Visually at least, Letter Bee is remarkably striking: washes of indigo and pinpricks of grey-whites make it aesthetically strong; however in the perpetual twilight of the fantasy world it portrays, appreciation turns quickly into indifference. The motif of particles drifting softly from the sky is overused to the point where its original implication is questionable; sepia flashbacks are replete with translucent stars while during the initial two episode journey, spores and whatever else constantly accompany the bland dialogue and sloth-like storyline.
The first of what is likely to many other ridiculously named comrades is Niche
The first three episodes describe Lag Seeing's - just one of a number of absurd names - journey towards becoming a Letter Bee - essentially an armed postman. Lag is initially found tethered to a monument next to the charred remains of a village, from there he is taken by Gauche - a current Letter Bee - across the mountains, encountering terrible CG beasties along the way. The set up is painfully typical and Lag spends the majority of the opening episodes leaking from all of his facial orifices and whining incessantly, compounded by the addition of a surly, alien looking toddler who, by some kind of perverse skill, magnifies Lag's annoying mannerisms. Dull, plodding and lifeless, Letter Bee is impossible to enjoy and difficult to tolerate.
The CLAMP powerhouse whirs back to animated life after the juggernaut of Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle and the most recent xxxHolic, this time with a protagonist that has a more than coincidental likeness to a certain green-haired girl created by Kiyohiko Azuma. Kobato is an undeniably twee production but, unlike other outputs by the all-female studio, lacks a more engaging overarching story.
whereas series like Chobits had a dearth of possibilities, this seems inspirationally barren
The titular character Kobato drifts down to earth in a swirl of cherry blossoms and flowing hair, finally exclaiming that she will "do her best". Not the most original of introductions but the opening melody by the superb Maaya Sakamoto is reason enough to continue. What follows is relentlessly saccharine as the protagonist is set on a mission - by her gruff and obnoxious stuffed dog Ioryogi - to heal people's hearts and collect the fragments - shaped like kompetio - in a jar so that she can obtain her as-yet undisclosed wish. Surviving on a mixture of luck and the grace of strangers, Kobato's mission introduces her to a medley of shrill voiced people, all with faces easily recognisable to those with even a passing familiarity with previous CLAMP works. Calling this a kids show would be redundant, but that it feels mildly derivative and frequently vacuous is surprising given the creators.
Sasameki Koto takes place in a land of almost perpetual sunsets, golden skies and scenery aflame with oranges, all the while impressionable young girls stand in front of illuminated classrooms blushing with possibility. The series lays in thick and fast and doesn't ever prevaricate as to what the majority of it will be about: unfettered romance. Dainty piano melodies and smooth words flow from the opening leaving no doubt as to the position the series takes on its subject matter.
they feel like characters rather than porcelain dolls butting heads
Sumika Murasame loves her best friend Ushio Kazama who is infatuated with cute girls, unfortunately for Sumika she is tall, athletic and bookish preferring to dress in muted polo necks than frilly skirts. While she pines for Ushio a male from her class, Masaki Akemiya, has fallen in love with her and expresses this by cross dressing and posing for a fashion magazine. Things take a turn for the complex when Sumika and Ushio catch two other girls kissing, and from the hints dropped in the first three episodes, it's safe to assume that other potential love interests will be introduced in short order. The story is typical romance fare with the added twist of same-sex relationships but the plights of the cast produces a level of empathy that is wholly unusual.
Beginning Winter Sonata without knowing its lineage is opening oneself up for confusion. While superficially Japanese, the series originates in South Korea, adapted from a non-animated drama series of which Winter Sonata is the second of four which are collectively known as "Endless Love". The original television cast are brought on in voice acting roles and not re-dubbed which means that when broadcast in Japan, subtitles are included. Past the initial puzzlement as to the difference in language, the first episodes of the series turn out to be little more than a straight-faced romance story, albeit with a nostalgic twist.
a show that resolutely belongs on daytime television, aimed squarely at the unemployed and housebound
The first episode - commonly termed Episode 0 - is billed as a prelude to the main series and wastes no time pouring on the floaty piano music and longing gazes out onto cityscapes ravished by the weather. Joon Sang Kang is in New York suffering from a hematoma behind his eye which makes him permanently introspective and liable to fall over at inopportune moments; meanwhile Yujin Jung writes about the past in cosy Parisian coffee shops while thinking of Joon. With some stunning backgrounds and a genuine eye for emotional detail, the series gets off to a slow but determined start.
Kuchu Buranko (Trapeze, lit. Sky Swing) is like a late night bevy of cocktails: all bright colours and mind altering effects. The first three episodes are an all out assault on aesthetics, everything is awash with luminous colours and textured with polka dots or garish swathes of clashing patterns. Sometimes barely discernible from the backdrops, the characters are animated haphazardly when they are at all, often devolving into poorly filtered live-action or blatant rotoscoping and other times jerking between poses with little warning. Like its closet meretricious sibling, Gankutsuou, the visuals are only meant to allure and the real meat of the episodes is worth risking sensory overload.
Beyond the scratchy, haphazard style it often feels like a technicolour slideshow
The mostly standalone stories are about individuals who have some sort of mental affliction which is examined by the whimsical psychiatrist Ichiro Irabu who changes form between an obnoxious green rabbit with permanent facial stubble, a precocious young boy whose lab coat is several sizes too large for him and an androgynous bespectacled boy in his late teens or early twenties. Even the patients are not immune to switching states, often depicted as animals which suit their condition; topping all of this madness off is a supposedly real life psychiatrist Fukuicchi who sporadically pops out of a scene for an aside on the current disorder being explored. The series so far is raucous, visually boggling and brilliant fun to watch.
