right. It dares to something smarter, darker. More insightful, and heart-warming too. And, for the most part, it succeeds on every account.

I give Sankarea an 8 out of 10.

Music Room 2. It's the most unassuming of the three that populate Houjou High. Music Room 3 in the building across has the benefit of being bigger and newer, and the adjacent Music Room 1's been sectioned for everyone save those enlisted in the musical curriculum. Nevertheless, it's where Haruki Kitahara spends his time practicing “White Album” by Yuki Morikawa on his guitar. And out of nowhere, from the adjacent room, from the rooftop, a sound has him spellbound. A piano so soothing, a voice so transfixing, plays, sings to the song's melody. And here is where the story of White Album 2 takes off, ... where he has to know who.

An adaptation of a Leaf and Aquaplus visual novel White Album 2: Introductory Chapter, White Album 2 itself was produced by Satelight, directed by relative dark horse Masaomi Ando, and scripted by Fumiaki Maruto, who was also the original scenario writer for the source material. A qualification before going any further is that outside sharing the same universe, using the same name, and borrowing a few of the same songs, this show is completely unrelated to its predecessor, White Album. Do not expect the same characters or story from then, which I've heard from general consensus is less than favorable, to be present here.

Another qualification since this particular plot device's the bane of a number of viewers: this show is driven under the auspices of a love triangle. Feel free to refrain from watching if you absolutely can't stand them. This love triangle, however, does something somewhat different from the usual one male, two female dynamic. Haruki Kitahara, Setsuna Ogiso, and Kazusa Touma are friends. The best of friends. Friends of the dearest kind. The viewer's left with rather maddening issues, monogamy withstanding. How can the guy pursue one girl and avoid hurting the other? How can one girl pursue the guy and leave the other unscathed? How can we all remain close? Each main character wants to have their cake and eat it too, yet the show makes the reality clear: You can't. The heart wants what it wants when it's found it, despite any one party's attempts toward the contrary, and to deny it that when it's within grasp, combined with each character's own baggage, is tantamount to torture, agony of the most existential kind.

The agony's even more poignant when they're written as more than just fictional characters. For the female leads, it wouldn't be incorrect to group them under a certain personality, a certain archetype, the warm, popular school idol and the cold, aloof musical prodigy. And yet, they're more than that, never relegated to the distinction of mere stereotypes. They may be extroverts or introverts, but no one girl's one absolute. No one girl's simply the life of the party, just as no one girl's simply a shut-in. Neither is unconditionally anti-social, and both are, by their own past experiences, insecure. Loneliness is an issue for all, manifesting as much in a crowded class as in an empty room. Not one girl is perfect, their masks, their mischief, their indecisiveness, cowardice, impulsiveness, selfishness... they all show, despite themselves and their counterintuitive efforts to preserve the status quo. More than just characters, they're people, female, adolescent, and flawed through and through. And for the male lead? Outside of his sex, he's no exception, especially towards the second half.

If what you seek out of this show is your idealistic conception of what a romance should entail, then read well: that's not going to happen here. The ordeals are messy, frustrating, not because they're emotionally manipulative, but because they're real, because the characters, being who they are, are complex, conflicted, and real themselves. It's what would happen in this unextractable web of complexities and contradictions of “I wills,” “I won'ts,” and “It hurts,” where cutting one thread leads to the mangling of another.

Then there are those little touches, subtle, never exaggerated, that give these characters sincerity as well as charm. Overly sweetened coffee black, for instance, to match my craving for black milk tea in the morning for every morning.

And the show exploits these touches and others, subtleties of all kinds and layers, scattered, embedded, and incorporated into the narrative to outstanding degrees. Barring the first episode, this show's direction and script is all about subtly, about inference, of “show” and not simply “tell.” Where the camera pans, zooms, cuts, and lingers. When the facades of facial expressions slip into distress and recover to overcompensate, the eyes, the lips, the bangs. The deliberate tones in lighting, or the selective shades of lack thereof, complemented by the beautiful looking set pieces. The conversations, highly nuanced, roundabout, indirect, and, when it's called for, blistering. The use of flashbacks before the show's start, combined with the retracing of new and carefully omitted ground within past scenes at the most heart-wrenching of moments, the foreshadowing, and even the character of the character designs and clothes. Barring Episode 1, with masterful strokes of minimalist direction, interwoven seamlessly and purposefully with the music, whether bgm or insert, no one direction is ever oversold. They perfectly illustrate the personalities and emotional states of the cast at any given moment, whether they are bubbling underneath the surface or blasting corkscrew out of it. The best part, and perhaps the most refreshing part, is that it takes its time to do all of this, so that every form of direction feels natural.

The last of three qualifications, this show has a sex scene, one without shots of anything particularly precious, but it's easy to infer what's happening. That being said, it's completely within taste, substantially enhances the narrative, and subscribes to a rather waning view that sex is emotional consummation rather than just physical titillation. Also, adolescent intercourse does happen in the real world, and I personally congratulate the staff for including it in, but if you happen to be allergic to sex scenes regardless, then you're going to have trouble fully enjoying the show.

Music's, unsurprisingly, a strong element in this series. Outside of tackling the technicalities or philosophies behind notes, though practice does make perfect, the series does everything else in exploiting the medium to create meaning in the music. Outside noise fillers and mood setters, they express powerful sentiments that put the thoughts and actions of characters within context, especially with Touma, whose feelings unseen and unspoken, given her reserved nature, bleeds into her piano pieces. It adds another layer of “show” through melodies and harmonies, and even the lyrics of the songs that have them are loaded with meaning in hindsight.

And then there's the OP, “A Love That Cannot Be.” Known in romaji as “Todokanai Koi 13” by Rena Uehara in one track and Madoka Yonezawa, Ogiso's seiyuu, in another, its vocals, combined with electronic keyboard, electric guitar, and a synthetic backtrack, rocks and croons of a passionate nostalgia, of happier times in younger days past caked in a film of melancholy. The visual detail's not quite Kyoto Animation or P.A. Works standards, but it's still really good, and the visual content corresponds excellently with the music, blurs, glare, overlays, and the waning light from sunsets. It also features visually vague moments that occur in the show that contribute to this aesthetic, but aren't really spoilers since they're only fully significant in, once again, hindsight. It's best thought as a bittersweet reminisce by an adult of his or her turbulent youth. White Album 2 is winter-themed, and snow can be beautiful, if chilling. In addition, the transitions are handled with a quiet, yet powerful mix of grace and dignity. It also attempts to do this interesting thing with omitting Touma's face until Episode 3 to reflect a certain in-show direction, which would have been clever had it not been compromised by something in Episode 1.

The ED for Episodes 3-6 and 8-10 (Episode 7 doesn't have an ED), “Sayonara no Koto,” or “Goodbye” also by Uehara, flows in the same thematic vein, with recaps of scenes of the episode now past, an evolution from a delicate, yet noble instrumental chorus of electric synthetics, keyboard, classic guitar, violin, then vocals, then electric bass, then drumset, then electric guitar, before it reaches a climax with a vigorous and progressive rock beat, and, finally, settling back down to its quiet origins. Episodes 2, 11, and 12 have their own Uehara EDs, “closing 13,” “After All ~Tsuzuru Omoi~,” or “After All ~Writing Down My Feelings~” and “Twinkle Snow 13” respectively are also great in their own ways but, for the sake of brevity, I'll refrain from their music other than saying they accompany rather significant moments with a certain someone. And after all, they're better enjoyed in context than not. That goes double for the insert concert songs, "White Album," "Sound of Destiny," and the OP, since, outside of singing, they contain some really nice surprises involving solos.

Episode 1. It's not a bad episode, all in all; in fact, I think its conclusion was very well choreographed. Still, compared to its successive sisters, this episode has a couple of things that stick out like a sore thumb. There's a questionable amount of exposition within it that I think was a bit superfluous. A few carefully chosen words especially towards the end, coupled with the music, would have been better for the mood, but by far the biggest concern I have was the beginning, where the show previewed portions of the concert from Episode 7. I suspect it was supposed to be kind of a hook, but, returning to an earlier instance of direction which could have been clever, the omission of Touma's facial features seemed to be intended as a means for suspense that also worked in character, given her cold, aloof exterior. While it may have been no surprise that she would play one of the center role, what she looked like would, had it not been spoiled earlier by that flash forward.

He has to know, climbing the stairs to the roof, treading the outer walls of the school from stories high to get into the adjacent room's open window. The rest is history.

It's been an unparalleled experience to have watched this show and I sincerely hope after reading this review, everyone who's interested watch it as well. It is one of the most finely told romantic dramas I have ever had the pleasure to see, and while the ending was conclusive, since this is only the Introductory Chapter, the story's not even over yet.

I give White Album 2 a 10 out of 10.

Senshado. Tankery. The Way of the Tank.

“A strong, but delicate art that aims to make women more polite, graceful, modest, and gallant, both on and off the battlefield. To learn tankery is to armor the heart of a maiden, the soul that embraces and burns with femininity. Intense and strong like a tank's iron. Cute and lively, like the clattering of its track. And finally, passionate and precise, like its main weapon. If you train in tankery, you will become a better wife, a better mother, a better student, and a better worker. You will become healthier, kinder, stronger, and men from all over the ... world will fall to your feet-”

Well, if that's not the most hilariously nonchalant, yet enticingly charismatic recruitment narrative I've heard for anything, ever, much less tanks. Sign me up- Wait a minute. I'm a man...

Girls und Panzer was directed by Tsutomu Mizushima and scripted by Reiko Yoshida. Character designs were done by Humikane Shimada. Produced by Actas as this studio's first independent work, we follow the story primarily through the perspective of Miho Nishizumi. Strong-armed by the Student Council into joining Ooari's revived Tankery elective, Miho Nishizumi finds herself responsible, as the only individual on her team experienced with Armored Fighting Vehicle, or AFV, strategy and tactics, for leading her friends and other saps excited by the prospect of operating tanks, gaining credits, or becoming better women, to victory in the national Senshado tournament. If not, there's always next year, right? Why is Miho so knowledgeable about tank operations to begin with? Speaking of which, why is she, a Nishizumi no less, a familial relation to one of the oldest and most feared Senshado think tanks of Japan, here in Ooarai to begin with?

I'm going to make this point clear: “Girls und Panzer” is not a play on “Girls und Pantsu.” Director Mizushima made in emphatic that he would tolerate no panty shots in his series. In fact, outside a couple of onsen scenes, which, aside for some minor cleavage, are rather tame in any event, there's little to no overtly skeevy fan service in this show at all, however cynically exploitative one may conceive the concept of female adolescents juxtaposed to military hardware. For all intents and purposes, Girls und Panzer is a show about girls and panzers, a show that combines slice of life and tank battles, and you know what? It works.

How? Because of how seriously and seamlessly the show engages in both premises, provided that people are willing to suspend their disbelief about the absurdity of teenage high school girls driving steel ton AFVs. Particularly pressing is the willingness to tolerate this show's usage of moe. Moe is a far encompassing term, but the majority of the anime community outside Japan's come to associate it with cute and often underage members of the female sex. In this context, moe in shows carries with it a rather negative connotation of shallow, white-knight fetishization when relied upon as the primary draw. To juxtapose full-on moe next to weaponry is another fetish entirely, and I don't fully disagree with that assessment. It certainly has some truthful merit, but it's also lead to an unfortunate overgeneralization that any show that contains cute girls and slice of life is meant to be fap material for pedophilic shut-ins. To characterize that stereotype to Girls und Panzer, I have one thing to that.

Nuts.

In context, this series has shown that it is perfectly mature enough to use both to drive part of its narrative and add depth as well as charm, because at the very most, it is only used as an element, and one that isn't imposing at that. Some of this medium's most universally celebrated shows have incorporated elements that are, without a doubt, superficial, and yet they remain lauded by many, because they were more than just that. Girls und Panzer should be considered no differently.

Slightly less pressing, but still of utmost importance to understand is that, beyond rejecting or even merely tolerating this show's mainly predominantly female and adolescent cast, this fact should be taken with sensible humor. It's a universe where entire cities are straddled on giant aircraft carriers, where Senshado is a martial art, a pastime, and a sport where in-universe precautions are taken to ensure that casualties are rare, where the tank crews are staffed entirely by women because it's considered a womanly pursuit. Instead of scrutinizing on how situating cities on ships are possible, harking on tankery as a sport is stupid because it's dangerous in real life, becoming indignant on how it's making a derogatory statement of propaganda towards men, ask yourself... Does it matter? Is it explained in context? And honestly, do you think the staff, who happen to be filled with male individuals, is going out of their way to say that women are better than men, potentially alienate the very demographic that they know would make up the consumer base for their DVDs and BDs? It's funny, and it's even more so because the cast takes the world they belong to and the sport they participate in seriously, like it's a natural thing because to them, it is. That doesn't preclude taking everything this series has to offer with a grain of salt, only that we manage to see events from their perspective. By extension, it also applies to the other competitor schools, whose tank commanders are defined by nationalistic traits similar to the ones in Hetalia, though with more nuance and less homo, enough to be amusing without immersion-breaking.

Also an absolute joy, at least for similarly interested minds like mine, are the seamlessly integrated historical references scattered and layered throughout the series. If no one caught on to its invocation earlier on in this review, the original utterance of “Nuts” was a famous response uttered by an embattled American general to his German counterpart regarding the latter's demand to have the Allied command stranded at Bastogne surrender during the Battle of the Bulge. Interestingly enough, the show makes that very same reference in Episode 9. If I was a girl in Ooari High School, I'd definitely would have found myself riding along in a StuG III. I'm a history enthusiast and war buff, and to pick out how much effort was spent in integrating these references into the show is outright outstanding. These references transcend not only utilize words; they transcend them. As samples, Episode 5 delves into the effect that intelligence gathering and deception has determining the currents of battle. Episode 6 goes into a totally fitting monologue on the history of the American M4 Sherman tank. Episode 9 demonstrates Soviet T-34 tank strategy in action and highlights the importance of morale during armed engagement, and Episode 11 makes a subtle reference to the Germany's lightning armored mobilization into the heart of France, bypassing the heavily fortified Maginot Line using the thickly wooded Ardennes Forest. Hell, one of the characters is based off Field Marshal Erwin Rommel.

A delight for tank aficionados and a great source of tangential learning from everyone else are the tanks themselves. While originally made for anime goers, overtime, it's gotten attention and praise from many tank fans as well. Going so far as to hiring a military expert to advise its creators during production, this show has taken great pains to make sure each tank looks and runs as authentically as can practically be, from the stops of a Type 89 to the rivets of a Panzer IV. Some liberties no doubt were taken for entertainment value, such as tread speed and pressure fatigue, but, for the most part, it was dead on. The series goes so far as even to even illustrate the drawbacks of individual AFVs, such as the Type 89's pathetic show of firepower against most of its contemporary armor and the Porsche Tiger's awkward tendency towards engine malfunctions.

But how do these tanks look when animated? Fantastic. CG has always been a tricky technique to incorporate within cell, but here, not only do the tanks look absolutely fluid, rendered in CG, on the move, and scenic, rendered in cell, when they aren't. Not a significant detail is lost during these transitions, all of which to make the show that much more thrilling to the pupils. This isn't even mentioning how amazing the muzzle flashes, dust clouds, smoke screens, and shell bombardments look. In fact, the show's art, from the backdrops and set pieces, to the lighting and shading, are all just sights for sore eyes. And, for what it's worth, I think the character designs aren't half bad either, once you get used to them.

The tanks might look nice during a fight, but how's the actual fight itself? Rather than simply piling one bigger spectacle after another, the show goes out of its way to use strategy and tactics, the actual strategy and tactics of tank warfare to move the currents of battle from one point to the next. Offense vs defense. Open field vs urban combat. All-out assaults vs hit and run strafes. Team Formations. Rear Guards. Positioning. Scouting. Decoys. Feints. Traps. All of these maneuvers and more are utilized, taking into account mission objectives, area surroundings, general, specific, and overall tank characteristics, the most innovative of them responsible by Ms. Nishizumi and her knack for bold, unorthodox, but nonetheless wildly creative and effective solutions. That doesn't go to show everything she does is brilliant. She, as much as the other tank commanders, have their shares of brilliant moments and demoralizing blunders, but unlike the others, Miho, like all great and potentially great military leaders, is able to adapt to the fickleness of the battlefield and, with a little luck, turn temporary setbacks into permanent victories.

Like candy, constant excitement proves tiring to audiences after a while of non-stop consumption. One answer to this dilemma is greater and greater amounts of spectacle to keep them interested at that same level. It gets to a point though where the previous spectacles become harder and harder to top, to the point that the next attempt might either end up a dud because of desensitization or be so ridiculous that it breaks immersion. Sole dedication to this method is especially troublesome for a series whose spectacle relies on some realism, like Girls und Panzer's tank battles. The other answer then is to generate pacing, to allow the audience to have lulls in their action so that the next action sequence that comes about feels that much sweeter to people. Girls und Panzer is an excellent example of good pacing, and it all stems from its slice of life. The show begins in media res, the hook, where we get a tempting taste of all the tanks rolling along. Then, we start at the top, getting grounded into the characters, the setting, and the situation, building up for another climax all the while. We get a match, then we get a break with the characters. We get another match, fight and flight, then another, rest and digest, one climax after another, until we get the final one and we're blown off our rockers, pumping our fists, gasping for breathe because of what was just witnessed, and it's significant because it's the first time those reactions happened with this much intensity. First times, just by their inherent nature, can be really intense.

Now for the characters. Being that it is but one cour, the show can't afford to linger on any one person for too long without ruining battle momentum, considering how many of the girls take up the screen. Outside of Miho then, it relies on a principle that shows should be following more in the first place: “Show, don't tell.” Compared to other series, Girls und Panzer has much less verbal hand-holding. Off the field and especially on it, each vignette of these characters doing something carries with them precious statements that speak volumes about them on their own: their personalities, their proficiencies, their interests, their aspirations. Granted, outside of Miho and perhaps her personal tank crew, all four of these aspects are relatively simplified, but, using inference, they are simplicity thoroughly defined, and above all, a unifying message between all of them gets across. The message is especially poignant in Episode 5, where the Student Council shows Miho their memories of Ooari using a photo album. They never explicitly say that they love their school, but that right there is more than enough to convey to the audience, or at least to me, how much it means to them. This method of narrative also extends beyond to the plot, the tactics, and the tanks as well, so that not a single moment is wasted trying to explain something the viewers can contextually figure out on their own. None of it feels contrived, and you know what? I appreciate that the staff assumes us, or at least the majority of us, as intelligent enough to do some mental legwork.

For what it is, the character depth is fine the way it is, and any further fleshing out is better off relegated to future sequels. That being said, I do have one complaint about the characters in regards to their friendships, particularly the main heroines. It's a criticism that's more valid in the beginning, and it might be just my cynicism or ressentiment talking. They're a bit idealistic. To create such fast and true relationships with people to the point they are willing to give up their preferred elective and stand up against the Student Council with you despite having just recently met... I end up asking myself: Why have I never met friends like that? In addition, some of the character drama could be better executed, like Hana Izuzu's for example, as some of it seems rather sudden, even taking slice of life into account. That being said, both issues are far from enough to be a major detriment. I guess predictability in terms of storytelling and character development also may be a drag for some, but I've always considered the means rather than the ends to be something I take to heart more.

On the music side of things, I won't deny I'm rather partial to marches. Lighthearted yet prideful, dignified yet stirring, pompous yet boisterous, combined with the fact that they comprise the most memorable portions of the OST, original scores and borrowed ones, British, American, Russian, German, I found myself stomping my feet to them in rhythm fairly often. But more than how I like them on their own, I love how they are used in tandem with the show's visuals. Since there's only so many I can talk about, I'll try to keep examples controllable. My elation was rather high, for instance, when an abridged version of “U.S. Field Artillery March” by John Phillip Sousa was playing alongside a formation of moving Shermans. Then there's a lovely band arrangement and seiyuu vocal chorus of the popular folksong Russian “Katyusha” by Mantei Blanter and Mikhail Isakovsky to a mobile spread of Soviet armor. It's quite likely that some of the pronunciation may have been off, but from what I could tell, they tried rather earnestly to come close, and regardless, the singing's outstanding. Unfortunately, it was cut upon official release to international audiences due to private domain issues. Lest I forget is the anime original “Senshado March: Panzer Vor!” and its melodically constant derivatives by Shiro Hamaguchi. A love letter to of everything great about military marches, the steady cadence of snares and horned bass, the bombasts of cymbals, the blasts of trumpets, the tight, orderly frivolity of the piccolo, it's a wonderful piece that stands on its own to the classics.

I'd be remiss to forget discussing the OP and ED, so, being obviously J-Pop, how do they hold up? For J-Pop, they hold up pretty well. The OP, Choucho's “Dreamrider,” incorporates a nice rhythmic riff at the beginning and end reminiscent of march cadences, but it otherwise uses electric guitars, electronic synthetics, and drum sets, and the art and animation, scenic and fluid, outside introducing tank teams, hold no illusions in emphasizing what's given from the title. And yet, through, once again, a great use of pacing both from the great vocals and engaging visuals, everything feels very dynamic, like, suspension of disbelief withstanding, it's going somewhere good. The ED, “Enter Enter MISSION!” by the seiyuu of the main heroines, can't help but be incredibly charming in how competent, enthusiastic, and earnest the singers are, despite the sappy atmosphere. Plus, the visuals consist of chibi versions girls of the various Ooari armor crews riding in super deformed versions of their tanks. You'd have to be a pretty jaded and bitter anime fan not to crack a smile at that.

Overall, once one gets used to the aforementioned concerns, Girls und Panzer is a fun show that, while not incredibly “deep” or complex, should be given credit as much for its technical precision and narrative intuition as well as its terrific music, its played-straight humor, its abundant historical references, its smart, well-paced, and exhilarating tank scraps, and yes, its cute, but never quite fetishized, high school girls.

Now, time for some light historical research.

I give Girls und Panzer an 8 out of 10.

Suppose zombies weren't the brainless shambling horrors mainstream media portrays them as. Suppose zombies live otherwise normal lives like you and me. So then, how can you tell them from us? Simple. Take a chainsaw, preferably a sturdy one, and saw suspected zombie in half. If said suspect continues to twitch, then he's a zombie. Congratulations. If said suspect doesn't, well- But wait! Have you ever wondered if you can find out the same with magical garment boys?

Adapted from a light novel series of the same name by Shinichi Kimura, Is This a Zombie? was directed by Takaomi Kanasaki and produced by Studio Deen. Character ... designs, original and anime, were provided by Kobuichi and Shinobu Tagashira respectively. We follow one Ayumu Aikawa who, after finding a random sword sticking out of his gut before keeling over, was reanimated by the mysterious, beautiful, and seemingly mute necromancer Eucliwood Hellscythe. The both of them now living under the same roof as servant and master, our undead male protagonist tries to live his school life the best he can without anyone normal finding out. Trouble finds him, however, juggling the eccentric company of ninja vampires and magical garment girls wielding leaf blades and chainsaws on top of the caveats that being a zombie in his universe entails, and suddenly, he's also living with a vampire ninja and a magical garment girl. And, for whatever reason, he magically becomes a magical garment boy. Yeah, boy, though unfortunately, the costume's not tailored to his specific gender.

Lots and lots of random, over-the-top hilarity ensues, and it's precisely the random and over-the-top qualities that make the comedy work well in this series. The show's no stranger to exploiting anime tropes, most notably the -dere series, but the show is so audaciously gung-ho about each of them that their comedic value stays fairly constant. In addition to these running gag anchors are just a stream of ridiculously absurd developments, puns, gags, one after another, keeping the funny consistently fresh for a good portion of the show.

The characterization deserves a mention. Granted, it's not going to win any accolades for it, but for what it is, a random, over-the-top harem comedy, I appreciate that the show were able to characterize these girls as individuals outside of their designated stereotypes, and that they show a significant amount competence independent of the male protagonist. Aikawa himself also comes off as a decent character, with humorous quirks and relatable worries. You know, ones that don't constantly scream pervert all the time and end up with him getting constantly decked. Getting beaten down's a reality for him, but it's not something the staff overly abuses for constant laughs. Outside fairly harmless daydreams about Eucliwood, or Eu, he doesn't harbor any obsessive lust for the women that surround him; in fact, he genuinely respects, cares, and tries his damndest to shield them from grief.

Outside comedy, at least for the more episodic first half, there's also some fairly decent drama, the majority of it centering around Eu and how her necromantic abilities, powerful enough to raise the dead, and possibly more powerful still, are related to her seeming inability to speak. Outside her exotic headdress and armor plate, outside her quiet, emotionless exterior, is a girl who's lonely and, because of circumstances, has been alone until now.

I mentioned first half, because the show starts to come off from its seams by the second once there's a transition to something more plot-centric. Simply put, the writers behind this series do not know how to write a decent plot, especially one meant to be dramatic. Here random, over-the-top, and this show's brand of comedic are not welcome. Everything supposedly linear comes out fragmented, everything supposedly serious comes out unfulfilling, and everything supposedly silly comes out contrived. For instance, we got a life-threatening situation over here involving someone being crushed to death. Is it really a smart time to be stupid by making the perpetrator a giant plushie? We got a world-ending scenario involving the creation of a portal to hell on top of kidnapping and coersion. Is it the best time to animate a completely nonsensical scene of walking in to everyone nonchalantly eating pasta? The potential those few precious moments of drama early to make something delightful is wasted on the show's later lack of focus and tact.

Utilizing the heavy elements of the electric guitar and drum set, OP “Ma-Ka-Se-Te Tonight,” or “Leave-It-To-Me Tonight” by Iori Nomizu is strong enough rock to get into for those who are fans of that genre, coupled with the action-packed introductions of the main cast in a rather bleak, apocalyptic setting, but overall, in my opinion, it wouldn't be the number I'd use to characterize this show, the action is more a supplementary element than a major focus, however well-animated it may be at times. I'd also have to question, limited my understanding of the Japanese language may be, why opening seconds grammatically misuse some of the romaji for the show's title. ED “Kizuite Zombie-sama, Watashi wa Classmate desu,” or “Notice me Mr. Zombie, I am your Classmate,” fits the bill better. Essentially a duet by Rie Yamaguchi, who also seiyuus one of the characters, and Manzo, it has this goofy sense charm that playfully shifts tempo, style, and pitch at sections to fit with the visual whimsy of the male protagonist dying while in heat. That's a double entendre.

A generally funny show that doesn't go too overboard on fan service, as far as harem comedies go, with a surprising amount of depth, the second half soured what would otherwise have been a mainly positive experience. If the staff could get a better handle at working the plot, or just making future content more episodic like before, then I'd be a happy zombie.

Speaking of which, it occurred to me that there were less messy ways for sniffing out zombies than using chainsaws. Oops.

I give Is This a Zombie? a 7 out of 10.

Ah, what do we wonder have here? A fine lot, a fine lot indeed, all wonderfully fat and skinny and in between. Come to tea then to wonder? Hmm? A wonderland you say? A wonderland! A wonderland? Fallen down the rabbit hole, you wonder? Bees in your bonnets? Butterflies in your stomach? Bats in your belfry? No need to wonder... You're already here, Wonder! It's wonderland! A wonderfully wonderful wonder of a wonderland, Wonder. But you must have wondered by now if Wonderland's the name, Mr. Wonder? No, Mrs. Wonder. It's-

...the Abyss.

W-what the hell? Who's there?

Pandora Hearts was adapted by a manga of the same ... name by Jun Mochizuki. Produced by Xebec, and directed by Takao Kato, the story takes place in a universe of two different dimensions... of sorts: a humanity inhabited Victorian era-esque setting of corsets and petticoats, and a macabre reimagining of Lewis Caroll's Wonderland, the latter infested with eldritch abominations known as Chains with apparent appetites for manflesh. There's very little doubt that this show took its inspiration from Alice in Wonderland. We follow Oz Vessalius, a somewhat mischievous, but otherwise goodhearted youth and heir to one of the four great dukedoms of the realm. Due to circumstances involving a seemingly brief stint in the Abyss, a white-themed Alice choking him within an inch of his life and a red-themed Alice, henceforth known as simply Alice, enslaving/contracting with whatever was left, Oz, the chosen one, the red-themed Alice, and the loyal attendants/oddly dispositioned allies of the Chain-smoking agency dubbed Pandora, set off to unravel the mysteries of this Abyss and its governess, its Will. Adventure with sprinkles of madness, this show is sure to satisfy shounen itches.

Introspection atop heaps of despair, this show is also sure to interest those looking for a little more. A caveat of note toward this otherwise sensationalist review: existentialism. Most of the main characters are experiencing or have gone through some form of existentialist crisis. Personal existentialist crises framed with questions such as... Why was I born? Why do I continue to live? Is there any reason for me to? There's Oz, with his eerily resigned nature toward distressing events and his stilted affirmation toward martyrdom stemming from the trauma of being an unwanted son. There's Alice, with her past memories' absence and the anguish of being perceived incomplete, the outsider, alone. Self-sacrifice for self-gratification. Suspended animation, or rather, its sensation. In fact, most of the main cast are experiencing or have experienced these issues at some point or another, and most are pursuing numerous truths, the truth behind the numerous tragedies connected to the Abyss, the truth behind Will of the Abyss, the truth behind the Abyss itself. But most interestingly of all these veracities are the ones that are personal. For Oz and Alice specifically, they need the truth in confronting their own demons before progressing elsewhere, no matter how painful that may be.

Then after, is finding the truth behind the melody. “Lacie” in all its reiterative forms, more predominantly as a simple music box number, is a work of art. Played on its own many times throughout the show, without words, with more than just feelings, this melody weaves a tale of its own. Rather than one of one-sided angst, it croons of tragedy as it compels its listeners to muse why music so beautiful, a product of which can only find in happy days, is so sad. Coupled with details of the story seen and spoken, the musical yarn is given clarity. The story, in turn, is given weight. Crafted by the talents of one Ms. Yuki Kaiijura, who composed the rest of the OST, a special mention must be said of the OP, “Parallel Hearts,” by Kaijura's Fiction Junction. With a similarly soul-rending violin solo at the beginning and haunting vocals throughout, the crescendos and decrescendos of the song match well with the fluctuating intensity of the visuals, even if those visuals do little more than introduce the settings and cast members. The EDs, ED1 “maze,” and ED2 “Watashi wo Mitsukete,” translated “Find Me,” by savage genius are of a more obligatory note by comparison. ED1, which hosts its own pretty and well-paced dynamics, is comprised mainly of Alice, suspended, vulnerable, insecure because of her lack of an identity, interspaced by Oz providing just that. ED2 is of a lighter toned portrayals of the major recurring characters accompanied by singing that wouldn't be half bad if it stayed on pitch towards the end.

The animation is consistent, nothing as eye-catchingly comparable as some of more scenic and uncanny set pieces, the notable exception coming to mind being all those murderous dolls from the latter, save those demarcatedly anime forms of stylized humor, deliberately deformed head sizes, facial expressions, and whatnot. Funny for those who like that humor, and honestly, it'd be rare to find an anime fan that wasn't, but there's no denying that, on its own, it's silly to a fault. And that quality's a problem for a show like this, especially at its inception. Here I am, breathing in the setting, the atmosphere, the substance of the established relationships, the gravity of the sinister elements at play, and then a stupid anime mug later, my immersion's shattered, and I'm left disgruntled trying to re-piece it into a semblance or even shell of what it was from earlier.

It becomes less of an issue the further on the story progresses, but the comedy, however balanced with its dramatic counterpart never really changes from this aforementioned nature, and then a new issue erupts revolving around the characters. We see our main cast in serious situations. We see our main cast in silly ones. Yet we never see much in between, and because of that, the relationships in this show lack real grounding. Real relationships constitute more than just stress and hijinks; they are made up of normal moments, of people sharing their interests in fairly realistic ways. That doesn't mean humor can't be implemented to spice these moments up, but if they are to feel sincere, then they can't be more than just elements.

Then there's another bothersome feature that has less to do with the animation and more to do with the direction. Eyes are said to be windows to the soul; it's especially true for anime, since eyes are an effective way of demonstrating powerful emotions without the need for any further body language. It's an attractive for production studios running under tight budgets, but Pandora Hearts abuses it so much on the male main protagonist that it becomes sensationally meaningless, and I'd argue it's uncharacteristic of Oz to be eliciting such pained eye expressions every episode to other episode. Such direction has to be used sparingly if the intent behind them is to signal that shit's hit the fan, because if the show as a whole is polluted with them, then it's hard to take them seriously.

Lastly is this show's heavy-handed reliance on flashbacks. Flashbacks are viable means of characterization and plot progression, especially when the object of them is to coax drama. Anyone who's a fan of Mahou Shoujo Madoka★Magica would attest to their effectiveness when used properly. However, Pandora Hearts does two things wrong with them. One, it uses them incessantly. Two, it uses them right before or during the majority of the series' numerous dire situations. The dramatic value a flashback may carry over to a narrative diffuses the more often it is used. Coupled with the fact that it's often used when it's convenient, to introduce it right at the moment where we are supposed to care about characters the most, it borders on contrivance. The only flashbacks I find reasonable are the ones around Alice, whom the audience is supposed to regard as somewhat mysterious, one of the major plot drives being that she's unlocking memories as she goes. It also helps that those memories are also pretty tragic.

And there you have it. Filled with execution flaws, but nonetheless layered with substantive ambition and terrific music, minding the rough start it's a show to try out when you have the time. That's me, and before I break into anymore literary nonsense, I think I'm going to get a new hat. The one I'm currently wearing is rather nice, but it's kind of old and, to be honest, I think it's giving me migraines. Could be the trapped dust, or maybe it's the mercury. How's that idiom go? Mad as a-

...the Abyss.

W-who keeps saying that?

I give Pandora Hearts a 7 out of 10.

Based on the title, the average individual would probably conjure projections of some bleak and black post-apocalyptic world. Based on the show's artwork, the average individual would conjure preconceptions of some bright and fuzzy fantasy setting. It's really neither, and yet it's kind of both, and that's one of the things that makes Humanity has Declined both refreshing and intriguing.

Produced by AIC, Humanity has Declined was adapted from a light novel series of the same name by Tanaka Romeo. Direction was handled by Kishi Seiji, Script, by Makoto Uezu. Character designs, original and anime, respectively, were drawn up by Sunaho Tobe and Kyuuta Sakai. As ... the title suggests, humanity is on the decline. The best years of its existence behind it, as evidenced by the towering, overgrown, crumbling concrete infrastructures, the return to simpler, more old-world edifices for inhabitance, and the anachronistic technological spottiness of goods and services that seem to become increasingly regressive by the day, mankind as we know it fades closer to obscurity and closer still to extinction, though, surprisingly enough, its members don't seem to mind all that much. Replacing humans as the apex species of the planet are... well, fairies, tiny humanoid beings characterized by ever present smiles, squeaky voices, cute costumes, insatiable appetites for sugar and fun, childish blatancies for vocalizing morbid absurdisms, and penchants for creating surreal and fantastical scenarios that happen to defy the laws of physics. The last characterization being one of understandable concern, the United Nations Conciliatory Council (UNCC) has established positions of mediators to interact with the local fairy communities, for purposes of beneficence. So enters Watashi, translated from Japanese to English as “I,” so known because of her tendency to address herself as such in her sentences, since no one character actually refers to each other by their names, except that one episode with the anthropomorphic satellites, and that other episode where she ended up giving labels to a few fairies, though, through some ridiculous turn of events, triggered the destruction of an entire metropolis...

...yeah. The show has roughly three major narrative appeals, and by far the one with the most spectacle is the seemingly random, over-the-top insanity. A walking, talking loaf of red carrot juice bread committing suicide. Headless, fowlnecked, cigar-smoking chickens taking over the world. Defeathered poultry crashing into stained-glass churches to the tune of Ave Maria. A manga renaissance ushered by the revival of yaoi doujinshi. Time paradogs. A giant cat having it out against a giant squid, both of which are made of sentient jelly. Fairies saying the darndest things with the darndest expressions, and the list of absurdities pile on, though, as Episode 4 observed, the implementation of this form of constant spectacle gets gimmicky and tiring after a while without something balance it in between, and, honestly, there isn't enough in the series anyway to sustain interest purely by its own merits, as evidenced by the boredom of spectacle sponges in the audience.

What they didn't appreciate was that all of this insanity, and much of the content in between, has purpose. This purpose, and the second major narrative appeal of this show, is social satire. This show makes satirical jabs at humanity, from the systems people organize themselves under, to the attitudes and beliefs that people adopt, framing them in such manners where they are laid bare, taken to their natural extremes, and then cut up and re-expose in such ridiculous fashions that, in the midst of the frivolity and joviality, it begs the question as to why they exist and place so much importance in real life. And often in the show, what is being made fun of can lead into inquiries of issues that are sore and festering, social commentary, in other words, from the origin of mandatory noise flashes from video recorders and camera phones, the outlandish conclusions of factory tours, and the pervasiveness of risque BL entertainment, to the dangers of religion, the excesses of corporatism, and the stagnancy of civilization. This affects more than just the numerical count of the human population. The show's called Humanity has Declined, not Humanity has Fallen, with reason. Without being self-righteous, this show points out and criticizes that in fiction and real life that has made us less human. It does so not only by means of caricatures. It does so by personifying our most ruinous traits into these tiny, humanoid beings, handing them supernatural powers as tools, and framing their actions not only as entertainment to enjoy, but case studies to examine. However, like Mawaru Penguindrum is like with much of its symbolism, much of the social satire, especially when its more indirect and subtle, can easily fly over the heads of the less than observant, and even the observant may have a hard time grasping everything without repeated watches. Episodes and mini arcs being what they are, the social satire also has the tendency to overgeneralize...

...which leaves the third appeal for, well, last: Watashi, the observer, the commentator, and the character. Through her eyes, we see the over-the-top insanity and social satire in a thoughtfully amusing way, one that cuts right into the heart of the matter. Never before since Kyon from the Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya have we a main protagonist with as deadpan and dry a wit as hers. Where spectacle is absent and satire is no where to be found, she compensates with her sarcastic internal reactionary monologues, sarcastic external reactionary quips, and her hilariously... wait for it... sarcastic facial and bodily expressions. And yet, like Kyon, she's more than than a one-way medium. She's more than this passive observer and pretentious commentator. She's not immune to humanity's shadows. Adopting a controlled, motherly role in line with her responsibilities as a mediator, one she executes with expressions of duty and grace, she has her own wishes apart from that of a mediator, her own desires, her own reservations, her own issues, and they are able to break through, both in her cynicism and beyond. Despite her extraordinary level of intelligence and perceptibility, her self-centered tendencies toward pride and sloth gets in her way of bettering the situation she's in. But despite that, she's also made decisions and taken actions beyond the call of duty that she very well knows would worm her into more trouble. Ones she intuitively believed were right, and would be loathe to flounder on, more so than her disdain for idiots and exertion. Ones of which are due to past and maybe even presently lingering insecurities.

No discussion of this show is complete without an analysis of this show's visuals, which, harkening back to the introductory paragraph, is far from being the grimdark end of the world scenario we might imagine the show would take place in judging solely from the title. The light, fluffy, impressionistic pastel backdrops and character designs contrasts somewhat sharply with the stiltedly jaded humor and serious subject matter of the content. Juxtaposed with each other, it creates a uniquely refreshing, but clearly dissonant atmosphere, an aura that is deliberately meant to put the audience at enough unease to make us stop and think about the subtext behind what we are watching.

The series has its asides apart from those previously mentioned. While the issues and concepts utilized throughout show are presented in often humorous, yet nevertheless clever ways, there are snags to be mended in regards to when comedy transitions into drama, an unfortunately bad habit of Director Seiji's works, if Angel Beats is any indicator. Were you to isolate the two, he can direct dramatic scenes rather evocatively relative to his comedic ones. He just has a hard time leading into them; comedy turns into drama quite abruptly, without much in the way of a dramatic foundation. Anyone with a macro-oriented mind would find the turn about jarring. The characters fail to be fully sympathizable because we have little to no cue beforehand to take them with a modicum of maturity. The Fairies' Homecoming, the arc where this error is most egregious, coupled with The Fairies' Time Management, partly due to its more round about content and the anime community's unwillingness to let the Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya's (2009) Endless Eight go, results in a disparity of engagement between the first third and the last third of the show. On that note, Humanity has Declined, just like the Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya (2006), features its episodes chronologically out of order. However, where the latter had it done because of pacing issues, the former's reason is more questionable, and it doesn't have the novelty of freshness on its side like the Haruhi Suzumiya franchise had in its inception on TV. Perhaps it makes for a better hook? But at the cost of a disjointed plot and characterizations? A valid complaint arising from this fragmentation are the intent behind the placement of episodes that focus on Watashi's development as a school youth. Alone, they are excellent, but taken together with the rest of the show, they seem to be kind of an inconsistent duck to follow in the wake of previous shenanigans. Maybe they would have been better off at the beginning of air time? But then again, would we care about Watashi's back story otherwise?

The OP “Real World” was done by nano.RIPE, and while in the camp of those people who aren't particularly fond of their work, my ire directed more to the singer than anyone else, here, the sickly sweet vocals, combined with the energetic beat of the percussion, electric bass, and electric guitar, synchronizes well with the repetitively off-kilter choreography of the OP's visuals and the stilted humor of the show itself. In addition to presenting the audience with a taste of the setting is a short, but interesting slide between an impressionistic depiction of a city to an impressionistic depiction of a grassland, consistent with, once again, the show's title. The ED “Yume no Naka no Watashi no Yume” or “My Dream Within a Dream,” by Masumi Ito, takes both the vocals and the visuals to a whole new level, the uncannily minor key and accidental note croons, complemented by drums, some minor electric flourishes, and a pervading more classical guitar, paralleling the impressionistic silhouette of Watashi, and, by figurative extension, humanity, motioning past edifices littered with fairies, an allegoric representation of the cycle of civilization: growth, peak, and decline. In fact, it fits quite nicely with the events of Episode 9.

Despite some problems in execution, what we have here is an intelligently written and thought-provoking piece. It's full of funny spectacles, biting social satires, refreshingly intriguing aesthetics, and superb characterization on the part of the female protagonist.

Watashi's more than just this vehicle of detached cynical snark. She's more than just humanity. Watashi mo hyuuman desu.

I give Humanity has Declined an 8 out of 10.

Shigofumi. A letter (fumi) delivered from the afterlife (shigo). Hence, Shigofumi. The final message left by one who's died. Letters from the departed. Strong feelings are required to be able to send a Shigofumi. Passionate love. Deep belief. And... hatred.

The above paragraph comprised of lines from Episodes 1 and 2 of this show, Shigofumi was adapted from the light novel series of the same name by Ryo Amamiya by J.C. Staff, known for other anime franchises such as Raildex, Shakugan no Shana, and Toradora! With direction by Tatsuo Satou, character designs, original and anime, by Kouhaku Kuroboshi and Tetsuya Kawakami, respectively, the series revolves predominantly ... around the existence of Shigofumi, the people they affect when delivered, and the mysteries of one particular mail carrier, Fumika. One of the usual hallmarks of contemporary J.C. Staff productions are that they are romances, or at least characterized by a major romantic aspect. While there aren't any inherent disparities of story quality between those that entertain strong, budding romances and those that don't, such a model limits what can be expected from this studio. Surprised was I, then, at how antithetically bleak and flat the color scheme is like throughout the show, almost like the show wants to have feel uneasy. The heavy use of fading sunlight, shadows, and symbolism compound that discomfort.

Surprised was I, then, that this show felt something more like the content from Kino's Journey, complete with social commentary on disturbing issues of cruelty and callousness, philosophical inquiries on life and death, and an inorganic chatty companion. Even more to the point, the studio went so far as to subvert their informal trademark in the opening episode. In regards to the quality of this content's presentation, it is presented exceedingly well. This show does not hold back the reality of its subject material and its aftermath: exploitation, abuse, abandonment, conformity, parental irresponsibility, public ignorance, teen suicide, and severe bullying all have their place here. Hate and indifference is portrayed acutely, frankly, and poignantly without being unnecessarily violent. However, realism doesn't necessarily equate to pessimism or fatalism, and this series isn't all dark. Faith, hope, and love penetrates through just as much as hate and indifference permeates. It transcends the boundaries of life and even death, promising a better tomorrow, so long as the myriad characters debilitated by suffering allow themselves break the illusions that hold them back and embrace that possibility. On the topic of social commentary, also worth mentioning is Episode 4's applaudable inclusion of a respectable and supportive same sex relationship.

These themes prevalent in the standalone material, the mini arcs, and the overall plot, quality wise, weren't executed equally. Encompassing the standalone material and mini arcs are the primarily episodic content of this series, the best narratively rendered portions of the show, the self-contained stories which, upon the simple introduction of Shigofumi, heightens their humanity. This supernatural factor was kept perpetually simple, and simple works with episodic content because episodic content in general reflects day to day life, and the events that occur within this frame aren't less meaningful because of a few seemingly random elements. The supernatural accentuates the experience of this content, rather than defines it. Anything more complex runs the risk of distracting and, consequently, detracting from the content. But as there is a transition from the episodic to the plot-centric, it becomes ever more important to explain the universe that facilitates the existence and mechanizations of Shigofumi, mail carriers, and Fumika herself, not only the major players. Without that, the developments that take place within plot-centric tales run the risk of coming off as contrived, and unfortunately, a fate which ultimately befell Casshern Sins, which also lacked a solid foundation for its universe, some developments, like our mysterious mail carrier's identity, came off as contrived. Doesn't mean the overall plot isn't interesting. It's interesting as hell. The experience could have been better had the staff done a better job building up to it. Or they could have kept themselves episodic entirely. Then there's the issue of moe. This show isn't mainly moe by any stretch of the imagination, and it's perfectly fine to have moe as an element if executed seamlessly, but it isn't. It sorely stands out, like all cheap gimmicks, adding arguably nothing significant to the narrative, characters being such more or less for the fan service of it all, and, compared to the show's rather morbid content, it is tonally inconsistent and potentially jarring.

The OP “Kotodama,” or “The Power of Language,” was done by ALI PROJECT, and as far as ALI PROJECT's music goes, liking is a matter of acquired taste for their particular brand of synthetic goth, which is pretty much their motif for every song they compose nowadays. Between the dichotomy of lovers and haters, I sort of fall into a middle camp of liking some of their songs, ED1 of Code Geass R1, titled “Yuukyou Seishunka,” or “Chivalrous Youth Song,” but disliking their current musical approach, and Shigofumi kind of leans left of that spectrum. It's not a bad song, per say, because it certainly establishes a foreboding sense of mystery, but at the same time, it clashes with the slower and quieter moments of the show, which I contend are this series' highlights. The OP's visuals receive the same laud and, to a lesser extent, complaint. The ED “Chain” by Snow, on the other hand, both in terms of music and visuals, matches the simple beauty of these moments to a tee while reemphasizing its theme of light and hope in the midst of a dark and despair-ridden world.

Despite the partially wasted exectued potential of its plot, this show is, nonetheless, a great series brimming with sincerity for its material, illustrating the basest and the greatest that people have to offer, through that final message, that final letter left by the departed. Letters full of hatred. Of deep belief. Of passionate love. Hence, Shigofumi.

I give Shigofumi an 8 out of 10.

Don't play games! I know you're reading! That's right, freak. It behooves you nothing to ignore me. Take a good look. Quaff deeply from the trough of future shock. Allow that wooly brain to be stricken with envy. You're reading a work from Critic Member 001, anime lover, evil genius, and mad reviewer extraordinaire. 'Tis I... well, I'll think of an alias later. But for now... Steins;Gate. Seriously. Read.

Adapted from a 5pb and Nitro+ visual novel of the same name, Steins;Gate was directed by Hiroshi Hamasaki and Takuya Satou, scripted by Toshizou Nemoto and Jukki Hanada, and produced by White Fox, responsible for other works ... as Jormungund, Katanagatari, and The Devil is a Part-Timer! Original and anime character designs were drawn up by Ryohei Fuke, otherwise known as huke, and Kyuuta Sakai, respectively. It's another day at the Future Gadgets Lab. Mad Scientist Extraordinaire Okabe Rintarou, otherwise known by his nom de plume Okarin and his in-character nickname Hououin Kyouma, Resident Hack and Cosplayer, Future Gadget #8 (Real Name TBA) and several nuked bananas later, we have Mad Scientist and Hack bickering in their university elevator about text messages and perceived anomalies, events that our main protagonist know occurred, yet, according to Hack, haven't happened. And then Genius Girl Makise Kurisu, a person he could have swore he witnessed dead in a pool of blood, alive or undead. In terms of visuals, White Fox seemed to opt for copious amounts of glare from whatever light source is present juxtaposed by duller tones, darker shades, and shadows to accentuate that uncanny feeling that something's off. This in contrast to other scenes utilizing a slightly richer palette to suck the watcher to be absorbed in the frivolity or sensitivity of the moment.

Barring the hook of Episode 1's ending, the show's 1st half is a slow build, a build that's an obvious detriment to those expecting an immediate climax into the action. When the shit finally hits the fan in the 2nd half and those who previously criticized the 2nd half's predecessor gets their long sought for release, I speculated whether or not that release would have felt more pleasurable had it come sooner. Would it? Yes, this is all one extended sexual innuendo, and no, it wouldn't. Whether one is conscious of the fact or not, without the 1st half, we would not have felt as strongly about what the cast goes through in the 2nd half. We wouldn't have gotten the opportunity to know the characters behind their stereotypes we put them up to and the facades they disguise themselves under, most poignantly so with Okabe and Makise. We wouldn't have a reason apart from the superficial to connect with them, and the time this characterization occurs allows these connections to happen organically, from moment to moment, rather than through one exhaustive exposition dump. And while messing with the fabric of time is the order of the day, this show also hosts one of the best examples of romance done right. No gimmicky external flirtations or forced internal confessions. Just shared, witty, and sincere moments that are natural extensions of their characters that, before you and they know it, culminate into something intimate, making the next few scenes after this intimacy is realized heartwrenching. This is not to say nothing significant to the plot progresses during this time, because all the while these moments occur, an oppressive atmosphere grows and expands, elucidating this, once again, uncanny feeling. And then a sound of thunder, or silence, or the thunder of one's heart, that dreadful moment you, in the back of your mind, were expecting, that's beyond your control, but uncertain of what specific form it takes. Then, like a gun shot, or a train wreck, or a car crash, it's all over, the pocket watch cracks, the hour glass is shattered, and things fall apart. Then it's a matter of re-piecing what's broken, fighting the good fight against fate. But can he? And if he can, what will he have to sacrifice to make it more than a possibility?

In addition to fate, the show attempts to integrate two different theories of time travel within its narrative: the Multiple Worlds Interpretation and the Butterfly Effect. To better understand the former, imagine this. Any person's past self decides on one act over the other, an act they wouldn't otherwise have committed if they weren't influenced by something sent to them from the future, a text message, for instance. According to the Multiple Worlds Interpretation, that decision results in a shift from one timeline, or world line, to another. Events and memories in this new world line, as opposed to the old one, are modeled after that different decision. The shift occurs only if a different decision was, indeed, made. Were I, for instance, to send a text message to the past such that it would cause the receiver to commit suicide, the world line would shift, or diverge, to a world where the suicide took place. Events and memories in this new world line would correspond both to the shock of the loss and the absence of that person. For more information on the subject, look up Hugh Everett's The Theory of the Universal Wave Function, Bryce DeWitt's The Many-Worlds Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics, and the scoop behind John Titor. To better understand the latter, imagine this. Any act from the current future that would tamper with the past would cause a ripple and snowball effect that would alter what events happen and what memories are made in the altered future. The further back in time the tampering, the more drastic and seemingly random the outcome, regardless of how insignificant said tampering, such as the death of a butterfly, appears. For more information on the subject, read up on Ray Bradbury's “A Sound of Thunder.”

For casual watchers, the supposed utilization of these two theories working together makes for great drama, and indeed, Steins;Gate is able to pull off this drama quite well. There are, however, some bits of it that fall because of some theoretical misuse. For one, for all the misadventures and mishaps involving time that occur in the series, the Butterfly Effect is only effectively demonstrated twice, the soda scene and Ruka's sex. The rest can be conceivably chalked up to Multiple Worlds Interpretation, so that begs the question as to why the story to integrate the theory at all if it's barely used. The reason, in my opinion, was to provide a convenient safety net for drama and logic that wouldn't be dramatic or even logical without it. The Butterfly Effect as a drama device works properly if its fatalistic consequences, the loss of control over one's destiny, legitimately pervade throughout. When it's used only twice, and used lazily, then that tension, when looking from retrospect, falls flat. Then there's this point. For knowledgeable time travel fans or observant folk, these two theories are contradictory. Any tampering effect to the past, such as the aforementioned text messages, should result in a divergence, independent of whether or not a different decision was made. Reading Steiner, the ability for the mind to brave the memory overwriting shifts, lacks a solid foundation behind its existence, one that doesn't so much bother me as it has others. While Ruka's gender identity and transgender issues in general are certainly problems no one should take lightly, they feel out of place and immersion breaking in the swath of other events that are far more pressing. Lastly, while each cast member fulfills their role in the plot reasonably well and have a meaningful amount of depth, depth that was naturally coaxed out rather than artificially hastened, there is a definite depth inequality between some recurring characters over others, and an argument which I don't particularly subscribe to as a detriment, even if I bought it, wherein Okabe is the only person who gets any meaningful character development.

The OP, Kanako Ito's “Hacking to the Gate,” utilizes a series of staticky animation overlays, character clones, flash images, and hyperdrive blurs to excellent effect. Plenty is going on that I'd never get bored watching it, and indeed, new things seemed to pop out to me with each particular, and old things that popped out suddenly gained new meaning as the show progressed. To that effect, the OP is a masterful display of foreshadow, foreshadow to events and elements that the story would later introduce and explore. The music itself is a blend of Ito's natural vocals and techno synthetics that, like the visuals themselves, establish an energetically erratic atmosphere. Yui Sakakibara's “Toki Tsukasadoru Juuni no Meiyaku,” translated “The Time-Governing Twelve Covenants,” is the ED for all but the last three episodes. Its visuals consists of a broken pocket watch, a shattered hour glass, and an exposed Makise, visuals which, again, lay subtle amounts of foreshadow to events and come and, once those events have passed, bitter reminders of those experiences. The vocalist, accompanied by a melancholy piano, a mesmerizing drum beat, and an intense guitar strum, is a passionate croon laced with mires of biting tragedy. Episode 22 ED by Takeshi Abo, “Fake Verthandi,” Episode 23 ED, by Kanako Ito, “Sky Clad no Kansokusha,” translated “Sky Clad Observer,” Episode 24 ED, also by Kanako Ito, “Another Heaven,” are all songs that have to be discussed in context to be fully appreciated. And because that context involves spoilers, I suggest just getting to those points in the show yourselves to experience them...

...and the rest of the narrative. Outside of some inconsistencies, Steins;Gate is an excellent show, something I'd recommend time travel junkies, sci-fi fans, anime lovers, anyone who wants to enjoy a great story with a great cast and doesn't mind the slow build to get there. Now's the matter of dubbing the name of this endeavor. Operation... shit, what name would go great for this from Norse Mythology? El Psy Congroo? No wait, that's Latin and Greek...

I give Steins;Gate a 9 out of 10.

There's many a time where careless things that we say or do to confidants that we don't really mean, or haven't gotten around to thinking through, or is colored by a veil of naivety that come to haunt us later in life. We give in or we seek to rectify... Misaka's certainly in the latter. But in this case, is it even possible for her? When a desire for normalcy clashes with reality, a contradiction results, and a story is born.

A Certain Scientific Railgun S is the sequel to the first installment of an anime adaptation of a Japanese comic of manga artist, Motoi Fuyukama's, ... and light novelist Kazuma Kamachi. Original character designer is Kiyotaka Haimura, and the anime equivalent is Yuichi Tanaka. Returning major staff is Director Tatsuyuki Nagai, script writers Hiroyuki Yoshino, Michihiro Tsuchiya, Yasunori Yamada, Kurasumi Sunayama, Daisuke Takashima, Jukki Handa, and Seishi Minakami. A side story to another of Kamachi's works, A Certain Magical Index, we follow the adventures of Mikoto Misaka, otherwise known as Railgun, one of only few Level 5 espers and one of the most powerful individuals in Academy, and her band of friends, though rather than featuring said friends, this season focuses on Misaka. Index cast members make recurring and new appearances, Kamijo Touma, Index's main protagonist, considering the first arc, Sisters, was originally conceived as Index content, and Accelerator. The Railgun manga, in addition to the many episodes dedicated to her initial discovery of the Sisters and the shit that happens thereafter, frames the events of Sisters from a mainly Misaka perspective. Small, but significant cinematic and psychological retcons occur out of the original Indexverse that, together, change the context of this for the better, dramatically. Railgun S, an effort by the staff, no doubt, to be holistic for the sake of Railgun-only viewers, reuses scenes of Kamijo's perspective from the parent tale (minus the tedious fan service bits) to explain his important, but otherwise random role in the plot's and Misaka's development. The art and animation, already alright in the first season, received a remarkable update come this season, courtesy of this predecessor's financial success. The backdrops are that much more enchanting, tension-biting, or depressing as the progression of the show sees fit, the designs look that much more refined, the action is that much more stunning. But the winner goes to the facial expressions, which makes those comical and curious moments as endearing to enjoy as it makes those damaged and desperate instances sickening to watch. And then there's happiness and hope despite, even if those expressions are emotionless.

Now, Academy City can be thought of as a board game. The previous season of Railgun was meant to set the pieces, and as any normal participant in a board game demands for their time, a system must be put in place to keep the game fair and balanced. Otherwise, for the normal participant, which comprise the vast majority of denizens in this technological metropolis, it wouldn't be much fun. Rules for the general public must be followed. Images for the general public must be believed. So long as the many people accept that, then everything might as well be well, never mind the seedy fissures strung against those few individuals that aren't as adept at playing, because every city has its issues. Come this season of Railgun, it's apparent it's all one big lie, where those on high make and break what they will. For fame. For fortune. For science! Anything resembling human dignity and decency to anything resembling humanity, be damned... as per the calculations of an impersonal machine. The machine makes the policy, and the impersonal humans obey. All of this starts with the Sisters Arc. All of this leads to one particular participant by the name of Misaka and her whole world forcibly turned over. Not even her prowess as an electromaster is enough to defy it, defy them... ultimately, defy Academy City itself, the darkness and the light, and everyone, impersonal or no, that comprise it. And here, where the spotlight is towards no one but her, I reiterate of her identity from my previous review and add a few more things: “independent, proud, sometimes to the point of headstrong and hot-tempered, child-like in her tastes, yet fussily contrarian when she's called on it, and fiercely loyal. She has a heart of gold and lightening, but foremost, she's a girl who wants nothing more than a relatively normal life (as normal as it can get for someone with esper powers) with the people she treasures.” It is here in this arc, in this time that tries any person's sanity, that plays chicken with love and leal, that her character isn't just flesh-deep. It is soul-driven... in a non-spiritual, scientifically acceptable sense.

And then the show ends with the comparative mess that is the Silent Party Arc, plot-based anime original content after Sisters, in keeping with the staff's habit to wrap up loose ends from the source. A comparative mess to the rest of Railgun, and just a mess in general. Railgun's anime original content, especially its plot-based material, from installation one was always inferior to a degree, but this arc's writing, never mind the possible time constraints or the lack of ideas, is just plain bad, especially in the wake of Sisters. Our heroine makes some uncharacteristically stupid decisions, characters are introduced lazily and clumsily, and friendship is forcibly and repeatedly beaten into the main audience like dead ponies. The conflict that initiates this arc to begin with isn't even that uninteresting a premise, building on Academy City's inherent encouragement of discrimination: espers vs. unappreciated non-esper geniuses. But we're not given any emotional cue to care about it from the antagonists of this arc because they are so tediously uninspired, so predictably generic, so underwhelmingly, and, thus, irritatingly cocky. These faults aren't fixed by the fact that slow-paced content that I'd usually count on for characterization instead comprises mostly of flashbacks and fan service. And yes, the excessive mini moe moments courtesy of Febri counts as fan service too.

Continuing the Index and Railgun (henceforth known as Raildex) tradition of OP theme and consistency, OP1, “sisters noise” and OP3, “eternal reality,” were done by fripSide, both, more or less, the techno rumping, adrenaline-pumping, and bass thumping thrillers their season one predecessors were, OP1, in particular, having a nice voice over chant to accentuate the music's climax. Fast, smooth, and dynamic transitions for each character, just like previous OPs, are also of observed custom. ED1 is “Grow Slowly” by Iguchi Yuka, electric guitar, strings, vocals and keyboard making for a conventional send-off the first 3/4s of the song, the last 1/4, when nothing but the vocals and keyboard remain, adding an extra bittersweet note when paired with the visuals and the context after a certain point in the show. She also does a special ED2 insert in Episodes 11 and 14, the slower, but no less great to listen to “standstill.” It's especially evocative when synergized with the events of the show (those regarding Kamijo's contributions, the focus of the visuals which shows Misaka and Kamijo back to back, flipped depending on, once again, the context). ED3 is “Links” by Sachika Misawa which, with the clover and gekota, once again emphasize this show's inescapable obsession with friendship. She also does Episode 23 ED4 special insert “Infinia.”

The Silent Party Arc certainly left a lot to be desired, like the desire to end the show early. But my passion for Railgun has only be bent, not broken. The Sisters Arc, though, is one of the best things I've seen out of the Raildex franchise, Misaka firmly entrenched as a favorite character as a result.

I give A Certain Scientific Railgun S an 8 out of 10.