I went through a very specific cycle with episodes of Golden Time: “1. What happened last episode? 2. Why am I watching this again? 3. Banri/Koukou/Mitsuo you clods, get it together. 4. Okay that wasn’t bad.” Rinse, repeat. The series has the same kind of moreish, ludicrous mentality that soap operas do, even going as far as leaving each episode on a cliffhanger regardless of how incongruous doing so is. It came as some surprise to me then that Golden Time is penned by the same author as Toradora, arguably one of the finest straight-faced campus romance series. Both have the same kind of unyielding outlook on relationships - romantic or otherwise - and a core pairing that drives the plot, yet Toradora never raised the question of its chosen medium like Golden Time does.
it’s a good idea to try and raze their relationships to the ground with some ill timed emotional savagery
Both started as light novels by Yuyuko Takemiya and both have commendable anime adaptations yet Toradora’s cast of characters - the “palmtop tiger” Taiga and the faux delinquent Ryuuji et. al. - slotted right in with standard anime archetypes. After all, we’ve had boatloads of contemporary school romance stories both before and after. Golden Time though, with it’s inner-city University setting and the amnesiac Banri Tada and lion like Koukou Kaga, is something we’ve seen very little of before and it raises the question of: why an anime?
Watching Yojouhan Shinwa Taikei is like watching a very complex engine; there's the constant thrum as it operates - provided here by Shintaro Asanuma's staccato voice - the complex mechanisms all operating together in order to drive... something. In the first three episodes the series doesn't reveal what it is attempting to convey or even how it intends to fill the remainder of its eleven episode run, there is only the core situation, continuously augmented, with the nameless protagonist at the centre. Bolstering this Groundhog Day-esque scenario is an impossibly trendy production from Madhouse that sports a gung-ho, raucous animation style and an opening backed by Asian Kung-fu Generation. There is an infectious, breathless enthusiasm to the opening episodes but whether this will be maintained and the final twist worthwhile, will make or break the series.
Sly nods to popular culture reinforce its underlying attacks on community, creativity and personal fulfilment
The opening days of a university education are filled with promise, especially the decision on which club to join to best spend time in between lectures. The protagonist opts first for the tennis club but discovers too late the skills required to make friends and, crucially, woo partners of the opposite sex. Instead he throws his lot in with Ozu, a snide and vindictive young man with a face only a mother could love and a penchant for causing brainless mischief wherever he goes. Complicating this mix is Akashi, a cantankerous and forthright girl who seems to take a special interest in the protagonist, much to his delight. When his tennis club adventures end with him being thrown into a raging river, time reverses and he is given another chance at a club, this time choosing the film club. Events end badly once again, as too does the cycling circle; it seems that the protagonist is tied to Ozu with the "black thread of fate", or perhaps the local deity or suspect fortune teller have something to do with his continuing mishaps.
Describing microbes and bacteria as "cute" or "adorable" is not something one ever expects to do, but this is just one of the plethora of things Moyashimon manages to achieve without being overbearing or trite. With only a petite eleven episodes to play with, the first three are wryly amusing, frequently educational and, ironically for a show with a starring cast of fungus, remarkably fresh.
the first episode is surprisingly gruesome, featuring a seal carcass filled with deceased sea-birds
When the central characters of a show are the sons of sake and yeast producers, a mole-like professor with a perchance for sucking the bowels of fermenting sea-birds and a rocker-chick graduate student who is frequently treated as a missing persons case, the show is either going to be very weird or weirdly excellent. Moyashimon tends more towards the latter than the former and focuses on a young man, Tadayasu Sawaki, who can see, hear and interact with microscopic organisms such as bacteria and fungi. Far from the black-and-white electron microscope visions of these that we're used to, the microbes Sawaki sees are anthropomorphised versions, all bright colours and huge grins, they squeak and chatter about their business in a charmingly jaunty way.
