Based on the popular manga series by Daisuke Sato, High school of the Dead presents an extravagant culmination of all that encompasses what is known as the zombie genre within horror. Opening rather subtly through a poignant soliloquy regarding the end of the world offered up by main protagonist Takashi, the series is quite the difficult one to gauge considering its diverse range of topics coupled with its puzzling execution. Both fantastically consumed by its usage of fan service as it is with showcasing the destructive collapse of society if the proper elements are in place, it’s an approach that paints the series unique at best. But it’s through this approach that positions the series within a very strenuous dichotomy, a contrast that could equally alienate viewers as well as garner their appreciation. Do fans of horror appreciate the strides the series makes in producing a well-constructed and honest narrative on the break down of society, or does it stumble in its attempt to do so given the mockery it makes pertaining to its female cast? It’s this conflicted approach that makes High school of the Dead a very compelling series to say the least.

Beginning like so many other forms of entertainment dealing with the likes of a zombie apocalypse, High school of the Dead is both horrific in its portrayal of a dystopian environment and as a look into the psychological deterioration of the individual stemming from such circumstances. While this premise is certainly not original, it allows the series to continually raise many issues concerning the collapse of the social structuring of civilization—particularly that from the perspective of a teenager. This remains the series strongest point in that it focuses extensively on the young adults who are left behind to fend for themselves as the world they once knew slowly collapses around them, with the important role of adults within society loudly extinguished. We as viewers begin to see what these characters took for granted within their daily lives as this normality steadily vanishes, and what they have to learn in its place—such as shooting a gun at both humans and zombies alike—in order to survive. This is where the numerous inner monologues by Takashi provide great insight into the devastation and carnage surrounding him and his peers. They offer up a perspective of a world slipping into chaos and the helplessness of not being able to influence that outcome. The inclusion of such monologues with the series broadens our sympathy for the outcome of his plight, specifically his reoccurring acknowledgement of a past world—and life—in which he will never have the opportunity to return to again.

This notion of young adults surviving in a world where there is no law further extends to the remainder of the cast as well. Whether this is seen through Rei Miyamoto’s questionable relationship with fellow classmate Takashi after he unwillingly has to kill her boyfriend—who is also Takashi’s best friend—after he becomes infected, to Saya Takagi questioning the role of her own parents given their supposed abandonment of her when everything started to go awry, it’s a narrative exploring the emotional corruption and supplanting of moral values in place of Darwinistic principles of survival. It’s in this turbulent landscape where the series thrives as an example of horror with substance, a rarity that is often omitted in many modern exercises of the genre. The narrative—when seriously addressed—is where one can find High school of the Dead at its most elaborate and thoughtful exploration on the human need to survive.

One element of the series that also remains strong is the animation, done here by Studio Madhouse. For a television series, High school of the Dead offers excellent visuals throughout, whether this stems from its zombie-ravaged scenes of metropolitan chaos, to scenes of tranquility as cherry blossoms slowly fall to the ground amidst a schoolyard, Madhouse definitely pulled no stops in realizing the world of series. The technical prowess also extends to the rambunctious nature of the action sequences found throughout the series as well. Done with considerable aplomb, the actions sequences within the series are distinct, well choreographed, and brutal—all elements that culminate in creating memorable scenes in literally every episode. Similar to how the series doesn’t hold back in terms of fan service, in the same vein we find the segments of action as examples of utter savageness as heads are grotesquely bashed in, limbs are quickly detached, and vicious stab wounds are the order of the day. Besides the obvious outlandish female character designs—which one should note that High school of the Dead was main illustrator Shojo Sato’s first non-hentai title, which certainly doesn’t alleviate his influence from within that genre from being viewed here as well—the characters are also given discrete appearances. Madhouse did a fantastic job with this aspect of the series, and really complemented the look the manga series from a visual standpoint.

But for every element exploring the decay of society explored throughout the series, there is an equal amount of fan service put forth, an aspect of the show that may hinder it from reaching its true potential for many viewers. High school of the Dead is one series that doesn’t shy away from showcasing exuberant amounts of the female anatomy, often times in the most ridiculous manner possible. This approach towards the females within the show doesn’t correlate well with the rather somber nature of the plot, but one can certainly see the satirical elements it injects into it. In one episode of the series, this notion is brought forth quite clearly after one of the female characters is asked why she is so ditzy, in which she replies, “Because the author wrote me this way.” Its moments like this one that truly harp on the playful yet raunchy nature concerning the female cast within the show, a cast that are often delegated to increasingly excessive sexual behavior for the sake of appeasing a certain demographical audience. This is where the series may lose some viewers not accustomed—or wanting—to view as it simply becomes too overbearing as the series progresses. There is even an entire episode seemingly dedicated to fully exploiting the female cast in the most absurd way, and while one can understand the humor behind such an episode, it simply obscures an otherwise interesting narrative. Perhaps if less focus were paid upon the grandiosity of a woman’s chest size, then High school of the Dead could’ve spent more time on successfully carrying out its already solid plot.

So how does one view High school of the Dead? One can argue that it provides a look into the social decay of a civilization sadly gone askew. Maybe it’s also just a common horror series with an abundant amount of satire and fan service layered throughout? Or perhaps, in a most unconventional way, it combines both in order to create something experimental but also familiar in nature? While the series does display an appreciable commentary on societal collapse, it’s also marred by its excessive—but often times extremely sarcastic—use of its female cast as they are utilized to specifically appease a male audience. It’s this contrast that can either lead to the discouragement or satisfaction of some viewers, which presents a polarizing view on a series with an otherwise action-packed and interesting story outside its heavy use of fan service. While the usage of fan service does get incredibly repetitive as the series progresses, it has to be taken as is that this is a part of the series, no matter how incidental it may seem given the weighty subject material at hand. Besides these elements of the show, High school of the Dead is still a highly enjoyable and boisterous tale of young adults attempting to survive amidst a relentless assault from undead, all the while dealing with many of the issues that encompass youth—love, friendship, jealously, just to name a few—which makes it one of the finer, yet odder anime horror series to come around in quite some time.

Based on the best-selling novel by author Natsumi Iwasaki, director Makoto Tanaka’s Moshidora presents an analytical and heartfelt exploration on the role of management and what it means to the entirety of a team as well as the individual. Based on the premise of a young manager directing a high school baseball team through the likes of management theory and practice, the film establishes a very unique perspective on the sports sub-genre, a sub-genre that as of late has been regulated to a series of timeworn tropes and stale narratives utilized to safely—and quite effectively—garner a specific demographic of viewership. These tired adherences haven’t exactly elevated the genre to any new heights though, resulting in just a perpetuation of formulaic conventions that aren’t exactly successfully promoting the genre to newer heights. Moshidora could be viewed quite differently though—with the film’s lead being that of popular AKB48 idol Atsuko Maeda, the film attempts to appeal to fans of Maeda as well as complement baseball enthusiasts—but does it ultimately succeed in doing both?

Perhaps the most challenging element concerning a film like this is the presence of a popular celebrity such as Maeda being the film’s lead figure. Many films in the past have delegated a pop idol as the main lead as well, often times with varied results. Unfortunately, Maeda’s role of Minami within the film follows this same course. One must note that pop idols, first and foremost, are not actresses but rather musical entertainers. While some idols have made the transfer from one medium of entertainment to another with relative ease, some are sure to stumble along the way. This certainly is the case here where Maeda gives a rather passionless performance considering the rather passionate nature of the film’s story. In a film where fellow AKB48 peer Minami Minegishi gives a more sentimental performance than Maeda herself, one has to wonder if her placement as the title heroine was applicable based upon acting strengths or simply popularity. With her only other substantial film role being that of her supporting role within Jun Ichikawa’s How to Become Myself (2007), Maeda hasn’t really been given too much to work with in terms of showing her capability as an actress. She’s shown her ability to act in past Japanese television drama series, but taking the lead in a film seems to be quite a departure for her—and it shows here. There is one particular scene in the film where an emotional response from Maeda was warranted, but she doesn’t quite come through, in turn making the scene awkward when it didn’t need to be. Of course, it would perhaps be a sacrilege to most AKB48 fans if Minegishi took the more prominent lead over Maeda in a film shared by both, but it would’ve provided the film with a more spirited lead. Couple this with the fact that Maeda sang the film’s theme song, and with AKB48 providing the ending theme, you have a film that borderlines on the archetypical pop idol meandering within a film’s production—especially if they star in the film. Fortunately though, director and writer Makoto Tanaka doesn’t allow the film to spend a majority of its focus upon Maeda, instead looking at the overall team structure and her influence within it. Tanaka seems adamant on addressing how a team can reach a goal through successful readjustments rather than simply promoting Maeda as the film’s centerpiece, a move that saves the film from becoming yet another exercise in pop idolatry.

This approach is where Moshidora stands as a very unique film dealing with the issue of baseball and team management. Far too often we view films concerning baseball solely concentrating on the follies of a team and their sudden transition from mediocrity to that of attaining superior skills—usually in a rather quickened and improbable fashion. While the film does follow a similar structure, its strength comes primarily from its implementation of authentic management procedures brought about by Minami’s reading of management consultant Peter Drucker’s book Management: Tasks, Responsibilities, Practices. It’s through this adherence of managerial influence that promotes the film more than simply being another sports-related narrative focusing on a team wanting to win, but viewed more so as an attentive and detailed observation on the necessity of quality management with a sports organization. Whether it’s Minami’s learning of what it takes to truly be a manager, to her application of innovative techniques concerning the framework of the team, these and similarly applied measures grounds the film in way that is both believable and authentic in its portrayal of a team attempting to better themselves. Although the film doesn’t allocate these measures beyond the realm of being superficial—Drucker’s book is far more in-depth than what the film showcases—it provides a sense of complexity to a subject that is often diluted down to simple knowledge and is a decision that should appease baseball connoisseurs. Baseball isn’t simply about hitting and catching a ball, and it’s a philosophy that the film handles quite well here.

As we rarely see this sort of transformative approach within a sports-related film, Moshidora stands out as a great example of providing some vitality to an otherwise uninspired sub-genre. Hindered somewhat by Maeda’s rather lackluster acting—a minor complaint given that this is her first major film role after all—the film illustrates the importance of teamwork in a sentimental and reasonable fashion. Here’s hoping that if Maeda does continue following an acting career that she can further develop her ability as an actress. While some viewers may be put off by Maeda’s and AKB48’s musical involvement throughout the film, director Makoto Tanaka allows the film to grow organically around its various characters, never truly abandoning the influence of all the characters upon one another for the sake of just focusing on one. With a conclusion that does rely somewhat on a conventional resolution in regards to character development, the film establishes a narrative that is as distinctive as it is refreshing to view since similar films haven’t truly attempted to break the mold in which they are sadly placed within. While Moshidora doesn’t necessarily shatter that mold, it does break away at its edges ever so nicely, making it one film that should especially please sports aficionados, and yes, perhaps even Maeda fans as well.

Director Yoshihiro Fukagawa’s Patisserie Coin de rue—like most films pertaining to delicacies of food—presents an aesthetically delightful film concerning the intricate nature of that of a patisserie shop, a place where pastries and cakes are sold to the general public. But while on the surface the film may appear as simply a showcase for a plethora of appetizing sweets, it also offers a look into the livelihoods and personal dilemmas of the individuals behind the creation of such luscious mouthwatering pleasures. Displaying a thoughtful albeit fairly predictable tale of tragic loss coupled with overcoming that loss, Patisserie Coin de rue’s narrative doesn’t seem nearly as unoriginal as it should be due to its strong performances and endearing premise, a facet that is often times omitted from many films dealing with similar subject material—material that usually relies heavily upon aesthetic qualities over effectively contributing towards the development of its plot.

With such a focus on delivering a visually pleasing viewing experience alongside that of developing characters with meaningful purposes behind their artistic talent—or lack thereof in many cases—the narrative definitely trots over very familiar territory as seen in previous films. The premise of the outsider coming from abroad to learn and eventually shake up the establishment is certainly a common narrative focus for many films, but here that conventional focus is supported by a substantially strong cast—particularly that of the young and talented Yui Aoi. As the stubborn and naïve Natsume, a cake-maker’s daughter from Kagoshima, her character transformation towards being a dedicated and confident patissier is both modest and believable given the acting strength showcased by Aoi. Given her considerable aptitude as an actress, Aoi has certainly grown with each film she’s done and proves here yet again that she is one of the most accomplished young actresses within Japan. She essentially carries the film through her display of emotional expressions and enlivens every scene she’s in through her exuberant nature. One particular standout scene occurs between her and “Patisserie Coin de rue” head pattisier Yuriko (Keiko Toda) that showcases a rather tipsy Natsume affirming her need to change her life that is as funny as it is poignant towards her development as a character. Another notable mention would be that of Yosuke Eguchi’s portrayal of Tomura, a patissier who has left the trade due to facing a horrific accident years ago. Viewed more so as antagonistic in nature from the outset of the film, Eguchi’s delivers a powerful performance that truly brings some emotional leverage to the film’s rather conventional outlying. His and the remainder of performances are what provide the film a great deed of leeway in pushing aside the orthodoxies that our present within the script, in turn magnifying the triumphs and tragedies of the individuals within the film.

With the strength of the acting taking a prominent role in approaching the film’s rather generic narrative in a unique way, Patisserie Coin de rue is not without it faults. For all the scrumptious sweets and culinary mastery shown throughout the film, director and screenwriter Yoshihiro Fukagawa can’t refrain from eliciting many of the excessive tropes that have plagued this particular genre of film. With a sense of predictability that will certainly awash viewers accustomed to viewing similar films dealing with the likes of culinary expertise or even sports-centered tales of overcoming a superior team to win the championship game, the film delegates much of it final half towards the tried-and-true plot trajectories that have all but been overly utilized within films in the past. Whether this stems from its use of a “race against time to complete a major unforeseen challenge”- climax, to the brooding nature of some of the characters coming to a cheerful head by the film’s end, it’s all seen here. Fortunately, if it weren’t for the film’s strong casting, Patisserie Coin de rue would have easily become yet another film marred with a mediocre narrative that relied too heavily upon its exquisite visuals to satisfy viewers. While this approach can still be seen in certain respects towards the plot, Fukagawa isn’t simply reliant on these rather superficial elements of his story, a move that promotes the film’s premise from simply being about food—which is still retains to a degree—but also about the conflicted lives of the people involved in its creation.

Overall, Patisserie Coin de rue still remains a very strong film for the many reasons, even if it does suffer from a lack of originality. One thing the film does right is that it constructs a solid story around a rather conventional premise, therein making the film far more an exercise in acting forte than simply being about patisserie. Fukagawa enriches this common premise with a surprisingly affectionate flair that is carried through by the prowess of its actors, a move that saves the film from becoming too tiresome for its own good. This is especially seen in the case of Aoi, who gives a fantastic and spirited performance that is only hindered by the lack of a strong script. As such, the film never truly rises above the crop of films that deal with similar material, which is somewhat unfortunate for both Aoi and Fukugawa. But as a whole, the film still remains a promising showcase from the like of Aoi, and further establishes her as one of the premier actresses within Japan today. With its current script, Patisserie Coin de rue is one film that greatly adheres to a formulaic approach, but does so in such a way that it can still be considered a joyous and emotional look into the artistry of culinary extravagancy.

As a longtime fan of Rumiko Takahashi’s Ranma ½ manga series and subsequent anime adaptation, it was exciting to hear that a live-action television special was in the works. Granted, having read all the manga volumes and seen anime series in its entirety, the inevitable question arose pertaining to how exactly a live-action Ranma ½ could be brought forth and effectively realized; how would a 38 volume manga and 161 television episodes fit within the confinement of a two-hour television adaptation? As anyone who is somewhat familiar with the premise of Ranma ½, its episodic nature could certainly be applicable towards creating a one time live-action television special, but would it be sufficient enough to appease longstanding fans as well as provide some insight to new viewers as to why Ranma ½ has had such a strong following today as it did a decade ago? Perhaps the existence of this television special is more than enough proof as to the steady popularity of Ranma ½ as franchise? With a cast consisting of Yui Aragaki, Kaku Kento, and Natsuna Watanabe, the live-action adaptation of Ranma ½ has all the necessary elements to be an exceptional homage towards the original manga series, but the true question remains—does it succeed in doing so?

In many ways, this adaptation can be viewed as a proper, nostalgic nod towards fans of the original source material more so than its attempt to inform unfamiliar viewers as to why the source material has still remained popular to this very day. With a focus towards showcasing many of the nuances that longtime fans will instantly realize (i.e. Akane having to fight a sleuth of male peers asking her for courtship, Ranma and Gemna’s constant bickering, etc.), many unfamiliar viewers will also discover the same unique charm of the series albeit in a drastically diminished fashion. For a two-hour television special, Ranma ½ sadly befalls the same fate as most singular adaptations of long running series do—it doesn’t necessarily try to enhance the original premise in any way but rather safely remains within the margin of simply appeasing the already established enthusiasts out there. The plot doesn’t fare much better in that it can be viewed as unnecessary filler akin to a uninspired episode found within the coinciding anime series, where ridiculousness is abound and character development is constantly halted for the sake of humor, a decision that would have played out better if this wasn’t a single television special. In this diluted form, Ranma ½ presents a rather lackluster adaptation in both narrative and character development, two areas that while not advocated as strong elements within the source material, appear even weaker in this adaptation due to its compressed nature. There are noticeable changes to the way the characters are perceived as well, a major one being the interaction between Ranma and Akane. While the manga detailed Akane’s initial distaste of Ranma—which usually were resolved in Ranma facing bodily harm in some hysterical fashion—the special never really explores this aspect, instead dictating that Akane like the girl form of Ranma more than anything, a departure that may dissatisfy some viewers accustomed to the original manga. Additional weaknesses stem primarily from the absence of crucial characters as well as pivotal events explored within the manga and anime series—key elements that made the previous incarnations stand out.

Besides these rather unfortunate decisions, one area the special does relatively well in is it casting choices. With the gender duality of Ranma’s character remaining a prominent part of the series, both Natsuna Watanabe (female Ranma) and Kento Kaku (male Ranma) do a formidable job in their respective roles, especially that of Watanabe. Reflecting the tomboyish attitude of Ranma’s female half, Watanabe does a fantastic job of balancing out the feminine qualities that were highlighted within the source material without over being too overindulgent. While the narrative doesn’t necessarily allow her to showcase the sexual prowess of her character as much as in the manga—this is a television special after all—there is just enough to parallel our understanding of her portrayal of the character here with that her manga counterpart. Perhaps the most striking performance here though belongs to Yui Aragaki, who plays the tomboyish Akane Tendo. Conveying the dutiful yet fragile nature of Akane as a character, Aragaki displays a resilience that is key towards bringing Akane to a fruitful depiction, an excellent casting choice that should please fans of the source material as well as viewers who simply adore her as an actress. The remaining cast do an exceptional job too, visually adhering to their manga counterparts and bringing forth their mannerisms, and while the special may not focus as extensively on them as the manga or anime series does, they provide adequate enjoyment to an otherwise mediocre plot.

In conclusion, how should one view this live-action adaptation of Ranma ½? While the special expresses the atmosphere of the original manga and anime series, it also doesn’t promote its characters or narrative outside the realm of simply being viewed as an elongated—and worse—filler episode. While the cast is both visually and characteristically devoted to their manga counterparts, the special is aimed at satisfying the longtime fans more so than new viewers, but even then it stumbles in its execution. It would be best to say that Ranma ½ would have worked out much better as a standard live-action drama series within a multitude of episodes rather than concentrating on creating one sole two-hour special, a move that isn’t surprising but is detrimental to the expansive material offered up through Rumiko Takahashi’s work. By enlarging the scope of the television special, perhaps it would have made for a better-rounded viewing experience, but for where it currently stands, the live-action adaptation of Ranma ½ will undoubtedly go down as a missed opportunity and unnecessary adaptation—even for the most dedicated of fans.

While many videogame to anime film adaptations usually deteriorate into an endless barrage of tediousness that do little to complement the strengths of the very games they are derived from, a select few make it through the fold to showcase that such a proposal can be successfully accomplished. Films such as Final Fantasy VII Advent Children (2005) and Street Fighter II: The Animated Movie (1996) are fine examples of adaptations done relatively well, bringing adequate justice to their video game counterparts by expanding upon the worlds and characters established within the source material. But for every decent videogame to anime film adaptation released, there are considerably more films that don’t necessarily complement their source material, therein bringing about a feeling of cynicism by some viewers concerning their impending release. Based on the bestselling Nintendo DS game, Professor Layton and the Eternal Diva is a film that has much to live up to, mainly for the simple fact that it is one of those titles whose source material is quite popular amongst video game fans—a base group where cynicism is fervently expressed.

For starters, Eternal Diva is a film that doesn’t necessarily require a viewer to be familiar with the game series to enjoy its inception as a film. While many other films do require a viewer to comprehend the background and history of the game’s plot and characters to completely understand its own working as a film, Eternal Diva establishes itself as a very standalone experience despite some references to past games. While there are certainly characters and minor plot continuities from the game series present in the film, they are rather subdued and kept to a stringent minimum in order to focus primarily on the main, original narrative the film offers. One fine example of this is that within the first few moments of the film, we are introduced to the main cast of characters as if it was the first time, which offers a crucial step towards involving those viewers unfamiliar with the universe of Professor Layton. This notion further extends to the overall narrative itself, which is constructed in a matter that doesn’t alienate newcomers to Professor Layton’s expansive universe. With film’s focal point being on the Legend of Ambrosia—a myth based on authentic Greek mythology—the film also surrounds itself with real world mythos and does a sizable job of nicely implementing elements of it throughout the film. The film delegates an original tale that is structured in a way to accommodate both fans of the game series and newcomers alike, a move that reinforces the standalone nature of the film.

For those who are pertinent fans of the game series though, Eternal Diva works out extremely well in providing a considerable focus on all the elements that have warranted the popularity of the Professor Layton game series. The film brings about the sense of mystery and intrigue offered through the games, all the while inserting a diverse range of skillful puzzles and riddles to pique the solving abilities of viewers. While this approach is simply reminiscing on aspects the game series showcases, it removes the viewer from being able to actively participate and influence the outcome of the film’s puzzles and riddles. We are essentially treated to numerous rather energetic visual sequences that showcase Professor Layton’s attempting to resolve a particular puzzle through the consolidation of clues, only to see him come to a solution with considerable ease. This approach that the film takes does indeed fall in line with the game series, but also somewhat removes the urgency felt by active participants of the games to solve these puzzles through their own accord. While this approach doesn’t hurt the film overall, it does seem rather odd to see Professor Layton and his crew make it through dangerous situation with significant aplomb. Which brings me to my next point, which is the very nature of the film itself residing in the universe of Professor Layton as a game series. With Eternal Diva being a film taking place between two games—Professor Layton and the Last Specter and Professor Layton and the Diabolical Box—the desperate nature of some of the film’s more adventurous moments is given very little urgency considering that we as viewers know that none of the main characters will perish in any way since this is essentially a prequel. This somewhat dilutes the strength of the film, with its dire moments not truly being as alarming as we may think.

Besides some of these flaws, Eternal Diva works out exceptionally well as an ode to the visual and musical style established by the Professor Layton game series. With animation work being done by P.A. Works—whose résumé includes Canaan (2009), Angel Beats (2010), and even partially animating several of the Professor Layton Nintendo DS games—the visual quality of the film is well done and truly elaborates upon the look of the games. It’s this distinct visual style that offers a unique feature to the film, in turn making it one of the more aesthetically pleasing video game to anime film adaptations. The film also uses a considerable amount of CGI for some of its more harrowing moments—a decision that could’ve drastically undercut the visual quality of the film but fortunately doesn’t. With its usage remaining strictly within the realm of the mechanical, it doesn’t distract or seem unwarranted, as most other films often do. Paralleling that of the visual nature of the film is also the music, which was produced by Tomohito Nishiura and Tsuneyoshi Saito. As with P.A. Works having contributed to the game series in the field of animation, Nishiura and Saito produced the music for several of the Professor Layton game titles as well, which again reinforces the collaborative efforts shared between the game series and film. With the film heavily focused on the element of music, the soundtrack to Eternal Diva is filled to the brimmed with classical compositions that should appease viewers, particularly those who are fans of the game due to its comparable style.

As a standalone film, Eternal Diva works on many levels, but primarily is successful because it bridges the gap between newcomers and longtime enthusiasts. Supporters of the game series will find plenty here to enjoy—whether it’s the abundance of characters, beautifully composed musical pieces, its clever plot, and even several references to past titles—while those viewers who aren’t familiar with the game can still enjoy all the elements mentioned. While flaws certainly exist with the film—it’s rather convoluted towards the end—it still remains an enjoyable endeavor into the world of Professor Layton and his puzzle-solving crew. With Professor Layton essentially being the Japanese equivalent to Sherlock Holmes, even those who dislike or are unknowing to aspects of anime could find some pleasure with the film. While not the greatest anime film, Professor Layton and the Eternal Diva is one of the better video game to anime film adaptations thus far, and with director Masakazu Hashimoto suggesting possible sequels in the future, the film provides an adequate example of a concept with a healthy foundation in which to build upon.

As a director, Makoto Shinkai has found quite the success within a relatively short period of time within the field of animation. With two impressive films already under his belt—works that include the visually stunning The Place Promise in Our Early Days (2004) and 5 Centimeter Per Second (2007)—he has already been labeled by various critics as the “Next Miyazaki”. Quite a strong appraisal for sure, given that he has written and directed only three feature-length films and several short films and television segments. Compare this to Miyazaki’s rather outstanding and impactful breadth of past works, and you can see that while the comparison can be made—and even justifiable to some capacity—the fact remains that Shinkai simply doesn’t have the work behind him to elicit such a comparison. Couple this with Shinkai’s adherence towards not truly implementing different thematic qualities in his films, and you can see that his growth as a writer and director has become somewhat fixated on one particular genre—that of romance—without venturing towards exploring a more broad appeal within his works. With Children Who Chase Lost Voices from Deep Below, it is apparent that Shinkai is aiming to establish that crossover appeal, bringing about a film that may alienate fans of his previous works, but also garner him respect for his willingness to widen his creative sphere as a director.

It would be wise to mention that Children Who Chase Lost Voices from Deep Below is unlike any of Shinkai’s past films. Expanding upon creating a more realized world than his previous works, the film imagines a breathtaking alternate world—known here as Agartha—that exists in the center of the Earth. With a worldly background quite reminiscent to Mesoamerican culture in its usage of mythology, attire, and architecture, the film is easily Shinkai’s most imaginative and creative setting as of yet. Always a strong point within his creations, the visual quality of the film is certainly it’s strongest attribute. From the lush country backdrops of Asuna’s home town, to the vast mountainous and rolling plains found in Agartha, the environments of Children Who Chase Lost Voices from Deep Below are some of the most impressive scenery viewed in an animated film for quite some time. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the film’s characters, many which aren’t particularly creative in their design. This has always been somewhat of a weak spot for Shinkai, where the locales of his films are considerably more elaborate in appearance than the character themselves. There are numerous characters throughout the film that are strikingly similar to the designs brought forth by Studio Ghibli, which may further comparisons between the two directors, not in the likes of creativity, but for Shinkai and character designer Takayo, Nishimura they would appear to be simply imitating the style of Miyazaki. Whether this stems from the facial features of the characters, to even the Quetzal Coatl creatures found within Agartha, the similarities are certainly visible and apparent. Perhaps if Shinkai pushed to retain more of his own visual styling in terms of the characters and creatures, the film would’ve been more distinctive in this sense, but the similarities don’t necessarily help the film to any degree. With his own stylistic touch and visual flair seen throughout the environments he creates, Shinkai should be subject towards improving the character design to the same degree, with Nishimura following suit.

Putting visuals aside though, the narrative of the film is also somewhat different in its approach. Those looking for significant traits of romance to be the focus of the film—a prominent aspect his past films—won’t see much of that here. This in itself may come as a surprise to some viewers expecting the film to be centered on romantic themes resulting in first crushes or loving embraces, traits that Shinkai has proven to be adept in portraying in the past. While some of these themes still find their way into the narrative, they certainly don’t take precedence over what is essentially a tale centered significantly on loss and the emotional costs it takes to overcome that loss. This is certainly a new direction for Shinkai, as it has the film dealing with a diverse range of genres that definitely expand the depth of his abilities as a director. As such, Shinkai is essentially exploring new ground within Children Who Chase Lost Voices from Deep Below, which in turn—as with anyone trying something new for the first time—showcases that he has some difficulty with the material at hand. While there are sporadic moments of familiarity to Shinkai’s previous works showcased towards the beginning of the film, once the film enters the world of Agartha, it exceedingly becomes a rather uneven combination of action segments and dramatic interventions. This approach does indeed break away from Shinkai’s conventional directorial style, but it also shows his shortcomings as a writer to fully develop such an expansive narrative as the one seen within the film—and the various genres that coincide with it. Given the scope of the film’s story, the film’s central theme seems to be that of loss and dealing with the ramifications of that loss. As most of Shinkai’s previous films focused on the act of separating from a loved one in some capacity, he approaches Children Who Chase Lost Voices from Deep Below from a different perspective, this time focusing specifically on the aftermath of losing that special individual. This is where he does excel at as writer—perhaps due to it being familiar territory for him—bringing about a rather truthful reflection upon such a saddening issue. While this thematic quality of the film is present throughout, it appears most prominently at the film’s conclusion, which provides the film with an emotional backing that is unfortunately quickly concluded.

Given that this was a considerable task for Shinkai and studio CoMix Wave—it was their most expensive undertaking yet, which should be duly noted—one should view the film simply as a preview to Shinkai’s considerable potential as a director more so than being a film that can stand alongside his stunning previous works. The ambitious nature of the film doesn’t particularly play well to Shinkai’s strengths, but it does allow him to test the waters surrounding such ambitious narratives, hopefully further developing his talent in the future. If more effort were implemented towards expanding the intricate and universal theme of loss, the film would’ve easily been viewed as a significant step in improving upon its rather superficial premise. While fans of his previous works will certainly find the film as a great departure from many of the elements that made him famous, one can see the imaginative process and effort that are necessary components for growth as a director. Perhaps if the writing was cleaned up, the story would have been much, much intriguing to follow, but this doesn’t deny the film from being an extraordinary visual treat for viewers old and new alike. While certainly flawed in many ways, Children Who Chase Lost Voices from Deep Below still remains a very visionary and expressive film that should appeal to those viewers outside the range of Shinkai’s previous works, even if it is hindered to some extent by its unoriginal plot.

The Mahou Shoujo (Magical Girl) sub-genre of anime has always been a genre not only aimed at exploring the realm of young girls with magical abilities, but many series include a variety of elements that coincide and reinforce such a seemingly simple premise. These elements range from fabulous transformation sequences, enchanted objects, conflicted identities, and cheerful and idealistic reflections upon youth and the power of magic use. Perhaps the most important elements of the genre though is its focus upon the emotionally charged depictions of maturing alongside one’s duty to save the world from evil, as the responsibility of growing up is ever present through the form of radical villains, disastrous circumstances, and the loss of a loved ones. While these elements remain the staple of the genre itself, series that subscribe to these elements are also usually upbeat in their portrayal of the young protagonists and the discovery of their newfound powers, emotions, and growing responsibilities of such. Director Akiyuki Shinbo’s Puella Magi Madoka Magica does contain all these elements as well, but inverts the outlook of the genre to a surprisingly significant degree, in turn making it quite an effective narrative on the very foundational premise of magical girls.

Written by Gen Urobochi, a man known for his dark and twisted tales, the series is one filled with tragic consequences and dire circumstances. Essentially, Puella Magi Madoka Magica is a deconstruction of the very mahou shoujo genre it subscribes to. While many series may look into the duality that exists between its young female protagonists as they attempt to live an ordinary life alongside that of a magical girl, Puella Magi Madoka Magica is a series that edges itself continuously towards exploring the dark recesses of becoming a magical girl, a choice that is given considerable weight, as the series ultimately suggests. Rather than rely solely on showcasing the magnificent nature in becoming a magical girl and all its joyous attributes, the series showcases the tragic results that stem from making that final leap into becoming a slayer of evil minions and witches, exploring the psychological states of self-doubt and personal criticism as the young girls come to grip with the harsh reality of their choice. It’s that choice that remains at the forefront of the series—a choice that fulfills a single desire, but only in exchange for a life of obligation. Whether it’s a choice to remedy a handicapped friend of their affliction so that they may be able to play the piano again, to wanting to reverse the grievous death of a friend, the series peers into the tragic irony that accompanies the life of being a magical girl. This is simply not a tale that attempts to romanticize “magical girls” in any fashion, in fact doing away with many of the genre’s—and audiences—conceptions.

As with numerous series before it, Puella Magi Madoka Magica also explores the idea of maturation coinciding with the battling of supernatural nemeses, but the realization brought about by the series conveys the true nature of a life of such responsibility—that of being a life of solitude and confinement to one’s duty. In many ways, the series is rather cruel in its depiction of the sorrowful implications of living such a lifestyle, but in doing so the series becomes a well-crafted and plausible look into a genre that has become quite tiring within the last several years due to its lack of creativity. Puella Magi Madoka Magica is not a happy series because of this directorial decision, a choice that may deplore longtime fans of the genre, especially those viewers who have grown accustomed to the simple and cheery-laden plots of past series. The narrative of the show is one of incredible fortitude as it makes it way through a diverse range of subjects that are explored in a matter that is both creative as it is courageous given the genre. Subjects such as death, psychological instability, suicide, jealously, and even rivalry are taken into consideration as viable dynamics of a plot that is as mature as it is sensible in its deconstruction.

Working as a rearrangement of the conventional understanding of the mahou shoujo genre, Puella Magi Madoka Magica biggest strength is that is focuses heavily on its characters and their outcomes instead of simply on their abilities as heroines of magic. The series remains grounded through its logical explanations of the decisions these characters make—whether it’s from Madoka’s indecision to help others because she is afraid to do so, to Mami’s discourse on the loneliness on being a magical girl, to even Sayaka’s inadequacy to work through her own feelings for the one she loves, the characters of the show are exemplary in their realistic deliverance of emotions and decisions. This is not to say that other series within the genre haven’t done the same, but one can certainly see that the darker tone of the series elevates the dilemmas that these characters face to a higher emotional sentiment. This realistic approach further extends into the realm of the story itself, where the logical construction of the plot helps in bringing a sense of practicability—with the universe approaching a heat death, the harvesting of power from the magical girls works as a way to stave off the impending disaster, for example—the series yet again repositions our perceptions on the mahou shoujo genre, expanding upon its ideas in new and imaginative ways.

With the innovative territory in which the show explores, the experimental nature of the animation also breathes much life into the show as well. With animation done primarily by studio SHAFT, the visual quality of Puella Magi Madoka Magica is a sight to see. With exquisite futuristic landscapes, to the intricate look of their interiors, the visuals remain quite strong throughout the series, with practically no reduction in animation quality to be seen between episodes. However, where the animation truly shines is during the battles segments that take place within the underworld where the magical girls and witches do battle. This is where the aesthetic value of the series comes through strongly in an original and creative fashion that is at times frightening as it is marveling to view. These particular segments within the show were done by animation duo Gekidan Inu Curry, a team that utilizes animation techniques such as stop-motion and hand drawn illustrations within their work. This approach lends the series a certain mystique that reinforces the bizarre nature of the underworld, giving us as viewers a visual adherence towards the psychological frameworks of the characters in their battles of personal confliction.

All these elements culminate in Puella Magi Madoka Magica being a compelling tale of redemption, sacrifice, and frienship. As a medium for storytelling, the series revitalizes—but doesn’t reinvent—the structure of the mahou shoujo genre, expanding upon a wealth of elements that produces a series that plays upon the very foundation of a genre that is often associated with a level of cheerfulness and fantasy. While these elements are indeed still present throughout the show to some capacity, the narrative is more attuned towards the fate of its characters rather than simply relying on the formulaic adherences that often hinder the genre as a whole. What the series ultimately does is parallels the ordinary nature of teenage girls—accompanied by all their emotional instability and conflicting thoughts—and places them within a supposed environment that will happily fill their every wish, which sadly proves to be rather difficult. Temptations in the form of wishes, these young girls are lured into a tumultuous lifestyle in their most vulnerable moments, and where the efforts by writer Gen Urobochi and director Akiyuki Shinbo deliver a challenging and emotional take on mahou shoujo, completely deconstructing the genre itself—a courageous move that solidifies Puella Magi Madoka Magica as a series worthy of exceptional praise.

Based on the highly popular shojo manga series by author Kazune Kawahara, High School Debut offers an outrageously comical look into one high school student’s absolute affixation with finding a boyfriend and entering the world of dating. While High School Debut’s premise may have already been seen to a certain degree in a variety of other films and television dramas, the portrayal of characters and situations found within the film are creatively done in a matter that liven up its tried and true narrative structure. While relying on the standard tropes that are often associated with the realm of shojo—unlikely characters falling in love, over the top situations, and comical humor—the film is aware of these elements and for the most part presents a satirical play on them. From Haruna’s initial reliance and eventual realization that the shojo manga titles she reads are illogical, to the film’s many jabs at the dating advice offered through teen magazines, the whole perception of dating is brought into question. Quite simply, High School Debut is a film that doesn’t take itself too seriously and pokes quite a lot of fun at itself and the genre it champions. It’s this much-needed awareness that keeps the film from simply becoming another sloppily executed manga to live action adaptation, instead bringing about a refreshing take on the genre in quite the most uncommon ways.

What helps out most in establishing this distinctiveness in the film is first and foremost the characters themselves. With a young and energetic cast taking the helm, they nicely complement the film’s animated and exuberant atmosphere and pace. This element of the film is certainly encapsulated in the character of protagonist Haruna, played extraordinarily well by actress Ito Ono. Acting as her debut film, her spirited portrayal of Haruna is absolutely a joy to watch. Whether it’s her humorous attempts made to attract the opposite sex, to her strict adherence as a disciple of dating to Yoh, she practically carries the entire film as the most charming and comical character. It would be wonderful to see her in future films, especially since she showcases such a charismatic performance here. Recognition should also go towards Junpei Mizobata as Yoh. Junpei gives a solid performance that is equally as comical as Ito’s. Viewed as the exact opposite personality-wise within the film, his character’s brash but vulnerable behavior prevents the film from becoming solely focused on the endeavors of Haruna, offering a great balance between the two as they vie to find a solution to Haruna’s inadequacy in dating. The comical timing between the two is excellent, and they truly become engaged within their characters. There is a host of other prominent actresses as well in the film, from gravure model Rina Aizawa, who plays Yoh’s flirtatious younger sister Asami, and AKB48 members Sae Miyazawa as Harun’s best friend Mami and Yuka Masuda as Haruna’s school rival. With a cast of likeable and recognizable faces, it’s sure to please fans of the manga series.

Another quality of the film is that it’s simply hilarious almost constantly throughout, mainly because of the performances by Ito and Junpei. From the misconstrued execution of the film’s by the book rules to dating—a quite literal presentation for sure—to the film’s ability to switch between elements of comedy and drama without missing a beat, High School Debut’s vigorous pacing certainly keeps film from becoming stale. With the heavy reliance on elements of comedy spread throughout, the film does restrain itself at times to introduce elements of drama as well. As such, the film loses some of its appeal as it focuses more so on the forming affectionate relationship between Haruna and Yoh rather than their amusing friendship. While not particularly detrimental to the overall plot, these segments within the film do indeed slow down the pacing, while also relying on unnecessary plot devices that reinforce some stereotypical themes found within the shojo genre. While the blossoming relationship between Haruna and Yoh is integral to the plot—and again, is seemingly an unavoidable aspect of the genre—it steadily begins to adhere towards a certain demographic, where else for a majority of the film the themes could be viewed as universal. These tired elements of the plot somewhat bring down the narrative of the film, but it should easily appeal to those viewers who find the unlikely pairing of two contrasting characters both plausible and gratifying.

Director Tsutomu Hanabusa, while only having directed one other film before taking on High School Debut with the humorous Handsome Suit (2008), easily translates the visionary and artistic nature of the manga over to film. Capturing the vivid atmosphere of the manga series, the look of the film and its characters should appeal to fans of the manga. Complementing the vibrant nature of the source material, the character expressions and mannerisms remain the appeal of the film. Hanabusa certainly has a keen eye for comical timing, which the film does quite successfully through its characters. From the dreamy sequences of Haruna’s daydreaming antics to the festive Christmas Eve-centered conclusion, the visual styling of the film is nice but can be mostly viewed as more akin to a television drama rather than a film. This is surely not to be viewed as a total negative aspect, but an increase in budget would have elevated the look of the film significantly. Some of the usage of CGI in certain scenes is blatantly obvious as well, which somewhat lessens the visual quality of the film even further, but luckily these scenes are kept to a minimum.

Overall, High School Debut is a surprisingly witty and entertaining film that in the hands of a lesser cast and director would have easily fallen within the realm of predictability all too soon. With a premise centered on the tested “makeover” theme viewed in other shojo manga titles, the film easily avoids many of the pitfalls of the genre by having a likeable cast of characters that aren’t archetypical and an experimental narrative. While the film does have it moments of tediousness towards its conclusion, it remains afloat through it numerous laugh-out-loud antics and humorous offerings on the notions of contemporary dating. Perhaps the film’s strongest strength is that it easily breaks down the barriers of the genre it subscribes to with relative ease, forging a new path in its wake. With a blatantly flawed character such as Haruna searching for the likes of a boyfriend, the film establishes a realistic albeit imaginative take on the issue of teenage love, all the while remaining acutely aware of many of the subject’s hardships and falsehoods. With a delightful cast—especially that of Ito Ono—an appealing premise, and relevant satire, the film presents a highly comical tale on a subject that is often times riddled with clichéd elements that do little for its story. Fortunately, High School Debut is removed from many of those elements, in turn making it one highly amusing and charming  film.

Directed by Masahiro Kunimoto, a man known mainly for his work within Japanese television dramas, Fireworks from the Heart offers a tender and genuine look into the social context of hikikomori—an affliction that is usually associated with reclusive individuals who have withdrawn from socialization and in many respects choose to be isolated from the outside world. While certainly a difficult subject to realistically address within the realm of cinema, Fireworks from the Heart doesn’t shy away from showcasing the obtrusive behavior that surrounds being a hikikomori, especially its harmful nature on not only the individual, but also their surrounding family. In the film’s case, the affliction of being a hikikomori befalls on the character of Taro, a mild-mannered and timid young adult who has slowly locked himself away from the world as well as his family—with only his sister Hana willing to break through to him. As the film’s premise could have easily gone towards elaborating on this social condition in the most exaggerated fashion, Fireworks from the Heart is a reserved film whose focal point remains on the strong bond that forms between a brother and sister, which eventually extends to the remainder of the family and thus community.

In many respects, the relationship between Taro and Hana is of the utmost importance within the film. While many films dealing with strong issues such as death and social ailments often center upon a tragic relationship that develops between two lovers, Fireworks from the Heart offers these same issues through the centerfold of family, especially that of the damaged but forgiven relationship between two siblings. With the character of Taro, played exceptionally well here by Kengo Kora, we see his slow transformation from hikikomori to that of a dependable working individual as an authentic realization on part of his character. The film doesn’t completely resolve his status as hikikomori by the film’s conclusion, but this adds to the realism of the issue at hand. It would appear too unrealistic and unnatural to have him completely free of the remnants of being a hikikomori, with his transformation not being the difficult journey it had initially been made out to be. We see the catalyst of his transformation stemming from his younger sister Hana, played by the talented Mitsuki Tanimura. Dealing with her own problem—a devastating case of leukemia—Hana is viewed as the antithesis to Taro. With his disregard for social interaction, the film deftly handles Hana’s motivational techniques to get him out and about, which provides the film with an amusing charm made all the more spirited by them being siblings.

Both Kengo Kora and Mitsuki Tanimura do a fantastic job of conveying such diverging characters, each giving their respective parts the necessary emotional backing to make it all seem plausible in the long run. Whether this is viewed in the scenes of Hana helping Taro out with his first job as a paperboy by riding on the back of his bicycle to give him encouragement, to her numerous antics to get him to socialize with people of his own age, the film isn’t overly sentimental in regards to simply allowing the emotional relationship between them to appear natural and thoughtful. The focus also expands to that of their mother Tomoko (played by Yoshiko Miyazaki) and father Kuniakira (played by veteran Ren Osugi), in particular the strenuous relationship between Taro and his father. With Kuniakira viewed as a father initially disappointed in his son’s decision in becoming a hikikomori, we see his transition from complete avoidance of Taro to acceptance of Taro’s struggle for change as a subtle shift towards balancing out the father-son dynamic seen throughout the film. As I stated earlier, the premise of the film could’ve easily fit within the context of showing encouragement stemming from two lovers, but the film is seemingly reinforced by the development of family remaining the focus here—for the most part.

Where Fireworks from the Heart works extremely well is when it explores this familial bond. Where the film runs into trouble is when the narrative decides to focus intently on Taro’s relationship towards his community members and away from his family. This happens primarily within the last act of the film, where we see Taro begin to interact with his peers in a manner that remedies his affliction of being a hikikomori. While not totally deviant from the emotionally riveting first half of the film, it becomes increasingly centered on rather trite circumstances that don’t necessarily develop Taro as a character in a realistic fashion. For someone such as Taro to have faced such dire circumstances with his family, it just seems somewhat too easy for writer Masafumi Nishida and director Masahiro Kunimoto to end the film on an overly sentimental note that doesn’t necessarily reflect the strength of family offered throughout the film. With an overextended focus on the Katakai Fireworks Festival towards the end, it simply appeals as a way to nicely wrap up Taro’s development as a character, a move that removes the originality of his character seen in the beginning. A more subtle realization on part of Taro would’ve worked out much better during this portion of the film, allowing the audience to sympathize more with his difficult journey rather than his newfound status as a social individual.

Besides the rather excessively melodramatic conclusion, Fireworks from the Heart is still a relatively strong film for its focus on a family dealing with the trials and tribulations of an uncertain future. Actor Kengo Kora and actress Mitsuki Tanimura give wonderful performances throughout the film, each to bringing to life the struggle their characters face in a plausible light. Dealing with the issue of hikikomori, the film doesn’t downplay the significance of the problem, but rather tackles in a way that is authentic in regards to it being a family issue and not simply a personal dilemma. With a rather simple narrative structure, the film doesn’t indulge too much on the sentimentality easily brought about by its premise—except perhaps for the ending—but it relies more on the strength of the familial bonds shared by the characters, which provides the film some novelty. This is what makes Fireworks from the Heart stand above many similar films that deal with such issues, in turn making it a thoughtful and emotional experience.

Stemming from the popular manga series by Ai Yazawa, Paradise Kiss is the latest manga to live-action adaptation deriving from the author’s work. Her perhaps more popular manga series, Nana, was also produced and released in two subsequent live-action films—Nana (2005) and Nana 2 (2006)—with its premise surrounding a relationship between two young women with polar opposite personalities. Like the dual Nana films, Paradise Kiss is also a film that subscribes to the youth-genre, a genre that usually relies on a narrative that is out of the ordinary and certainly exaggerated. With director Takehiko Shinjo at the helm—also the adamant director of previous youth-oriented films such as Heavenly Forest (2006) and I Give My First Love to You (2009)—Takehiko successfully brings all the magical imagery and fantasy-like qualities envisioned within the manga series into this live-action adaptation with considerable ease. For the most part, these elements of a manga series don’t always necessarily translate well within the confinement of a live-action film, but Paradise Kiss takes considerable caution to have the look and feel of the manga series remain consistent throughout, with the extravagant personalities and circumstances of the characters being ever present—whether these stems from expensive cars, penthouse suites or tailored attire for our characters—with the exception of our protagonist Yukari, a common girl with not much aspirations besides getting good grades in school.

In many ways, Paradise Kiss is a play on our perceived notions of fitting within societal boundaries even when it makes us unhappy, therein realizing that we must find our own calling instead of simply falling in line. This premise remains a steady factor throughout the film, with Yukari being viewed as an individual, who at first, is essentially living through the wishes of her mother and not her own. With the continued comparison to her considerably more intelligent younger brother by her mother, Yukari constantly has to keep up a rather superficial appearance of courage and perfection within her academics. We see that Yukari has been consistently pressured from an early age to perform well in school in order to appease her mother—which is where we find her in the beginning of the film—and clearly not enjoying the experience. She has become yet another member of the crowd and not willing to forge her own path. This remains the focal point of the film, in that it relies on the traditional notion of being self-motivated and living your life on your own accord rather than through others. With Yukari, we see her slowly begin to unwind the conventional barriers that have been put in placed before her in an attempt to find her true calling within life, with the film appealing to the most basic maxim of our need to find happiness through self-determination—and where the Paradise Kiss clothing group remains a prime example of living out those desires.

But while Yukari becomes slowly starts to become of the group’s newfound members—acting as their primary model for clothing—her relationship towards them is certainly a bumpy one. Paralleling her take on life with that of Paradise Kiss front man Jouji “George” Koizumi, the two couldn’t be far enough from one another personality-wise, but this approach allows the film to work out an understanding between the characters that is mutual and believable. Granted, while Yukari’s rise through the fashion world may not be entirely conceivable given her rather short time within the group—where we see very little as to her metamorphosis from grumpy high school student to established model—but her portrayal by actress Keiko Kitagawa carries the film. While the narrative doesn’t show as much given her transformation between the two lifestyles, Keiko does a fantastic job of acting each part out with considerable confidence. Whether this is her disregard and annoyance for the Paradise Kiss clothing group in the beginning—with a particularly humorous scene shared between her and Jouji as he comes to pick her up at school with his Jaguar vehicle and fancy attire—to her moments as a renowned model just looking for guidance, Keiko really does complement the character of Yukari as viewed in the manga. This also extends to rest of the cast as well, in particular Osamu Mukai as Jouji. He, like Keiko, does an adequate job conveying the nature of Jouji’s situation and the conflictions that come with following his dream in becoming a fashion designer.

Considering that Paradise Kiss is a film that subscribes to the youth genre, the film does focus around the idea of education. The film takes an interesting approach though by not simply stating that learning takes place only within a rudimentary environment such as school, but also suggesting that learning can occur outside of that environment as well. This leads to an interesting dynamic within the plot that has Yukari contemplating leaving her traditional high school environment in order to pursue her newly established love for fashion, a move that is often seen as taboo within most other films. While not expressed to the degree as to suggest that traditional schooling is irrelevant, it does again harp on the idea of self-determination in choosing the path of one’s own life, in this case Yukari’s willingness to find her individuality. With a focus on the fashion industry—similarly to Kentaro Otani’s Runway Beat (2011) released the same year—the film is certainly appealing to fashion enthusiasts to a certain degree, but it leans more on showcasing Yukari’s and Jouji’s blossoming relationship towards the end. This decision forces the film to become somewhat contrived, and while the film’s ending does differ from that of the manga series in that it neatly attempts to resolve everything, it simply appears as way to fashion its ending around New York City—a move that also unnecessarily stretches out its running time for the sake of showcasing the city.

Overall, Paradise Kiss is a film that should definitely appeal to the demographic it entails to, as well as being viewed as a complementary treatment of the source material. Besides the film’s rather strained ending revolving around the relationship between Yukari and Juoji, the film offers a very nice look into entrepreneurship and the dedication needed to alter one’s path in life. While these themes may at times become engulfed under the film’s melodramatic conclusion, they still remain a great example within a genre that often times focuses entirely on establishing a flimsy love tale around a superficial and gimmicky premise. While the film does indeed endorse this approach in some capacity, it doesn’t forget about the intricacies of its premise for the sake of simply having a loving relationship form between the two leads. With an aesthetically pleasing cast, a great performance by Keiko Kitagawa, and an appreciated effort towards remaining faithful to the manga series, Paradise Kiss is a film that may have some hiccups, but ultimately remains a great tribute to one of Ai Yazawa’s more popular works.