動漫的原始罪過的動漫改編是一個大膽的製作人,被忽視的導演和一個嶄露頭角的錄音室的非同尋常的結果。這是一條艱難的道路,但最終,該系列的溝通請求的令人驚嘆的體現。
如果您對描述身體虐待和自殺行為敏感,我建議您謹慎對待Takopi。即使這些主題並沒有為您觸發,這是您在正確的頂空時經驗豐富的節目。不管它有希望的信息,您都會以混淆該系列最有趣的方面的方式探索的苦難沼澤。但是,如果您為此做好準備,請隨時進行。如果我不認為這是一件很棒的作品,我就不會寫這篇文章。
如果您想了解為什麼 takopi 動漫是如此壯觀的經歷,那麼有兩條相交的路徑值得重讀。第一個對應於我們不像創意方面那樣關注的職業:製作人。請注意,查找該網站上的術語會導致您發表數十篇文章,但是它們往往是我們提出的副角色,因為它們揭示了整潔的瑣事,或者可以最好地說明一個項目中專業關係網絡。當您專注於動漫的藝術優點及其周圍的勞動條件時,這個簡單的事實是,大多數生產者的範圍從中性到有些不利,同時在改變後者的有害現狀。
這是一個過度放大的;每個生產者都不是如此,正如我們在上一段中使用的術語涵蓋了許多不同的角色,這些角色具有完全不同的責任和興趣。即使您超越了動畫製作人,固有地靠近藝術家團隊,也有適當的西裝,其動機和選擇在創造性的水平上具有切實而引人入勝的影響。這樣的製片人是 kotaro sudo ,我們在翻譯的採訪中已經介紹了他的怪異滑稽動作,說明了他在有史以來最令人髮指的電視動漫之一中的作用。
在他目前的雇主的另一次採訪中,Sudo解釋說,他的真正熱情是音樂與動漫一般不相關的音樂-他坦率地了解了這一領域。他承認,沒有像他的某些同齡人那樣透徹地了解每片otaku媒體的知識。他沒有參加針對電報熱門的直接數字遊戲競爭,而是寧願偶然發現別人不敢接近的獨特作品。請注意,這並不是說他不在乎他們的財務績效,而是要他以一種強烈的信念為指導:如果您是唯一一個沒有其他人的工作的人,並且您從事良好的工作,那麼您會立即擁有那個利基市場。僅此思維方式就無法獲得成功,但它助長了迄今為止成功的職業。作為沒有藝術意義的人,他寧願不妨礙他們的工作流程。但是,他可以做的是向他們推動他們可能已經想探索的方向。在他的項目中,不僅僅是標題本身超出了常態,而且通常也是關於生產的細節。蘇多(Sudo)與任何創造力團隊的第一次會面都涉及要求他們編譯他們所擁有的所有想法,這些想法在其他地方被拒絕或被認為是不可行的,這有助於他贏得他們的勝利,並加強了一種感覺。
他沒有明確說出的話,但是當您何時檢查他的職業生涯以及他的職業生涯以及他如何談論他,這是他對他的of to of the Outtans of Outland of to off的人,這是奇怪的人。無論是在他的早期宣傳角色( seitokai yakuindomo , yosuga no sora , penguindrum ),他的第一個角色,他作為製作人( joshiraku , strong>, muromi-san 他在場上建立的名字(請觀看 bravern ),他那令人髮指的個性不僅使他震撼了不那麼陷入困境的流派,而且還引起了本質上的怪異標題。
Sudo哲學的最清晰表現是我們訪談的主題:我們翻譯的主題:大膽的動漫適應 pop pop epic Epic epic 。正如那裡所詳細介紹的那樣,蘇多(Sudo)遇到了漫畫,並感到強烈的潛力……當他將項目投入國王唱片公司(King Records)時,他就會受到懷疑。老將 akio Mishima 最終擔任執行製片人,他告訴他,在他們的領域,您有一個千載難逢的機會來推動一個特定的項目。因此,他的確做到了,不僅獲得了批准,而且使公司一手資助它-這一事實是,流行歌手Epic隨後在演出本身中反复嘲笑,其令人討厭的主角很樂意燃燒King Records的錢。
,但奏效了。一個關於卑鄙的節目,歡迎狂野的實驗藝術家,甚至具有從未見過的結構和演員的旋轉。所有這些都是蘇多(Sudo)正確的:製作獨特的東西,釘住它,您將立即成為病毒利基的國王。您可能會認為,計劃所有計劃的製片人都有絕佳的機會堅持公司,並為他的成功賭注而感動,這導致了計劃外的續集,但是以蘇多的形式,他做了出乎意料的並留下了國王唱片。委託流行團隊Epic S2至他同樣令人恐懼的蛋白質,他拒絕以安全的方式利用自己(其他)意外的成功,取而代之的是,他的職業生涯越來越多,以進一步播放了他的職業生涯,以進一步啟動
)然後,最近對曼坦的採訪確認我們只是在他加入新工作場所時才看到他計劃的第一個項目。第一個是戲劇生產的適應,其中包括所有事物的教育小吃。 tabekko doubutsu 是一種有趣的方式,讓孩子們學習動物的名字,現在由 lupine在 lupine lupine背後的工作室帶來的動畫效果, lupine lupine strong> strong> 在通過社交媒體和其他在線手段進行交流所定義的時代, sudo看到了一個普遍享受的概念,例如小吃,是一個仍然相關的物理鏈接。而且,作為這樣一個有益健康的思想的另一面,製片人還針對較重的溝通方式作為主題:塔卡皮的原始罪過。餅乾和堅定不移的虐待兒童的描述,只是加入一家新公司後的常規1-2拳-至少在Sudo’s。
中。
上述與曼丹的對話使製片人能夠證明他對原始資料的理解,以及處理如此敏感的主題的責任。蘇多(Sudo)說,如果他們不了解該系列的主題,只是收集技術熟練,浮華的動畫師,那將是毫無意義的。在檢查團隊中重要位置的人(及其熟人)時,要牢記的事情要牢記。當他處理自己的感受時,他與該系列的關係經歷了整個弧線。它始於欣賞,但也擔心其極端的內容被脫皮化,並在漫畫出版期間奪走了自己的模因。最終,蘇多得出結論,原始作者 taizan5 正在為有影響力的事件做武器,以吸引他的懇求以進行更好,更誠實的溝通。
從那時起,製片人開始製定計劃,以便Takopi保留其原始優勢;一個不應該過分銳化的,放棄了太多寶貴的細節,但也不是直率和過度使用。他的解決方案背後的核心思想非常簡單,但是要了解它為什麼重要,值得考慮的事情是什麼:串行動漫講故事的最有限的方面是什麼?也許與普遍的看法背道而馳,我會說它們不是日程安排,通常是較差的條件,也不是規則(無論是否編寫),即是否在電視上出現的內容。也就是說,請記住所有這些都是因素,因此當您想知道為什麼任何團隊做出特定決定時,都應考慮它們。
,最殘酷的限制是如此隨意地受到困擾,儘管其反感更為基本,但我們將其視為理所當然。這是一個簡單的事情:運行時的調節。串行動漫的最常見形式是通過滑坡電視節目。這些項目不可避免地涉及建造約30分鐘的老虎機,這也解釋了商業休息。這使我們發表了大約24分鐘的發作,其中3集致力於開放,並以自己的固定長度結束。儘管可以在這些數字的倍數中運行,而雙重發作是相對常見的事件,但不會改變基本範式。就像每週受到監管一樣,季節性結構也一樣僵硬。節目存在於12/13集的課程中,因為這也是電視節目的整體組織方式,這意味著脫離摩擦生產商不想要的那樣,它不願意。在適應的情況下,電視動漫的麵包和黃油尤其不正確。源材料的內部結構並不是這樣的法規,如果它被看不見,那是不同的媒介,有助於其他形式的起搏。對於許多系列作品組成(シリーズ構成,Kousei系列)來說,這是不匹配的:該系列的主要作者的關鍵角色。他們會見導演(從技術上講仍然超過他們),有時在預生產過程中有時製作人來起草該系列的概念,提出重大事件,並決定如何節奏。不要與單個劇本作者(腳本,kyakuhon)混淆,他們通常很少表達表達的空間,並且只會開發現有的草稿,儘管當然,系列作曲家確實會自己編寫劇本。在這個領域的困擾,但是,它的慢性性質使人們太快地接受這就是事物的樣子。
值得注意的是,現狀是扭曲的,它可能是扭曲的,比生產方面的變化更舒適的前景更舒適。這可能有助於您理解為什麼流媒體時代充其量會稍微改變這些數字,即使根本問題與在線視頻無關。最後,這是經典工作流程的慣性,最終將這些作品扔到電視上的可能性最終贏得了勝利,因此為什麼網絡系列最終幾乎是相同的。過去的非創造理由繼續影響如何講述序列動漫中的故事,即使我們面對未來。創意團隊定期瀏覽這些問題,找到大小的方式來挑戰規範。這些努力以及隨之而來的鬥爭在本賽季最具啟發性的改編中顯而易見。 夏天的Hikaru去世的導演 ryouhei takeshita 也是其係列作曲家,領導了該系列的安靜重組。沒有一個弊端,而是在試圖將總體故事塑造成這種格式固有的這些局限性的方式方面也可以理解。即使您考慮在加速其神秘方面的某些方面的損失,削弱了一開始的迷失感,這可能有助於它得出足夠令人滿意的結論,其情節數量有限。
在一個較小的敘述性依賴性標題中,這是一個高度相互互動的,但在 City City key 在對其進行動畫作用時決定應該調整哪些部分,甚至可以擴展,從而優先考慮事件的氛圍。鑑於該工作室作品的電視廣播幾乎完全伴隨著自己的廣告,因此Kyoani能夠將運行時增加到有效地擁有全部額外的情節。就像電視動漫中特別重要的時刻導致開口和結局被跳過一樣,這些看似較小的選擇也可以竭盡全力以最大程度地提高資源。
另一個重要方面是了解您要處理的工作的特定魅力,因此劑量適合最佳體驗。同樣,電視的僵化結構並不歡迎不同的方法,但這並不意味著沒有例外。簡短的節目(通常與類似的標題結合在一起,可以填補常規的30分鐘插槽),這是一個常見的情況,有時公司也願意推動更少的傳統解決方案。當前的美食廣場動漫,它選擇了6個全長情節。與您的平均輕型Webmanga改編相比,該項目高估了人們可能想坐著多長時間觀看構想瀏覽社交媒體或喜歡的東西的東西時,該項目表明了對原始資料的吸引力有很好的了解。當然,這是一個非常有趣的系列,對於初學者來說是一個非常有趣的系列。 您可以在我們最近的Patreon Notes 。
中可以閱讀更多有關它的信息。就像美食廣場一樣,我們也正在處理簡短的原始資料。該系列的時間為兩卷,分別是編譯16章的,需要充實的數量才能填補整個課程。儘管團隊表現出他們願意以一種對Taizan願景有機的方式增加事件的進一步背景,但Sudo強烈反對將系列延長到常規長度。畢竟,塔卡皮的性質使它變得如此,使其受歡迎不僅是一個節奏的問題,而且可能會造成其信息和效力的損壞。
它的願望
描繪虐待兒童的黑暗現實的願望已經很棘手,可以與固有的剝削感與訪問此類主題的固有的剝削感之間進行平衡,因此,如果您會延長它的長度,那麼會發生什麼?該節目將在苦難中陷入困境,這增加了融化無味的機會,通過重複的悲劇動議使邊緣變得粗魯。了解有關Takopi的情節數量的選擇不是因為沒有足夠的頁面來供更多內容,而是因為那些計劃計劃的人確實得到了其中所包含的內容,這是掌握為什麼這種適應能力的關鍵。
從這個意義上講,它值得指出的是,Sudo還指出,Sudo也鼓勵團隊在情節中挑戰結構性規範。由於最早的概念階段和他的建議,因此決定正確地使用它正在前往的流媒體平台;正如我們前面提到的那樣,即使在在線分銷時代這麼多年,也很少發生。作為一個整潔的選擇,可以允許開放(1:10)和
又不付出了範圍,如果您在窗口中都沒有付出任何努力,但要付出了不錯的限制。早在2022年,塔卡皮(Takopi)完成了簡短的序列化,他與一家從未創建過表演的動畫製作公司聯繫。從頭開始,他們從來沒有製作過一個動漫的一集。讓我們談談該項目中的另一個主要演員:Studio Enishiya。 製片人Hosoi 於2018年成立,Enishiya使用了其繼承的所有聯繫來觸及地面。對Hosoi的職業生涯的表面看可能會描繪一個更接近計劃和業務方面的個人的照片,這會導致您錯誤地判斷他與創意工作人員的距離。這就是為什麼值得注意的原因,尤其是在他在Toho任職期間,並通過 Hanebado!等項目,Hosoi變得越來越接近著名的藝術家。其中包括像Naoki Yoshib一樣(不偶然,自開始以來的常規項目中的常規項目),甚至最終成為Takopi系列董事主任的人:(監督,Kantoku):負責整個製作人的人,無論是創意決策者還是最終的主管。他們超越了其餘的員工,並最終擁有最後一句話。但是,確實存在與不同級別的導演的系列-首席總監,助理主任,系列劇集總監,各種非標準角色。在這些情況下,層次結構是一個情況下的情況。作為他的新公司的首席執行官,他將幫助各個層面上的字符串;他們最重要的關係之一是與 genki kawamura 的Toho子公司故事,他們立即幫助製作了 tenki no ko 廣告,並與前-凱奧阿尼動畫師Chiyoko ueno。 Hiroshi Mitsuhashi -白狐狸的譜系-是第一個這樣做的人,但是幫助他們跳躍的人是動畫製作人 kei kei igarashi 。作為年輕人才的熱點,在他們的時代獲得了Studio 3Hz的經驗,Igarashi幾乎沒有花費時間來成為Enishiya的最重要挑戰的首選生產商。這不僅在2025年仍然如此,而且在今年早些時候Hosoi安靜失踪之後,他也成為了聯合首席執行官。這是他與 Yoshihiro Furusawa 的角色,他們與Toho和Story的聯繫應保護有利可圖的關係,該關係始終幫助工作室。 的機會很有可能,也許沒有意識到,您已經喜歡Enishiya項目由Igarashi Circa Circa Circa Circa Circa 2019-20222-22-2222。他們的名字本身並不是很大的,但是事實證明,他們有能力製定符合他人名望的視覺效果,而不僅僅是像Tenki no Ko這樣的普通廣告。他們的第一個主要成就是製作 raison d’Etre 音樂視頻 2019年。 href=“ https://i.imgur.com/ww3ipir.png”>頂級動畫人才的首個大型會眾
這可能會幫助您理解為什麼,即使他們的名字甚至沒有一個情節,Sudo之類的製片人也傾向於信任他們。雖然這是事實是在Takopi的計劃開始時,但值得注意的是,工作室確實在2022年至2024年之間參加了一些高知名的電視節目。 eri irei ,現在被稱為 rikka )令人印象深刻。這一集以華麗的動漫中最偉大的表演的拋光效果上映,這使自己對錶演的敏感性進行了調整,這一切都是關於用手創造事物的一切-他們擁有一支能夠以盡可能多的美味和效力來動畫的團隊!作為生產的努力,它表明了他們對僅限國內企業的實踐中的手工藝品的照顧;當然,不是關於國籍的問題,而是要避免在將這些任務分包到海外的以下兩個情節中,以避開許多遇到的問題。 dungeon meshi#06 非常適合節目的高級外包外包儀:該工作的一部分,這些工作人員的工作是其他工作人員。部分外包對於關鍵動畫,著色,背景等任務非常常見,但是大多數電視動漫也都有完整外包的實例(グロス),其中一集完全由另一個工作室處理。戰略。他們再一次沒有通過純粹的蠻力來完成一切。這一集的前半部分具有整體的魅力,這要歸功於返回的Nagahara(這次返回的導演和故事板)與共同居住者Hiroaki Arai一起使所有這些動畫。他們兩個雖然尤其是前者,但使用了令人印象深刻的物理空間描述,將多個面板的插科打濃縮到一個有趣的屏幕中。憑藉他們通過這種方法保存的能量,情節的後半部分使用動畫的那些體積質量在更多爆炸性的方式中。在這方面的傑出人物包括Ren Onodera和Toya Oshima -其他動畫導演和Enishiya常規團隊中名副其實的瑞士軍刀。
工作室製作的第三集呢?儘管Takopi的系列董事總監:(監督,Kantoku):負責整個製作的人,無論是作為創意決策者還是最終主管。他們超越了其餘的員工,並最終擁有最後一句話。但是,確實存在與不同級別的導演的系列-首席總監,助理主任,系列劇集總監,各種非標準角色。在這些情況下,層次結構是一個情況下的情況。他曾與這支球隊合作,他擔任 Frieren#14 的導演和故事板的角色感覺就像是介紹他和他低調的魅力的完美提示。也就是說:遇見 Shinya Iino ,通常被稱為他的在線角色 Ponte 。該作品中的最終主角是您可能親切地稱呼升天的Sakugasakuga(作畫)的人:從技術上講是圖片,但更具體地說是動畫。西方粉絲早就撥出了這個詞來指代特別好的動畫的實例,就像一部分日本粉絲一樣。對於我們網站的品牌非常不可或缺。書呆子,不僅被稱為創造者,而且是以動畫為中心的社區的積極參與者。在該行業中,他首先在柑橘Kinema的管理人員中脫穎而出,在這個時代,他們是令人興奮的年輕才華的代名詞。奇怪的是,作為我們前面提到的有關3Hz的類似現象的直接前輩。但是,看著他的那一邊並不講故事。 Ponte在日本Sakugasakuga(作畫)中的存在:從技術上講是圖片,但更具體地說是動畫。西方粉絲早就撥出了這個詞來指代特別好的動畫的實例,就像一部分日本粉絲一樣。對於我們網站的品牌非常不可或缺。社區不僅是過去的瑣事,而且是他的職業生涯隨著他的職業生涯而發展的一個方面。即使他啟動自己的廣播節目這一事實也可以看作是狂熱者和行業積極貢獻者之間的橋樑,尤其是如果您考慮到該計劃周圍有多少人具有類似的軌跡。這包括 yuji tokuno aka mutobe ( yaiba#06 中最令人印象深刻的情節之一的主任之一,並將很快首次亮相他的系列方向)在Mappa現在附近),或組成超級巨星 fukkun ,僅舉幾例。
給定具有對動畫充滿熱情的社區的紐帶,而越來越多的簡歷表明他可以將這些興趣轉化為令人信服的電視,Ponte的感知總是在知道的人們中是積極的。但是,更廣泛的觀眾呢?那些不太可能感知藝術家的人,除非他們領導整個項目,否則他對他的懷疑更加懷疑。原因很簡單: dr的嚴格有限的動畫。 Stone 的早期賽季坦克·龐特(Ponte)的股票,因為那是他的名字最明顯地與之息息相關的。的確,在他擔任助理系列導演的Abyss 中的第一個季節是一個至關重要的寶貝,但正是其他,更明顯的創作者都獲得了所有好評。這使我們成為了他的另一個有趣的特徵:即使在心愛的作品中扮演角色,龐特的風格也不一定像他著名的同齡人那樣引人注目。
我們可以將所有這些都包裹在Frieren#14上,這恰好是那些被低估的技能的絕佳展示。在上半年,蕨類植物和史塔克之間的爭議在原始作品中不存在一定程度的情感清晰度。龐特(Ponte)展示了他的基本原理,並在情節板故事(絵コンテ,ekonte)中具有明顯的含義:動畫的藍圖。一系列通常簡單的圖紙用作動漫的視覺腳本,並在特殊的床單上繪製,並帶有動畫剪裁編號的字段,工作人員的筆記和對話的匹配線。仍然將它們與足夠的自然主義融為一體,以至於您不會以最直率的隱喻來睜開眼睛。儘管不是那種會搖擺船的導演的類型,但他確實很樂意適應動畫肌肉實際上存在的場景,從而增加了特色的想法,例如當名義角色寵物塞恩(Pets Pets Pets Sein)時,灰燼掉落了。理解範圍,使他的想法適應它,然後積累足夠的狡猾的想法以悄悄地有所作為是他的作案手法。
ponte的宏偉想法在那集的下半場到達,儘管再次,他們並沒有以許多人在他們的表演中進行演出。當然,這並不會使它們變得越來越少; Frieren#14在喜劇描繪手推車和弗里倫的記憶中,強調的堆積(利用Ponte對物理空間的強大控制)變得更好,這很快證明是一個不好的策略,以及無數的細節,例如確保角色隨著生物的旋轉而不斷地旋轉。 Often, his greatest quality as a director is that those small additions feel so natural that the viewer will simply take them for granted. Adaptable directors who are happy to keep a low profile are easily overlooked, but don’t take that to mean that they’re mediocre at their job. As Ponte demonstrates, that isn’t necessarily the case.
By entrusting everything to such a deceitfully capable director and studio, Sudo’s vision of an impactful but also thoughtful realization of Takopi became possible. The level of draftsmanship across the whole show is impressive, consistent in quality right up to the final stages yet surprisingly diverse in stylistic angles. There is no denying that it’ll be one of the greatest anime productions of the year; in a regular season, it would easily take the crown for the summer, but a metropolis-shaped abnormality has gotten in the way of that. It’s no exaggeration to say that this has solidified Enishiya’s growth as the most textbook rise within the industry in recent times. While other new studios (like CyPic or Soigne) have immediately made a lot of noise upon their arrival, Enishiya’s gradual escalation feels like the example to follow. If they proceed to make carefully chosen, spaced-out full series and theatrical offerings over the next few years, they’ll have completed the most perfectly step-by-step growth in scope you could hope to plan. Rather impressive, considering they haven’t sacrificed their quality along the way.
Takopi has benefited from all the positive aspects we’ve explicitly shouted out, as well as some that we’ve left implied. One of the reasons it was important to note that the planning began all the way back in 2022 was to make it clear that the actual production also spanned an unusually lengthy span of time—hitting two years for those most deeply involved. That is mandatory when you aim to create animation with these standards of quality, though conversely, don’t take their results to mean that it was a breeze. Takopi’s production only wrapped up a few days before the broadcast of the last episode, with some members of the team rather burned out by the nature of the title and its demanding quality. Although it never dips to worrying levels, you may have noticed that the finale in particular has no room for extra flair. And, even if that hadn’t been the case, the fact remains that they cut it close by the end. A studio that tries to act the right way like Enishiya still isn’t immune to these issues, especially given their ambition.
As important as it is to keep that in mind, rather than the ending of it, we should consider the early stages of this project some more. I believe you can approach Takopi from various angles, but frankly, many of them would result in a frustrating, self-defeating experience. Ponte’s wish not to relish in the violence, alluded to in his own interview with Mantan, is a fundamental precept that put him on the same page as the producer at the genesis of this project. That said, the director also mentions embracing the viewpoint of one of his mentors: Masayuki Kojima, who led the aforementioned Made in Abyss with Ponte under his wing. When facing similarly heavy works, Kojima is a proponent of tackling every single topic originally explored, though also the type of creator to take a quiet step back to keep a watchful eye on the characters. In Takopi terms, that means not shying away from the depictions of abuse even if (and to a degree, because) those are tough to swallow, but also not zooming in on the violence so much that you forget about the personhood of the victims.
Even with that core stance established early on, there was more nuance to the framing that took longer to solidify. Ponte mentions a pivot from a more Shizuka-centric angle, which would have put the viewer in the shoes of a victim of parental neglect and severe harassment in school, to the story as we finally experienced—a camera closer to the titular alien, with its naive yet also admirable optimism. This is in line with the team’s wish to deliver glimmers of hope off the bat; sure, Takopi is an ultimately uplifting tale, but it’s easy to forget that across the often-miserable events that lead to that conclusion.
Choices like ever so slightly approaching the happy octopus and adjusting Shizuka’s pants to be brighter add up to a feeling that, for as dark as the situation is, there is some hope to that world. This latter choice was of course made by color designerColor Designer (色彩設定/色彩設計, Shikisai Settei/Shikisai Sekkei): The person establishing the show’s overall palette. Episodes have their own color coordinator (色指定, Iroshitei) in charge of supervising and supplying painters with the model sheets that particular outing requires, which they might even make themselves if they’re tones that weren’t already defined by the color designer. Yuki Akimoto, one of the best in the business, but it’s worth noting that so was the former. Consistent with his position of allowing others to shine around him, Ponte is also very open to feedback from anyone in the team. His broad understanding of animation leads to the belief that, if you’re intertwining it with storytelling, then all its elements are pieces in the same puzzle. Compartmentalization can be useful from a management perspective, but buying into it too much from a creative standpoint is inherently limiting. Sure, the main role of individuals in color and design duties isn’t to write a story on paper—but theirs are among the tools that will ultimately breathe life into that script. And so, you might as well listen to their big picture vision as well. Not a coincidence, then, that Takopi also entrusted Awoi Otani with the color scripts that define much of the texture of the adaptation (just like they’d already done for the surprisingly atmospheric Makeine anime!).
If we delve into the first episode, the series directorSeries Director: (監督, kantoku): The person in charge of the entire production, both as a creative decision-maker and final supervisor. They outrank the rest of the staff and ultimately have the last word. Series with different levels of directors do exist however – Chief Director, Assistant Director, Series Episode Director, all sorts of non-standard roles. The hierarchy in those instances is a case by case scenario. does indeed leave the spotlight to someone else: character designer and chief animation directorChief Animation Director (総作畫監督, Sou Sakuga Kantoku): Often an overall credit that tends to be in the hands of the character designer, though as of late messy projects with multiple Chief ADs have increased in number; moreso than the regular animation directors, their job is to ensure the characters look like they’re supposed to. Consistency is their goal, which they will enforce as much as they want (and can). Nagahara. In the manga, Taizan matches the roughness of the events with their own raw, pointedly disheveled drawings. This is the type of illustrative quality that tends to get lost when adapting things to animation, which requires countless drawings and for them to be able to move. Given this project’s exceptional circumstances and Nagahara’s own skills, though, he goes line for line with the original author when it comes to depicting the consequences of abuse. Ponte explained that this degree of reproduction—and even elevation—of this aspect was so costly that they couldn’t use it willy-nilly. Whenever possible, though, Nagahara’s pen was there to take the show to the next level. And boy, is that first episode a showcase of that.
It goes without saying, but the reason why this is such an important point in Takopi isn’t the technical achievement required, but its visceral effect on the viewer. When going over Nagahara’s previous work, some aspects that stood out were the depiction of space and the tangible animation. The former increases the immersive feeling, leading to the type of layout that makes this series even more reminiscent of the cult classic Alien 9 anime. However, it’s the latter that makes a difference for Takopi. Whereas Nagahara has used this tactile quality before in tender ways (we still get some of that with his own key animation here), the commitment to a style that makes you feel like you can touch the animation has an entirely different effect when you’re dealing with such horrifying events.
Before any depiction of abuse, preceding even the opening itself, the harsh reality of Shizuka’s life is palpable in the weariness of her backpack. The severity of her situation is gradually conveyed through details like that, with an impact that far transcends the objective pieces of information like “her belongings are old and have insulting words written all over them”. Once the full extent of the abuse becomes explicit, the already gut-wrenching events become even more uncomfortable through artwork; a style that isn’t realistic, yet packs very thorough detail that magnifies the effects of real violence. I believe that overall, this is part of what makes this show so special, though it admittedly is overdone in spots. The rendering of Shizuka’s wounds is so ghastly that it challenges the suspension of disbelief, especially in later episodes where she’s very visibly injured while in class. A tough pill to swallow, even accounting for the subjective framing, and too close to a type of gratuitousness you don’t want given the sensitivity of these topics. In the end, though, small issues given the tremendous upside.
To put those together, tentoten was in charge of a parallel, solo production process that led to visuals closer to what one might see in non-commercial animation; we can’t forget that they were an independent animator before CSM catapulted them to fame, and that they remain active in that space. When watching the show along with viewers, Ponte recalled the non-chronological way that the series-wide Happy Artist role came to be. Although he didn’t meddle much in the cut distribution for episodes other than his own, he had originally requested tentoten to give special treatment to a pivotal scene with Takopi during the fifth episode. As it came together, Ponte liked the result so much that he decided to retroactively apply this all-encompassing approach anytime that Takopi’s worldview had to be rendered. It may not have been originally planned, but this was an excellent swerve into what has now become one of the cornerstones of the Takopi anime.
Across these early stages of the story, contrast remains a central concept. One of the most memorable introductions of such friction comes at the very end of episode #02. While the schedule didn’t allow for the entire series to use film scoring, they were able to selectively apply that approach as the director saw most fit—and understandably, that was the case for this closing scene. After watching Shizuka endure so much harassment at the hands of her classmate Marina, even Takopi’s overwhelming optimism is being tested; no matter how many Doraemon-like gadgets it uses, how many times they redo the events, tragedy always awaits. As the flipside of those Happy Artist moments, the storyboardStoryboard (絵コンテ, ekonte): The blueprints of animation. A series of usually simple drawings serving as anime’s visual script, drawn on special sheets with fields for the animation cut number, notes for the staff and the matching lines of dialogue. uses Takopi’s subjective perception to illustrate why it’s compelled to spring into action… and how that leads to the accidental murder of Marina.
Even in such an immediately dark series, this becomes the most shocking event you’ve witnessed at this point. Anyone would be overwhelmed by negative feelings, save for one exception: the child who has been systemically denied a sense of normalcy, for whom the death of her ruthless bully is a reason to rejoice. And this is where the music plays a key role. Ponte had vaguely asked for a classical-like piece of music to capture this discrepancy, but it was sound director Jin Aketagawa who specifically suggested to (mis)match this objective tragedy with Shizuka’s perceived feelings of triumph through Vivaldi’s Spring. Apart from the sheer impact of the scene, moments like this also help underline that these two lead characters parallel each other in a fascinating way. Both Shizuka and Takopi are effectively aliens who haven’t experienced regular, peaceful human coexistence; the tragedy being, of course, that Shizuka should have had access to the type of life that would allow her to conclude that this wasn’t a positive event.
Mirroring those tonal clashes, the episode also deliberately deploys stylistic whiplashes to illustrate the mismatches in perception. That much is true of the first episode, but the flavor in the following one is rather distinct. Even as the grittier detail still gets used to show the darker side of this story, its realization is noticeably different from the first episode; much thinner lines this time around, matching character art that does a whole lot more implication compared to Nagahara’s explicit detail. This isn’t an accident, but rather the natural result of Moaang’s central role in episode #02. As the storyboarder, director, and animation supervisor, the departure toward more naturalistic animation is an excellent example of how Takopi’s framework gives plenty of pivoting room to specific artists.
We observe a similar shift in the third episode, as another artist takes a similarly central role. Compared to Moaang’s preceding work, it’s certainly not as extravagant, but the reasons why have very little to do with Eri Irei’s undeniable skills. For starters, it’s worth noting that Takopi’s directorial team was small. Assistance aside, it effectively contained only 4 members working alongside Ponte. Among them, half were individuals whom the team actively reached out to. Specifically, Moaang and the person who led the fifth episode went through that guest treatment. In contrast, the other two got the job by virtue of being employed at the studio and having the sophistication that the team was looking for. Unfortunately, that poor Irei got a heavy job dumped on him with little input, which helps explain why his experience in particular was so mentally draining.
Again, this isn’t to say that the episode is worse because its director struggled. If anything, Irei is somewhat similar to Ponte in that he excels in such a casual manner that you’re led to believe that great filmmaking happens on its own. As the story opens up more to the other kids around Shizuka, this episode does an excellent job of illustrating those new perspectives. Through his storyboards, Irei puts you in the shoes of Naoki: born to a seemingly more stable family, but clearly neglected by a mother who barely recognizes his personhood. The quivering of the camera matches his confusion when he stumbles upon this accidental killing, while the transitions and body language allow you to understand that he happens to be susceptible to Shizuka’s perhaps inadvertent manipulation. There is a toxic chemistry between the two that is never verbalized, for starters, because he wouldn’t even have the words to properly explain why his childish mind associates those two women in his life. And when you can’t use words, you need the finesse that Irei’s direction quietly delivers.
In addition to those glimpses of Naoki’s everyday struggles, Marina’s passing and her replacement with a shape-shifting octopus also provide a real taste of the everyday experience in another broken home. Like basically every father in the story, Marina’s dad is absent; in his case, on an emotional level, compared to Shizuka’s dad who has physically left everything behind. Irei’s storyboards convey that by constantly obscuring his expression, while Takopi in Marina form tragically misreads the conflict in this household as lively rather than violent. Even more than the violence it experiences as Marina’s mom takes everything out on her daughter, it’s the knowledge that this was once a happy family that really hits Takopi’s mind. Notably, th e thing that first disappeared from this family is what the series yearns for: real communication.
The way that Takopi finds out about their past, through environmental storytelling that showcases not just photos but the decoration that Marina and her mom would adorn their home with, illuminates another excellent side of this adaptation. Ponte’s words garnered attention by pointing out how much research went into figuring out period-appropriate popular colors for school supplies, but this mentality is broader than that specific detail. Marina’s purple backpack matches her room, her sense of fashion feels like a natural extension of the hobbies she shared with her mother, and you can feel a sense of consistency in such details that allows you to imagine lives beyond the constraints of this story. When each of the kids returns to their home, you can feel their social standing in more nuanced ways than the sheer size of their house. In a series so unflinching in depicting child abuse, especially with this episode’s more realistic and commonplace examples, this humanization is essential.
That mindset carries over to episode #04, which is rightfully considered one of the greatest in an already impressive series. It’s not unfair to say that it was set up for success, as it’s arguably the most self-contained, satisfying catharsis before the end of the series. Noting that, though, shouldn’t distract us from how exceptional the execution is. Toya Oshima, another Enishiya mainstay we talked about before, left even his fans speechless with the first episode he ever led as storyboarder and director.
Best known for an expressionistic approach to animation that he has cultivated around his adoration of living legend Shinya Ohira, Oshima opens up the episode in a perfectly clinical way instead. After realizing that the real Marina corpse they’d hidden has been found, Naoki’s initial shock isn’t conveyed through the abstractions the director often utilizes, but rather through sound and jump cuts that demonstrate that nothing is registering for him. By rearranging the events so the intro ends with his older brother shaking him out of this shock, it’s already building up to the satisfying climax.
Once we venture into the meat of the episode, the more bombastic side of the director rears its head, though always in a very pointed way. There’s one natural consequence of the tactile approach to the show’s drawings that we haven’t mentioned so far: the direct relationship it has with the usage of background animation since the very beginning. After all, cel-forward cuts are inherently more tangible, making them a great fit for Takopi’s goals. As someone with a great affinity for such cuts, as well as with gritty linework in general (shout out to animation director Hayate Nakamura for helping preserve the charm of rough genga lines too) Oshima finds great ways to weaponize background animation sequences.
That is the type of animation that we see as Naoki is once again drawn by Shizuka’s toxic magnetism; something that, as a bystander, Takopi perceives as the two of them straying away despite their objective physical proximity. Background animation can embody the dread of feeling a disappointed parent approach, and just by adding some more Ohira-like undulation, capture a growing emotional gulf and a whole worldview collapsing. It’s also used in the most interesting relationship we see play out in this episode—one of the very few healthy familial bonds in the entirety of Takopi. That is, Naoki’s relationship with his older brother Junya.
Previous episodes had already shown glimpses of Junya as this supremely talented sibling who, by no wish of his own, tormented Naoki through their mother’s demands to follow his path of unmatched excellence. Thanks to that slight step back from the events that Ponte initially decided to take, you could always intuit that he was a fantastic older brother who genuinely cared for Naoki; a precious presence in a show where so many kids are denied parental affection, the one love that should be completely unconditional.
As he regularly does, Hayate Nakamura also key animated a massive number of cuts (116 this time around) in addition to his supervision duties. Whenever people talk about animators with an absurd balance of quality and quantity, he should be one of the names that pops in everyone’s minds—especially given how emotive his work remains despite those workloads.
Through his direction in episode #04, Oshima does a masterful job in highlighting that gap. Naoki’s emotional baggage makes him misread his brother’s approaches as ominous, but there are enough level-headed moments surrounding those subjective sequences that, as a viewer, you can always tell that Junya’s intent is good. With a mother who has given up on him completely, the person to break through Naoki’s jaded view of his life—the one that leads to him embracing a toxic relationship with Shizuka—is none other than Junya. The little brother perceives him as towering and monstrous as he comes close, but when his plea shatters those nightmares, it’s a caring older brother who looks at him straight in the eye and on his level. The way he formulates his help is, again, a straightforward allusion to the overarching theme of the show: communication. Junya doesn’t know the truth about what his sibling has been up to, so more than anything else, he begs Naoki to properly talk and listen to him from now on. This won’t undo all problems, but it’s the foundation of the happiness Takopi believes in.
Even with his fondness for abstraction, Oshima’s delivery is explicit and pointed outward. That is the norm in Takopi, and also what makes the team’s choice of a guest director and storyboarder for the following episode especially interesting. Hirotaka Mori is a name we’ve highlighted multiple times on this site, especially as it relates to his series direction debut in the impressive Tengoku Daimakyou adaptation. Whenever Mori comes up, one of his most admired qualities is the ability not to openly expose the most heinous details of the dark topics he’s often entrusted with, while still retaining their impact in the delivery. This mentality isn’t foreign to Takopi—we’ve talked about both Ponte and his mentor deliberately taking a small step back—but Mori’s elegant, non-invasive framing is quite unlike the explicit violence that most of this show portrays.
And so, for episode #05, those two tendencies meet in the middle. It’s immediately clear that Mori’s polite approach isn’t necessarily subtle, with a neglectful mother being the only one with even a slight access to the light, and the most hopeful visuals around Shizuka coinciding with her coming across happy families. Her quest to meet her dad (and the dog she refuses to believe is dead) leads to the discovery that he has found a new happy family of his own, one with no place for her. It’s in moments like this that Mori’s storyboarding tends to gracefully turn the camera away, giving the characters some room while still showing enough to make feelings clear. We see this repeatedly across the most tragic scenes, but also the quieter moments of vulnerability.
Looking back at episode #04 for a second, the bombastic climax is also worth highlighting because of the amusing parallels with Ken Yamamoto’s Uma Musume film. Rainbow sparkles flying as a hand extends to crush a phantom that was stunting someone’s spiritual growth should feel very familiar to fans of that movie, even more so given that Shuu Sugita animated both scenes.
With Shizuka on the brink of falling apart, the titular alien finally remembers the true beginning of the story: its meeting with an older Marina, mentally and physically scarred from the escalation of the abusive household we’ve already seen. A chance meeting with Naoki opens up a door to a potentially brighter future, not only as support for her, but as a way to reestablish a traditional family that her mother has come to obsessively idolize after her marriage fell apart. And yet, the reappearance of Shizuka—grown to be a deliberate manipulator at this point—leads to even more violent abuse. This rollercoaster of unstable emotions uses color to depict a sad truth: even though we follow this story from Marina’s point of view, it’s clear that in an abuser’s home, it’s their feelings alone that dictate the atmosphere. This turn for the worse is intertwined with the cynical facsimile of romance around Shizuka’s actions, delivered through an amazing sequence that shows how much he absorbed from Toshimasa Ishii in their collaborations.
Normally, Mori would be able to combine those moments with his beautiful, evocative shots to tell even the darkest stories. But that wouldn’t suffice for Takopi, a series that has made a point to closely examine the worst type of violence. As the abuse escalates, with Marina accidentally killing her mother in self-defense before taking her own life as well, the director’s usual implications don’t make the cut on their own; perhaps they would in an adaptation led by him, but not in the equivalent of letting the foot off the gas in a version of this story that has gotten you used to an imposing, uncomfortable sense of speed. And thus, Mori swerves towards a more visceral, explicit framing that will leave no viewer feeling comfortable.
On its own, those distressing feelings are already important to capture. And when examining the narrative in its entirety, this is the right moment for the show to be as direct and explicit as possible. Takopi’s status as a naïve, well-meaning outsider to these human woes allows the series to use the alien to verbalize its message about the cyclic nature of violence in a natural way—this would be discovery for the alien, and one that it could weirdly frame as positive still. This conclusion is obviously not revolutionary; frankly, it’s not new for the series either, as it’s easy to deduce from the beginning that they’re making this point. That said, and as is often the case with Takopi, there’s a lot of power in the bitter traces that spell out these words.
You may have noticed that Marina’s mother has clear patterns in her physical abuse. She tends to slap her daughter repeatedly, often on the same side of the face. Grabbing Marina by her hair and threatening her with sharp objects near her face is something she has done so many times, across multiple timelines, that it always elicits a traumatic response. If you return to the first episode with that in mind, you’ll quickly pick up on the specific way she begins hitting the person she believes to be Shizuka, whom she grabs by her hair and threatens to stab with a pencil near her face. Incidentally, that final moment of violence was handled by Danny Cho, the animation director for the fifth episode that illuminates Marina’s inherited abusive tendencies. His style is rounder and more pleasant than the show gets you used to, but he’s perfectly in his bag when handling these moments of bleakness; so much so, that he joked about swiftly drawing an ominous Shizuka because he’s always in charge of evil faces.
The truth is that Danny Cho had already contributed to Takopi, including the chilling portrayal of Shizuka taking her own life in the first episode—obvious content warning for those who want to proceed. Despite that cuter roundness in his style that we mentioned, likely tied to his experience at Dogakobo, his affinity for this type of material is clear. In fact, that wouldn’t be the first time he depicts a traumatic death in the first episode of a show that haunts it for its entire runtime. Which is to say that yes, he was also in charge of Ai’s final moments in Oshi no Ko.
Obviously, it’s not just Marina who is stuck inside a toxic cycle. Shizuka has been abandoned by her father, and while working as an escort, her mother doesn’t seem to look out for anyone but herself. She grows up with no remotely positive parental figure, so what she learns is to use seduction as a tool of manipulation like we see in her reencounter with Naoki. Again, this is similar to what we’d already observed of them as kids, but multiple years in such an environment have further poisoned her. Even the pure Takopi, in its attempt to help Marina, demonstrates that it has learned violence from its experience in the darkest corners of human society.
All three of them have forms of kindness within them, which the show depicts with as much detail as the inherited cruelty. Even if the intergenerational nature of abuse is a commonly understood idea, few works can examine their perpetrators without blinking and then carefully depict how those traits manifest in their victims. Frankly, most series wouldn’t even want to do that, as it’s more comfortable for everyone to pretend that abusers are ontologically evil, and their victims, unquestionable forces of good. For as preposterous as some aspects of Takopi are, it feels more attuned to the realities of disenfranchised people than the norm, hence its choice to illustrate (but not individually condemn) what it’s like to be at the bottom of this pyramid of violence. Takopi isn’t here to blame Shizuka and Marina for their acts, but rather to beg for a situation where children are not pushed to a position like theirs; and that, if they are, they at least have supportive relationships of any kind.
What is Taizan’s suggested solution, then? As far as specific, structural change that we could apply as actual policy, none. The protagonist of the series is an octopus whose best-known line is that it doesn’t understand(pi), so it was never going to alchemize a social panacea to solve issues we haven’t figured out in the real world. It also wasn’t going to reflect that violence onto other characters—for as much as some parents are asking for it—as that would have been satisfaction for the readers more than for the characters themselves. Instead, it’s the titular alien’s idealism that is used to channel its one wish: improving communication to, if not solve, at least palliate issues like this.
With Ponte back in the director’s seat, that’s the one thing left for the finale to illustrate. Having gone all out on the preceding episodes, the production arrives at this point with just enough energy to make it to the goal, but his fundamentals and Reina Ueda’s amazing performance as Shizuka seal the deal. When Takopi confronts her again, she breaks down about the cruelty she’s had to quietly endure, about everything children are supposed to take for granted but she never had. The alien has no answer to her questions about what she could have done instead, but it can apologize for not having tried to listen to her and then promise to do so moving forward. For as touching as it is, especially with the montage of their many moments together after that, Takopi realizes that she never managed to smile wholeheartedly. The episode begins with her allusion to something she’d always wished for, and Takopi understands what: a real peer to communicate with on the same level. And so, with a final act of self-sacrificing Doraemon magic, it resets the world.
This new timeline appears very similar, but Takopi’s wish has endured. By being more willing to confront his brother, Naoki is off to a life more of his own, with someone genuinely supporting him. None of the girls’ households has been magically fixed, but right as Marina is about to unleash that violence on Shizuka again, her casual drawing of a weird octopus creature derails the two of them. This may seem minor, but human relationships aren’t all built on monumental achievements that speak about our characters. More often than not, it’ll be an arbitrary shared experience that creates a bond. Less stressed about school results, Naoki accidentally made more friends by mentioning he has a PS4. A round alien that neither girl knows but that feels familiar to both can, with time and the right attitude, shift an abusive relationship into one where each other become the support they need.
And so we hit the epilogue, with a hint of their lives as high schoolers. Both are still saddled with problematic households, as the reappearing scar in Marina’s face makes it clear. But now that they have someone they can be frank about and who’ll fully understand their struggles, the atmosphere around them is completely different. Even aspects of them that were once signs of toxic parenting are reframed. The glimpse of Shizuka’s nails and the way she interrupts the conversation because she wants to buy make-up bring her mother to mind, but now that she’s close with Marina, they come across as another point of connection between them; after all, Marina was quite the coquettish child back then. There is a recognizable core to the characters, and sadly, still recognizable problems. But Takopi wants us to believe that they’ll be alright, and I want to believe it. I also want to believe that it’s a yuri anime, though thankfully that’s easy because it’s factual.
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