Review of Kyousougiga

I am moved. Kyousougiga emulates so many works that I am deeply fond of. From Eva's unconventional character build-ups to FLCL's signature humour, adding in bits of Gainax's flair and even hints of Shaftism. But perhaps the most noticeable analogue is Ikuhara's Penguindrum. Not just in the way Kyousougiga swaps background characters with literal cardboard cutouts, but mainly in the themes it shares surrounding family and how, in the face of inexplicable ideas like fate or, in this case, divinity, that familial bond triumphs over all else. It's a confounding and conceptual but ultimately an immensely profound journey. Kyousougiga firmly follows the idea that "rules aremeant to be broken" both in the story and the series itself, to the point where it eschews conventional narrative structure in favour of doing more with less. Throughout the 10 episodes, characters are recontextualized both in the eyes of the audience and in the eyes of other characters, creating an air of mystique that could only be achieved through said defiance of rules. Yet despite all this, I still believe that, in my humble opinion, Kyousougiga never trespasses into the incoherent territory that most shows experimenting with such formats tend to find themselves in. There's a clear vision behind each idea laid out, some definite, others more interpretable, but each complements the core tenet that is constantly built upon from the very first episode. Rie Matsumoto's direction is impeccable. Her style and manner of storytelling have clear influences, yet she also has this originality. Each frame is inspired and gorgeously composed. Each character design is expressive and unique. I don't hesitate to say that this is one of the best-shot anime of all time. The opening and endings, aside from being complete bops, complement the show well. A single melody carries the weight of a thousand words. Recurring riffs of hope overwhelm the dread as every episode ends with a pronounced "so fight!"

Underneath the layers of glitter and confusion lies an equally compelling narrative. It's a timeless family drama set against a backdrop that is vastly Japanese in its cultural and religious references. Special episode 5.5 goes deep into exploring the show's various historical influences. Ideas of Buddhism and Shintoism, death and rebirth, but it also has nods to Alice in Wonderland, particularly in its ideas of escapism. Escapism from responsibility, duty, and even life. As such, Kyousougiga forms a triad of influences between Japanese folklore, Buddhism, and Alice in Wonderland. The basic idea of each is imperative to understand what Kyousougiga is trying to convey.

As I mentioned before episode 5.5 explored the influences behind the series. A pair of guard statues can be turned into characters. Ancient buildings can act as settings for the story. Ancient scrolls called Chōjū-jinbutsu-giga, from which the show derives its title. Two geometrically simple shaped windows, one a circle and the other a square, one a window of enlightenment representing the universe and the other being the window of delusion representing the suffering of human life, respectively, can completely elevate your characters and scenes, while some dude from the 1200s called "Myōe" who made Kōzan-ji temple (of which the only existing building is Sekisui-in) and was the first man in Japan to make tea (???) is used to model your character after, who is also called Myōe and lives in that temple as well. Like bro, even his wooden dog made it to the show as a real one, and so did his painting that he considers his mother that gave Koto her body (he was a little weird, methinks). This is a testament to how strong ideas can live through generations via different forms.

One of the numerous distinct attributes about Kyousogiga is this flavour of nostalgia it carries. It's a retelling of a classic story of a girl walking into the looking glass, which is a story we all grew up with, but it's also because of its depiction of home. Your home, my home. It also carries this scent of longing. Eventually, as we grow older, our families are split across hundreds of miles. There's this tinge of sadness that follows, but not without this comfort that even as we drift apart, so too will we stay together.

For there to be loss, there first has to be gain.

Myoue's empty shrine is first inhabited by a rabbit granted a human body named Lady Koto, who brandishes him with love. Then Yakushimaru, the war orphan, their youngest son and a human. Kurama, the eldest son and a drawing. Yase, the middle daughter and an Oni (demon). Together this eccentric family lived happily, yet they were still bothered by the capital. To continue living a carefree life Myoue simply creates a new one called Mirror Capital, a wonderland where nothing ever dies and nothing is ever born. In short, nothing ever changed. Unfortunately, things never can be so simple, and with Lady Koto's contract up the parents decide to leave their children with only the memories of their time together and the promise that they'll one day return.

There are two ways Kyousougiga explores its fable: one is through a single-character focus, and the other is through a family focus.

The series opens with Inari/Myoue longing for the days shared with his loved ones. The sun shines on the past, the future is clouded in mystery while he remains stuck in the present. Kurama wants to break free from this world. He embraced it as a kid as it allowed him to do as he pleased. But now he wants to see the outside world and thinks of this one as a prison meant to keep him in until their parents return. Yase clings to her material memories, storing them safely. She hates the station opening because it threatens to pull these away. She is the unwanted thing left behind. She too liked the Mirror Capital because it was unchanging. All she cared about was spending time with her mother. With Lady Koto gone, she latches onto any pieces of her she can find. Child Koto feels like she missed out on that past. She longs to find the family she never got to experience. Looking forward to the future so that she can look back. If you have no past, and all you have is the future, which is so uncertain, then who are you? Koto keeps moving forward in search of her answers, breaking into Mirror Capital in search of her mother. Yakushimaru has to take on the name, appearance and role of his father. He had given up on life after losing his initial family, but Myoue gave him a second chance. Despite viewing it as a curse, he came to love his mother and appreciate his place within the family. The promise he made to his father ties him to this place where time seems to stand still. The younger Yakushimaru's arc illustrates the weight of expectations parents place on their kids. An almost predetermined pressure to follow in their footsteps.

It's interesting to note that what essentially makes this family dynamic work is their perfectly normal relationships, despite their outward peculiarities. Who knew a show about gods and drawings that come to life would be one of the most human tales in anime?

These episodes featured direction that was far more subdued compared to the ONA, and even in those quieter moments, it added so much through its phenomenal compositions. It's a complete visual treat that doubles as meaningful imagery. Establishing an entire universe (while keeping a few secrets, of course) without feeling overstuffed. Something as simple as a cup is used to breathe life into a character while also keeping an emotive atmosphere intact, or a pomegranate acts as a heavy motif. It feels boundless in its ideas.

The pomegranate is perhaps the most striking symbol in the show. It makes its appearance in episode 5. At first in a flashback, cut in half and bleeding in Yakushimaru's hands, and then later in a train as a whole with the rest of the "unneeded items" to be discarded (notice how there's an elderly woman on that train). The young, gloomy Yakushimaru later understands the connection Koto has to his parents, whose appearance changes the tone of his flashback completely. He then hands his bleeding pomegranate to young Koto, who eats it and smiles at him.

It is a symbol of his life. It does, at one point, beat when Yakushimaru holds it near his heart. At first, it was bleeding when he committed seppuku and lost his family (half of his pomegranate). After his adoptive parents eventually leave, he finds himself in that same position yet again, but this time instead of bleeding literally, he is bleeding emotionally, with the other half of the pomegranate missing yet again. Yakushimaru is handing over his "heart/life" to Koto and asking her to kill him once they find his mother, to free him from his "immortality". The pomegranate on the train could be symbolic of Yakushimaru's wish for death. His desire to discard his life away. This is also supported by the conversation between Yase and Kurama earlier in the episode. Apart from the train metaphor, their conversation about the dog waiting for its dead master until it dies itself very much mirrors Yakushimaru's purported trajectory at this point.

The second half then zooms out and explores the family dynamic as a whole, which happens as soon as their mother, Lady Koto, returns. This half features some of the most tender and heartwarming images of a family you could ask for. We were already told they loved their parents, but seeing them whole and together accentuates how important parents are in a family. There's a noticeable flow of gestures of love. But this proves to be inadequate, the kids realise that they didn't just long for their parents, they longed for their pasts. Things have changed just as much as they have remained.

Lady Koto asks her daughter to save her father from the dream that traps him, the dream to create new worlds and find purpose. Koto breaks down in front of Yakushimaru. She feels she has been mostly viewed as a tool rather than a person with needs and wants of her own. Parents often yearn to vicariously live out their dreams and reverse their failures through their children. That's why Inari splits his ability between Yakushimaru and Koto, his first and his last, the power to create and the power to destroy. How do you become your own person, if you're carrying the responsibilities bestowed upon you by your parents? Not only do Yakushimaru and Koto suffer from that weight, but so does their enigmatic father, Inari.

Inari, at this point, has gone through yet another rebirth. As a god, a priest, a father, an observer, and now just a man. In every era of his life, he has struggled with understanding his place in the world. He has grappled and ultimately rebelled against his father. Creating a Mirror Capital that should never have existed. In the end, Inari himself is still a child. Toying with the laws of the universe on his whims to fabricate his sense of purpose.

"You're like a child. You don't know how to control yourself. Everything you do is overly extravagant. You're free, selfish, uninhibited. Self-centered. A cold-hearted monster. Yet, you know how to demand attention. A proud man, who can't bear to be alone."

This comes as a shock to Yakushimaru. Kids view their parents as infallible beings. As they grow older and become adults themselves, they realise everyone, parents included is still a child at heart. They're as flawed as any. Yakushimaru always looked towards the past, keeping it frozen in place until his parents returned. Kurama tells him that the world doesn't change until you do. Yakushimaru refused to grow up, as such their worlds stayed the same. Yase and Kurama found meaning in being his playmates made to comfort him, but Yakushimaru could never find his. You look towards the past too much and you'll become rooted in it. It's always better to look ahead than to look back. As Kurama steps out of a cave he notes, how much brighter it is above, outside than in a hole. The future may be uncertain, but it is the only way forward. Besides, your past is always there with you. Better to build on it than be satisfied with it. To do so is to rot in a hole.

"Let’s be happy! With everyone, if we can, for as long as we live... and for that, I’m sure we can start over as many times as it takes!"

As we progress further into this deep unravelling of abandonments that goes back generations, we see a bloom of love. Love is not just doing things for the sake of others but also wanting to be there with them and spend time with them. Both Kotos have to slap sense into Inari.

"Laughing, crying, getting angry, being happy... We did all that together, didn’t we? That’s what love is!"

Koto punctuates "That's love!" as she lists off the small moments of her childhood to her father. Life is a responsibility, unbound by any specific purpose. Koto wants her father to stay here with her, alive. She doesn't want him to selfishly leave off while also passing his problems onto others. Family comes from the small. It's in those inconsequential everyday moments, meaningful in its triviality. It's about being together, even if you're not together. The value of it is in its very existence. At the end of it all, Kyousougiga asks,

“What’s wrong with just being here?"

Kyousougiga paints a picture of a fractured, found family that learns to come together again, lean on one another again, and trust one another again. It’s a story about love and the burdens of expectations. The most important thing, despite their broken past and ambiguous future, is that right now, at this moment, they are together and happy.

In Love and Rebirth, Kyousougiga ends the same way it began, with a shot of a particular, yet also, regular family.

10/10.