Review of Dan Da Dan

Dan Da Dan kicks open the door like a caffeinated exorcist in a haunted arcade. It doesn’t ease you in—it hurls you into a world where yokai chase teenagers in underwear, aliens steal your dignity (and your organs), and puberty hits with a telekinetic punch. On paper, it sounds like madness. In motion, it is madness—but it’s also unexpectedly sincere. The show doesn't waste time explaining itself. You either hang on or get left behind. And honestly? I kind of love that confidence. Beneath the chaos, Dan Da Dan is a story about belief. Not just belief in ghosts or aliens, but belief in people—belief inyourself when you feel like a loser, in your friends when the world’s melting, in love even when you can't say the words. It takes the awkwardness of adolescence and amplifies it with supernatural puberty metaphors.

The body horror? It's puberty.
The psychic powers? Emotional outbursts.
The curse? Insecurity.
Turbo Granny? ...Okay, I have no metaphor for Turbo Granny. She’s just insane.

But that's the thing—underneath all the genre madness is a very human struggle to be seen, to be heard, to be wanted.

Momo Ayase is a standout. She’s brash, confident, and emotionally intelligent in a way most anime protagonists aren't. Her loyalty isn't loud, but it's deep. The way she protects Okarun while navigating her own emotional minefield feels real. Okarun is the heart. Awkward, nerdy, and constantly second-guessing himself, his arc is the classic "nobody to somebody" journey—but what makes it work is how earnestly it’s handled. His psychic powers feel like an extension of his suppressed confidence finally boiling over.

Their relationship is one of the rare anime dynamics that’s not built on forced misunderstanding. It’s awkward, flirty, soft, and genuinely supportive. They feel like two people growing into something real.

Even supporting characters like Aira and Seiko (Momo’s grandma, an absolute queen) have more nuance than you'd expect in a show where aliens wear tracksuits.

Science SARU came unhinged in the best way possible. The animation is unchained—stretchy, explosive, surreal. Fight scenes bend reality, perspective, and often physics, but they’re always readable. It’s like the animators watched Looney Tunes, added trauma, and said "make it sexy." But what surprised me is how emotionally expressive the visuals are in quieter scenes. The show knows when to slow down, when to zoom in on a vulnerable look, a quiet smile, a blush that says everything they can’t. The direction is maximalist—colors clash, camera whips, and every battle feels like a breakdown in motion. But it works because it never loses the emotional core.

Early on, the show races like it’s on fire. But it uses that pace to establish its tone—chaotic, playful, dangerous. Around the midpoint, it breathes. Relationships deepen. Stakes rise. There's real heart beneath the absurdity. Some might call the finale messy—and it is. But it’s the kind of mess that feels earned. Not everything resolves cleanly, but the emotional beats land. The final episodes go full spectacle, and while it feels a little rushed, the feeling is there.

The OP is an immediate classic—infectious, wild, and full of character. The score swings between eerie alien ambience, yokai horror stings, and emotional piano without ever feeling disjointed. The sound design matches the animation: exaggerated, sharp, and expressive. Even silence is used well—those pauses between punches or confessions? Golden.

Dan Da Dan is what happens when a show refuses to pick a lane and somehow makes the entire highway work. It’s crass, loud, horny, and completely unhinged. But it’s also kind, sincere, and strangely beautiful. It’s a messy little love letter to adolescence, trauma, and trusting someone enough to show them your weird side. It’s about finding connection in a world full of curses—whether they’re supernatural or just personal.

"It shouldn’t work. But it does. And sometimes, that’s what makes it special."