Lessons from Anime- Mental Illness in Your Lie in April

Well I waited forever to post the second part of my Your Lie in April writing lessons, didn't I? Oops. Last time we explored the portrayal of physical illness in the show. Today, let's talk about how Your Lie in April portrays MENTAL illness.

The media is really bad at getting this right, aren't they? At best, you’ll have a stirring drama about one man conquering the trials of his mental illness like in Beautiful Mind but at worst you’ll have a protagonist who only experiences things like depression, anxiety or ptsd as other people have heard about them. Usually that means a watered down...consumable form of the mental illness. Sometimes it means making them a straight up horror movie villain. Thanks, Split. Glad to see you’re keeping the trend alive.

And then there’s Kousei Arima. Kousei is not just that basement dwelling guy who just needed a manic pixie dreamgirl in order to stop feeling depressed. In fact, he has legitimate depression and PTSD that plays an active role in the story and CANNOT just be solved by Kaori. 

His mother pushed him very hard to be great at the piano. Way too hard. She beat him when he got the notes wrong and made him practice for hours and hours every day as she was slowly dying herself. Since her death, Kousei hasn’t been able to play the piano the same anymore. He struggles to hear the notes and he keeps seeing and hearing his mother when he steps onto the stage.

When we meet Kousei at the start of the show his whole world is represented in dull shades, at least when he is alone. It makes the mood around him so heavy. And when he plays the piano, it takes a step up by plunging him under water, where all sound is dulled and everything moves sluggishly. This is a pretty apt visual representation of depression. Dulled colors, dulled senses and this feeling of sluggishness that permeates everything. All the while, there’s this distant light far above Kousei’s head, too far away to reach.

Now of course, he doesn’t just have depression, he also has a fair amount of anxiety and PTSD to the point where he sometimes shuts down on stage, cradling his head in his hand, tears rolling down his face, sweating buckets. This show doesn’t pull any punches with our main character’s mental breakdowns. He has triggers like sitting at a piano on stage or hearing certain songs and they affect him physically, making him nauseous and want to throw up, or making his legs shake backstage until they go numb. It is an ugly, terrifying, messy affair, and I was glad to see it well represented with Kousei.

Now this isn’t a show about depression or ptsd or anxiety or any of that, and Kousei is not just a conglomeration of mental illnesses. He’s a prodigy at the piano, he has perfect pitch, he’s serious but can be convinced to have fun, and he’s extremely compassionate. Like Kaori he’s a well written character with some big problems that affect his life in palpable ways. And yes, Kaori does play a part in changing his life, but she doesn't CURE him. She simply pushes him to work through his fears and try to get to a better place.

And that’s one of the reasons why Your Lie in April works as a show even with clichés galore. It easily could have been eyeroll-worthy because it has tropes for days and it’s pretty predictable. However, the excellent character writing for the leads carry the show to amazing places.

Lessons from Anime- Your Lie in April and Physical Illness

In the next two weeks, we’re going to look to anime for a rather serious topic: physical and mental illness. These are two subjects that lots and lots and lots of media cover extremely poorly, some to the point of offensive for different reasons. This week we’re going to focus on physical illness.

Physical illness, particularly terminal illness, is often used as a gimmick in films to portray a strong, sweet soul, pushing through their lives despite their sickness, only to die in the film’s climax because it’s “sad”. Films like this ring hollow to the extreme because it’s so emotionally manipulative. It’s just a tear jerker ending to tug at the heart strings. It’s cheap and its cliché.

Particularly egregious is Nicholas Sparks’ Walk to Remember, partially because we never see the horrible reality of our main heroine’s illness. We barely see any symptoms or hospital rooms. Our main character looks pretty, acts strong, and goes quietly into that good night without much kicking at all. This is not the way to write physical illness. Physical illness is often debilitating, painful, and has a clear effect on the afflicted and those around them. Actually, I think the Fault in our Stars did this well because it focused on Hazel’s daily struggle with cancer. It was everywhere, from the pills and her oxygen tank to the hospital visits. Your mileage may vary on how Fault in our Stars handles other things but that’s a topic for another time.

I bring this up, because anime does this kind of thing too: regularly. Plenty of anime end with a death from a physical illness just to make you cry. It’s pure emotional manipulation without showing any of the harder parts of illness. But Your Lie in April is one anime that handles sickness well.

Yes, it’s is easy to see Kaori as the suffering but strong heroine at the beginning. A manic pixie dream girl who’s going to help our main hero change. But she isn’t just an inspirational figure. She’s loud and brash, living life impulsively because of her illness. To hell with what anyone else thinks. She wants to get the main character to play a duet with her since she has admired him as a pianist and she’ll do anything to push him onto the stage. She honestly has a lot of character that is not based around our leading guy.

But of course, she’s sick, which you figure out pretty early on, and her slow loss of health is not an easy or gentle thing. As time passes she starts snapping at her friends more as her emotions come unhinged. It becomes clear that her bubbly personality was often a mask to hide her illness. She takes more falls, her legs stop working right and we even get a scene of her screaming and hitting her legs in the hallway, begging them to stand. We see her seizing up on the hospital bed. Even her coloration grows paler as the show goes on.

However, Kaori’s illness doesn’t define her. She is bursting with personality outside of her eventual death. That’s one of the keys: her illness affects her life in a variety of ways but it also doesn't dictate who she is. Its not just a one off note to make the audience cry but she’s not just that sick girl we should feel sorry for. She’s a nuanced human being beyond her struggles.

Because people who are sick aren’t just there to make people cry or develop able bodied characters arcs. They get arcs of their own and they are their own people, and Your Lie in April gives a stirring example of that done right.

We’ll talk about mental illness in Your Lie in April next week. Until then, happy writing!

Lessons from Anime- The Lost Art of Tragedy in Fate/Zero and Madoka Magica

When’s the last time you watched or read a good tragedy? If you’re most people, its probably been awhile. After all, tragedies are kind of a bummer and can tug your heart strings in all the worst ways. Most story tellers aim for dramas or comedies instead for their more hopeful endings. And even when a show or book goes for tragedy, often it isn’t very good. It feels emotionally manipulative when a character is killed at the end just to get a sad, tear jerker finale. Simply put its hard to earn that tragic conclusion in a way that makes the story feel satisfying. But when it works, it works.

In a lot of ways, tragedies are kind of a lost art. When you hear the word tragedy, you probably think of the ancient Greeks or one of Shakespeare’s great plays. Good modern tragedies are far more rare because they are so hard to pull off. But today I want to take a look at two anime that understand the art of tragedy. And they both come from the mind of the same man- Gen Urobuchi.

Nicknamed the Urobutcher for the fates of many of his characters, Urobuchi, is one of the greats in the anime industry. He’s a masterful storyteller, having a talent for really getting his audience emotionally invested in the fates of the characters.

In one of his works, Fate/Zero, magicians fight for the right to the Holy Grail through the use of heroes from all historic ages. Most of the audience goes into the story knowing it will end in tragedy (as it is a prequel). But none the less, its impossible not to get invested. The characters are likable and they have goals they hope to achieve with the power of grail. But they also have damning flaws such as arrogance, stubbornness, or naivety that ultimately will keep them from their dreams (or lives).

In Madoka Magica, an anime that explores the Magical Girl genre (think Sailor Moon), young girls make contracts to gain powers and fight witches in exchange for the granting of one wish, any wish at all. But the venture of being a magical girl may not be so glamorous as it appears and every wish comes at a hidden cost.

Both of these anime’s have a similar element that proves Urobuchi really understand tragedies--wishes. A great tragic hero is ultimately driven by something important to them. Maybe its even a goal to which we relate like the desire to help a close friend, make amends or even to simply survive. However, in a tragedy, the hero ultimately fails to grasp this goal because they have a damning flaw that will keep them from a happy ending. Maybe they go about getting their wish the wrong way, at the expense of others, or don’t think of the consequences. Hamlet spends too much time thinking about the path to revenge and more people die because of it. Othello acts too quickly on jealousy and kills his love. Romeo and Juliet are surrounded by a society that curses their love and they die because of it (or because they needed communicate the plan better).

Madoka Magica is the best example of this idea simply because each of the girls make a distinct wish that ultimately determines their fate. It’s not predictable by any means, but it does follow story telling 101- set up and pay off. The beginning leads to the middle leads to the end, and it all flows seamlessly together. Its one of my personal favorite anime for just that reason because its just one of the best written things I’ve ever watched.

And its gorgeous

In all of these tragedies, the flaw is built in from the beginning. From the moment the hero sets out on their journey, we get the feeling they may falter. They may not lose everything. They may not even die. Maybe they’ll even get some semblance of a happy ending. But there will be losses and they will feel earned. It won’t just be for a tug on the emotional heart strings. Really good tragic endings feel necessary. Almost inevitable. And it is in that kind of tragedy that we find as much satisfaction as we would in a happy ending.

Madoka Magica and Fate/Zero are two stellar examples of modern tragedies, both with bitter sweet endings. They make you root for the characters despite the dark path they walk, and they make you cry when everything comes crashing down. But you don’t feel cheated. You don’t feel manipulated. You feel good, ultimately, because you’ve got to love a well told story. So if you feel like consuming a great modern tragedy in the near future, check either of these works out!

Lessons from Anime- Loving Parody in Ouran Highschool Hostclub and Assassination Classroom

Parody is a lot harder than you think.

It’s actually very hard to parody any movie, book, genre etc. in a consistently clever and interesting way. Films like ‘epic movie’ and ‘Scary Movie 1,000’ often beat the same jokes into the ground, throw in some gross humor and call it smart satire.

Often, poorly written parody can invoke eye rolls, especially if it doesn’t have a solid story of its own. If its just parody without a well written plot and characters, then it’s a house built on sand. One of the reasons I’m not that big a fan of the first Shrek movie is that at the base of its parody of fairytales is a plot that is predictable and old as time. Which makes it kinda boring.

But there’s another reason I’m not as big a fan of Shrek, and that’s the point about parody I really want to emphasize today. There are two types of parody. The most common, and often the easier to write, is hateful parody. This satire is biting and vicious to its original source material. It hates it. Many of the jokes are intensely mean spirited because of the deep seeded hatred on the part of the authors. In the case of Shrek? Well maybe Dreamworks wanted to crush Disney down to size after Jeffery Katzenberg broke ties with them. Maybe. Shrek 2 actually improves upon the first by being less intensely bitter.

But while hateful parody would seem the most likely, there is another form of parody that is just much harder to pull off. And that is the loving parody. Loving parody truly adores the genre or movie it is parodying. But that doesn’t keep it from making fun of its target at every turn. And at the end of the day, rather than trying to take the subject down a peg, they’re celebrating it for its tropes and its good qualities.

Ouran High school Host Club is one such satire of reverse harem and shojo manga, about a poor honor student who accidentally breaks an expensive vase and falls in debt to her school host club. Thinking she’s a guy because of her appearance, the host club promises to forgive her debt if she becomes a host herself and gets one hundred girls to ask for her. And of course half the guys end up falling for her, though especially Tamaki.

The main male love interest, Tamaki is obsessed with the role of being the main love interest but is cripplingly insecure about it. The rest of the guys are also embodiments of various tropes, but they manage to break out of them at various points for both comedy and drama. And the lead, Haruhi, has no interest in the guy’s vying for her attention and is the most down to earth of everyone.

This show has a great understanding of its trope but it’s not trying to break its characters down. It loves them. And at the heart of the anime is a lot of emotional sincerity. Melodramatic? Oh god yes, but that’s the fun of it. Its melodrama with enough fourth wall jokes and loving pokes to make it quality parody.

Then there’s Assassination Classroom which is a stellar parody of the ‘Teacher goes to a dead end class and inspires them to believe in themselves and go for their dreams’ narrative. Except for in this case, the teacher is a mutant balloon looking creature that blew up the moon and is going to blow up the earth in a year. And in between inspirational lessons, the students are trying to kill their teacher, honing their skills as assassins and trying to raise their grades.

And it’s just…its hilarious. The situation is treated rather casually and despite being constantly under fire, the teacher never stops believing in his students. At every episode he helps at least one of them step out of their shell and realize their strengths. It’s amusing to hear the lesson coming from a yellow, tentacle balloon monster, but also oddly emotionally heartwarming. The show isn’t condemning the subject of its parody. Its embracing it but flooding it with humor at the same time. And the show concludes with one of the most cry worthy scenes I’ve seen in any show.

Loving parody is just as funny as hateful parody (in my opinion more so) but it also manages to remain sincere. Because it cares about its characters, we care about them too when they’re in trouble. We don’t laugh at their pain we feel it with them. And then we laugh at them in the very next scene. It’s certainly a harder method to pull off, but it’s worth it and ultimately so much more rewarding.

Lessons from Anime- Monster and the Slow Thriller

Welcome back to Lessons from Anime!

Taking a break from talking about anything Durarara (my god) I want to give a spotlight to a particular favorite show of mine today. It’s not in my top 10 animes, but it is truly a master work and I’ve written posts about it before: Monster.

This is magnum opus of a thriller, with a wide spread of interesting characters, intrigue, and my favorite villain of all time in anything ever. But I want to talk more about the first aspect today, particularly, the lost art of the slow thriller.

I think we have an idea of thrillers these days that they have to be fast paced. You should be able to rip through them in a day and by the end, be left with your heart pounding. And while there is something to be said for the intense but short thriller, there is also something to be said for a different, but much more difficult route.

The slow thriller, is by no means boring. No, it’s just not littered with gun fights and action set pieces. It relies often on the intricacies of the human mind. Slow thrillers are psychological. While a fast thriller might make your heart race with anticipation, a slow thriller makes your heart race because you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. You know something is going to happen, but you have no idea when and it puts you on edge.

While re-watching Monster, I was struck how well constructed it is as a thriller. It constantly makes you nervous. Constantly. Something idyllic? Nervous. Something quiet? Nervous. A pleasant, nice character is introduced? Nervous. It’s not that things always go wrong either. Sometimes everything turns out great and nice characters live. But you never know. Just about every episode I watched with my roommate, she said the phrase, ‘I don’t trust this’. Which is a pretty good sign that the thriller was doing its job.

So what does Monster do so well that makes it such a stellar, psychological thriller?

Well, it all connects back to the handling of its villain. It takes the first four episodes to build this guy up before revealing him in one of the most intense scenes I’ve ever watched. And then he disappears. His presence doesn’t disappear, but he does not arrive on screen for the next twenty episodes. Instead we just see the results of his work. We see his hand in several dangerous organizations. We meet a group of Neo-Nazis who want to make them their leader, and then stumble across their bodies as the villain has killed them all and written frightening messages on the wall.

When he finally does show up, he does so very casually at the end of an episode that seemed like another fake out for his reveal. And then--boom--he just walks up two characters and engages in casual conversation with them. It’s a great sort of bait and switch.

When we’re not paranoid about the villain, we’re paranoid for the hero who is accused of murder. Every nice person he meets, we wonder if they will ultimately turn him in. The show puts us into his head, giving us a great view of his fear and distrust, contrasting it with his desire to help people even if they turn them in.

Most importantly, the show holds the answers back. The show is dedicated to finding out what made the villain the monster that he is. At first, it seems that his evil was born in a brutal orphanage. But we find out he was screwed up before that. It’s possible that he has an alternate personality because of messages he writes, but then it turns out he’s just quoting a picture book. At some point you’re watching the show just because you want to figure this guy out. And his ultimate fall off the wagon into the depths of depravity is something so oddly simple, which I won’t spoil here. The show isn’t interested in doling out answers immediately. They give them little by little to keep its watchers chomping at the bit the whole way through.

If you’re looking for a good example of a slow burn, psychological thriller, this is the show to watch. It will keep you on the edge of your seat, make you nervous, but also be one heck of a ride.

Notes from New York: Unlikable Protagonists

We’ve been focusing on larger elements like plot and setting over the past few weeks, but what about character? Obviously your characters are the human connection through which readers access the story and if they’re flat or poorly written, the whole novel comes tumbling down.

Today I want to focus on a particularly difficult type of protagonist to pull off: the unlikable kind
The big issue with the unlikable protagonist is they are, of course, unlikable. While all protagonists have flaws (all good ones anyways) most are defined primarily by their virtues. The unlikable protagonist, on the other hand, is more defined by their faults. Shakespeare is full of unlikable protagonists where their faults reign supreme. Macbeth, Hamlet and Corlianus to name a few. In more modern works, we have our fair share of anti-heroes who, while not strictly written as good, ultimately win our hearts in the end with their character arcs. I’ve done a post about the anti-hero here.

But there are two major pitfalls that your unlikable protagonist can fall into that will drag your manuscript from great to irredeemably frustrating.

1. Their Flaws do not Meet with Consequences

Flaws are meaningless if they never cost your character anything. They become little better than quirks with no plot significance. In tragedies, the climactic moment is often built on the character’s flaws. Macbeth is blinded by power, Corlianus is murdered by his own ideals, and Hamlet is just a drama queen who really could have avoided so many people dying if he had just stopped monologue about fate. We accept these flaws because they face the consequences.

Now it doesn’t have to be so serious as death but even some acknowledgment is needed. Other character point out Scar’s hypocrisy in Fullmetal Alchemist and he eventually shifts his views. Jaime Lannister suffers heavy losses when he relies too heavily on his family name. And he also changes in time because he must deal with these losses.

When a character never faces consequences for their mistakes, their flaws feel pointless. Why not just make them perfect then? That was one of my principal problems with Throne of Glass. The main character is told that if she shows off, she’ll stick out and that could cause problems for her. She then shows off--and really there are no consequences. It made her incredibly frustrating for me.

2. There is no arc

Characters should have an arc. Even if it’s a small one. Unless the plot hinges on your protagonist being flat…they need an arc. Thus, if your main character is an anti-hero, they probably should undergo a transformation where they become slightly less of an asshole. They don’t need to see the light, necessarily, but there should be some shift in their world view. Conversely, if they don’t’ develop, their flaws should drive them to a gruesome end. I’m not saying their aren’t exceptions to this rule, but a protagonist who shows up flawed and makes it out, still flawed, and unchanged, is boring.

3. You didn’t actually intend for them to be unlikable

Sometimes a writer isn’t trying to write an unlikable character. Sometimes they might think their character is entirely relatable. I read more than one manuscript when a character was relatively nasty, but they really had no arc over the book, nor did any characters around them seem to view them as flawed in any way. And this is really the worst thing you can do to a protagonist. If a writer misunderstands their character, the rest of the novel will probably sink. The only way to see if perhaps your character isn’t as perfect as you think they are is to get second opinions. From those second opinions you can tell how to reevaluate and maybe change up your protagonist’s arc.

You can pull off a well written unlikable protagonist, and they can have deeply interesting stories. But tread lightly and make sure that they’re engaging, intentionally flawed, and have a solid arc, whether it end in redemption or tragedy.

Lessons from Anime- Ensemble Casts in Angel Beats, Durarara and Assassination Classroom

Welcome back to Lessons from Anime! This week, we’re looking at another group of shows that all share one key element: ensemble casts.

There are lots of different ways to tell a story. For instance, you can take the Harry Potter route and root the narrative firmly in the perspective of one character. But, on another hand, you can write a story that is about a group of people, like in Mistborn, or even hundreds of people, like in Game of Thrones. When you have several main characters and just as many stories, it can be a tremendous balancing act. If you’re not careful, the scales will tip and you’ll give way too much focus to a few characters while letting others become practically nonexistent and unnecessary. Today we’re going to look at three anime that sport ensemble casts to varying degrees of success.

First off, there’s Angel Beats, a well-known tear jerker and a show that sports quite the large cast in its group picture at the closing song. This show relies on a wide range of characters. Even though it has its main characters, it clearly wants you to focus on the group as a unit, especially when the show takes its more feelsy turns later on. Does it succeed?

Not…really. Outside of a group of about five characters, none of the other cast get any noticeable screen time. They are reduced to typical anime caricatures, good for a laugh but not as their own people. They are sometimes indistinguishable from each other. The show just didn’t have balance in its writing and at only thirteen episodes, it really didn’t have time to keep such a large cast afloat. If you’re going to have a lot of characters, make sure they actually need to be there for more than a one off joke.

Then there’s Durarara, which yeah, I know, this is the third time in a row I’ve brought it up, but its relevant. Durarara also supports a large cast with a few clear leads in the mix. However, each of its characters are involved in different stories that collide at different points. The characters aren’t a collective unit. They’re a series of moving pieces that pass each other in the street. This is more the Game of Thrones approach of having several different storylines that eventually converge.

But while Durarara does a decent job with its cast of thousands, it still lets a few plots go by the wayside, including some twin sisters that are good for a laugh but have absolutely nothing to do with any of the plot. There are plenty of one off characters that felt like they needed more screen time. But, to be honest, I’m surprised Durarara managed its juggling act as well as it did. It goes to show that when you give yourself several plot threads, make sure they’re well integrated and they all reach some sort of resolution. That way they won’t fall off the map and leave your readers wondering why they were there in the first place.

The last show I want to talk about is perhaps the most effective of the  bunch, called Assassination Classroom. Like Angel Beats, this is about a group as a unit, focusing on a classroom of twenty eight students and their teacher (a mutant who is going to blow up the world in a year). It has a main character lending his narration to the events, but the show is conserned with all of the characters. And I mean all of them.

Of the twenty eight students about half get a significant part of an episode dedicated to them and every single one of them has a starring moment. And none of the kids are anime caricatures. They’re real, relatable kids. They’ve all been put in the dead end class for failures for various reasons. Some of them are lazy geniuses, others struggle with academics, some face pressures at home. But they all have their own interests and passions that their teacher ultimately uses to their advantage. Many characters don’t get much of a spotlight, but they work as they are supposed to: as part of a unit. And by the end, they really do feel like a family.

Assassination classroom has 48 episodes to work with of course, plenty of time to give its characters their rightful places. But it uses those 48 episodes exceedingly well, and I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen anything handle such a large cast so expertly, especially when they’re all in the same area for most of the show, following the same plot thread.

Its also hilarious

As you can see, there are many ways to handle large casts, with multiple plotlines or just one. Your mileage may vary, but make sure you know your characters and just how much time they deserve in the spotlight. Balance is the key and we want to love your characters as much as you do!

Lessons from Anime- Durarara and Rolling with the Punches

And we’re back with more Lessons from Anime!

I know I talked about Durarara last week, but honestly, I really have to talk about it again because I love this show. It honestly reshaped some of perspective on storytelling and showed me a different way to handle serious dilemmas, philosophical discussions and fantastical elements.

The fantastical elements are the focus of this particular lesson.

One of the pitfalls of any fantasy book, show or movie is the dreaded info dump. Its very easy to fall into because, hey, world building is hard and when you’re trying to bring the reader into a complex world, you just want to spout all of the information from the beginning. Its dfficult sometimes to trust your reader to follow you, or to know how much to give them at the front. I always struggle with this in my fantasy because I have a tendency to give myself over complicated worlds to work with. Thanks me.

And then there’s Durarara. This show sports all sorts of fantastical things. A headless Irish fairy that rides a shadowy bike instead of a horse. 

A man who’s body has no physical limits, allowing him to pick up and throw things like vending machines and light posts. 

A sword that loves humans and can control everything it cuts. 

And that’s just the beginning of the strange residence of the city of Ikebukoro. Most stories would try to contextualize all of these strange beings and explain why they exist in this story. And while the characters themselves are given a fair ammount of backstory, the show never really tries to explain the fantastical elements. They’re just there. Because it said so.

And you know what, there’s something kind of wonderful about that sort of storytelling. While other books sit you down for a history lesson, Durarara grabs you by the hand and asks you to roll with the punches. The explanation doesn’t matter, it’s the story and how the characters bounce off each other that the audience cares about. Don’t get caught up in the details. Enjoy yourself and have fun!

Now I’m not saying that Durarara has no world building. It explores all of its fantasy elements from a psychological perspective. And all of its elements and characters, once introduced, remain consistent throughout the run of the show. Once or twice it forgets to adequately explain something or a strange character falls by the wayside, but for a sixty episodes show sporting a cast of thousands, it does a good job with what it has.

And I think we, as fantasy writers, can learn a lot from Durarara. So next time you’re about to info dump, remember to trust your audience to follow you. Be sparing with your information, grab them by the hand and yank them right in. They’ll be able to keep up. They’re smart. And the world ultimately isn’t the most important. It’s the story within it that matters.

Lessons from Anime: Why so Serious? (Baccano and Durarara)

Alright, we’re back with a new stretch of Lessons from Anime. I know some of you (many of you) aren’t anime watchers. I understand. Jumping into anime is as vague as jumping into movies. Because Anime is only a medium of Japanese animation and can cover every genre under the sun. Also, it has a tendency to explore some weird stuff. I usually don’t recommend people jumping into Anime without a world weary guide of sorts to give them recommendations.

However, once you’re into the anime craze, it’s hard to stop, and I’ve found that my writing has always been influenced by anime over everything else. Many of my favorite stories from any medium come from anime. So as we pick up this series again, we’ll be looking at why exactly I take so many different writing lessons from these shows and how you can too, even without watching them (Though I highly recommend many of the shows discussed on this series). With that said: Let’s jump in.

Ever heard the phrase ‘why so serious’? Of course you have. It’s hard to escape the Dark Knight or the legions of joker cosplayers that smear makeup on their face and call it a day. I love the Dark Knight, of course. Its one of the only Christopher Nolan films I remotely enjoy. That’s because Christopher Nolan films take themselves extraordinarily seriously to the point of being boring and melodramatic. The joker, the chaotic evil villain of the evening, is the only one to lend even a hint of humor, however dark. He brings up a good point in ‘why so serious’. Namely, why is it that violent, action movies have to take themselves so gosh darn seriously?

Baccano and its spiritual successor, Durarara, are two shows filled with dark concepts on paper. Baccano has mobster shootouts, torture, sadists and a whole lot of defingerings. Durarara has gangs, headless riders, suicidal thoughts and serial killers. It would be easy to make either series into a super serious battle to death sort of story.

Don't worry, he'll be fine

But that wouldn’t be in keeping with the ‘why so serious’ spirit, would it?

Both Baccano and Durarara are just so much fun. And not even in a dark sense of humor sort of way. Baccano has such an entertaining, light hearted tone that it would almost fit in with the other Saturday Morning Cartoons. You know, if not for the blood. Yeah, it could take itself more seriously, but when half of your characters are immortal and the other half are kind of nuts, why worry about stakes? Its about how these people bounce off each other. Thieves like Issac and Miria steal by their own strange moral code and spread happiness to everyone around them. Jacuzzi Splot cries, but then goes in and kicks ass with his pyromaniac girlfriend. Ladd Russo kills a lot of people but he’s just so filled with puppy like excitement, it’s hard not to love him.

This show isn’t about the black and whites of morals but rather all of those little greys in between. None of the characters fall on the lawful good section of the alignment spectrum--or the lawful spectrum at all--but that all makes them so much more fun.

Durarara has more of a point than Baccano (which exists for the purpose of being shallow fun), and has its share of serious topics. It explores the desire for power, the effect of social media on the modern world, and of course, suicidal thoughts. But it all operates under a more optimistic view of ‘life happens and you get through it’. The world isn't really so awful as it seems.

Characters you would think are irredeemable love and live and laugh. They all have comedic moments. They have dramatic moments too. But in your heart, you know that the show is going to take an optimistic spin. It’s not the sort of show to kill off its cast of thousands.

And on top of that it has some of the most ridiculous stuff. Durarara is not bound by the mechanics of reality and watching a man throw a fridge at another man has never been so funny. It has twisted love stories, many of which will even have you asking ‘why’? But you get the feeling Durarara is never making any moral judgments. It’s just showing a bunch of screwed up people living their lives.

But why does it matter? Why are shows like these ultimately more effective than the ‘everything is dark’ Christopher Nolan approach? Because humor, however dark or ridiculous, is often the real coping mechanism we need. And optimism, honestly, is so much more valuable than cynicism. Baccano asks ‘why so serious’ and Durarara insists ‘the world isn’t as bad as you think’ and honestly, I get so much more hope and enjoyment from both of them.

Never take your stories or characters too seriously. Give them room to enjoy themselves and breathe. Sometimes issues are best explored through a little humor. Sometimes a good laugh over the craziness of life is worth more than tears.

Hero Spotlight: Chihiro and Coraline

Today lets look at two of my favorite child characters. Both of these girls abscond to other worlds for fantastical adventures. But both of their adventures have a dark twist to them and they must fight to conquer their fears in order to get out alive (a pretty apt metaphor for entering adulthood, when you think about it).

In Spirited Away, a young girl named Chihiro finds herself in the spirit world with her parents turned into pigs. In order to avoid becoming food for the spirits herself, she must get a job at the bath house, working for the witch Yubaba. Before being placed in this situation, Chihiro is a normal ten year old, pretty selfish and lazy but also wholly relatable. And over the course of the movie we get to see her growing stronger and putting her wits to overcome many different challenges.

Chihiro must work for the first time in her life, solve tough issues and even travel on her own through the spirit world to help a friend in need. We see her grow from a kid who doesn’t know how to fend for herself to a confident young woman, who can take responsibility and fight for her loved ones. Of course she must go back to the real world, but she takes everything she has learned with her. I adore this movie so much. Its one of my favorites and Chihiro is one of the best examples of a child character out there.

On another end, we have Coraline, whose story is less obviously about growing up and a few shades darker than the previous story. Most people know this tale. Its about a dissatisfied child named Coraline crawling through a door into another house where all of her dreams come true. However her Other Mother might not be so benevolent as she seems.

In fact she is pretty terrifying

Coraline is a very realistic child, smart and adventurous, but also selfish and attention seeking. She likes the focus of life to be on her and in her dream world, she gets just that. However, she must fight to keep her soul from the Other Mother’s clutches (You know. For kids!) as well as save the souls of other children who have been trapped before. Growing up, for Coraline, is accepting that life can’t be exactly as she wants it and taking responsibility for her mistakes. In the end, she must save her parents and others from the Other Mother and ignore the temptation of a so called ‘perfect life’. Life isn't perfect, and everyone must accept that some point. In many ways, Coraline learns the shades of grey of adulthood in this, also learning to treasure her real parents, ordinary life, and the change of moving to a new town, even if there are still challenges.

Children vs. growing up can be as vague and symbolic as Coraline or specific as Peter Pan. But they all capture the need of a child to eventually step into their own shoes and take control of their life for the first time. I love both of these stories for that reason.