Attack on Titan - Episode 58 [Review]

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Attack on Titan - Episode 58 [Review]

Despite the portentous title drop, “Attack Titan” is a deceptively low-key episode that pumps the brakes on the action in order to give both the characters and the audience time to reckon with everything we've learned during the bombshell flashback to Grisha's origins. It's actually the kind of story that I love to see from Attack on Titan, one that gives the show a chance to flex its dramatic and comedic muscles in a more naturalistic manner, delivering different kinds of standout moments that remind you how damn good this series can be even when it isn't focused on spectacle.

As far as juicy new morsels of plot are concerned, the Grisha portions of the episode still have a lot to offer. After Grisha understandably asks Eren Kruger why he waited until after his comrades were murdered and his wife had been Titanified to transform, the Owl gives his own backstory monologue. His story isn't much different from Grisha's, it turns out; he too lost family to Marleyan persecution, and throughout his life as a double agent, he's killed many of his own people in order to maintain his position and keep the Eldians' fight going from the inside. He saved Grisha because he thinks that he intimately understands both the hatred and self-destruction that infects the soul through war, and he wants to give Grisha a chance to start over. He tells him to find a new life and build a new family, to establish his mission for liberation on the foundation of love rather than hate, lest all of the Eldians repeat the same cycle of violence and betrayal that got them on top of this wall in the first place. It's powerful stuff that serves to reinforce the core of empathy and self-reflection at the heart of Attack on Titan's story, which helps me contextualize its irresponsible appropriation of real-world iconography as ultimately well-intentioned, despite the accompanying discomfort.

We also get some fascinating (and grim) revelations on the rules of becoming a Titan Shifter. There are Nine Titans whose powers can be passed along to people of Eldian blood, with the Founding Titan being at the center of it all. The whole reason that Eren is privy to the finer details of what Grisha experienced is because the Founding Titan forms a kind of psycho-spiritual fulcrum or “coordinate” that binds the memories and souls of all Titans. This explains why the power of the Founding Titan can manipulate Eldian memories, and how Eren can have such vivid flashbacks of his father's life before coming to the City. That power comes with a price, though – another reason that Eren the Owl gifted Grisha with the power of his Titan, the titular Attack Titan, is because anyone who inherits this power will only have thirteen years to live. After that, their abilities must be consumed by another, or they will be randomly transferred to an unborn Eldian upon death. This means that Armin's resurrection comes with a thirteen-year expiration date, and Eren has only about eight left by now.

It's not all doom and gloom, however – “Attack Titan” is filled with some delightfully sweet and funny moments too, which are all the more important when the stakes have been raised so high. I cracked up when Hange called out Eren's dramatic title drop of “Shingeki no Kyoujin”; what seems like such a cool cut-to-commercial moment would look bizarre to anyone not watching through a TV screen. I laughed doubly at Levi brushing this off as Eren's puberty running wild, and then again when Hange and the military court did the same thing near the end of the episode. It's easy to forget when so much Serious Business™ is going on, but Attack on Titan can be surprisingly funny!

It can also be heartbreakingly earnest, like we see when Queen Historia receives Reiner's letter from Ymir. I hope we get more time to work out their relationship in season 4, because this moment with one of the show's best characters was great but all too brief. More than anything, I appreciate that Attack on Titan doesn't shy away from being explicit about Ymir's feelings. She refers to her message as a love letter and says that her one regret is that she was never able to marry Historia. While making the one explicitly queer character we've met so far such a tragic figure is somewhat unfortunate, I will never turn down an opportunity to shut down the tiresome “They're just good friends!” argument. And judging by Historia's wistful response to her friend's unconventional proposal, there's no reason to believe Historia doesn't reciprocate those feelings.

More than anything, I live for the moments in Attack on Titan that can delight and shock longtime fans in equal measure. These can be small reveals, like when you realize that all of those little exposition excerpts the series has been using for its interstitial eyecatches came from Grisha's notebooks. Or they can be scenes that send chills down your spine in their implications for the characters or the story at large. In this episode's final moments, as Eren is contemplating how his connection to Dina might play into his future relationship with Historia, we cut back to Eren Kruger, who's just about to give Grisha his dose of Titan Serum. He explains the necessity of fighting onward and finding a family to anchor him to the world, but then he says, “To save Mikasa, Armin, and everyone else, you must see it through.” Grisha has no idea who Mikasa and Armin are, and even Eren wonders whose memories just bled into his own. It could be nothing more than a sly easter egg, but the implication that these Titan memories can travel through time is such a cool and unexpected wrinkle that I can't help but feel giddy just thinking about it. At the very least, it's a powerful reminder of how deeply our heroes and the Titans are connected, across a cycle of war and redemption that they've been caught in for generations. It's difficult to say whether they'll be able to make it out of this war intact, but after everything that's happened across these three seasons, I'd like to think they have a fighting chance.

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Dororo - Episode 24 [Review]

For an anime I have enjoyed as much as Dororo, I was not as impressed as I'd hoped to be with its conclusion. Sure, it checks all the boxes and ties up all its loose ends. But after all the chips fall, our two protagonists' lives drift into a big question mark. Why did they separate? What did they talk about when they finally reunited? Who are they now? I wish I knew. This 2019 interpretation of a story that's over 50 years old has made a lot of changes to its originally rushed pre-cancellation conclusion. It had a lot of chances to innovate on the themes of the Dororo manga, but it didn't take as many opportunities as I would've hoped.

Before we go into the ending, I have to warn you that I'm going to spoil a few elements of the Dororo manga and the video game Blood Will Tell. Prior to the 2019 anime, Dororo's various conclusions have shared one theme: Hyakkimaru is faced with the decision of whether or not to kill Dororo. In the manga, it's a fake-out—Daigo asks Hyakkimaru to kill Dororo to prove his loyalty, and he pretends he's going to comply. In the video game, Dororo is possessed by the demon that has eaten Hyakkimaru's right arm. Then Hyakki discovers a loophole: he can exorcise the demon inside Dororo so that nobody has to die. In this version of the story, however, Dororo isn't part of Hyakkimaru's grand moral awakening at all, but simply relegated to the sidelines. Dororo doesn't appear until Hyakki is done fighting his brother and reuniting with his “mamas” Nui and Jukai. (It's a shame these two had to die, but I can't deny they've both had a series-long deathwish.) Later, Dororo waits passively in the village while Hyakkimaru “checks something.” Finally, Hyakkimaru goes on a multiyear journey without Dororo, and the reveal of their timeskipped character designs and subsequent reunion doesn't do enough to quell my disappointment that an episode titled “Dororo and Hyakkimaru” is anything but.

What does work about this finale is that the final battle cannot be won through violence. Hyakkimaru wins the fight against his brother when he makes the decision not to kill him. Later, Daigo's continued livelihood presents a moral challenge for Hyakkimaru, and once again his choice to spare a life turns out to be the right one. According to Biwamaru, Hyakkimaru has killed far too many people to be redeemed simply by choosing not to kill two more. Still, the belief that he must undertake this journey alone goes against the message the anime has been repeating all along, that Dororo is Hyakki's conscience, the vital factor that's been keeping him from becoming a demon. I thought for sure the path toward Hyakkimaru's regained humanity would be through Dororo, but instead, it's something he needs to reclaim without his companion.

So let's talk about Dororo's gender. “Dororo is pretty,” is Hyakki's first line upon seeing his friend's face for the first time. It's reminiscent of the Dororo manga when Hyakki regains his sight and realizes for the first time that Dororo is biologically female—though it's an identity that the 1969 version of Dororo repeatedly denies. In the 2019 anime, Dororo's gender has hardly been discussed, except for in moments of extreme trauma when his body is revealed against his will. Because Dororo has only had his biological sex connected to moments of violence and disempowerment, I previously went with the manga's assertion that Dororo identifies as a boy. But when we see an aged-up Dororo presenting visibly female, I have to assume that the anime wasn't interested in making that identity part of this retelling. It's the same way that I hypothesized early on that 2019's Dororo might have something to say about disability, and that simply reclaiming body parts wouldn't make Hyakki whole again. But once again, this is something the anime doesn't touch upon; Hyakkimaru's sight is portrayed as something that completes him, allowing him to finally focus on being a good person. (Though I'm disappointed that the ending sequence didn't get any less fuzzy—I thought when Hyakki got his eyes, the sequence would lose its blurriness altogether!)

Even Mio makes her presence known in this final episode, as Hyakki is seen planting her grains of rice before taking off on his journey. At last, when Dororo and Hyakkimaru are aged up (they both look so much like their mothers!), their reunion takes place in a golden field of rice. Where have Hyakki's travels taken him? What kind of trials has Dororo faced while growing up? Surely they will discuss those topics with one another, but unfortunately, we won't get to see it.

Probably. I'm still holding out hope for an OVA.

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Fruits Basket - Episode 10 [Review]

"So what was cut from the Fruits Basket manga in the first adaptation?" It's the most common question from fans of the 2001 series who never read the source material, but it's not an easy one to answer. The changes between versions were mostly ones of tone rather than content, so trying to break down the minutiae of what made it in and what didn't was just an exercise in tedium, before this remake proved how much of a difference little tone choices can make between two interpretations of the same plot. But every once in a while, we get a perfect encapsulation of the juiciest cuts from the manga, like in this remake's most mysterious and foreboding episode yet. What was cut from the Fruits Basket manga the first time around? Well, basically everything we get in episode 10.

While Akitarō Daichi's version of this Valentine's Day story only retained the manga's comical chocolate-based escapades before skipping ahead to White Day, Natsuki Takaya's original intention was to make this cuddly holiday about romantic love the most uncomfortable step in Tohru's journey with the Soma family so far. Episode 10 raises a thousand questions but gives almost no answers, leaving us with zero closure for the mysteries raised about Kyo and Shigure's respective motivations. Barring some brief high school hijinks, this Valentine's Day episode is a thoroughly unromantic series of vague conversations in unnervingly quiet spaces, and I love it.

With little in the way of concrete answers for why this time of the year is so painful for Kyo and Shigure, the best we can do is make some educated guesses. Kyo is haunted by a nightmare from his early childhood, where he reached out to someone who appears to get obliterated right in front of him. This helps explain Hana's seemingly contradictory wave report about Kyo's heart being especially "innocent" today, despite being full of chaotic emotions. Kyo is unusually quiet yet extra confrontational around Yuki, because his flashbacks have mentally regressed him to a more childlike emotional state. Instead of challenging Yuki to fight in his more ambitious and rambunctious way, the Cat seems genuinely afraid of the Rat, to the point that he can't so much as look at Yuki's face without bristling up to defend himself. We saw something like this happen to Yuki back in episode 3, when he thrashed Kyo especially hard just so he could stop having to look at him. Yuki explained that this was because he envied Kyo's relative freedom and got angry whenever he was reminded that the Cat wanted to throw it all away just to join the Zodiac's inner circle. But for Kyo, the emotions at play seem to be less irritation and envy and more fear and hatred, feelings so raw that he's too terrified to share any of them with Tohru.

Of course, Tohru is initially relieved to dismiss Kyo's chaotic heart as a consequence of Kagura coming to visit for Valentine's Day. It's nice to see Miss Piggy return to liven up this unusually dour episode, and my favorite detail we learn about her this week is that she sincerely cares about Kyo's well-being outside of their relationship. It would be easy to dismiss Kagura's lovey-dovey enthusiasm as selfish and possessive, but whenever she can manage to cool her head for long enough to express it, the Boar exudes unabashed love for the people in her life, even her romantic rival Tohru. Kagura doesn't just want Kyo to be hers, she wants him to be happy, and she's probably right that his life would improve if he could open up to Yuki, since their mutual admiration is becoming just as obvious as their surface enmity.

But in a first for Fruits Basket, Kyo refuses to take even the smallest step toward addressing the feelings that are tearing him apart, even telling Tohru to ignore his obvious psychological pain that's supposedly none of her business. Fortunately, that doesn't mean Tohru has failed to help Kyo, turning a scene that could have just been foreshadowing for future reveals into a thoughtful exploration of how respecting boundaries—even if we don't understand them—can sometimes heal people more safely than pushing them, especially if they aren't yet feeling strong enough to make changes to their life without breaking their spirits. I love the shot of Tohru gently approaching Kyo while his back is turned to her, curled up on the ground as if trying to protect himself from his own heartache. It's classic Beauty and the Beast imagery that illustrates the power of stubborn kindness in emotionally hazardous situations, eliciting that intoxicating combo of tension and sympathy that makes well-written melodrama so rewarding.

It's not easy to make an episode where "nothing" happens so engrossing, but Fruits Basket makes it look easy as Tohru resolves the situation for now by telling Kyo that it's okay for him to keep hating Yuki, if that's what it takes to keep him stable enough to keep living. Considering that Tohru's New Year's wish was for exactly the opposite outcome, this is difficult advice for her to share with Kyo, but I don't think it's a weak or appeasing decision on her part. Tohru's just coming to understand that the Soma family has damage much deeper than she can handle on her own, no matter how happy it would make her if the boys became friends instead of enemies. She would rather see Yuki and Kyo continue to grow at their own pace than risk damaging their fragile hearts, and after hearing Hatori's story, she probably understands that there's a personal risk to her prying too deeply as well.

While Kyo doesn't feel safe enough to re-open his old wounds to Tohru just yet, it's clear that she's softened his heart once again, as he opts not to run away from home, but return to the cottage after nightfall and even agree to go on a double date with Kagura the next day! Then he delivers the cutest moment of the episode by expressing his growing affection for Tohru with a little bop on the head. We know from past episodes that Kyo is more comfortable expressing himself through his physicality than his words, which must make life difficult for him as a Zodiac member whose options for physical contact are limited, so it's cute to see him finding his own unique way to flirt with Tohru that the otherwise emotionally astute riceball doesn't yet understand.

Unsurprisingly, Shigure's to blame for all this drama, as he reveals to Hatori that he riled Kyo up as part of a little experiment to see how Tohru would handle the situation. Her indomitable empathy had the desired outcome, calming Kyo down from a deeply traumatized state to relative normalcy more quickly than ever before, and these results couldn't be more promising for his long-term schemes. Over the course of one conversation with his "obligated" best friend, all of the audience's trust in Shigure goes right out the window, as he states explicitly that he will follow his master plan to the end, no matter what lies he has to tell or who has to get hurt along the way.

It seems that while the Cat has been running away from a nightmare, the Dog has been chasing a beautiful dream. But the most captivating thing about Shigure's situation is his self-deprecating self-awareness over this wild goose chase that's consumed his life. "I had a dream about the one I love, and then it was all over for me" is his bitter way of summing it up. This mysterious vision from his childhood is one Shigure shared with both his best friend Hatori and another friend we've yet to meet named Aya, but those other two Zodiac members have long since left the dream behind, because time had warped that once-beautiful morning into something painful. As much as he may have tried to move on in the past, Shigure finds himself unable to let go of the eternal beauty he saw in that mysterious love story, which may explain why he devotes his time to writing romance novels that run the gamut from sleazy to sentimental, despite not needing the income and not caring enough about the deadlines involved not to torture his editor. Perhaps it's the only thing he can do to keep that fading dream of love at the forefront of his mind as the decades pass him by alone.

Regardless, it's hard to harbor much sympathy for Shigure's dream when he's so frank about manipulating Tohru and the others to achieve it. While everyone else in the Soma family finds Tohru's boundless optimism soothing, it mostly agitates Shigure, like a demon shrinking away from heavenly light. The darkest and most embittered parts of Shigure find Tohru's innocence irritating, because her level of open-hearted goodness is so alien to his own twisted personality and calluses of life experience. At the same time, the shriveled remains of his conscience that still cares about Tohru and the boys finds her kindness painful, as a constant reminder of how far he must have fallen to be okay with using someone who trusts him wholeheartedly. Since we don't know the true nature of Shigure's dream or what he will have to sacrifice to make it come true, it's hard for us to know what to make of all this, but Hatori's determination to remain neutral in this scheme at least reassures us that Shigure isn't going out of his way to hurt anyone—it's just something that might happen in the fallout, and Hatori doesn't want Shigure to come crying to him when one of the boys (or even Tohru?!) punches him right in his smug face.

So what educated guesses can we make about this mysterious dream and Shigure's plan to make it come true? Well, it obviously has something to do with the Zodiac, and since this is a shojo series, it's not unreasonable to assume that Shigure, Hatori, and "Aya" are the Zodiac's oldest members, now in their late twenties. Since they shared the dream before our teenage members of the Zodiac were born, its secrets are almost certainly known by the Soma elders, including that ominous family head, Akito. Back in episode 5, Shigure mentioned that he understands "jealousy" more deeply than Kagura could know, and in this episode, he mentions being jealous of Tohru, Hatori, basically all the people he considers to be "good" in his life, because his lone quest to fulfill the dream that Hatori and Aya gave up on makes him "the most cursed one of all". So he considers his desire to make this dream come true to be villainous in some regard—even though the dream itself was pure and beautiful—and it all relies on a wager he's made with Akito. We know that Akito is always on the lookout for people who might have the power to break the curse, but that he didn't consider Kana or Tohru particularly eligible for the task. So does Shigure think that Tohru has the ability to break the curse? It's probably not that simple, because Shigure's dream was about creating something that will last forever rather than breaking something. Either way, this doesn't bode well for the three children whose fates are being nudged around like pawns in a childish game between two selfish adults.

We probably won't understand the true nature of Shigure's master plan until we know who matters most to him. Naturally, he gives conflicting answers to this question within the span of five minutes, telling Akito that the Head of the family matters most to him (in a scene that heavily implies they share a sexual relationship of some kind, as Hatori warns Shigure not to let Akito catch a cold while they're playing doctor), before telling his editor that no one matters more to Shigure than himself. Yuki's spot-on in his assertion that Shigure plays a wicked game of letting people in before pushing them right back out, like a ripple on the water (or perhaps an ornery jellyfish). We can only hope that Shigure's better instincts override his temptation to sting those who venture too close to the truth.

Stray Snippets Lost in Adaptation This Week: Tohru originally recognized Yuki's comparison of Shigure to a jellyfish as an analogy that Hatori invented on her visit to the Soma estate, but the mystery of who came up with the initial "ripple on the water" phrase is left unsolved. We only know that the metaphor was floated by a woman around Shigure's age (not his beleaguered editor) who we see in a vague profile shot. On a totally unrelated note, eagle-eyed viewers may have noticed that Mayuko Shiraki, Tohru's homeroom teacher who's intent on dyeing Kyo's hair, is the same woman who visited Kana at the Soma estate before New Year's. Now that's an unexpected connection between two worlds! (Side note: it's my personal headcanon that the Somas are magically unable to dye their hair, because nothing else makes sense to me given how much strife those unusual colors cause them.)

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