Review of Haibane Renmei

Yoshitoshi Abe's cryptic world of fallen angels makes a strong case for flexible Christianity or rather uses the references (seven deadly sins) to establish a mindset and possible counterarguments. It's impossible to overlook the religious similarities, although it wouldn't be far-fetched to argue that wings and halos are merely popular designs, more so than biblical analogies, especially given the non-religious disposition rampant in its finale. The town of Glie is home to reborn individuals, hatching out of cocoons with nothing but a faint memory of a unique dream that would soon become the inspiration for their new name. They are confined to massive walls andsubjected to work until their time has come, in which they take flight. The specifics of that phenomenon are unimportant, even to the viewer because achieving that privilege is a cruel series of unknowns that must be deciphered in a personalized manner. I'm hesitant to praise the worldbuilding considering it's limited to speculation regarding the outside, but the theories it encourages, albeit with obvious metaphors, benefit the long-term appeal of a story too quiet for genuine emotional parallels to humans.

Haibane Renmei is rightfully contemplative, and in fact, it regularly holds itself to this standard at the height of its philosophical offerings. There is seemingly no real issue with its approach, yet this style parses stagnant information until it can successfully arrive at the desired conclusion. It is of course partially intentional, prioritizing allusions over explicitly clearing the mystery to invite the viewer into a limbo of questions. Avoiding the subject at hand without losing our immediate attention is a difficult mechanic, and Abe's script isn't up to the task more often than not. He concatenates serious social factors tormenting youth, such as inexplicable mental situations and self-harm to name the most prominent motifs. Both of which become conflicts in the latter half, while the introductory phase is spent wandering around the small town and hinting at on-the-nose symbolism. Most of this functions to a satisfactory degree if not for the largely hollow cast posing a liability, preventing the narrative from expanding on the plight of sins being inescapable scars, even in reincarnation.

Location is easily the show's most enticing "character", harboring the bulk of visual storytelling, but also not limited to the setting. A murder of intelligent crows traveling over sentient walls, the bloody birth of a curse, all metaphorically effective. The production struggles to consistently visualize the ethereal feel, frequently declining into smeared shading or a blur, although it's worth noting the DVD's original resolution doesn't have much to work with. There are instances of it developing surreal implications, sharply negating devotion to unstained righteousness as the be-all and end-all of human existence. Haibane Renmei's interpretation of the nature of repentance is salvation from the need for salvation itself, and aside from the sometimes questionable sound mixing, the score combines folk instrumental pieces with a beautiful choir. Purgatory is a demoralizing pretense for forgiveness, an imprisoning force for those who believe.