Legend of the Galactic Heroes

This show needs no introduction. Regardless of your personal tastes in anime, bait online anons with statements like “Code Geass – greatest anime ever?” and there are bound to be smart-alecks who fire back with the response of, “Nuh-uh, Legend of the Galactic Heroes trumps all.” To which most everyone else can say absolutely nothing, because unlike every other immensely, grossly, extraordinarily well-regarded show, Legend of the Galactic Heroes is not popular in the layman’s sense of the word – so how do you dispute a statement like that, when you probably haven’t even watched the show for yourself?

And therein lies the origins of Legend of the Galactic Heroes’ selectively privileged but rabidly proud fanbase. As you might already know, Legend of the Galactic Heroes (hereafter referred to by its truncated Japanese name, Gineiden) is a 1987-1998 OVA space opera series that spans a whopping 110 episodes. It’s not just dated animation that stacks the odds against it – but also the bare fact that it’s a show about politics and space wars without giant robots. Considering its length, don’t expect many to even attempt to start on it, let alone bash through the first two episodes of static mannequins with movables jaws. There are people who force themselves to sit through 12 or 24 episodes of something they already know midway they aren’t going to like, just so they can eventually say they know exactly why they’re calling it trashy. But 110 episodes? That’s a little more unlikely.

So, speaking as a being with proportionately lesser intelligence than the average elitist snob, as promised, I’ll be doing my best to guide you through the dilemma of whether or not to even commit to watching this thing. As far as plot goes, we’re faced with a future where space conquest and interstellar colonisation have become realities. For years, there has been an ongoing war between two political superpowers, the monarchist Galactic Empire, and the democratic Free Planets Alliance. Rising through the ranks of the Empire’s military, is none other than Admiral Reinhard Von Lohengramm, otherwise known as the Blond Brat by everyone at least thirty years older than him. Following a traumatic childhood experience of having his beloved sister forcefully abducted into marriage with the reigning Kaiser, Reinhard is hellbent on ending the Empire’s Goldenbaum Dynasty, or, for the uninitiated – he wants to wipe out the ruling lineage of corrupt monarchs, and claim the throne for himself.

It follows that Reinhard’s greatest foil just has to be someone who couldn’t be more different in almost every single aspect – and so we also follow the merry adventures of Admiral Yang Wen-Li of the Alliance, a middle-aged aspiring historian who (sorta) accidentally wound up becoming a military strategist with an ironic hatred for the very thing he’s best at – war. Both gentlemen are hailed as military geniuses by their loyal followers, yet have to navigate the dirty world of politics and conspiracies, pitted against each other as rivals despite being unequivocally noble and righteous in their own ways.

Let’s first state the obvious – for anyone who is accustomed to watching anime coming out in the 2000s and 2010s, Gineiden first strikes one as being completely…different. Entire episodes can revolve around stiff-necked men standing or sitting around in cabinets and in flagships, talking, talking, talking…and talking. Why does this sound so familiar? Oh yeah, I said the same thing of the Monogatari Series; only this time, the stuff that is being talked about is far from being about nothing (sorry Monogatari fans, but it’s true). The characters discuss anything from politics and ideology, to human nature and philosophy, to battle strategy, right down to the merits of alcohol. Believe you me, Gineiden probably has the most intelligent writing I have ever seen – and it’s not just uptight conversations about war and conquest, it has some of the funniest, wittiest jokes as well…courtesy of Yang Wen-Li, the guy who’s described by Dusty Attenborough as “useless from the neck down” (seriously, why don’t we get humour like that coming out anymore?). Every single episode is chock-full of quotables, and even the deceptively filler-ish episodes have depth and significance.

To really get into Gineiden, it’s good to ensure that you’re following the threads of the conversations, but it’s equally important to put your money on the characters. The cast is phenomenally huge, and while there are several key characters, no-one is ever dispensable – single episodes are in fact devoted to diverting attention from the key players like Reinhard and Yang, instead exploring the mundane, ordinary lives of common soldiers and civilians, just so that a wholesome picture of all sides to the war can be painted. I can’t actually describe how incredible each and every individual character is. They’re all so precious in their own way, watching them makes me almost feel like a proud parent – and other than the corrupt politicians and aristocrats who thankfully don’t stick around long (goodbye Flegel), it’s really hard to hate on one any character.

Granted, Reinhard aside, precious few of the characters are aesthetically charming by today’s anime standards, and many are dull on first impression – characters don’t have cute catchphrases, nor special weapons nor magical abilities, not even trademark costumes and accessories. The soldiers are very ordinary men, leading very ordinary lives, and they all talk in ordinary ways – but like I said, you still care about them without even trying, and this is probably one of the reasons why Gineiden is so unique. I find it fascinating how I’m able to feel so attached to a character, through the narrator’s use of pure exposition – for example, “look, this man is called Wolfgang Mittermeyer, he’s married and has a wife, he’s known to be a loyal husband”…the rest is for you to fill in the gaps. Mittermeyer’s private life is henceforth never a topic frequently brought up on the battlefield, but when he’s working his magic as the Gale Wolf, you can’t help but feel that there’s so much more at stake for him than victory for the Empire – and it’s this realism that pervades the entire of Gineiden.

Before enjoying the plot or characters, though…it’s crucial that you get over the outdated animation. I’ve definitely been through it myself – I felt absolutely uncomfortable when I watched the first episode. The stiffness of the animated humans felt like they were cold, detached, and impersonal – but nothing could be further than the truth, and I’m glad I got that impression out of my head. I grew accustomed to the animation as it was. And then the creators decided to remake a few scenes, and intersperse old animation with new animation (disclaimer – this is in the fansubbed version I watched). Honestly, there’s very little to say about that, other than the fact that I think they should have just stuck with the old animation and left it as such. It makes for an interesting study to see how the studio back in the 1980s chose to allocate their resources – whenever there’s the old animation I’m positive they bombed half their frames solely on Reinhard’s hairflips.

I might have gone the whole hog in saying that for a show of the 1980s and 1990s, it’s completely excusable that you don’t normally get shimmery eyes and furrowed brows communicating emotions…but I can’t do so in good conscience. Because if you compare Gineiden’s animation to other titles in its era (Akira, Ghost in the Shell, the very first Mobile Suit Gundam series), then Gineiden is comparatively lacklustre, although I’m not complaining about that. Thankfully, a large part of a character’s feelings are communicated through voice alone – and oh my word, I have to say the Japanese voice actors put their modern counterparts to shame. On one hand, you have incredible consistency for a show which was released over a period of twenty years, and on the other, the voice actors know just how to make subtle changes expressing a range of emotions. Reinhard, Yang, Oberstein…it’s simply astounding how much personality can be communicated through their voices alone.

And the music of this show…I love classical music, and I love all the music in Gineiden, which always gives me the same enthralling feel I get when I watch Disney’s Fantasia. Honestly, the first thing that really drew me in about Gineiden, was in fact the very first thing you see when you start watching it – the first OP, Skies of Love. I fell in love with it immediately. Since Gineiden has such a huge cast, the director did the smartest thing he could have possibly done, and made each of the 4 OPs centre around the Empire army, and the 4 EDs centre around the Alliance army. All OPs are grand but not overly bombastic, expressing the ambitious and visionary nature of the Empire faction – and all EDs are contrastingly calming and bittersweet, instead focusing on the hope and camaraderie that seems to bind the soldiers of the Alliance. The third ED, especially, has that same sneaky, underhand conditioning effect that Anohana’s Secret Base has; making you feel so inexorably…emotional when it plays. I can’t continue talking about it – there’s too much feels involved. So I’ll leave you to go check it out for yourself. Seriously, even if you aren’t going to watch this show, at least listen to some of the OP and ED songs – I never skip any of them. (Okay, maybe except the last OP.)

Now…what’s there to dislike about a show this reputable? If there’s anything that Gineiden has going against it; it’s nothing less than the snobbish fans that use it for the sake of putting everything and everyone else down. It’s not uncommon for people to make bold, assertive statements like, “this show ruined anime for me”, and “after watching Gineiden, every other moe show feels like rubbish.” And honestly, it’s my opinion that such people haven’t actually watched Gineiden. Or, at least, they watched it simply to gain membership to its elitist fanbase, and learnt absolutely nothing from it. Because if there’s one thing I can safely say that Gineiden is not, which other popular anime like Cowboy Bebop and Evangelion can be perceived as being – it’s that Gineiden is probably the most unpretentious anime I have ever come across. Granted, it doesn’t set out to tell a straightforward, linear story – but it chooses to do so in the simplest and most straightforward way. It unfolds like an earnest documentary, guiding the viewer through page after page of history with clear recaps and helpfully positioned time stamps. If you pay attention, there’s genuinely nothing complicated about the world of the Galactic Heroes.

So take elitist exaggerations with a huge pinch of salt – but here’s where I admit there is some truth in their words, however arrogantly put. The thing is, there’s just so much the show does, which so many other popular shows have been hailed for, but don’t even do as well in. Miyazaki films like Grave of the Fireflies are renowned for being “anti-war” – by portraying the plight of innocent civilians caught up in the crossfire. And yet, here we have Gineiden’s main cast engaging in strategic warfare, yet delivering one of the most powerful anti-war statements of all time. Why is it so compelling? Precisely because it doesn’t gloss over the deeper issues that pervade the gritty issue of war – for example, the unattractive possibility that war is born out of necessity to flush out a greater evil, such as a corrupt regime. And just when you thought about making a firm, uncontroversial stand against the tyranny of dictatorship and absolute power (shout-out to both Death Note and Code Geass) – along comes Reinhard von Lohengramm to tell you everything you know about democracy is wrong. How does this show even do it so well? I just don’t understand it.

Above all, Gineiden has a timeless message. And no, it’s not some “war is bad” or “be kind to everyone” kind of overused morality tale. Gineiden’s message can be encapsulated in the words of Alexander Bucock:

“No, its citizens have turned over rulership to politicians, instead of participating in it! The people have democratic principles on their lips, but can’t spare the effort to safeguard it! The collapse of a government is the sin of its rulers and leaders. The collapse of democratic rule is the sin of every citizen!”

Not to make real-world affairs bleed excessively into fiction, but where I’m living, elections are coming up, and as usual, turnouts are going to be dismal. Watching Gineiden just hits me so hard because it’s a poignant reminder that the real issue with politics isn’t the political philosophy you subscribe to – rather, the biggest evil is in being completely apathetic about politics itself. If I end up generalising, I apologise, but I daresay this problem is particularly true of anyone who devotes a lot of time to fictional mediums for escapism (and yes, anime fans could well be guilty of this). You get people who are completely disillusioned with reality, unwilling to think about what they want for society; or worse still, people who complain about society but refuse to make a change by doing something as simple as turning up for election voting. To that, Gineiden says, well, watch out…especially those of you who live under a comfortable liberal democracy. What other show encourages you to take a minimal interest in current affairs? And an anime, no less? I can’t think of anything more powerful and relevant than a lesson such as this.

Henceforth, here’s my entirely biased, subjective view on this show. Yes, I do indeed think it puts so many other series to shame – and I’d even go so far as to say that personally, I do indeed agree that there’s no other anime (that I’ve seen yet) which deserves the coveted stamp of “best anime ever”. Will you like it? That depends, and it’s not a mark of “immaturity” or “shallowness” if you discover that you don’t. Gineiden is a heavy, dense show with long stretches of exposition, and very old animation – and I myself had to watch the first two episodes about three (?) times just to make sure that I got what was going on. But when it gets good…when it gets so good…nothing else comes close.  I’d probably insult Gineiden by giving it a 10/10 – but that’s basically the kind of response you can’t give to a show about legendary men who are “heroes” in every sense of the word.

RahXephon

Sometimes, it’s not enough just to watch a good show, or read a good manga. When I tell someone I like Naruto, I’m usually asked to go read Bleach, or One Piece, and I think I’ve already made clear my opinion on that issue. Other times, however, I take people seriously when they insist that you have to watch a few other titles before making a value judgment on a said show. Like how you supposedly need to have seen both versions of Fullmetal Alchemist before declaring Brotherhood is the best thing in existence. Or like how you can’t call anything the worst anime ever, without first watching School Days. (I kid, that’s not a recommendation.) Anyway, this somehow brings me to RahXephon, a show I only watched because everyone called it the improved clone of another lesser-known show I happen to like, Neon Genesis Evangelion.

This won’t be the last time I’ll mention Eva, but it will be for a long time to come, because it’s frustratingly pointless and unexciting to tie RahXephon down to Eva and expect it to stand its own ground. Plot wise, RahXephon is a mecha adventure about a seventeen year-old named Ayato Kamina, who leads a mundane high school life in the city of Tokyo. One day, following a series of bizarre events, he finds himself somehow whisked away to a world that exists outside his own, Truman-Show-style – although the catch here is that he brings a giant mech, called a RahXephon, along with him. While on the ‘real’ Earth, he finds out that blue-blooded alien forces called the Mu invaded Earth years back, causing a nuclear explosion that enveloped Tokyo in a dome that is nicknamed Tokyo Jupiter, and have since been using Tokyo as a base for expansion, though they also regularly send their armies to attack other parts of Earth. Unexplainably, Ayato is the only being who can pilot the RahXephon, so Earth’s defensive force, TERRA, commissions him as a frontline soldier for battle against the Mulians’ weapons, the Dolem. Confused yet? Yeah, it gets worse.

RahXephon is by no means a straightforward story, and it actually takes a while for it to get good. On its surface, it’s a tale of secrets and conspiracies, but the way the story is delivered is downright mind-boggling. How do I say this briefly? I guess you could say that it’s an unusually artistic mecha show. It draws from classic literature like Robert Young’s The Dandelion Girl to reference key elements in the plot, and is suffused with classical opera pieces and artwork to build on the idea that art connects oneself to one’s inner emotions and thoughts. Metaphors like birds and flowers reinforce the surrealism that pervades the entire show, and it even weaves in Japanese folklore ideas of spiriting-away. In terms of its plot, and the imagery and symbolism which support the plot, it’s a highly ambitious work.

Honestly, though, I wonder why I even had to say all that. If I could have it my way, I think I’d call RahXephon a romance. Because that’s what it is. It is, hands down, one of the most criminally underrated romances I have ever seen – and that’s all you need to know, lest spoilers ruin the beauty of it all. In addition to the romance, though, the appeal of the story is driven by the network of characters and human relationships. By that, I mean that a lot of the suspense revolves around the characters’ true relations with each other – because thanks to time rifts and memory wipes, you have brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, cousins, and grandparents bursting out of nowhere with the “did-you-see-that-coming?” grin…to the point it can become a bit of an overkill.

So what are the characters themselves like? Well, there’s Ayato, our main protagonist and resident mecha pilot, whom I can best describe as…confused. Because that’s essentially his role – to be confused. His loyalties swing between his Tokyo life and his new life on the real Earth, he spends half the show wondering who and what he really is, and this is in no way helped by the legions of girls who are fighting for one-on-one screen time to distract him. On a serious note, though, Ayato is a very tempered and believable person for the most part, and he only really, really comes alive through his paintings…which is a subtle touch of good direction that I’ll let you experience for yourself.

The rest of the character cast is undeniably wide, and are usually deceptively introduced as archetypes at the start, although some get pretty decent development later on. There’s Haruka Shitou, the onee-chan character, her sister Megumi, the spunky one, Quon the token amiable dandere doll, and an assortment of stoic grown-up men to balance out the harem of girls. As well as Reika Mishima. The engimatic Rei Ayanami insert. On a personal note, RahXephon does something I have never experienced with any other show, which is to turn an unbelievable prick into a tragic villain within a split second – which, in other words, means that I am awarding the Best Supporting Character award to the psychotic Makoto Isshiki, who will now shake hands with Gaara and Homura Akemi in acceptance of his trophy.

Now, RahXephon occasionally makes the disappointing mistake of trying to drive emotional moments through the peripheral, often unexciting people in the story; sometimes you get a horrendously tragic fate befalling someone who hasn’t appeared for close to 10 episodes, other times, it’s just – here’s this girl, she had a rocky past with her parents, now watch her angst and rage through flashbacks. When mecha is your genre, and where the characters are first introduced as pilots, or the staff behind the control interfaces (whose main job is to yell random things like “wave pattern matches that of pilot” and “we are losing contact with unit one!”), you always, always have to relate their personal struggles to how it affects their work efficacy – because that’s how consistent plot works. Anything will do – have the pilot become unable to work his giant robot for emotional reasons, whatever – but the taboo is having your character look fine and dandy while wearing the hat of the soldier, and then letting him take off that hat while behind the closed doors of his home, whereupon the floodgates of inner turmoil are released. It’s a basic rule of any genre, really, if you’re in a sports anime, then a quarrel with a teammate has to affect performance on the playing field. I’m not saying that RahXephon doesn’t do this, I’m just saying that it doesn’t do this enough – to the point the mecha battles and personal-life scenes can’t always gel with each other. I mean, sometimes I was honestly thinking, dang, Ayato, hurry up and defeat that ugly Dolem, so you can go home and eat dinner with Megumi and Haruka!

Moving on, the art in this show is fantastic. I thought the character designs struck a nice balance between being un-bombastic yet eye-catching at the same time, with only the more out-of-place characters having any noticeable traits – for Quon, it was her bubblegum-coloured hair, for Reika Mishima, it was that yellow dress! The Dolem and RahXephon aren’t the most iconic mechs in the universe of mechs, but whatever, at least I can tell the difference between them – looks like an angel, that’s the good guy; looks like some hideous crossover between D.Gray-Man akuma and giant plastic toys, that’s the bad guy. The designs of the Mu civilisation and the Mulians are excellent, drawing upon ancient Mayan culture to depict their alien-nature in a rather refreshing way. Finally, because you can’t talk about RahXephon’s art without mentioning this – Ayato’s artwork. I have this mad urge to get my hands on one of his paintings and put it on my wall – not that it’s entirely to do with the aesthetics of the art itself…but you’ll get it when you watch it.

The animation is also praiseworthy, although let’s skip that, I’d like to talk more about the directing in this show. RahXephon is one of those shows which utilises frames and camera angles superbly, and it comes so, so close to being one of those shows which completely immerse you in its storytelling. I say it comes close, because there’s just one thing which didn’t work – the sequencing. Occasionally, rivetingly emotional scenes are abruptly cut short, along with the background music, and there are times when viewers are made to zip awkwardly in between scenes focusing on two different people. I honestly tried my best to let myself sink into the whole experience, but it was these minor things that poked me ever so often.

RahXephon’s soundtrack is very good when it matters, and alright when it doesn’t matter so much. The show’s best moments are in its dynamic character interactions, so when the scene gets serious, you get the best ballads doing nothing less than squeezing every last droplet of feels out of you. The anime itself opens with an opera, as a premonition of the idea that the war is like a singing competition between the humans and Mu (I kid you not)- and throughout the mecha battles, you get all these grand choirs blaring sustained chords at you. Personally, I had hoped the Dolems could give us some melodious vocals so as to make up for their hideous appearances, but they decided that their voices should complement their looks, so, we got what we got, I guess.

I suppose no evaluation of RahXephon would be complete without a very quick mention of the title referenced all the way at the start of this review. That’s right, I’m talking about Eva. It was inevitable. So, you ask, do I like RahXephon more than Eva? The short answer: no. Would I recommend someone watching RahXephon over Eva? Absolutely. Because it’s more accessible, simple as that. What I liked about Eva (the angst, Shinji, the ending), a large population downright abhor, and I really think they’re perfectly justified in that. Granted, as far as the politics-mecha-alien-invasion-plot goes, both series are dead convoluted, and anyone who isn’t prepared to kill a few million brain cells will be equally put off by both. Eva is a very focused, character-driven piece, and it succeeds because of its subtle and immersive nature. This is entirely due to Hideaki Anno’s direction, and maybe the fact that he actually creates characters who think and speak like real people. RahXephon, on the other hand, has characters who aren’t as realistic in terms of their relationships with family, or themselves (I’m saying this comparatively), but when it comes to romance…this show blows everything else out of the water. I might get speared for saying this, but it’s kind of like the more subtle version of Clannad.

I think what I was trying to say, was that the similarities between the two are entirely superficial, and coming from someone who has watched Evangelion 2.22 at least ten times, RahXephon genuinely doesn’t give me that “I’ve-seen-this-way-too-many-times-before” feel. In the first place, I’m not an intelligent person, so the first time I watched the original Evangelion TV series (yes…the one with those last two episodes), I was thoroughly unfazed by the lack of clarity about the whole Angel/Lilith/Lilin thing, and I just revelled in the final message of the show, which revolved around the human condition. Same thing with RahXephon. I get that there’s a whole load of alien-human politics floating around, and it’s not that I can’t appreciate it, but I admit I honestly didn’t invest the bulk of my emotions into it, and good thing too, or I might now be writing a scathing review, complaining about some deus ex machina ending. If you want to leave this show captivated and profoundly affected, then put your money on the characters and their relationships, because on that front, RahXephon is a timeless masterpiece. 9/10, because true love deserves nothing less than that.

Gargantia on the Verdurous Planet

I’ll admit it’s rare that I watch something based on the portfolio of its creators, but when I do, this rule only applies to select few writers, with Gen Urobuchi being one of them. (Yes, Hiromu Arakawa is another.) It’s not that I’m astounded by anything and everything Urobuchi – while I think Madoka Magica is outstanding in all respects, I felt Fate/Zero’s plot had these hit and miss moments in the plot (like that zombie apocalypse thrown in midway), and Psycho-pass is…honestly hard to continue. But I kind of think that I have enough experience with his stuff to gauge his minimum standards; or to put it in a more touchy-feely way, I think I trust his quality, and that’s enough to make me give everything he writes a shot. So when I went into Gargantia, I did something that I really hope you’ll do at least once in your life, which was to avoid all plot summaries and just…watch it. Because Urobuchi created it.

So, what is Gargantia about? Well, that’s hard to answer if you’ve only watched the first episode, because the beginning fifteen minutes look like Ender’s Game The Animation, with giant mechas zipping through the cosmos and laser-frying multi-tentacled abominations, holographic interfaces and coordinates delivered through ansible communication, and all the rest of it. In the midst of the chaos, we learn that the fleet of humans is called the Galactic Alliance of Humankind, that the squid-like enemy aliens are known as Hideauze, and that our main protagonist is a 16 year old soldier piloting his own Machine Caliber (the mecha), a kid named Ensign Ledo. After fifteen minutes of expecting to see Ledo’s heroic rise to the top of the food chain in his military faction through strategy and piloting skills, overwhelming enemy power conversely crash lands Ledo to a strange planet, where he then awakes to find himself amidst a civilisation of people living aboard giant interconnected ships, and with all traces of the space war, well, gone.

It then becomes apparent that Gargantia, the name of the floating colony, is actually the setting for a fish-out-of-water tale about a heartless child soldier from interstellar space, who must now adapt to the strangely peaceful and carefree life on the new community. He befriends a spunky girl called Amy, who introduces him to the world of Gargantia, by bringing him to meet both the various young and old citizens that work in its majestic yet cosy world, teaching him about the practices of getting a job and earning a salary, and most importantly – creating a family for him in the new environment.

There is much potential to be turned off, since it’s easy to believe that the story doesn’t have a clear focus. It starts out looking like a mecha space war story, then almost does a 180 turn by dipping into an immersive slice-of-life fantasy(which I’ve seen some people dub as two episodes of fanservice filler), then picking up into a semi political/philosophical game, and with one classic Gen Urobochi twist, culminating back into a mecha battle by the end. Not an easy chain of events to follow, but personally, I think it works. In fact, I think it works well – maybe except for one of the beach episodes. This is probably because Gargantia, to a large extent, is able to transcend formulaic genres by its fluid, immersive style of storytelling – and before I explore that, it’s good to take a breather and talk about the main characters.

The main cast of Gargantia is fairly focused, considering that the community itself is almost like a sea of characters that contribute to the warm and lively atmosphere of its world. Ledo, the emotionless child soldier, obviously gets most of the attention, and the story traces his slow development out of ruthlessness, into humanity and compassion. First, he learns to participate by establishing himself as a member of Gargantia, interacting and forging friendships with its motley crew of leaders, scavengers, children, engineers, and so on. Then, he comes to realise the value of community, where worth is measured not by one’s physical contributions, but is recognised as a basic value and right. He finally acknowledges that the warmth and love in Gargantia is built upon the intricate mechanism of every individual working hard to give back into society, and thereupon he decides that he wishes to find work and do the same for others. That said, while the way Ledo sheds his cold exterior is heartwarming, it is difficult to overlook the sloppy way in which his outlook and ideals on humanity is treated. In an earlier episode, he nonchalantly slaughters a group of pirates, rationalising their existence as a threat to survival, and then later on in the series, well, let’s just say that he seems to have miraculously attained Ender Wiggin’s level of empathy and precociousness in an unbelievably short span of time. This noble change of heart is not explained to the fullest, something which rips a big hole in the plot’s neat fabrication.

Ledo aside, the remainder of the cast is pretty refreshing. Bellows is the sassy, rebellious young woman who could be a dead ringer for Gurren’s Yoko, Ridget is the serious leader with the fragile façade of confidence, and Pinion is the mentally-disturbed oddball who fails all description. Perhaps the most novel character to come out of the series is none other than Ledo’s artificially intelligent Machine Caliber, the interface known as Chambers. Chambers, who initially assists Ledo with translation and information service, is also accepted as part of Gargantia’s community and put to work amongst the jolly bustling crew of people, leading it to unexpectedly morph into a sentient being capable of human thought and emotions – a slow transformation which was done in an artful and believable way.

The only character I can’t forgive for being bland and cliché, is none other than the spunky livewire Amy, whose only presence in the entire show is probably to drive the plot along, serving as a catalyst for Ledo snapping out of his Hideauze-bloodlust. But never mind her,  she’s a minor point; so what’s the major point? Well…if there is one standout that the show has going for it, then that would be the very world of Gargantia itself, so let’s ramble about that now.

The world of Gargantia is something that has to be seen to be understood. In the same way that Attack on Titan constructs a flawlessly claustrophobic cluster of villages crammed within behemoth walls, and Cowboy Bebop constructs an entire universe falling into disarray, Gargantia’s vast, shimmering oceans and islands of steampunk ships really takes my breath away because of how believable everything is. Props to the show for actually making me glad that the first fifteen minutes of space action and grandiose Wall-E spaceships never came to pass, because I have to admit that I was rather hyped up for a Legend of the Galactic Heroes space opera, and then I saw the shipping colony and thought – “This doesn’t look too bad of an exchange!” I love the way that its grandiose structure is always supported by the nuts and bolts of its citizens working tirelessly to maintain it. For example, in the very first episode, Bellows demands compensation from Pinion for damaged equipment. This small but crucial moment, set up the realism for the later episodes of the show, where Ledo learns about working and the idea of earning and spending a salary. Overall, I found myself completely drawn to the way that Gargantia managed to masterfully replicate a living and breathing community. It also certainly deserves mention in how it portrays simplicity in such an attractive way.

The art and animation does nothing but help the construction of the colony, because everything from the docks, to the living quarters, to the marketplaces, just looks so consistent, and so well-thought out and researched. And since we’re on this topic, I did mention that Gargantia’s ending is one of my favourites, right? Did I also mention that its opening is pretty captivating too? Anyone seeking a good trailer of what this show can offer should just check out the OP, and absorb the vastness of Gargantia in all its majestic glory. No, seriously, I can’t say anything more, you just have to at least watch the OP to get a semblance of what the art team managed to accomplish. (Another small note about the art. The person who designed Hideauze spawn deserves an Emmy, just saying.)

Soundtrack wise, you might have guessed that I adore both the OP  and the ED, and everything else in between is not bad at all. Many a time, soundtracks really don’t have to do any more than support the pre-existing atmosphere of the show, adding nuanced layers to it; and in the case of Gargantia, the insert pieces do a decent job at texturing the hubbub and buzz of the Gargantia community, recreating it’s lively and bustling ambience. Special mention goes to the sporadic use of the flute in serving as both metaphor and choice of instrument in the show. Though what’s really unique about this soundtrack is probably the portions of voice acting that employ a mixture of made-up languages to depict the language barrier between Ledo and the citizens; although I only appreciated it the way I did because I speak Japanese myself, and can tell when Ledo mispronounces the words. But in any case, it was a smart touch.

Now there’s that other thing we have to address – the one thing Urobutcher is infamous for. You know, the mandatory twist in the story. But obviously I can’t discuss spoilers, so I’ll touch on Gargantia’s themes instead (and conveniently skirt the elephant in the room). Urobuchi himself touted this show as a coming-of-age allegory about graduating adolescence and entering the adult world of independence, which, frankly speaking, is what I believe he meant it to be when he started writing, and then somewhere along the way…decided to turn it into a partial science-fiction horror flick. The thing is, that Gargantia does spend a decent portion of its screen time educating Ledo on community, employment, and the like, which I already mentioned when I talked about his character. The problem is that Ledo isn’t really entering society per se, it’s more like he’s recovering from brainwashing and has to undergo extensive therapy via village rehabilation. So it’s admirable that the story aims to empower young people entering the working world, but what muddles and messes up this goal is the problematic fact that the protagonist himself isn’t relatable as a youth fresh out of school. (Honestly, Ridget does a better job at conveying this growth.) Often, I think that Urobuchi should have realised that his story was more about overcoming alienation and transcending culture clashes. Though, if you ask me which elements are most striking to the audience, I’ll now tell you that the other face of Gargantia emerges when it teases our minds with dystopic prophecies of a future where sea levels have risen uncontrollably, and where humans have ventured so far into the unknown that our intelligence begins to have repercussions on us. The show personally hits me hardest when it addresses the very iffy question of science and its potential impact on society – how far do we go before we realise its too late to turn back? Is the pursuit of new discoveries worth sacrificing of the present which we treasure and hold dear?

In conclusion, I have no qualms in saying that I really, really like this show. Gargantia is one of Urobuchi’s works which I find unique, because it’s made with a lot of heart and earnestness. It’s built around a collection of imaginative ideas that are well gelled together, and ends up transcending genres and themes, becoming almost like a small sample of a very distant period in human evolution. It’s a reminder to us to treasure what we have, and to find content in the simplistic and often stagnant moments of life, because there are always better ways to deal with enemies than antagonising them, and there are always greater things at stake than power and control. It’s very disturbing, very heart-warming, and very provoking, all at the same time. Maybe I have a natural attachment to shows like this, seeing how Wall-E is my favourite Pixar, but you know what, whatever. Watch this because this is Urobuchi at his most human, watch this because it’s a fine example of decent effort put into a show. Not everything works, I assure you, and the nitty gritties that dampen the show are there for you to pick out yourself, but watch it anyway. I’m not actually saying it’s good, so don’t go in with awfully high expectations, because we all know that’s the right way to ruin an experience. I’m just saying, Gargantia deserves a second look because it’s one of those rare shows, which is what it is, without trying too hard to be what it is not. Giving this a score is genuinely tricky, because it’s difficult to be objective about things you personally find special. But anyways, 7/10, and thanks Urobuchi, this was a good one.

Magic Knight Rayearth

In my Code Geass review, I mentioned a manga artist group with a serious penchant for cats, helpless moes, characters with limbs of spaghetti, and unfinished or ambiguous endings. So if works like Cardcaptor Sakura and Chobits ring a bell, then yes, you’ll know that I’m talking about CLAMP. For years, now, my relationship with their work has been rolling down a merry spiral – thanks to my unhealthy attachment to unfinished series like X and Clover, and the 2012 boring historical exposition that was Gate 7. So with the recent announcement of a new Tsubasa continuation gearing up for serialisation, I just had to lie down for a bit, and reminisce upon the good old days where CLAMP could still craft a nice, simple work of art…

In a nutshell, Magic Knight Rayearth is a 50 episode tale about a group of three high school girls on a quest to save a kidnapped princess. Hikaru, Umi and Fuu find themselves brought together by fate on their individual school excursions to Tokyo Tower, where they are magically whisked away to an land called Cephiro, by a blinding light. Thereupon, an elderly mage called Clef, tells them that Cephiro is crumbling into ruin because its Pillar, Princess Emeraude, has been kidnapped by her evil High Priest Zagato. The three girls, Hikaru, Umi, and Fuu, have been chosen as Magic Knights, the only beings who may awaken three Rune Gods to don and defeat Zagato. And, as the story goes, the girls embark on their quest to save the strange world they have been sucked into, picking up magical artefacts and honing magical powers along the way.

Magic Knight Rayearth is curious because it’s an amalgamation of three genres which generally don’t mix – mainly Magical Girl and Mecha, with a dash of Shounen. From the outset, everything smacks of Sailor Moon and Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha – you have a team of pretty girls each with their own distinct colour scheme for easy identification, a fluffy animal who accompanies them so as to give guidance and spew magical objects from its mouth whenever needed, and a quest to collect items and defeat a final boss villain. And then the latter half of the series kicks in, and the Knights ditch their human size for ginormous mechas, which they use for epic battles in outer space. Along the journey, they bond with each other, train their sword fighting skills, acquire new magical power ups, and pick up token boyfriends.

The story’s first arc focuses on the build up towards the final battle with Zagato, and is thus more straightforward and formulaic. The most praiseworthy aspect of the first part is that it ends with a rather unexpected twist, and sets the scene for the second arc of the story. Here, the story somewhat ditches its Magical Girl aspect, going full on with political wars and Mecha space battles. New enemies are introduced, and the identity of the ultimate evil is shrouded in mystery. It’s certainly nothing on the level of Madoka Magica, but let’s just say that as the plot progresses, things start to get darker and slightly more depressing. Most would definitely become more engaged in this half, where the story is no longer as predictable, and follows several disparate storylines that build up nicely to a satisfying conclusion.

I’m glad that the characters are all different and engaging in their own ways, although it is a given that the three heroines receive the most development. Fuu, the green knight who manipulates wind, is the shy and quiet meganekko, whose levelheadedness is her strength in battle. She is also the earliest of the knights to develop a romance in the story; with the boyfriend in question being a wandering huntsman known as Ferio. While this initially seems like quick fodder to spice the story up, Fuu and Ferio’s relationship serves as a plot point to explore Fuu’s guilt over some spoilerific happenings in the story.  Umi, the blue knight who manipulates water, is the impulsive and spoilt debutante, whose quarrels with other characters provide much of the comic relief in the earlier portions of the show. I especially love the way her headstrongness morphs from stubbornness to determination, and how her rash exterior melts away to reveal her inner kindness. In short, she’s my pick for best girl, because she’s just so full of sass.

Of course, the main character, Hikaru, is probably one of CLAMP’s best examples of a well-developed character, mainly because I felt there was a very believable depth to her growth. As the red knight whose element is fire, Hikaru starts the story as a cheerful, enthusiastic bundle of energy and joy, determined to play the heroine and do good for all mankind. The events of the first half, however, leave her so defeated and broken that she descends into minor depression by the start of the second half. And essentially, the second half chronicles her shaky attempts to pick herself up from the horrific spoiler-filled events of the first. To be honest, the most entertaining part about Hikaru’s presence is her relationship with Lantis, who towers a good metre over her whenever they’re together on-screen. There’s something slightly odd yet interesting about the pairing a short hyperactive redhead, with the tall, brooding, Japanese version of Christopher Nolan’s Batman, which I just can’t quite put on my finger on – but then, this is CLAMP, where all rules about love and relationships get chucked out the window.

Magic Knight Rayearth aired all the way back in 1994 and 1995, and for its time, the animation isn’t much to complain about. The only time reused footage is used is when the girls cast their magical spells, and while it does make most battle sequences less lacklustre, the bulk of the exhilarating action lies in the Mecha battles, which are done fairly well. Probably, the best thing about Rayearth’s art is the scope and design of Cephiro and the universe beyond it. Cephiro itself begins as a sprawling collection of forested islands either floating or submerged in a sparkling ocean. It’s vast, it’s beautiful, and in the first half it makes for the perfect setting for a quest. In the second half, it becomes invaded by three countries with wholly contrasting cultures and ideologies – which is well reflected in the entire design of the countries’ clothing and architecture. Autozam, a futuristic city with a heavy reliance on technology and mental energy, sends forth a sleek, highly modernised spaceship equipped with Gundam-like weapons. Chizeta, an alternate version of historical Arabia, deploys its flying fortress, a humungous golden oil lamp. Fahren, CLAMP’s version of ancient China, is led by its bratty little princess Aska – who sits within a giant bronze dragon and conjures illusions using ceremonial paper.

The soundtrack comprises a nice range of pieces, from triumphant orchestral arias for the battle scenes, to some really emotional violin sonatas for the moody, introspective moments where tears are shed and emotions laid bare on the table. Again, the soundtrack compliments the animation in reflecting the foreign settings whenever the three invading countries are represented. For Fahren, traditional chinese music is used in the background, for Chizeta, middle eastern music, and so on. But really, the best music is found in its opening and ending tracks, especially both opening songs, ‘Unyielding Wish’ and ‘Still Embracing Light and Darkness’. The craziest thing yet, is that the English dubbed versions of all these songs win the Japanese ones hands down – a feat accomplished by no other anime I have ever seen, maybe with the exception of the Pokemon theme song. So run along and watch the English versions of both openings; but do stick to the Japanese dub for the actual show, this was pre-Bebop days.

All in all, Magic Knight Rayearth is the kind of show that is best enjoyed by those too turned off by the sparkles and glitter in traditional Magical Girl shows, yet too bored by the complexity and impersonality of Mecha anime like Gundam. It strikes a unique, yet praiseworthy balance between both genres, and the anime’s second half is genuinely well-written and paced nicely. Possibly, my biggest criticism of the series is that it suffers from the same flaw that some of CLAMP’s works do – attempting to carry across a deep and poignant message, and not quite getting there. You can tell that there was something about chastising those who sacrifice one’s happiness for the good of the larger community, since lots of words were spent on deliberating the values of Cephiro’s pillar system – but I found it honestly hard to get anything out of that theme, since there’s very little about that which translates into a real-life situation. I mean, really, what is it about anime and teaching protagonists not to be too self-sacrificing? In real life, nobody is ever noble enough to give up their freedom for the greater good!

On the other hand, there’s a solid lesson which the show conveys – the lesson that first understanding the position of a perceived enemy, is the better way to face them, as opposed to blindly attacking without forethought. It gives viewers a lot more to talk about in terms of modern problems – the stance taken by countries in the midst of war, our response to impending terrorism, and so on. Not that anyone who watches Rayearth is really going to think that deeply, but you know, at least there’s some takeaway. If not, then, well, it’s a fine show to watch because it’s entertaining, and above all, it’s complete. 7/10, and please, CLAMP, can’t you make stuff like this again?