Review of Gintama

How does one describe a journey? I’ve been sitting in from of this screen for fifteen minutes wracking my brains, and that’s the best opening line I can come up with. Because it really does reflect where my mind is at right now. How the hell to I summarize the experience of watching Gintama into a single post? How do I describe this feeling, this slow ascension into paradise that was falling in love with the Odd Jobs crew and all their misadventures? How do I describe the dawning realization of just how deeply this world was invested in me and wanted me to be investedin it in return? How do I describe the explosive sense of awe that broke open my perception of what this show was capable of on too many occasions to count? How do I describe the entirety of the past two months of laughter, tears, and indelible joy? For as much as I love writing, the words can’t help but escape me here.

Well, perhaps it would be beneficial to take Julie Andrews’ advice and start at the beginning. It is, after all, a very good place to start.

When I first started Gintama, I was intrigued more than anything. Sure, I was enjoying the absurd comedy, but even from the very first episode there was an underlying sense of something just over the horizon. The themes of colonialism, tradition, futurism, and samurai honor were touched upon early and often, fairly weighty concepts for what seemed, on the surface, to be a fairly simple show. The underlying sense I got from the first few episodes was: “we can do more”. Not in a condescending way, but in that the show itself seemed to be promising that it still had a full deck of cards left to play. Through the subtle integration of those themes, through the welcome touches of sincerity in its narrative, and through the increasingly inspired comedy, Gintama set itself up to excite. It was built from the ground up with the promise that you were going to want to see what it did next, because it was going to do… something. You weren’t sure yet what that something was, but you were sure there was something.

What you never could have expected- what I never expected, at least- was that “something” would turn out to mean “everything”.

There’s a term in German called Gesamtkunstwerk, or “complete work”. It refers to a work of art that makes use of every tool at its disposal, seeking to incorporate as many elements into itself as possible. I can think of no work that better reflects that ethos than Gintama. Swiftly and surely, moment after dazzling moment, this show proved itself to be a show with no limits. Every time I thought it had exhausted its capacity to surprise me, it reached into its bag of holding and pulled out such an unexpected new flavor of story that I was forced to completely re-evaluate what I knew it to be capable of. From goofy, irreverent comedy, it proved itself capable of meaningful thematic explorations. From meaningful thematic explorations, it proved itself capable of a sincerely touching humanity. From a sincerely touching humanity, it proved itself capable of a mastery of the meta of its own place in popular culture that exceeds any other story I’ve seen. From a mastery of its own meta, it proved itself capable of awe-inspiring spectacle that left me cackling in shock. From awe-inspiring spectacle, it proved itself capable of wrenching character drama that left me sobbing in my seat time and time again. From wrenching character drama, it proved itself capable of bringing all those elements together into a synthesis of storytelling prowess, juggling so many disparate tones and styles and making them all feel part of the same massive, sprawling universe. And from there, it proved it could just as easily just do goofy, irreverent comedy again and still have it carry all the weight of its established internal mythology. Gintama breaks every barrier set before it time and time again, reaching to dizzying new heights of wonder with every phallic thrust.

But its mastery over storytelling extends even farther than just being able to tackle any genre at the top of its game: Gintama embraces the ethos of storytelling with more strength than pretty much any other work I’ve seen. Its judicious use of meta isn’t just for the sake of an additional streak of comedy running through its veins; through its understanding of the meta of storytelling and its own perception and position in the grand media narrative, Gintama ends up being perhaps the most genuinely subversive work of art I’ve seen. There is no tired trope it won’t grind into the dust, no salient critique of its own reputation that it won’t incorporate into its narrative. It seeks not just to tell stories, but to tell stories that surprise and delight at every turn, that remind you of when you were less jaded and every new anime was like an undiscovered country that you couldn’t wait to explore. It seeks not just to practice storytelling, but to elevate it. It seeks to tear down the formulas and observations we’ve all grown so tired of and replace them with new, more honest idols, to inspire a new generation of storytellers to expand their horizons and stretch the limits on what they, themselves, are capable of. I can’t tell you how many times I cheered at Gintama confidently striking down an ugly cliche that’s become all too prevalent in modern anime, acknowledging the cruelty of character archetypes we’ve taken for granted, granting its female characters agency and drive that put every other Shonen JUMP story I’ve seen to shame. I felt like I formed an actual connection with this show, like we were both equally excited to see what fresh, invigorating direction it would go next.

As cliche as it sounds, Gintama reminds me why I love storytelling so fucking much. It reminds me why fiction matters, and all the power it can have to change our lives for the better. And it realizes that love with what might actually the best ensemble cast in all of anime, full of eccentric, memorable personalities that all contribute something invaluable whenever they’re on screen. Every single character we meet feels real, with their own goals and motivations and personality quirks that inform their comedy and drama alike, that make you fall in love with them and the poignant humanity at their core. I love Otae and her casual self-confidence. I love Okita and his oddly respectful sadism. I love Kyubei and their slow climb from the pits of hell into the blistering light of awkward glory. I love Tama and her deadpan frankness. I love Katsura and his endlessly endearing dorkiness. I love Otose and her hidden reserves of compassion. I love Shinpachi’s increasingly bananas straight-man act. I love Sachan and her unhinged, wildly imaginative fantasies. I love Gintoki himself and his endless determination to keep pressing into the future, carrying the people he cares for on his shoulders all the way. I even love the terrifyingly fascinating pathology of Takasugi and Kamui, who I’m sure we haven’t even begun to see the full extent of yet.

And then there’s Kagura. God, what do I even say? Kagura is one of my top 10 favorite anime characters ever. Possibly even top five, though I’d definitely have to give that a lot of thought. Every single second she’s on screen is instantly the most delightful thing I’ll experience all day. I love her straightforward brashness. I love her ability to cut the bullshit. I love how endlessly excited she gets for the smallest wonders of life. I love her struggle to rise beyond the shackles of her birth clan, and all the heartache and joy that struggle brings. I love how much she and Gintoki are like father and daughter, finding home with each other where they couldn’t before. I. Love. This. Girl. And the two small episodes focusing on her adventures with an umbrella and a sick kid are both among the most poignant, emotional fables I’ve ever experienced. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to still have over 150 episodes left to spend with her. Sometimes, life truly is remarkable.

I started writing this review with an admission that I wasn’t sure how to truly express the love I feel for this show. Here at the end, though, I think the picture’s become clear. Gintama is a glorious, undaunted, fist-pumping cheer for everything humanity is capable of. It’s our follies and triumphs, our absurdity and our sincerity, our pettiness and our magnanimity, our ability to laugh and cry and groan and smile and shout in equal measure, sometimes all at the same time. It’s an endlessly entertaining ride that constantly reveals itself to be capable of things you never could’ve imagined. It’s meaningful and momentous and massive. And it achieves all that while still being a mostly episodic series about dick jokes, absurd alien worlds, snarky one-liners, and a complete disregard for the fourth wall. Gintama is a triumph in every conceivable fashion, and I can’t wait to see what it still has in store for me.