(tl;dr: Go vote for Yuuko.)

The wind blows through the streets.
The wind is cold, and there are times when we want to stop.

Last year, Amamiya Yuuko never made it out of the preliminary rounds of ISML 2009. Her only appearance was in an exhibition match, not as on official contestant.

At times like that, I want you to move forward, even if it’s just at a slow pace.
Because someday, you’ll be able to get there.

This year, she is again participating in the preliminary rounds, now for ISML 2010. But this year is different.

Even if something sad happens, it’s all right.
If you extend your hand, someone will be there.
And you’ll be able to share the warmth with them.

This year, she has a good chance of success. After her first match, she posted a vote total that rivaled the top contenders in her group, giving her a good shot at qualifying into the competition.

Even if it’s tough to journey on your own, if you don’t let go of the hand you hold, you’ll surely be able to pull through.
So, please don’t give up. Happiness awaits at the end of the long, long road. That happiness builds up, and grows into something even larger.

I’m not saying this will be easy—it will likely be quite difficult. But it is attainable.

And someday, I want you to realize that there were numerous shards of happiness on the road you just walked.

But we need your help–we need a few more votes to push Yuuko to victory. These may be the most important votes of her campaign, the votes that decide the difference between a good nomination run and a spot in ISML 2010.

Please don’t forget that you are not alone. Engraving your footsteps, crossing the seasons, and looking up at the sky.
Even if you don’t have wings, you’ll definitely be able to get there.

So, please join us. Vote. Help push Yuuko into ISML 2010.

To the place that you once dreamed of.
To the tomorrow that gleams with light—

Preliminaries start today, Jan. 31

It’s been some time since my last post. In addition, it’s very late, so I think I’ll get straight to the point: the International Saimoe League 2010 begins in earnest tomorrow (today) with the first Preliminary rounds, and you should all go vote for Kushieda Minori in Group 6 and Amamiya Yuuko in Group 13.

I’ve written about these characters before; last year, Yuuko didn’t make it out of the preliminaries, and Minorin barely made a .500 record in the regular season. And to be fair, neither of these girls is the favorite in their respective groups; Minorin is grouped with Holo, a member of the top 16 in ISML 2009, and Yuuko is up against Miyanaga Saki, a strong contender in last year’s J-Saimoe. Since only the top performer in each group of Phase I of the preliminaries (a round-robin tournament, 3 girls at a time, in groups) qualifies for the regular season, it may seem that the mission is hopeless. But we must succeed.

The road to the regular season gets much more difficult after the first phase of preliminaries. The second phase splits the remaining candidates into groups of 8, wherein a 3-round single-elimination tournament will choose one contestant from each group. After that, the third phase pools the final candidates into first four, and then one large pool, from which one or two final contestants are chosen by a mass vote. Needless to say, it will be very difficult to push characters that are off the mainstream through these rounds, especially if they are paired against stronger competitors.

Others might give up in this situation; others might risk an easier time in a later bracket. But I’ve been watching Gurren Lagann for the past four hours, and I’m determined to win Yuuko and Minorin their rightful spots in ISML 2010. Both have loyal fans who will support their campaigns. Both are amazingly strong characters, working hard to achieve their dreams. They’re both burning with passion; and that’s what moe really is, after all. So vote for Minorin and Yuuko.

[Expand for my voting record in this round]

ARENA 01: Abstained Akiyama Mio [Ryōgi Shiki] Senō Natsuru

ARENA 02: Abstained Kawasumi Mai Yuno [Ichinose Kotomi]

ARENA 03: Abstained Kotegawa Yui [Uiharu Kazari] Felli Loss

ARENA 04: Abstained [Senjōgahara Hitagi] Louise Vallière Sōryū Asuka Langley

ARENA 05: Abstained Kamio Misuzu Fujibayashi Ryō [Kotobuki Tsumugi]

ARENA 06: Abstained Sawachika Eri Sanzen’in Nagi [Winry Rockbell]

ARENA 07: Abstained [Shiina Mafuyu] Takei Hisa Sonozaki Shion

ARENA 08: Abstained Kurata Sayuri Lambdadelta [Maria]

ARENA 09: Abstained Hinaichigo [Sangō Shizuku] Kusakabe Misuzu

ARENA 10: Abstained Sakurano Kurimu Ryūgū Rena [Shindō Chihiro]

ARENA 11: Abstained [Bernkastel] Lisa Alice

ARENA 12: Abstained Niche [Hiiragi Tsukasa] Kirishima Akari

ARENA 13: Abstained Suigintou [Tainaka Ritsu] Ranka Lee

ARENA 14: Abstained Yin Nagi [Furukawa Nagisa]

ARENA 15: Abstained Chii Saber [Tsukimiya Ayu]

ARENA 16: Abstained Holo [Kushieda Minori] Tsuruya

ARENA 17: Abstained Sōseiseki [Yoko Littner] Ikaros

ARENA 18: Abstained [Daidōji Tomoyo] Konjiki no Yami Kirishima Kotone

ARENA 19: Abstained Sengoku Nadeko [Suō Pavlichenko] Enma Ai

ARENA 20: Abstained Yagami Hayate Mishima Akane [Ibuki Fūko]

ARENA 21: Abstained [Miyamura Miyako] Hirasawa Ui Erurū

ARENA 22: Abstained [Kuronuma Sawako] Sunohara Mei Nishizawa Ayumu

ARENA 23: Abstained [Amae Koromo] Shirayuki Mizore Beatrice

ARENA 24: [Abstained] Chiba Kirino Nymph Isayama Yomi

ARENA 25: Abstained Takamachi Nanoha Ushiromiya Maria [Shihō Matsuri]

ARENA 26: [Abstained] Mizuno Kaede Sakurazaki Setsuna Izumi Konata

ARENA 27: Abstained Yūki Mikan C.C. [Hachikuji Mayoi]

12 Days 2009, #1: Fuzakenna! [Toradora!]

Toradora! was one of the highlights of the beginning of 2009 (and the end of 2008). It’s been featured in numerous end-of-the-year countdowns (all of which I’m too lazy to find and link) as one of the strongest shows of the year. It’s the only series to be mentioned twice on my own list of twelve moments. And (naturally, considering its place at #1) it’s one of my personal favorites.

This was weird, but pretty cool.

Sure, Toradora! could have been an ordinary series. Good or bad, it’s still basically a high school romantic comedy. Like many others, it might have been boring, full of cheap gags, flat characters, and uninteresting relationships; what made it into one of the favorite shows of the year? The plot is typical of the genre and the animation is neither crippling nor spectacular. In many ways, it is an ordinary series. Even the characters have simple and conventional backgrounds; Taiga is a Kugimiya Rie tsundere, Minorin a genki girl, Ami a princess, and Kitamura a typical male sidekick. Ryuuji is perhaps the most interesting character from the start, with a face like a yakuza and the homemaking skills of the best stay-at-home mothers.

But where any other series would leave those characters within their preset roles, Toradora! smashes their molds and lets them grow to be so much more. Taiga is clumsy, insecure, and embarassed by her crush on Kitamura (and she eventually stops calling Ryuuji a dog). Minorin stays energetic to conquer her own fears and works multiple jobs to save toward enrolling in a sports university. Ami drops her mask and transforms into something of an honest observer, frustrated with the other relationships’ lack of progress and (increasingly) pushing the others toward making decisions. Kitamura falls in love with the student council president, goes through a teenage rebellion, and somehow remains a lovable idiot (and a bit of an exhibitionist). And Ryuuji overcomes his complex toward his father and realizes his feelings for Taiga.

An effective analogy

Toradora!’s characters are extraordinarily human, with their own flaws and desires. They’re all insecure in one way or another; Taiga over her feelings for Kitamura, Ami over her stalker, Minori as she struggles to move forward, Kitamura over his love for Kanou (the student council president), and Ryuuji because of his feelings for Minorin. They struggle with their own feelings and dreams, trying to cope with a confusing part of their lives. They succeed and fail. And through it all, they contemplate themselves and each other, on love and life, in a way that makes viewers feel intimately connected to them. From Minorin’s speech about ghosts, UFO’s, and love and Ami’s talk about equality to Kanou’s speech of inspiration to Kitamura, Toradora!’s characters show a depth greater than almost every other series.

Sometimes, encouragement is necessary

And the characters display incredible intensity, determination, and passion. I wrote yesterday that ef – a tale of memories has some of the most passionate moments in recent memory, but so many scenes in Toradora! are even more passionate.

Ami's determination to confront her stalker,

Ryuuji and Minori's race to comfort Taiga,

Kitamura's confession to Kanou,

the resulting fight between Kanou and Taiga,

Minorin and Ami's argument over Ryuuji---

the list goes on. But all are overshadowed by the end of episode 23, where all five major characters are… well, awesome.

As Taiga hands out Valentine’s Day chocolates to her friends, she alludes to her half-conscious mumblings about liking Ryuuji, which Takasu and Kitamura deny. Minori snaps, knowing the truth, and passionately confronts Taiga, encouraging her to admit her feelings, while Ami and Kitamura block the exits and prevent Taiga from escaping. When Taiga responds saying she wanted Minorin to be happy,

Minori screams Fuzakenna! and exclaims,

My happiness can only be made with my own hands! My happiness doesn't depend on anyone but me!

It is, without a doubt, the emotional peak of the series, and the writing and acting are superb, and it’s one of my favorite scenes from any series. All of the emotions and frustrations that had been building in the characters are finally released, leading to a satisfying catharsis. But beyond the enormous emotional impact it has, I feel this scene highlights the other great strength of Toradora!’s characters—their willingness, even obligation, to help one another.

Throughout the entire series, the main characters can’t leave one another alone and unhappy. Taiga and Ryuuji become friends because of Ryuuji’s willingness to give her advice about love, and they help Ami break her mask and reveal her true self. Taiga fights Kanou to stand up for Kitamura’s feelings, and Minori and Ryuuji run with everything they have to win the “Mr. Lucky Guy” race and comfort Taiga. Ami tries to motivate Minorin to accept Ryuuji’s feelings, and Taiga runs for Student Council President to bring Kitamura out of his funk. At the end of the series, Ami, Kitamura, and Minori offer their support to Taiga and Ryuuji when they plan to run away, even over their own reservations and disapproval.

Moreover, they’re all willing to make sacrifices—large sacrifices—for one another’s happiness. Ami and Minori both like Ryuuji, but they both support, even force, Taiga and Ryuuji to be a couple. Ryuuji risks his friendship with Minori to encourage Taiga to reunite with her father. Kitamura overcomes his rejection by Taiga and supports her relationship with Ryuuji. And ultimately, even Taiga chooses to defer her happiness by moving away from Ryuuji.

Maybe it’s this maturity that sets the characters of Toradora! apart from those in other series. Most of the time, characters in school dramas blindly charge forward, climbing straight over every obstacle in their path; even in Clannad, while Tomoya overcomes incredible loss, we don’t see him show the kind of self-restraint displayed by Ami, Minori, Taiga, Ryuuji, and Yuusaku. Perhaps that’s the real meaning behind Toradora!’s ending, and Ryuuji’s year without seeing Taiga; perhaps they are mature enough to recognize when to wait. But for certain, it’s why I love Toradora!, and why this is the first—and last—of my Twelve Moments in Anime 2009.

Here's to hoping you dream of a hawk, and eggplant, and Mt. Fuji. Have a happy new year!

100

12 Days 2009, #2: 100 [ef - a tale of memories]

In many ways, the two seasons of ef are much the same; they follow the same characters, they change openings and endings the same way, and they share SHAFT’s amazing and unique visual styles. Taken together, the two seasons of ef are two parts of a whole; they tell the story of Yuuko and Yuu, the fairy tale of the two. While melodies presupposes knowledge of the character backgrounds and relationships established in the first season, memories leaves Yuuko and her relationship with Himura for the second season to explain.

But despite these similarities, memories and melodies differ thematically. While melodies focuses on despair and hope, memories tells stories about finding something special in life. For Tsutsumi, this is the perfect scene; for Kei, it’s the strength to move on from her relationship with Hiro and her guilt toward Chihiro. For Renji and Chihiro, it’s fulfilling their dreams of writing novels, and an escape from Chihiro’s 13-hour time limit. And for Hiro and Miyako, that “something special” is a loving home to return to, and color in the world around them.

A world without color

SHAFT even animates the world’s lack of color when Hiro and Miyako feel alone; scenes fade to black and white, and some even lose detail to become block or line drawings. And when the two kiss, they glow, and the world sparkles. In general, the animation in memories is extremely versatile and dynamic, perhaps even more than in melodies. Characters become hollow sillhouettes on a black plane, the backgrounds shining through their line drawings; static interrupts scenes, and time slows, cluttering animation with noise and slowing speech to a baritone crawl. Frames are dynamic and sometimes constructed from random objects like umbrella handles or wreckage.

042

But for all the pretty animation, memories doesn’t hit me as hard as melodies emotionally. Maybe it’s because none of the characters’ situations in memories are as hopeless as Yuuko’s life in melodies, and maybe it’s because Yuuko and Himura are around to guide the others, but I can get through memories without becoming a wreck. The first season feels more passionate, but less desperate; its characters are fighting to be happy, instead of fighting to survive.

I suppose I see the first season of ef as a lite version of the second—not as deep, not as filling, and not as traumatic the next morning. memories doesn’t move me as much as melodies; it isn’t as spirit-crushingly depressing as its sequel. But I think it’s good that memories is brighter than melodies; it gives the first series a warmer, homelike feeling that matches its theme. That doesn’t mean that the first season is without tension or sadness, but it feels more… optimistic, more hopeful toward the world.

The wall of text

For example, I felt heartbroken the first time I watched Chihiro collapse from exhaustion in episode 8, and from her terror and confusion upon awakening. And Miyako’s wall of text in episode 7 was amazing and oppressive. But these scenes aren’t as oppressive as the revelation of Yuuko’s past or Kuze’s wall of Warums, or as heartbreaking as Yuuko’s death. Perhaps it’s because memories ends happily, while the ending of melodies is bittersweet and tinged with loss that I don’t feel as affected by the first season.

000

However, I do feel like the first season is more passionate than the second; I can feel the characters’ feelings more clearly than in melodies. I can feel Miyako’s desperation better than I can with Kuze’s or Yuuko’s frustration. And as the time on Miyako’s phone card decreases, I can feel at first her recitence and then her growing hope as she talks to Hiro. I feel her happiness drain away as the timer reaches zero. And I feel her joy when Hiro shows up anyway out of the blue. It’s one of the most passionate scenes I’ve watched, and that’s why it’s Moment #2.

I saw you in heaven and heard of your glory, you saved our world from the fallen angels.

12 Days, #3: The Coming of the King [Eden of the East]

I saw Messiah standing, standing before me with no words, nothing but “Hope”.

We meet Akira Takizawa bearing nothing but a handgun and a mobile phone; at the time, he doesn’t remember anything about himself, even his own name. But from the moment he emerges from behind a passing pickup truck, brazenly displaying both the weapons at his disposal, we can tell he’s someone different—someone enigmatic, if a bit loony. And while he may be odd, he’s extremely charismatic, and from his encylopedic knowledge of film to his ability to literally charm the pants off of a passing businessman it’s hard not to take a liking to him.

However, Takizawa seems to have some skeletons in his closet. He has photos of himself smiling in front of thousands of angry naked men; his apartment in Washington, D.C. is filled with guns and ammunition, and his phone has a balance of over 8 billion yen (around 80 million dollars). He is a mystery—as much to himself as to us—and we can’t help but follow along as he tries to piece together his own fractured identity, captured both by his charisma and our own curiosity.

When we lost dread, a Demon was laughing, but now you are showing us wonder, giving your love

We learn the twelve Seleção have each been granted 10 billion yen and a task—save Japan. They are participants in a bizarre game with vague goals, but Takizawa seems to be playing differently than the other Seleção we meet. Some have given up the game, using their funds for personal ideals like Dr. Hiura, who founded a hospital with his money. Kuroha appears to use her influence to castrate random men for pleasure. Yuuki attacked Japan with missiles, causing Careless Monday, and Mononobe has been organizing the other Seleção to steal Juiz and become the ringmaster of the game itself.

So far, Takizawa used his to buy a shopping mall and ship 20,000 NEETs to Dubai. He prevented any deaths during the Careless Monday missile attacks with the help of these NEETs, then shipped them overseas to protect them from the public backlash; he took the blame for the missiles to clear doubt on those who aided him.

With awe, down on my knees again, I've got to know you're the one, the only one reveals the world

And through it all, he manages to stay charming and charismatic, from dealing with Kondo and meeting Hiura all the way to confronting Mononobe. Takizawa captivates Saki throughout the series, charms her friends into a business partnership, and manages to save his Johnny from Kuroha. Even the NEETs he sent to Dubai still listen to him, and though they hate him they still respect him; one even thanks him for returning him to society. Even while uncovering his past and dealing with the other Seleção, he takes time to play with Micchon and his dog.

And throughout the series, Takizawa naturally saves people, regardless of his relation to them or the danger to himself. He saves Saki in the first episode even though he’s naked and can’t remember anything about himself, and she’s a complete stranger. He saves a random truck driver who crashed in front of him on the freeway on his way to find Kuroha. He even tries to save Kuroha when he meets her. And of course, he saves thousands from missile attacks, twice. Unlike some of the other Seleção, Takizawa genuinely wants to save the country—each person individually, and as a collective. He takes this as his interpretation of the Seleção’s mandated “responsibility of those who have,” and uses it as his strategy for the game they play. And he’s willing to sacrifice himself to succeed.

In other words, Takizawa is a natural leader. He has the ability to quickly and effectively move people to act to achieve a goal, and to do so in a way that satisfies everyone. He can put people at ease and help them relax as well. He is willing to help others with no supposition of repayment, and he can forefit himself for his cause. And while he may not be a knight in shining armor, some might call him a hero, a visonary, a savior—or a king.

The King has come! To lighten up our feet
The King has come! With justice 'till the end
The King has come! To save us from the dark
Who could ever doubt? We have faith

I love the last episode of Eden of the East because Takizawa finally comes into his own as a hero. In typical charismatic fashion, he gets the newly-returned NEETs to foil another missile attack, and his mimed pistol shots clear the missiles from the sky. And yet again, he sacrifices himself to save his companions and takes power onto himself not out of greed, but responsibility. Takizawa martyrs himself to save the nation and takes up the mantle of a king, in this year’s Moment #3.

What a wonderful gift

12 Days 2009, #4: Cruel Hinagiku’s Thesis [Hayate no Gotoku!!]

Music is interesting. Sometimes good music can stand out of a scene, and sometimes it can lie invisible, subtly enhancing an experience without making its presence known. Sometimes bad songs can worm their way into my head and refuse to leave, tormenting me for hours. The best music can make a good show great, or a great show legendary. Music communicates emotion—loneliness, nostalgia, joy, terror, sorrow, excitement—and matching the right song to a scene can make or break it. Obviously for a series about music, good music is essential. BECK featured amazing music, from 50 Cent Wisdom to a moving cover of I’ve Got a Feeling, and Nodame Cantabile has an extremely strong soundtrack including Rhapsody in Blue and Allegro Cantabile. Even K-ON! has solid music (think about all the times Don’t Say Lazy was played this spring).

But when a series isn’t about music, it can be even more satisfying when the music is right. Cowboy Bebop has one of the best soundtracks around, featuring both diversity and quality. Between the series and the film, it covers everything from country to trance, jazz to rock, and parade march to elegy. Moreover, virtually every song is excellent, from the iconic opening Tank! and closing The Real Folk Blues to random background and insert songs like Mushroom Hunting and Go Go Cactus Man! (Cowboy Andy’s theme). Bebop’s soundtrack brings the show to life, reflecting scenes, characters, and locations.

Beyond the Clouds (Kumo no Mukou, Yakusoku no Basho) is another work with a spectacular musical score. I actually listened to the soundtrack for Beyond the Clouds long before I saw the film, and in the intervening time my excitement grew and grew as I listened to TENMON’s score over and over. The theme that plays when Sayuri and Hiroki reunite and again when she awakens is beautiful and moving, and it stuck in my head for weeks.

Even a good opening or ending can help cement a series into our memories. The two seasons of ef stand out as much from their ever-changing openings and rotating endings as they do from their unique direction and visual styles. The first season of The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya gained fame from its meme-inducing ending theme (and accompanying dance). And how many people remember getting hooked on Eden of the East because of its awesome (if pretentious) opening from Oasis?

I swear this makes sense if you watch the episode.

So when Hayate no Gotoku!! featured none other than Cruel Angel’s Thesis from Neon Genesis Evangelion, I nearly jumped out of my seat. Hayate makes all sorts of references to other shows, old and new, but I never expected it to include such a visible tribute to Evangelion. Moreover, it comes at a great time in the plot; as Hinagiku sings “Boy, beome a legend”, Hayate makes a daring dash through the middle of the festival dressed as a catgirl maid—and while that sounds totally bizarre out of context, I was shaking with excitement when I watched it. I thought the scene was a great tribute both to the series and to the emotions the song ignites, and while it may not be as deep or meaningful as the other entries in this list, it gets a place as Moment #4.

The Tokyo Tower, a casualty as always

12 Days 2009, #5: Facing Reality [Tokyo Magniture 8.0]

What would you do if the world broke?

Tokyo Magnitude 8.0 is BONES’ answer to that question, describing the aftermath of a major earthquake in the heart of Tokyo. The series follows Mirai, her brother Yuuki, and a friendly woman named Mari who they meet at the beginning of the disaster, as they journey from Odaiba, where they meet, through the wreckage of Tokyo to their homes in Seijo and Sangenjaya.

When we meet Mirai, she is caught in the throes of puberty and acts like a stereotypical (perhaps even archetypal) angsty teenager. Her parents are busy with their work and expect her to take more responsibility around the house, but she misses their attention and resents her younger brother Yuuki’s carefree attitude. Even after the earthquake strikes, Mirai whines and complains; this turned some people away from the series, which is a shame.

Mirai shows her humanity

Mirai isn’t whiny all the time; when the earthquake hits, she immediately fears for Yuuki’s safety and goes into the building they were in to look for him. But as the three journey on, Mirai begins to really mellow as she takes in the seriousness of the situation. After seeing one of her classmates crying over her dead father, Mirai laments her inability to help. As the series progresses, Mirai becomes less of a “phone alien” and more of a human being, understanding the gravity of the situation and wanting more and more to return to the family she felt so frustrated with before.

Episode 7 is in some ways a microcosm of Mirai’s emotional growth; early in the episode, Yuuki meets Kento, a boy about Mirai’s age. Both are fascinated by robots, and Yuuki follows Kento off to learn more about the robots being used in the rescue effort. Initially, Mirai dislikes Kento and is jealous of his ability to capture Yuuki’s attention, but Kento and Mirai are eventually drawn together when he tries to save a robot, and Mirai’s anger cools. Meanwhile, Mirai also gains an appreciation for her parents and resolves to “be nicer to them when we get home”.

Then Yuuki collapses.

Yuuki died.

Yuuki is rushed to a hospital, but we then see Mirai in a dark corridor next to his corpse; she gazes on his lifeless face and collapses…

It was a dream! Yuuki stil lives!

…when Mari wakes her up. A nurse questions Mirai about her brother’s medical history, and Mirai and Mari end up outside of an operating room, with Yuuki presumably undergoing surgery inside. Time passes, but when the doctor emerges, he brings sad news; Yuuki is dead, seemingly his second death in under ten minutes. Mirai again breaks down sobbing.

...but the doctors couldn't save him, and he still died.

But then Yuuki’s voice awakens Mirai again, and she ventures to a field where a group of children are playing soccer, and Yuuki is alive and well. He claims to be fine, and though Mirai tells him to rest she is noticeably relieved.

No, it was another dream, and Yuuki's fine.

The first time I saw this episode, I was in shock. At first, I was amazed that BONES decided to kill Yuuki off; he was the cheery person in the trio, the one who could stay optimistic and cheer up the others when they felt depressed. When his corpse turned out to be just a dream, I felt relieved. And then BONES killed him again, and I was even more shocked; Yuuki really was dead! But then it turned out to be another dream, and my emotions settled again. And even better, Mirai started acting like a mature adult toward her brother; she finally realized that she was responsible for helping him, and started being the big sister she should have been. She even cheered up Mari! I felt like the series and its characters were starting to fall into place.

And then I read this. It shook me to my core, and totally overturned everything I had thought about the series. I didn’t believe it; BONES wouldn’t really kill Yuuki, especially after faking it twice. But it intrigued me enough to watch the episode again, and as I did I started to see the signs.

Yuuki's gone.

Yuuki was dead.

Mari’s downward glances, the two bedrolls, the awkward angles at which Yuuki appeared to kick the ball—it all made sense. I still didn’t know for sure—I still hoped that I was insane, and that Yuuki was still alive—but I was convinced that he was dead, and I waited impatiently for the next episode to find any further evidence, one way or the other.

But by the end of episode 9, it was clear; Yuuki had passed. The following episode, Mirai finally came face to face with his death, but for me the damage had already been done.

Yuuki dies.

I can’t help but admire BONES for pulling such an elaborate stunt. There’s a huge difference between watching someone hallucinate that a dead person is still alive and being that person yourself. Yuuki’s two deaths in episode 8 foreshadowed and represented his actual death, but just as much displayed Mirai’s—and, at least, my—desire for Yuuki to be alive, the desire that his death was only a dream, and that we would awaken to his cheerful smile. It showed that BONES wasn’t kidding when they said they wanted the show to be realistic; they weren’t afraid to show death in a very personal way. And it maintained the tension of the earthquake through the end of the series, turning it into an emotional rollercoaster.

Flowers for the deceased.

It gives the show another purpose, as well; Tokyo Magnitude 8.0 answers the question, “How do we face the death of a loved one?” Yuuki’s death draws the rest of his family closer together in the aftermath of the earthquake and forces Mirai to mature; but as viewers, we too are forced to choose between reality and fantasy in reaction to his death. We get pushed into considering our own reactions: how would I react if a close family member died? I’m fortunate enough not to know yet, but I can’t help but contemplate it, ponder it, imagine it, prepare for it. And I think preparation is the real point of Tokyo Magnitude 8.0, for both disaster and loss, and that’s why Yuuki’s death is Moment #5.

For Yuuko

12 Days 2009, #6: Yuuko [ef - a tale of melodies]

Honestly, I’m not sure what to write about this series. I simultaneously have so much and so little to say about the second season of ef. Every time I watch it I find something new, something I missed the last time, something that SHAFT carefully orchestrated, and every time I watch it it utterly destroys me emotionally, something that few series can do. Sure, there are quite a few shows that make me feel sad or bring me to tears, and to be honest I tend to gravitate toward those series, but usually I cry for a bit and then move on. ef leaves me drained, shattered, and feeling like a wreck, as if someone came in while I was watching and beat the crap out of me, something that Kanon, Clannad, and even Saikano can’t come close to doing.

Yuuko's tormented past is revealed.

Maybe it’s because ef – a tale of melodies is about despair. From the beginning of the series, Yuuko and Kuze have both given up on their lives—Kuze from his looming death, and Yuuko from her traumatic life since leaving the orphanage. At the end of episode 6, Yuuko reveals herself to Yuu, physically and emotionally; she shows him her scars from Amamiya, her abusive “nii-san”, and tells him how she was beaten and raped. She also tells Yuu that he could have saved her—that she tried to get him to save her—by accepting her affections in the orphanage and giving her a place to belong, and that by rejecting her Yuu was complicit in her despair.

The internal battle

In the following episode, Kuze confronts Mizuki, asking her “Why are you trying to care for me? Why won’t you leave me alone? Why are you cheerful?” But as he tries to push her away, he speaks with a hint of desperation in his voice, and even as his words literally tear apart the scene he truly is searching for a way to reconcile his desire to stay alive with his despair at his inevitable and impending demise. Even though he outwardly tries to cut his ties with the world, Kuze fights an internal battle against his own hopelessness, embodied by masked doubles of himself.

Upside-down. This could be a moment all its own.

But as their parallel stories unfold, we see their respective companions fight to rescue them from that despair and replace it with hope. Though Yuu blames himself for Yuuko’s suffering, he acts, trying to take her away from Amamiya and begin a new life together. After he overcomes his sadness, he gains conviction, visualized in the opening. At the end of episode 6, Yuuko tells Yuu that he blinks when he lies, and through episode 7 the opening shows him blinking while crucified, but beginning with the (upside-down) episode 8 opening, Yuu does not blink. And though his attempt to start a new life with Yuuko ultimately fails, he produces a drawing of her that brings closure to Amamiya’s own despair, and as he burns himself and his mansion, he frees Yuuko and Yuu from their troubled pasts as well as his own oppression.

Chest!

Similarly, Mizuki finds the courage to confront Kuze again, with answers to his previous questions: “I try to care for you because I love you. I’m cheerful because I love you. I won’t leave you alone because I love you.” With these answers (and a nice kick) Mizuki frees Kuze from his doubts and fears and gives him the resolve to fight for the remainder of his life. He decides to undergo a dangerous surgical procedure that could extend his time briefly, telling Mizuki “Even if it gives me just another second to spend with you, I think it’s worth fighting for.”

Any of these moments would be worth a spot in my top 12, but one other thing from ef – a tale of melodies sticks with me. If I were more organized and better at planning, it really should be December 25th’s post, and it probably should be #1 on this list. It’s the reason I’m trying to push out this post a little early so it’ll be out on Christmas. And it’s to whom this post is dedicated.

Yuuko Amamiya.

While the two seasons of ef follow Hiro, Miyako, Chihiro, Renji, Kyosuke, Kei, Kuze, and Mizuki as they struggle to find happiness, ef is really about Yuuko and Yuu. They’re the ones who the other characters look to for advice, Yuuko especially. In episode 11, the first season’s characters say the following:

After meeting her, I resolved to start trying again.
After meeting her, I found something precious to me.
After meeting her, I found a place to return to.
After meeting her, I found the colors I was looking for.

And Yuuko’s story is the most tragic; when I watch ef, Yuuko’s story is what’s truly crushing my emotions. After Amamiya’s death, Yuu and Yuuko really do start a life together, and for a while they are happy. They even meet a young Mizuki (called Miki at the time) and help her grow out of her shell and open up to other people. But on Christmas day, while she waits for Yuu at the church where she and Yuu were orphans, she goes to pick up a ball that rolled into the street—and is run over.

The courage to live...

Yuuko’s death is sudden and heart-wrenching; a friend described it as a shot to the gut. I… don’t have the words to describe my emotions, really. Even with her dying breaths, Yuuko doesn’t lament her lost happiness, but sings a song of hope.

Yuu and Yuuko are reunited.

Yuu becomes an architect and leaves Japan to found the second Otowa in Australia and fulfill Yuuko’s dream of “A city where everyone is kind, and no one will be alone. A bright city that’s connected to the future.” But after his work is complete, he returns to Japan on Christmas to reunite with Yuuko’s spirit; the two go to the roof of their old school, and try to part. Yuu tells Yuuko what she wants to hear—that he will be fine without her, and that he has the strength to be on his own—blinking; but he tells her not to worry with only a twitch, and she vanishes, thanking Yuu for her happiness and telling him to look forward to his own happiness.

Farewell.

In memoriam, Moment #6.

SLEEP IN HEAVEN
Yuuko Amamiya 1982-1998

Miracle worker

12 Days 2009, #7: Miracle of Minorin [ISML]

CCY introduced me to the International Saimoe League at the beginning of 2009, just as the preliminary rounds were drawing to a close. All the major contenders were in already, and the fight was on for the less popular characters to grab the few precious remaining spots in the regular season tournament. At the time, I didn’t fully understand what was going on; I hadn’t seen ef yet, and wouldn’t watch Aria or Index until much later this year. I had seen Clannad and Kanon over winter break, but for the most part those characters were in (except for CCY’s beloved Shiori, who barely made it into the tournament—and proceeded to get owned; tough luck, CCY.) I knew a few of the older characters like Chii and Osaka, but they’re not “moe” in the modern sense of the word, and their poor performance in ISML 2009 reflected that. I was watching Eden of the East and K-ON!, but the spring season series began airing too late and missed the deadline for participation in the 2009 ISML (though I’m sure they’ll clean up next year), so it was a little hard at first to decide who to vote for. But there were a couple of currently-airing series continuing from the fall that were elegible; for example, there was Clannad ~After Story~.

And there was Toradora.

Moruze~

Even halfway through the series, it was obvious that Toradora’s characters were a cut above those in other series (and they would only get better as the season drew on). While Taiga seemed at first like a typical Rie Kugimiya tsundere, Ami seemed at first like a shallow, arrogant, manipulative bitch, and Minori seemed at first like a slightly airheaded genki girl moving too fast to notice the world around her, all three quickly proved to be much, much deeper characters than they might have been. Ami took off her mask and, if slowly, began acting from her heart, Minori had her own fears and emotional baggage beneath her cheerful exterior, and Taiga was pursuing someone she’d already rejected (and who rejected her) while dealing with her broken family. (Of course, Ryuuji and Kitamura were similarly awesome, but being male they weren’t eligible for the ISML.)

PITCHAA BIBITERU HEY HEY HEY

But though all three girls had my support, Minorin stood out above the others. I admired her, not her cheerfulness but for what lay beneath it; I admired her determination, her strength, her discipline, her friendship, her selflessness. I admired her bravery to stay calm even when she was scared. I admired her ability to pick herself back up after she fell. I admired her ideas about ghosts and love. And I admired her ability to fight for something with every ounce of her soul when it mattered.

It mattered.

Even now as I rewatch that scene it still brings me to tears. However, they aren’t tears of sadness or of happiness; they’re tears of… fulfillment? esteem?

…love?

I’m not really sure. But like a Bushido warrior, Minorin is able to take action with a harmony of mind, body, and spirit that I admire but am totally unable to duplicate.

Over the nine or so months of the tournament, I voted for girls from Kanon, Clannad, and Toradora, but whenever I had to choose between them, from the preliminaries all the way through the final rounds, I chose Minorin first. Unfortunately, it quickly became clear that while Taiga had a shot at the top spot, Ami was at best a second-tier character, and Minorin was merely average. Instead of the Heavenly Tiara, Minorin had to set her sights lower—at a .500 record, and a free ticket into the ISML 2010.

Throughout the round-robin competition, she won slightly fewer matches than she lost—only slightly fewer, but still fewer. By halfway through the eighth of nine rounds, CCY and I came to the realization that in order to win at least half her matches, Minorin needed to win 9 of the remaining 12 rounds, a significantly better record than she had posted at any prior point during the competition. Fortunately, she only had to face three top-tier opponents during that time (these were almost sure losses), but that meant that she had to win every other match, beating other close contenders Ryuugu Rena [Higurashi no Naku Koro ni], Kamio Misuzu [Air], Ryogi Shiki [Kara no Kyokai], and Kinomoto Sakura [Cardcaptor Sakura]. It was possible, but Minorin would need a flawless performance over those nine matches. It would take a miracle. But we had to try; we had to fight for Minorin just like she fought for Taiga, with everything we had. CCY started writing posts for each round, and we went so far as to coerce some of our friends (who otherwise probably wouldn’t have cared about an anime girl popularity contest) to submit votes.

As the days ticked by, I waited anxiously for the results of each new voting round, knowing that any unexpected loss spelled doom; but that dreaded loss never came, and after the final round’s results were released I saw that Minorin had won exactly 32 out of 63 matches. Somehow, the miracle happened. We made it happen—all of Minorin’s fans, and everyone else who voted for her or helped campaign for her. And somehow, I felt like we’d lived up to her example, and gave her a small moment of celebration, a moment she deserved, and my Moment #7.

Something was wrong.

12 Days 2009, #8: Endless [The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya 2009]

キョンくん電話!

I haven’t seen more rage since the last time I said Greedo shot first at a Star Wars convention. I don’t think any discussion of the biggest moments in anime of 2009 can overlook Endless Eight; for over half the summer, anime fans everywhere wondered if the next week would allow The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya to progress, or if it would foretell another trip around the same time loop, with the same events. It even got to Hitler:

For eight weeks, Endless Eight was the subject of disbelief, bemusement, and rage. Some said it was a troll from Kadokawa and KyoAni. Others decried it as the worst betrayal in recent memory. A few defended it in one way or another. Viewers dropped the series entirely; some vowed to return after the plot moved on. Haruhi’s MAL rating plummeted. I, for one, loved it (though I hated the ending—see below). And while ghostlightning enjoyed each new episode by considering it a rewatching of the old, I enjoyed all of the episodes for themselves. Part of this, I admit, was the schadenfreude of watching the people who couldn’t stand it grow increasingly irate. But I really do think that Endless Eight was a triumph, and not a troll.

From the beginning, Haruhi has always played fast and loose with what we expect in an anime series. The first season was broadcast totally out of order, for (in my opinion) the better; I still maintain this is the best order to watch the first season in the first time, since it’s much better paced than watching those episodes in continuity order. KyoAni was brave and brash enough to deviate from the norm, and it worked out. Because of the release format of the second season, a similar stunt wasn’t possible (though I really wish we had Haruhi ordering numbers for the 14 new episodes), so they did something else unexpected, something that no one in their right mind would ever attempt.

I agree, Endless Eight would be a travesty if they had re-aired the same episode totally unchanged for eight weeks in a row. But Kyoto Animation went to the effort of reanimating, redirecting, and rerecording Endless Eight anew for each trip through the time loop. That made Endless Eight more than just a troll of its viewers, and gave it meaning. By reanimating the same story, the same dialogue, the same events, and the same characters, KyoAni and Kadokawa transformed Endless Eight into a control of sorts; by keeping everything else the same, they accented the subtle changes in directing and animation present all the time and displayed them prominently.

Even though everything is the same between these eight episodes, everything is also different. The characters wear different clothes, the camera angles move, the pacing differs, the backgrounds morph, and even the episode title changes. Scenes are lit and shot differently, and some get emphasized while others are downplayed or omitted entirely. And each episode seems to have a different theme, a unique focus in its animation and direction.

Episode 2, the first Endless Eight episode, simply sets up the plot and events. But through the subsequent episodes we see things from different viewpoints and with different emphases. The second time through, Episode 3, features overbrightened lighting and slightly washed out and blurry scenes, as if the whole thing is just a dream. In Episode 8, the 7th trip through the loop, the colors fade almost to grayscale whenever Kyon feels the overwhelming familiarity of a scene. And my personal favorite, Episode 6, shows the fifth journey through August focusing on Kyon’s environment and surroundings (and whose animation and direction reminds me of SHAFT). Each episode in Endless Eight is subtly different, but within that difference lies meaning.

This isn't SHAFT, though you might have fooled me.

But beyond meaning, I think dragging Endless Eight out was the correct choice from a story perspective. I can’t see how the arc could have anything near the same amount with only two or even three or four episodes. Let’s break this down; one episode is needed to introduce the events of the summer, a second to introduce the time loop. Ending the loop in the same episode as introducing it makes the loop just another plot device, so we need a third episode to end the arc and give the time loop time to become real, instead of being something only referenced in the dialogue.

At a bare minimum, it doesn’t make sense for Endless Eight to be shorter than three episodes; but that still loses something very important. Endless Eight is about frustration and an inability to act; at the end of every episode, Kyon reaches out in desperation, hoping that somehow, somehow, he can find a way to break the loop and allow time to move forward. By repeating Endless Eight over and over, we gain a very visceral and personal understanding of Kyon’s emotional state, as we too wonder how to break the loop and escape. That feeling of reality is something that’s impossible to convey in any other manner, and I think it’s a piece of genius, making it an (endless) Moment #8.

Aside: The End of Endless Eight

I hate the last episode of Endless Eight. Why? Because Kyon gets lucky. I think it’s pretty obvious that Haruhi doesn’t want to do homework with the others; she wants Kyon to ask her out on a summer date, the last stereotypical high school summer break activity she hasn’t covered (they never go to a theme park, after all). Itsuki knows it; that’s why he tells Kyon to whisper “I love you” into Haruhi’s ear, and why he says that it wouldn’t be the same if he did it. Kyon is too dense or cowardly to take the obvious way out, so he uses his homework as an excuse, which seems to satisfy Haruhi enough (it gives her an excuse to spend the day at Kyon’s house partying, which is almost as good). But I never felt like this half-answer to the time loop deserved the epic buildup it got, and I can’t help feeling disappointed in the ending as a result.