“What exactly makes us people?” is a question that fiction, especially in the last ten years or so, seems to enjoy tackling, and with varying degrees of success. We seem to have an obsession with trying to define the undefined, and figure out exactly what element (if any) dwells within us, differentiates us from each other, and makes us more than just flesh and blood. Hotori: Tada Saiwai wo Koinegau (Eng. “Hotori: The Simple Wish for Joy”) is another one to add to the long list of anime about maintaining an identity in a technologically advanced world, but solid character concepts and good writing ingeneral are enough to make it a standout OVA that floats near the top of the mark.

The story, set thirty years in the future, centers on a place called the “Personality Plant.” At the Plant, doctors create robots that are externally identical to humans, and slowly implant them with the memories of real humans who have died or are in the process of dying, thus allowing at least their personalities to live on even if their original bodies are gone. Suzu, a robotic child from the Plant, is being conditioned to turn into a replica of “Ryou,” the dead son of a pair of grieving parents. One day he meets Hotori, a girl suffering from a disease that eats away at her memories. The two share secrets with each other and become close friends. As time passes, Hotori's illness worsens, and the obvious question rears its ugly head: Should she have her memories preserved in a robot?

It's not a complicated story, but it has a certain deviousness in the way it is structured to reflect the aforementioned theme of human identity. The OVA quietly asks whether it'd be better to fade away gently, or fight the inevitable and be forever remembered in a robotic replica. As humans, most of the cast members, Hotori included, seem inclined to think that memories placed in an artificial shell do not a human make; the devious part is that following this line of thought will lead to the conclusion that kind and helpful Suzu is not a “real” person, but an empty construct, a statement that no one, least of all Hotori, seems overly enthusiastic to make. The story and its narrative themes are cleverly interwoven, and the distinct lack of philosophical jargon or lengthy exposition is a definite plus.

The OVA finds two noteworthy characters in Suzu/Ryou and Hotori. What makes them interesting is that they're fundamentally different in their illnesses—Hotori's memories are rapidly disappearing, while Suzu is rapidly gaining new ones—yet the effect on both of them is similar. They both feel like they're losing themselves, and question who they really are. So, despite the fact that they're opposites on one level, they're also capable of understanding each others' doubts and fears in a very personal way. This well-thought-out relationship is the driving force behind the OVA. At forty minutes, it wouldn't be fair to compare the character development found here to that of a feature-length film or a series, but given the rather limited time frame, a commendable job has been done. The pair might not be fully realized individuals in the way that we typically think of memorable characters, but they're strong concepts that are used to great effect.

I'm generally wary of the use of children as main characters, as they're sometimes included for the sole reason of preying on the audience's baser instincts and generating cheap sympathy, but here, I don't think that's the case. The OVA works, in part, because it adroitly points out that children can sometimes have a much better sense of what's right—what should and shouldn't be done—than adults. When the pair finally decide on the path they want to take, they proceed with ominous finality. These are kids who believe in nothing but each other, and there exists a certain terrible gravity in watching them put their heads together to make decisions that would turn most rationally thinking adults into sobbing wrecks. We don't sympathize with them just because they're kids, we sympathize with them because they're kids who are forced to bear responsibilities that no child should ever have to bear, and make adult decisions when their only tool is the simplistic logic of children.

The OVA's weakest link is the music. There's nothing wrong with the soundtrack itself—quite the opposite. Much of its strength lies in orchestral pieces that start off subdued, but slowly build to an explosion of strings when the moment is right. However, odd musical choices occur on a couple of occasions. These normally manifest themselves in the form of upbeat jazzy/contemporary songs playing at times when they really shouldn't be, leading to some strange mishaps in which the scene seems to be saying one thing while the music is saying quite another. Taken as a whole, the music is better than average, and these flaws, while noticeable, aren't worth getting in too much of a twist over.

Artistically, it's a pretty good looking product for its day and age. For the most part, the characters are designed well, but they have extremely small mouths (even by anime standards) and there are several moments where they're speaking, but the lip-flap animation is near invisible, making it almost look like conversations occur in a voice-over. The visual centerpiece of the OVA is the secret greenhouse where Suzu and Hotori play—as it should be, given its symbolic role. It's an attractive design, with the radiant greens and blues, highlighted by sunlight, being an obvious contrast to the dark institutional halls of the Personality Plant. There's a noticeable lack of depth in the backgrounds, giving them a flatness that's not very appealing, but the distinct use of light to bring out their coloration balances it out.

Overall, this is an impressive OVA. There are some minor missteps in the technical areas, but inside lies a cleverly written story that approaches its themes with applause-worthy care. And at forty minutes, I'd say that's an accomplishment.