Bakemonogatari: A Love Letter

There are two schools of thought when considering rewatching a piece of media. One is a more pessimistic prediction: experiencing something one loved when much younger may result in someone becoming aware of severe flaws in the work, a feeling that the piece is not actually as powerful as they once thought it was. But I find that the other perspective is more often true: revisiting an important book, game, or movie can result in a far deeper appreciation for the piece. When one has already consumed a story and takes time away, they can return to an old favorite with a far more vast life experience, a more nuanced understanding of storytelling. A truly great work of art allows for each rewatch, reread, or replay to provide an enriching experience different from those that have come before.

The Monogatari franchise is one particular work I have avoided going back to over the years. As a child, Dragon Ball and Naruto were formative pieces of media for me, influencing my taste in longform stories for years to come. However, despite my borderline obsession with both of these, anime as a medium did not appeal to me much. I was more drawn to western works, whether binge-reading Marvel comics online or engaging with a variety of fantasy novels and video games. My best friends at the time experimented with the other anime airing on Cartoon Network’s Toonami and Adult Swim programming blocks, including series I would later grow to love like Cowboy Bebop and Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex. Despite their encouragement, my adolescent experience with anime began and ended with only the most popular battle shounen series.

In my early college years, I was often too busy with schoolwork and socializing to engage with the hobbies that had kept me alive through my teenage years. I stopped reading books, limited my hours playing video games, and only watched the biggest television shows to keep up with the conversations of my classmates. However, I was hit with a serious stomach illness halfway through my third year, resulting in me being unable to leave my house for more than a few hours at a time. This lasted over the course of several months. To stave off boredom and melancholy, I allowed some close friends to convince me to watch that era’s most popular anime, shows like Sword Art Online. While not the deepest emotional experience, simple series like that helped to reignite my interest in the medium. After completing a few dozen series, a few of my childhood friends conferred with one another to determine if they thought I was now prepared for “real anime,” something that would truly recapture my youthful love of the artform. “Real anime,” to them at least, was Monogatari.

Gatekeeping snobbery aside, I immediately understood what they meant. In short, Monogatari follows high school senior Koyomi Araragi as he helps out various characters with supernatural afflictions. These problematic entities and curses are referred to as “oddities” or “apparitions,” depending on the translation. Each individual arc in Monogatari is named after its central character, usually the victim of a malignant spirit or curse, and whatever their given affliction might be. By the end of the first of these, “Hitagi Crab,” I knew I was watching one of those special pieces of media that would ultimately affect how I experience and think about stories as a whole. My first viewing of Monogatari changed me for the better. To this day, it remains one of my favorite stories of all time, regardless of medium. Though I knew what I was watching was special, I didn’t have the experience or vocabulary to express why exactly it moved me. Upon revisiting it, I hope the better part of the last decade has helped me find the words to do that.

Despite my love for the franchise, I avoided returning to older entries for the next decade. Monogatari features many hallmarks of anime that actively impact my enjoyment of the medium, including fan service and depicting its female characters in compromising situations for no apparent reason other than the enjoyment of its audience. I understand there is a wide audience for these tropes in anime, but they have always been lost on me in particular. While I could easily look past these elements ten years ago, I worried that rewatching it would ultimately sour my fond feelings toward the series. Fortunately, the severity of the more problematic parts of Monogatari was simply enhanced by time and memory. Upon finally rewatching Bakemonogatari, I discovered that there was actually very little “fan service,” that these moments I thought I remembered were few and far between. When it does occur, there is a deliberate nature to its inclusion, for better or worse. And this actually becomes part of one of the more interesting aspects of the series. 

Monogatari‘s greatest strength is in its characters. The episodic stories are firmly rooted in the perspective of a given entry’s protagonist. Although most of these tales follow one recurring protagonist, there are several notable arcs led by other characters. Each character has a personalized point of view, and a variety of narrative and production techniques are utilized to essentially allow viewers to see through the eyes of an entry’s respective protagonist. The characters in Monogatari are unique and compelling across the board, though Bakemonogatari specifically highlights two of the franchise’s most dynamic: Koyomi Araragi and Hitagi Senjougahara. More importantly, the series depicts and arguably revolves around their developing relationship, one that is intricate, complex, and realistic. Applying a strict genre to Bakemonogatari is difficult; however, I would argue that it is most clearly a romance, and one of the finest in the genre at that. The romance at its center requires both parties to overcome inherent character flaws and grow both individually and together. By the end of the series’s 15 episodes, viewers have witnessed the intricate development of a relationship that feels true, a bond between fictional characters from which we can learn something in reality about personal progress, being human, and how to love.

Koyomi Araragi

The events of Bakemonogatari‘s five arcs in particular are presented through the subjective lens of Koyomi Araragi. He is a teenage boy, and despite his protests to the contrary, he is easily prone to perverse fantasies. The series is adapted from a series of Japanese novels written by Nisio Isin, most of which are narrated from Araragi’s first person perspective. Within Isin’s prose, Araragi’s narrative voice is distinct and effortlessly emulates the mentality of a teenage boy, one on the precipice of high school graduation and facing the series of great changes that separate children from adults. Araragi’s strong characterization is paramount to the success of Monogatari, which presented the production team with a large challenge from the start. They needed to make unique creative decisions utilizing the medium of animation, choices that could capture a similar effect for a viewing audience that a reader may experience through one of the original novels. In the anime, Araragi’s adolescent perspective is portrayed through careful camera work and stunning direction, granting Monogatari a certain artistry that the grand majority of anime simply lack. His inner thoughts are frequently displayed as text from the original light novel series flashing on the screen in a splash of color, too quick for anyone to actually read—unless they are actively pausing on each frame to read the individual lines. While Bakemonogatari features many beautiful establishing shots and brilliant tableaus of characters spending time together, many of its shots are close-ups of whoever Araragi is speaking to. There is often a deliberate effect of gazing through Araragi’s eyes at the subject of his focus. Araragi is also likely an unreliable narrator: there are notable moments where characters behave in a forward, affectionate way toward him, but a quick cut, almost like blinking, results in the character appearing farther away, acting normally at a more formal distance. The viewer sees Araragi’s pubescent fantasies bleed into his reality, so it can be intentionally difficult to siphon truth from fancy. This directorial tactic is made more obvious by later Monogatari entries that focus on other characters and resultantly lack Araragi’s daydreamy filter over the events depicted.

By the time Bakemonogatari begins, Araragi has had two major encounters with the supernatural. The first of these was a horrific clash with the legendary vampire Kiss-Shot Acerola-Orion Heart-Under-Blade, an event later depicted in the Kizumonogatari film trilogy. Araragi’s encounter with the vampire, who is later referred to as “Shinobu,” left him with supernatural abilities. He is approximately “one-tenth vampire” according to Meme Oshino, his mentor in all things apparition. This mostly means Araragi is able to rapidly recover from what should be lethal injuries, although there are instances where he demonstrates superhuman strength and speed. He becomes more powerful for short periods of time by borrowing power from Shinobu—her battle with Araragi left her trapped in the form of a small child, and she lives with Oshino in the abandoned cram school that serves as his base of operations. 

Araragi’s other supernatural encounter involved Tsubasa Hanekawa, his friend and classmate. Despite Hanekawa’s excellent grades, her parents subject her to verbal and physical abuse. One day while walking with Araragi, Hanekawa discovers and subsequently buries a dead cat. As an unfortunate result of her noble deed, each night she is possessed by an otherworldly entity, one that acts on Hanekawa’s hidden impulses. Though she is usually mild-mannered and reserved, the possessed Hanekawa behaves in a way that is playful and sexually vulgar. She also drains the energy of others, leaving victims in a state close to death. Araragi enlists Oshino to help him stop Hanekawa, and together they manage to subdue the girl and lock away the mischievous spirit—though this also seals away Hanekawa’s memories of the incident.

While only alluded to in Bakemonogatari, which was the first entry released in the franchise, both incidents are key to establishing and understanding Araragi’s character. He falls into the world of apparitions out of an earnest desire to help others at any potential cost to himself. He initially discovers Shinobu as an adult vampire abandoned in a subway station, rendered limbless and left for dead. Despite his horror at her nightmarish nature, he allows her to drink his blood, understanding the sacrificial act would result in his death. When he later wakes up as a vampire, he agrees to help Shinobu recover her limbs and return to full strength. After a series of violent events depicted in Kizumonogatari, Shinobu and Araragi are reduced to the forms viewers first encounter in Bakemonogatari: a small child and weak part-vampire, respectively. Though carrying lower stakes, Araragi’s rescue of Hanekawa reflects his consistent desire to help those in need. Though Hanekawa’s catlike alter ego is much more physically formidable, Araragi’s resolve to save his friend ultimately wins out.

Araragi’s motivation to rescue others at any cost stems from two factors. The first of these is his upbringing: both of his parents are police officers, and they have instilled a strong sense of justice in all three of their children. Future entries explore the Araragi sisters Karen and Tsukihi, demonstrating their similar values. All three siblings share a desire to help their friends and strangers alike, and they approach dilemmas with a sense of grace and fairness. Araragi’s other underlying drive is an utter lack of care about himself. Throughout the series, he is shown to be prone to excessive guilt and self-doubt, willing to throw his own life away at a moment’s notice if doing so will solve the problems of others. He moves passively through his life, showing very little effort in school, very little concern for his future. 

Araragi has a warped philosophy regarding human relationships. He views them as weaknesses, believes that emotional strength stems from self-imposed isolation. In the light novel Kizumonogatari, Araragi expresses this school of thought to a friend: “If I had friends, I’d have to start worrying about them, right? If my friends were hurt, I’d feel hurt too, and if they felt sad, I’d feel sad too. You end up with more weak points, so to speak. I think that’s the same as becoming weaker as a person.” In other words, Araragi refuses human connection so that he will remain emotionally undamaged, afraid of the potential hurt that comes from relationships with others. By the time Bakemonogatari begins, he only has three notable relationships. One of these is his close friendship with Hanekawa, forged due to her persistence in growing close to him. The other two are with Meme Oshino and Shinobu, though even those are relatively distant: he seeks Oshino’s advice when encountering new apparitions, and he allows Shinobu to slowly recover her strength by drinking his blood. Oshino repeatedly suggests Araragi should abandon Shinobu and let her die; after all, if he stops letting her feed on him, Araragi will eventually lose his partial vampirism and become human again. However, Araragi feels immense guilt and responsibility for her weakened state, so he remains resolute that he will help her stay alive.

Toward the end of both the “Suruga Monkey” and “Nadeko Snake” arcs, Araragi offers his life to the apparitions plaguing the titular girls. In the latter arc, Araragi pries a curse, represented by an invisible demonic snake, from Nadeko, saving her from a brutal suffocation. As the snake targets him, Araragi almost goes as far as to allow the snake curse to kill him, as avoiding it would cause it to return to those who initially conjured it with malicious intent, two strangers who wished only to harm Nadeko. He is stopped by Suruga Kanbaru, his friend and underclassman that he saved in the previous arc. “Please don’t choose the wrong person to save,” she says between labored breaths. Still, after he fails to stop the serpent and Nadeko thanks him with earnest gratitude, Araragi feels nothing but self-loathing toward his inherent compulsion to save everyone. Internally, he begs Nadeko’s forgiveness for, in his view, being so pathetic as to attempt to give his life to save the very people who almost killed her.

Hitagi Crab

Despite Araragi’s conflicted feelings toward his own heroic nature, it is this very tendency to help others that leads him to meet Hitagi Senjougahara, arguably the central heroine of Bakemonogatari, in the series’s opening moments. After contextless flashes of previous action, namely Araragi’s spring break battle with Shinobu, viewers first encounter Araragi sprinting up a mountain of stairs within Naoetsu Private High School. In the first of many glimpses at Araragi’s inner thoughts, he reveals his tardiness, his tendency to be late to class. The school’s stairwell is depicted as a colossal spiral hugging the interior walls of a massive glass tower, likely one of the earliest signs of Araragi’s subjective perspective impacting the presentation of settings and events. Much higher up, viewers see Hitagi Senjougahara, a model student in Araragi’s class. Due to an odd frailty and a twist of fate, she falls from her great height, dropping down the open center of the tall tower. Witnessing her descent, Araragi drops his bag and holds out his arms, catching her and saving her life. Even in the face of this heroic act, he shrugs off his own valor: it was a “better decision than dodging,” he thinks, dismissive of his own inherent goodness. Though his vampiric strength would have aided in the otherwise impossible rescue, Araragi immediately notices something amiss with his classmate; she weighs almost nothing at all.

As he comes to know Senjougahara, Araragi recognizes in her everything he avoids in others. She is combative to a fault, brandishing various school supplies, like staplers and scissors, in self-defense, preventing anyone from approaching too close. She enjoys making him uncomfortable, wielding her attractive appearance as a weapon to fluster and therefore repel Araragi. And she torments him relentlessly, forcing him to trip on his own words and then seizing on his slip-ups to further tease him. Still, despite her brash standoffishness, Araragi finds that he enjoys the wordplay, the verbal exchanges and long conversations that slowly set the foundation for their burgeoning friendship. These rapid-fire discussions characterize their relationship as one shared between intellectual equals, two people capable of easily riffing on the jokes, playful jabs, and cultural references the other expresses. Their exchanges are brought to life through excellent performances from voice actors Hiroshi Kamiya and Chiwa Saitou. As pointed out by other characters later in the series, Senjougahara is in many ways a kindred spirit to Araragi. Due to tragedies in her past stemming from interactions with other people, she has drastically adapted for survival. Though she was both socially popular and a star athlete in middle school, Senjougahara has shaped herself into something akin to the namesake of this introductory arc, a crab. She has housed her true self in a hard shell, and anyone who attempts to breach her secure personal space is met with pincers—or staplers, as in her case.

Hitagi Senjougahara spent her childhood in material comfort. Her father had immense wealth, working as a high-ranking business executive and providing a lavish mansion for his wife and daughter to live in. However, Hitagi’s idyllic adolescence ground to a halt when she fell deathly ill. Both parents turned to different coping methods to deal with their daughter’s ailment. Senjougahara’s father threw himself into his work, fighting to pay for her expensive medical treatment. Her mother did what many do in the face of overwhelming adversity: she turned to religion. Hitagi’s mother joined a cult, praying for her daughter to magically prevail over her illness. When an expensive surgery did the trick instead, Hitagi’s mother still credited her devout faith for the miraculous recovery. The cult’s malicious higher-ups took advantage of this ignorance, tricking Hitagi’s mother into donating the family’s financial fortune to their cause. This left the Senjougahara family destitute, destroying the marriage of Hitagi’s parents. After their split, Hitagi was frequently left alone with her mother due to her father’s demanding work schedule. One day, a high-ranking member of the cult attempted to rape Hitagi. She narrowly managed to stave off the horrific act by wounding her attacker. In one final act of betrayal, Hitagi’s mother stuck up for the would-be rapist. This ruined her relationship with her daughter and, coupled with the sexual assault, shattered Hitagi’s sense of self and desire to have any human connection. 

With a heart fractured and hurt, Hitagi slipped away from her life as an outgoing high school student, shedding her connections to friends like Suruga Kanbaru, an underclassman who worshiped her. Hitagi’s turmoil culminated in an encounter with a minor god, the Heavy Stone Crab. This crustaceous apparition made her a tantalizing offer: it would free her of her emotional burden, the devastating weight of her assault and her mother’s subsequent betrayal. Hitagi readily agreed, though the deal had its own cost. The “weight” the crab took from her is represented by a toll it takes on her physical body; after the exchange, she weighed little more than the air itself. And it isn’t only her negative emotions she is rid of by the time she meets Araragi. Hitagi Senjougahara feels nothing at all.

When Araragi learns of the horrific circumstances that led to Senjougahara’s weightlessness, he strives to help her however he can. Due to his own lack of self-esteem and experience, he instead suggests that she accompany him to consult with Meme Oshino, an expert in handling the supernatural. Throughout Bakemonogatari‘s five arcs, Araragi gradually handles more of each apparition case on his own, slowly shedding his reliance on Oshino’s guidance. However, by the time “Hitagi Crab” starts, Oshino has proven vital to Araragi’s two previous brushes with the otherworldly. Senjougahara is initially reluctant to accompany him, uncomfortable with anyone knowing her secret curse; in the past, she has also fallen prey to numerous scam artists who promised to resolve her curse and restore her missing weight, inadvertently losing more of her father’s now-disparate funds in the process. Araragi sways her by sacrificing his own comfort: he shares a secret of his own, exposing his vampirism and, in the process, willingly opening himself up to another. This act earns a sliver of Senjougahara’s trust, and for the first time in years she finds herself clinging to the hope that this time she may finally return to normal. For the remainder of “Hitagi Crab” and the duration of each of Bakemonogatari‘s subsequent arcs, Araragi and Senjougahara cultivate a relationship that forces them to individually mature in order to do right by both themselves and each other. Their evolving connection is the beating heart of the series, showcasing the beauty and complexity of human links, the experiences and education only made possible by being open to others.

Oshino immediately identifies Senjougahara’s affliction, and he instructs her on how to prepare for a ceremony where they will potentially rid her of it for good. One of these steps is to dress in a ceremonial white, something she must return home to do. Araragi accompanies her, and it is there the two truly begin to connect. She seemingly lives alone, in a relatively small home that is a far cry from the mansion she grew up in. Her father is nowhere to be found, working long hours to recover from the family’s financial devastation and provide for Hitagi’s future. When they are alone together, the lingering effects of Senjougahara’s tragic past are on full display in her behavior toward her new friend. She is verbally aggressive, berating Araragi at every opportunity. He frequently refers to her as a “tsundere” in both this and later arcs, though the validity of that term is questionable. The tsundere archetype in anime is represented by a character, usually female, behaving coldly toward others outwardly while secretly harboring more compassionate feelings toward the subject of their apparent disdain. Senjougahara clearly already has some attachment toward Araragi, but her lack of feeling is as real as it gets; after all, she sacrificed her emotions to be rid of the pain caused by both her mother and attacker. Both Senjougahara’s assault and the crab’s curse have left her with a detachment from her own body, one she displays when she prepares for a shower in front of Araragi, apathetic toward any potential reaction he may have when exposed to her nude form. With his classmate showering in the bathroom whose door is left open, Araragi sits alone in her apartment, clearly uncomfortable, trying to solve the puzzle of Hitagi Senjougahara.

After her shower, Senjougahara continues to display indifference toward being nude in front of her male classmate, a behavior she contemplates in a later arc in the series. This unconcern is representative of her general disconnect from her life, from how others see her. While dressing for the upcoming ritual, she and Araragi verbally spar, teasing and digging at each other in a way that betrays a burgeoning intimacy. Though her constant barrage leaves him flustered, Araragi clearly enjoys the rapport he has with Senjougahara. Together, they slowly build a relationship based on conversation, on the simple joy one can feel just existing in the presence of someone they are fond of. Araragi develops unique bonds with most of the series’s major characters, but there is no connection like that he has with Senjougahara. Once she is prepared for the upcoming confrontation with the Heavy Stone Crab, the duo sets off to meet Oshino.

In the meantime, Oshino has prepared an altar for their midnight ceremony. As the ritual begins, he grills Senjougahara on her meeting with the crab, asking questions to spur the minor god into appearing before them. When he asks Senjougahara about her most painful memory, the crab does finally appear. As she fails to answer and truly grapple with the pain she buried so long ago, the crab—visible only to her—attacks her. Oshino steps in to help, but Senjougahara realizes the only way to truly conquer her problem is to face her own trauma, to accept the hard emotions with the good, to begin to heal. Senjougahara apologizes to the god for her initial selfish wish, asking its forgiveness for having it bear her emotional burden on her behalf. She asks for her feelings back, even with the understanding that to do so will irrevocably sever her relationship with her mother. In other words, she knows that allowing herself to feel again will make forgiving her mother’s betrayal impossible. Still, tired from the years of emptiness, inspired by the kindness of two strangers, she chooses to open her heart again. After all, throwing away her feelings was never a real solution to her problems. To begin to heal, she has to accept the wrong done to her. She has to allow herself to process the complex and troubling emotions that come with being truly wounded, even if that process is difficult and uncomfortable. The crab accepts her resolve and returns her emotions, a metaphysical exchange expressed by a sudden burst of sadness in Hitagi, a river of tears flooding down her face. Araragi and Oshino watch on.

By the final moments of “Hitagi Crab,” Araragi and Senjougahara have formed a profound connection, something that neither have experienced before. In Hitagi, Araragi sees someone who is much like him: wounded by the world, she sunk into herself and closed herself off to feeling. However, by the end of the arc, Araragi has seen her laid bare. In going out of his way to reach out and help her, he has truly opened himself up to another for the first time. Throughout Bakemonogatari‘s following arcs, the duo builds on this newly kindled connection, slowly establishing a relationship that can stand the hardships of conflict and time.

Mayoi Snail

Though Senjougahara is not the named protagonist of the second arc, “Mayoi Snail,” the story still showcases the duo’s newfound friendship blooming into a budding romance. The arc takes place in a city park over the course of Mother’s Day, and each of the four characters who appear throughout its three episodes grapple with their own maternal issues. As the story begins, Araragi has fled to the park to escape his own family. He believes his mother favors his two younger sisters, and he can’t stand to be around them all doting on one another. While sitting alone, the first person he encounters in the park is none other than Senjougahara; with her own strained relationship with her mother, she has reasonably chosen to spend the day outdoors, keeping her mind off of it. During this meeting, Senjougahara begins to show signs of opening up, demonstrating her slow healing. She shows off an outfit she has only just bought. This flusters Araragi, who is clearly attracted to her—though this goes far beyond her physical beauty. Their true chemistry is only on full display when they banter back and forth, playing word games and trying to catch each other off-guard. There is a loveliness in relationships built on conversation, on a true emotional connection between minds. Looks aside, it is the way the two can spend an afternoon talking that really draws them together. But healing is not a quick process; Senjougahara still falls back on a defensive caginess, baffling Araragi with sudden barbs. She insists on paying him back for his assistance, offering to grant him anything he could desire. Though this is clearly innuendo, Araragi sees through it, understanding that her frank sexuality is merely an act, part of the shell of survivability she created to cope with the last few years. However, though she beats around the bush, her romantic feelings for Araragi are apparent for anyone with a shred of emotional intelligence. Unfortunately, Araragi is too dense, too unaware of his own value, to pick up on Senjougahara’s desire. This conversation is depicted entirely through Araragi’s subjective perspective, making it unclear exactly how much of Senjougahara flirtatious behavior is reality and how much is only his own wishful thinking. One moment Hitagi will be leaning over him, threatening to outright press her body against his own. Then Araragi will blink, and the girl will be standing a respectful distance away, nothing but a kind smile on her face. While Senjougahara is now much more upfront with her attraction toward Araragi, his feelings are depicted more subtly through means of the production. Careful attention to camera placement and editing reveal that the creative direction is conveying Araragi’s inner desires to the viewer. After all, he is Bakemonogatari‘s narrator, and due to his reserved character, it would be unlike him to spell out his wants to the audience.

The central plot of the arc centers around Mayoi Hachikuji, an elementary school student who can’t find her way home. Though she is initially aggressive toward Araragi’s offer of help, she eventually relents and allows the pair of high school students to guide her home. Through all of this, Senjougahara observes quietly, her thoughts hidden behind a neutral expression. As they traverse through the city, Senjougahara leads the way and Hachikuji hides behind Araragi, unwilling to get close to the other girl. Though Hachikuji claims it is only because Senjougahara’s prickly personality terrifies her, there seems to be more going on than meets the eye; this is hinted at by the concerned looks Hitagi shoots Araragi each time he speaks with the elementary school student. Unable to find their way to Hachikuji’s home, the trio returns to the park. Though his first attempt to help the girl failed, Araragi always has a fallback plan: Meme Oshino, the man who has, until this point, always ultimately solved his problems. However, in the past Araragi has always had to approach Oshino himself, grappling with apparitions alone until desperation forced him to reach out to his mentor. Now he has a fledgling partner in Senjougahara, who offers to seek out Oshino herself so that Araragi can wait with Hachikuji in the park. When she returns, however, she reveals that she had a hidden motive for offering to make the trip herself: despite Araragi’s contentious dialogue with Hachikuji and his persistent desire to see her safely home, the girl is invisible to Senjougahara. In her view, Araragi has been speaking only to himself, insisting they escort home a girl who may or may not even exist. Hitagi has held her tongue until this point, afraid both of how Araragi would react to the revelation and the possibility that being unable to see Hachikuji was a sign of her being affected by some other curse. 

Hachikuji herself is the apparition, and Araragi is actually the afflicted one in this case. Through a defeated monologue, Hachikuji details her death in a traffic accident. She is another victim of a broken home; her parents’ separation left her mostly alone in her father’s custody. Missing her mother, she set off on her own into the city and was killed when run over at a crosswalk. Now she is essentially a ghost, haunting those who, in their own way, wish to be lost and unable to return home. Due to his familial unrest, Araragi is an easy target. Tsubasa Hanekawa—who briefly stopped by and conversed with Araragi and Hachikuji while Senjougahara was away—is also able to see Hachikuji, due to her own domestic struggle. Without the catharsis she experienced during the climax of “Hitagi Crab,” it is possible that Senjougahara would have also fallen victim to the apparition. However, due to her personal growth, she resists the curse and is able to help Araragi solve this new oddity-related issue and provide Hachikuji some personal resolution.

The high school seniors agree to escort Hachikuji home, something they should now be able to do now that they are both aware of the true circumstances surrounding the apparition. However, Araragi first suffers an emotional outburst at the unfair reality of it all, that the girl who seems so real to him is only the ghost of a child whose life was taken far too soon. In a way, this breakdown mirrors the very one Senjougahara experienced at the end of the previous arc—but now the roles are reversed, with Hitagi standing steadfast at his side, providing quiet support as he processes difficult feelings. This shared emotional support coupled with the partnership with which they tackle the Hachikuji issue demonstrates an equitable bond between them, a strong foundation from which a healthy relationship can bloom. The trio arrives at Hachikuji’s former home, now an empty lot. The elementary schooler experiences a catharsis much like Senjougahara’s in the first arc, the honest tears brought forth by a long journey’s ending. She fades away, freeing Araragi from her curse. 

As he stands bewildered by the afternoon’s events, Senjougahara startles him further with an uncharacteristic confession: she tells Araragi that she has fallen in love with him. While she admits to a physical attraction and enjoying their unique rapport, the root of her love lies in who Araragi inherently is. He is someone who would drop everything to help anyone, no matter their identity or circumstances. This is who he is boiled down most simply, and it goes beyond the gratitude she feels toward him helping her with her own affliction. Her feelings solidified when watching him commit body and soul to aiding Hachikuji, a girl he had only met hours before. In working with him to solve the day’s curse, Senjougahara believes she has learned who he really is, and what she sees she loves. Though her confession is sudden, she pleads that Araragi does not dawdle in his response, that he answers her feelings as bluntly as she expressed them. While he is much more taciturn than the improved Hitagi in terms of verbalizing his feelings, it is no surprise when Araragi agrees to date her. All along, the series’s direction has demonstrated his growing fondness for her, the camera placement often emulating the way he looks at her. However, Araragi rightfully calls out Senjougahara’s decision to keep secret her inability to see Hachikuji, no matter how noble her intention in doing so. Relationships should be built on honesty and shared trust; Araragi asks Senjougahara to always be open with him, to be a true partner in all respects. With all laid bare and agreed upon between them, they begin dating.

Suruga Monkey

Now one half of a committed couple, Araragi has new emotional issues to work through in order to be a better person and partner. Just like all real romantic relationships, both Araragi and Senjougahara are imperfect people, somewhere on their own individual roads to an unreachable personal perfection. However, making a relationship work requires constant work, both on the central bond and the improvement of the individual. Araragi is still saddled with self-doubt and detachment, flaws that run the risk of damaging any relationship. And Senjougahara is his first girlfriend, which means that he needs to learn how to even be part of a couple in the first place. One of the first elements he must grapple with is a universal struggle for most people in relationships, especially within the early stages: the tendency to wonder about a partner’s past, the resulting jealousy over their previous experiences with others. This internal turmoil is the thematic core of “Suruga Monkey,” Bakemonogatari‘s third arc.

While walking to school, Araragi encounters Hachikuji, the ghost girl he only recently believed had passed on forever. She is now a wandering spirit, relegated to traverse the earth as she wills. Their conversation is interrupted by Suruga Kanbaru, Araragi’s athletic underclassman. Kanbaru has been tailing Araragi lately, seemingly interested in him due to his new relationship with Senjougahara—her friend from their time as middle school sports superstars. Kanbaru’s most notable feature is her left arm, mysteriously wrapped in bandages.

The bulk of Monogatari takes place during Araragi’s senior year of high school, a year that for most people serves a sort of a nexus between a relatively predictable life where choices are mostly made for you and then the rest of it, the ever-expanding unknown where most adults struggle to find purpose, financial success, family. The setting is key. Araragi stands at a crossroads. Initially, as Bakemonogatari begins, he is aloof and riddled with apathy as far as his future is concerned. However, his work solving the various apparition cases involving the likes of Hanekawa, Senjougahara, and Hachikuji has slowly helped him form some semblance of an identity. As mentioned by Senjougahara in the last arc, Araragi is in simplest terms someone who aids others in times of need. And his relationship with Senjougahara also becomes a crucial force in his drive to prepare for a better future. She is a star student, one with strong prospects to be accepted into distinguished universities. Araragi now attends regular study dates at her home, where Senjougahara does her best to prepare him for college entrance exams. This is all despite Araragi rebuffing a similar offer from Hanekawa in Kizumonogatari; in the novel, he refers to himself as “a lost cause” as far as the future is concerned. When alone with Araragi, Senjougahara gradually opens up little by little, demonstrating snippets of emotional vulnerability that would have been impossible without resolving her past  affliction with Araragi’s help. No longer does she wield stationary as weapons, brandishing pencils or staplers at anyone who tries to make more than small talk with her. Still, there are flashes of the defensive Senjougahara who Araragi initially met, moments where her cagy combativeness flares at him. At one particular study session, Araragi asks her if she knows Kanbaru, and Senjougahara’s vague description of their former relationship leads him to fall into the same trap as many others who enter relationships in the real world. He wonders about her past, if the relationship between the girls was something more akin to what he now shares with Hitagi. After all, she has only stated that she has never been with a man before, making no claim either way about being with another woman. As Araragi ponders this, Senjougahara presents him with the cash payment she owes Oshino for his assistance in ridding her of the Heavy Stone Crab. However, Araragi forgets it when he leaves for the evening, prompting her to follow him.

As Araragi makes his way home, he is ambushed by a strange figure, one shrouded in a brash, yellow raincoat. It pummels him with superhuman strength, severely wounding even his vampirically-enhanced body. The assault only ends when the attacker flees at the arrival of Senjougahara, who has managed to catch up with Araragi in order to deliver Oshino’s payment. She waits with him while his body slowly heals, wary of his excuse that his grisly wounds are merely the result of falling off of his bike. In lying about the violent encounter, Araragi is already breaking the promise he asked Senjougahara to make. While his motive is not explicitly stated, it is likely to keep her outside of his world of curses, an honestly foolish notion due to the very circumstances that led them to meet. Still, he is lying to protect her, to keep her at arm’s length from the trail of horrors that seems to follow him. However, this lie is made even worse when considering that the promise they made at the beginning of their relationship was mostly about not lying to each other regarding apparitions. Araragi’s choice is a clear sign of naivete, a belief he can shield the girl he cares most for from the evils he encounters on a regular basis, that keeping her safe is more important than building a relationship rooted in total honesty.

Spurred by his girlfriend’s mysterious past with Kanbaru, Araragi seeks out information about his underclassman. He questions Hanekawa, who remembers the other girls from middle school. Hanekawa warns Araragi about the dangers of investigating the past of one’s partner, the lack of trust that such a hunt belies. Still, she tells him what she knows: Senjougahara and Kanbaru were an inseparable duo, known for being the star athletes in track and basketball, respectively. Araragi receives the rest of the story from Kanbaru herself, and his worst fears are in a way realized. When he visits her at her home, Kanbaru details the bond she shared with Senjougahara only a few years before. While it wasn’t reciprocated, Kanbaru harbored romantic feelings for Senjougahara, and she shows no sign of that desire being dead. Araragi can easily conclude that the girl has been following him on an investigation of her own, seeking out what Senjougahara could possibly find appealing about him. The girls’ relationship ended when Kanbaru stumbled upon Senjougahara’s secret affliction. When Kanbaru confronted her with a desire to help, Senjougahara, wounded by so many with false intent before, lashed out at Kanbaru, attacking her with her stationary armory. In a seemingly unrelated gesture, she reveals the bandages on her left arm conceal an ape-like appendage, the normal limb replaced by dark fur and a monkey’s powerful paw. She shows Araragi the gnarled hand of what she and her grandmother discovered years before, something they believed belonged to a monkey.

In both this initial conversation and a later one with Meme Oshino, Kanbaru’s shadow-clad backstory is made clear. As a child with knowledge of W.W. Jacobs’s short story “The Monkey’s Paw,” Kanbaru believed the disembodied hand she discovered was similar to the story’s namesake artifact. In the original tale, the monkey’s paw could grant three wishes made on it, but each wish would be granted in the least desirable way possible. For example, the elderly couple that the story revolves around wish for a sum of money. Their monetary desire arrives with the news of their son’s death at his factory job, his workplace sending over the cash payment as a gesture of good will. Believing the object she found would similarly grant wishes, Kanbaru first wished to be the fastest runner in her class, a wish that manifested in her rivals being conspicuously absent on the day of a race. She later discovered that they had all been violently attacked the night before. Horrified by the power of the monkey’s paw and the resulting transformation of her left arm, Kanbaru hid the strange object and refused to use it again. That changed when she heard that Senjougahara, the girl she loved but who shoved her away, had entered a relationship with someone else. Upon discovering Araragi’s identity, Kanbaru returned to the monkey’s paw with a desperate plea: she wished for Araragi to die by whatever means necessary. Oshino pieces together the truth from Kanbaru’s story. The hand doesn’t belong to a monkey at all; it is instead an artifact of another oddity, the Rainy Devil. The apparition achieves Kanbaru’s wishes by possessing her body and using it to violently assault those who stand in the way of what she desires. Kanbaru herself is the raincoat-clad assailant who nearly beat Araragi to death on his ride home.

Kanbaru’s plight is compelling because it reflects one of the recurring themes of the series, the cycle of hurt people developing defensive coping mechanisms that inadvertently bring harm to others. Her attempt to help Senjougahara, whom she loved and idolized, was met with violence and distrust, wounding Kanbaru as a result and suffusing her heart with the darkness that later drove her to wish death on Araragi, someone she should otherwise have no ill will toward. Her envy of Araragi’s relationship with Senjougahara leads her to these drastic measures, tapping into her most evil secret desires. Oshino correctly assesses Kanbaru as someone whose outward kindness masks a deep-seated venom. In taking possession of Kanbaru’s body, the Rainy Devil is only acting on her most vile base impulses, such as when it assaulted her athletic rivals several years before. In many ways, Kanbaru parallels Araragi; most of his early actions in “Suruga Monkey” involve researching Senjougahara’s past, driven by morbid curiosity to know everything about his new partner. While Kanbaru is jealous of him, Araragi is also jealous of her and the mysterious role she once played in his girlfriend’s life. Her oddity-afflicted body is an extreme, twisted version of what Araragi could be if he allows the negative feelings inherent in new relationships to possess him. In her introductory arc, Kanbaru serves as a cautionary tale for the emotional conflict brewing within Araragi.

Oshino estimates that there are only two ways to stop the Rainy Devil now that a wish remains unfulfilled: they could sever Kanbaru’s transformed left arm, cutting the connection between her and the demon, or they could allow the monster to kill Araragi, fulfilling Kanbaru’s wish. Oshino theorizes, however, that if the demon tries and finds itself unable to kill Araragi, the contract between Kanbaru and the Rainy Devil will be rendered void, forcing the apparition to leave her be. Though the chance of this happening is very slim and Kanbaru willingly offers to have her arm removed, Araragi opts for the more reckless option. Thanks to his vampiric body, he does stand a chance to survive a one-on-one battle with the Rainy Devil, even if the odds are not in his favor. This decision reflects a few key psychological factors plaguing Araragi, but most notably his internal self-loathing, the unshakable guilt he feels over Kanbaru’s condition. In his mind, Kanbaru would not be beholden to the Rainy Devil if Araragi hadn’t entered a relationship with Senjougahara, if he didn’t exist at all. If he loses his life in a battle with the monster, he feels like it is justified since he indirectly brought about Kanbaru’s desperate wish in the first place. This act is a perfect example of Araragi’s complex motivation behind the self-sacrificial way he tackles the problems of others; his sense of justice always wins out over every inhibition, and his inherent apathy toward himself prevents him from caring about the danger to his own well-being.

As a possessed Kanbaru waits for him in one of the cram school’s spare rooms, Araragi borrows power from Shinobu by allowing her to feed on more of his blood than usual. He doesn’t need to overpower the Rainy Devil to defeat the apparition; he simply needs to survive for long enough that it gives up on fulfilling the wish and severs its contract with Kanbaru. While Oshino is generally amused in even the grimmest of circumstances, he seems especially aloof when allowing Araragi into the arena with Kanbaru. It is as if he somehow already knows the outcome, or has information that Araragi does not regarding the upcoming bout. When the battle finally begins, Araragi is easily outmatched. Despite his best efforts, the Rainy Devil rips him apart, breaking his bones and ripping his intestines from his body. However, before the apparition can deliver the final blow, Senjougahara arrives—contacted in advance by Oshino, who knew all along that the only way to save both Kanbaru and Araragi was to have Hitagi intervene. She chastises Araragi for lying to her, doing the very thing he made her promise not to do in the conclusion of “Mayoi Snail.” They are supposed to be partners in all things, especially apparitions, and they agreed to be honest even when it was difficult. Araragi, spurred on by negative feelings toward himself, fell into a spiral of lies when trying to handle Kanbaru’s affliction on his own. Senjougahara stepping in is the first time he is truly saved by another, making them emotionally equal after his attempt to rescue her in “Hitagi Crab.” Senjougahara threatens the Rainy Devil, who is unable to harm her due to Kanbaru’s unrequited love. Hitagi warns it that if harm comes to Araragi, she will stop at nothing to enact vengeance on Kanbaru. With this interruption, the apparition is no longer able to complete its contract; as a result, it finally leaves the girl alone.

The final battle in “Suruga Monkey” is in many ways only a physicalization of the emotional conflict between the three characters at its center. On the surface, both Kanbaru and Araragi feel as if Araragi is the better candidate for Senjougahara’s love: she is athletic, confident, seemingly happy, and dotes on Senjougahara in an obsessive way that Araragi likely never will. Araragi drifts through his life, taking each day as it comes. He is not outwardly bright, typically appearing aloof and sullen to others. His jealousy and subsequent investigation of Kanbaru earlier in the arc stemmed from his jealous belief that she was the more sensible choice for Senjougahara, his inability to see why a girl like Hitagi would pick him over anyone else. So of course the Rainy Devil decimates Araragi in their physical conflict, one that is only representative of the thematic clash underneath its surface. And of course the battle only ends when Senjougahara arrives and definitively chooses Araragi, making clear her love for him and that she holds him above all others. Still, as she crouches over Kanbaru, Senjougahara admits her wrongdoing in shoving the other girl away. While she can’t be her romantic partner, she still offers to repair their friendship, a gesture that Kanbaru tearfully accepts. As Araragi’s ruptured body begins to stitch itself back together, he ruminates on the arc’s events, now forced to accept that the love Senjougahara has for him is something true.

Nadeko Snake

While Senjougahara is arguably the central heroine in Bakemonogatari, she hardly appears in the fourth arc, “Nadeko Snake.” The arc instead primarily explores Araragi and his drive to save others, forcing him to grapple with the moral quandaries associated with following a path of justice. As the story begins, Araragi travels to a mountain shrine alongside Suruga Kanbaru. Their trip together was orchestrated by Senjougahara, reflecting her desire to patch up the fledgling bond between her boyfriend and underclassman. With Araragi the definitive victor in their romantic rivalry, Kanbaru’s animosity has faded. Now they are fast friends, and Kanbaru easily establishes her own pattern of prodding and teasing Araragi. They soon cross paths with Nadeko Sengoku, a girl from Araragi’s past who is seemingly fleeing the shrine. Though Araragi hardly recognizes her due to the time that has passed since he last saw her, Nadeko is actually longtime friends with his younger sister Tsukihi. At the shrine, he and Kanbaru discover a massacre of white snakes. Later, Araragi spots Nadeko at a bookstore, researching curses. This pattern of odd behavior prompts Araragi to investigate Nadeko and her mysterious situation.

While at the bookstore, Araragi has a key conversation with Tsubasa Hanekawa about his relationship with Senjougahara. Hanekawa notes the similarities between the two, arguing that their relationship makes sense to her even if it does not to others. She correctly describes both Araragi and Senjougahara as being closed off to others, both having the conflicting feeling of love for people but hatred for actually having to deal with them. Hanekawa thinks that this is exactly what draws them to each other, and she points out that both Senjougahara and Araragi are slowly becoming more involved in the lives of others as a direct result of their intimate connection. Though Araragi is often unsure of what Senjougahara sees in him, Hanekawa frequently serves as a pillar of support, offering rational observations about what makes their relationship work.

What he discovers about Nadeko’s ailment reflects one of Bakemonogatari‘s recurring ideas. Nadeko is yet another victim of human cruelty, bullied by middle school classmates out of envy and spite. Due to her cute physical appearance, Nadeko easily catches the attention of the boys in her class, often becoming the object of their affection. However, Nadeko has only ever had eyes for one person: Araragi, the kind and quiet brother of her childhood friend. She ignores the advances of others, though one such rejection resulted in her current predicament. When Nadeko denied one particular boy, she was cursed by a jealous female classmate who had feelings for the boy and felt jilted by his preference for Nadeko. The curse takes the form of an invisible serpent that coils around Nadeko’s body, leaving rashes with scale-like imprints wrapped around her. Upon consulting with Oshino, Araragi discovers that the curse will eventually kill Nadeko; her own efforts to expel the curse, such as slaughtering snakes at the shrine, only exacerbated the issue, angering the snake and accelerating her upcoming demise. Nadeko’s issue highlights the importance of people like Oshino in the world of Monogatari. With only books and anecdotal advice to guide her, Nadeko’s meddling only worsened her situation. But apparition experts like Oshino can be hard to come by, and they come equipped with hefty prices. Someone like Araragi, a journeyman in all things occult who acts out of a sense of justice, is vital in order to protect hapless victims of curses from certain doom.

With Oshino’s guidance, Araragi and Kanbaru travel to the shrine from the arc’s opening moments, preparing a ritual to absolve Nadeko of her curse. Their attempt to help her initially seems successful; however, after supposedly eliminating the apparition, Nadeko begins to writhe in a newfound anguish. Araragi and Kanbaru deduce that Nadeko is not the victim of one curse, but two: the boy she rejected must have placed his own curse on her. Now, the second snake—enraged by the ritual resolution of the first—strangles Nadeko, intent on finally killing her. This desperate situation showcases Araragi’s resolve, again demonstrating his quintessential tendency to throw himself into danger for anyone else’s sake. There is no time to prepare a second ritual, so the only way to save Nadeko is to remove the invisible serpent by force. Engaging his vampiric strength, Araragi rips the snake free—though that only causes it to attack him. With the information that letting the snake go will only cause it to seek out and afflict the person who summoned it, Araragi puts his life on the line for the very stranger who caused the conflict in the first place. He restrains the snake, unable to bring himself to let it go and harm someone else, even as it tears into his flesh and drags him toward a tragic death. But, as mentioned toward the beginning of the essay, Kanbaru rescues him from his own self-sacrificial nature. She tackles Araragi and forces him to release the snake. As it slithers back home toward the person who summoned it, Araragi is forced to confront his own naivete: saving everyone with no casualties is a foolish dream, and, as Kanbaru pleads for him to do, Araragi must learn to be more selective in who he saves. There will be encounters with curses where he must choose to protect those he loves rather than strangers who selfishly brought about the issue in the first place. This idea is arguably a selfish one, and it conflicts with Araragi’s sense of justice, his childish desire to prevent harm from befalling anyone. In the business of helping others, tough choices need to be made. The struggle at the shrine is a wake-up call for Araragi, one of the first moments where his core values are challenged in a compelling way. For the first time, he must seriously consider that, in the grand scheme of things, not everyone may be worth saving, that he should perhaps not throw his life away and sacrifice his own happiness to prevent harm from coming to someone who really brought it upon themself. Throughout the series, Araragi shows a clear pattern of blaming himself for other people’s problems, making it easy for him to throw his own life away if it means benefiting another. In Kizumonogatari, Araragi denounces his own existence when offering his life to save the wounded Shinobu: “There isn’t a single reason for me to bother staying alive, not a single reason for me to value my own life over someone else’s, the world wouldn’t care one bit if I died!” This idea, alongside others presented in the conclusion of “Nadeko Snake,” are delved into much further in Bakemonogatari‘s final arc, “Tsubasa Cat.”

First Date

While Bakemonogatari‘s final five episodes are technically all considered part of the same “Tsubasa Cat” arc, the structure of this section of the anime is odd when compared to the rest of the series. There are multiple reasons for this, but the most notable one is that Bakemonogatari had only 12 weekly broadcasting blocks, meaning that only 12 of its 15 episodes actually aired on television. Due to “Nadeko Snake” ending on episode 10, the creative team only had two broadcast episodes left to reach a satisfying conclusion by the end of episode 12, even though the next arc they had to adapt, “Tsubasa Cat,” would take more than two episodes to play out. As a result, episodes 11 and 12 almost serve as standalone tales, with each directly foreshadowing and setting up the events that would play out over episodes 13 through 15. These final three episodes eventually aired online, and they depicted the bulk of the “Tsubasa Cat” arc’s events.

Episode 11 is technically the first in the “Tsubasa Cat” arc, though it mostly serves as a recap of events in Tsubasa Hanekawa’s past that at this point had not been revealed in detail, only alluded to by Meme Oshino. As explained in greater detail earlier in the essay, Araragi spent his recently passed Golden Week investigating the feline apparition plaguing Hanekawa. He ultimately enlisted Oshino in resolving the monster, one that changed Hanekawa’s appearance and acted on her hidden impulses. The oddity came about in a response to repressed stress, mostly stemming from Hanekawa’s horrible domestic life. Raised by a widowed stepfather and his second wife, Hanekawa is often subjected to their physical abuse. Upon awakening, the cat apparition sapped the energy from Hanekawa’s adoptive parents, leaving them close to death. It then went on a similar spree throughout the city, only stopping when Araragi and Oshino intervened. Shinobu Oshino, the blonde vampiric child who initially afflicted Araragi with his own brand of vampirism, used her own abilities to seal away Hanekawa’s newfound powers. As a result, Hanekawa lost all memory of these events.

While this story is told in much greater detail in Nekomonogatari, a later season of the franchise, Bakemonogatari‘s 11th episode only recaps these events in brief. The rest of the episode follows Araragi conversing with Nadeko and then Hanekawa. His encounter with Nadeko is short, mostly consisting of her thanking him for his rescue efforts in the previous arc. However, his long conversation with Hanekawa is rife with analytical importance, introducing key themes and concepts that play out over the remainder of Bakemonogatari. Many of these pertain specifically to Araragi’s growing relationship with Senjougahara, highlighting more of his own insecurity and laying the foundation for the series’s emotional climax. However, they also flesh out Hanekawa’s important dynamic within said relationship, the different ways her presence affects Araragi’s love life.

Throughout the franchise, characters point out that Araragi’s relationship with Senjougahara makes little sense from an outsider perspective. As has been established throughout Bakemonogatari, both are reserved and socially aloof, seemingly allergic to forming connections with others. While Senjougahara was once a renowned star athlete, she has since withdrawn from extracurriculars. And while she is a great student and obviously intelligent, Hanekawa is the top of the class and student council president. She is also traditionally beautiful and easily broke through Araragi’s shell long before he had ever spoken to Senjougahara. Outside observers who know both girls, such as Hachikuji, comment that they would have expected Araragi to pursue Hanekawa, that a relationship between them theoretically makes much more sense than one with Senjougahara and her defensive edge. Araragi often struggles to quantify his feelings for Senjougahara himself, wondering what draws him to her or vice versa. However, this reflects a fact about relationships in the real world: they often do not make much sense to third parties, and even those involved may have a hard time describing what connects them to their partner. Whether it is random circumstance or raw chance, bonds form between people, often seemingly out of nowhere. But all that matters is that the bond exists. In a moment of vulnerability, two people connected, and the feelings that would eventually bloom into love took root. Araragi does not need to be able to explain his relationship, to defend why it works to outside commentators. What matters is that they fulfill something within the other, that they make up for each other’s shortcomings, that they meet each other’s flaws with love and support.

Still, it is hard to shut out the opinions of others, especially when grappling with your own perpetual insecurities. In his conversation with Hanekawa, Araragi learns that their teachers and classmates worry about his effect on Senjougahara. The general belief is that by dating Araragi, a long time loner and slacker, Senjougahara is slipping away from her education, that her blossoming personality as their relationship develops is actually a hindrance to her potential success. Araragi is already riddled with self-doubt and suffers from low self-esteem, so it is easy for him to believe that he is actually a problem, that he is holding Senjougahara back. He has shown time and again that he is not someone to choose himself or his own happiness, so hearing the gossip about his relationship hits him especially hard. He also struggles to see what Senjougahara even sees in him, why she would choose to date or put so much effort toward him in the first place. She credits him for rescuing her, but Araragi does not even believe he had much to do with that, instead thinking he just stood by as she saved herself. He feels the same way toward most of the apparition cases he has taken part in, diminishing his own role in their various resolutions. 

Hanekawa then mentions his many new friendships with the girls he has helped, and she presents an interesting theory about their nature: she believes they may be the result of Araragi’s vampirism, that he is inadvertently exerting some supernatural charm over the girls. In other words, she believes that the relationships he has recently formed are actually artificial and would not exist without his affliction. The idea that Araragi’s vampirism is the only thing drawing these women to him serves as the perfect symbol for all of his insecurity and self-doubt, lending credence to his own inability to see why people seem to like him. This is obviously most important in the case of Senjougahara, whose love for him seems this brilliant, unknowable thing. Hanekawa’s theory confirms Araragi’s bias against himself, theoretically robbing his relationships of merit. Toward the end of their conversation, Hanekawa suffers a headache much like she once experienced when afflicted by the cat apparition, prompting the flashback that summarizes the events of the “Tsubasa Family” arc as explained earlier.

With a head full of doubt, Araragi agrees to accompany Senjougahara on their first real date together. While they have spent a lot of time together alone, it has mostly been studying or quick lunches at school. Senjougahara proposes a true romantic outing, a trip to a place of her choosing. Episode 12 is an isolated story, revolving entirely around this date. Monogatari frequently has episodes that basically only depict dialogue between characters, with little physical action other than characters walking from one place to another. One of the strengths of the series is that these episodes are never boring, that the conversations between the series’s strong cast of characters can be as gripping as one of the rare battle scenes. Episode 12 of Bakemonogatari is one of the best examples of this, and from the standpoint of dialogue and character development, it may be one of the single greatest anime episodes of all time.

Another unique aspect of Monogatari is its collection of vibrant, eclectic opening sequences. While most anime typically have one opening per season (around 12-13 episodes), Monogatari entries have a new opening sequence for each individual arc. The song itself in these unique animations is performed in character by the voice actor of the given arc’s protagonist. In Bakemonogatari, this begins with Chiwa Saitou singing as Senjougahara in the song “stable staple,” the opening for the “Hitagi Crab” arc in episodes one and two. In home media releases, episode 11 features the opening song “Sugar Sweet Nightmare” by Hanekawa’s voice actor Yui Horie. This makes sense; technically all five of these remaining episodes make up the “Tsubasa Cat” arc, and the same song plays for episodes 13-15, which depicts the bulk of that arc’s actual plot. However, despite the arc being named for another character, episode 12 features “stable staple” again, immediately conveying the importance of Senjougahara to this particular episode. This is one of the few times this creative choice is made throughout the entire franchise. However, in the original broadcast version of Bakemonogatari, “stable staple” is actually the opening used for every episode that revolves around Araragi’s feelings for Senjougahara in some profound way. For example, in the original broadcast of episodes six and seven, the first two parts of the “Suruga Monkey” arc, “stable staple” was used instead. The same is true for the original broadcast version of episode 11, where Hanekawa probes Araragi about his relationship with Senjougahara. The overwhelming frequency of “stable staple” being used indicates the true focus of Bakemonogatari as a whole: despite the arcs seemingly being about other characters, everything actually comes back to Senjougahara, to Araragi’s evolving bond with her.

When Araragi arrives at Senjougahara’s home, he realizes he will soon face a fear shared by many young people in new relationships: their driver for the evening will be none other than Hitagi’s father. Throughout the drive, Araragi fidgets in the backseat, anxiety on display. Hitagi toys with him, asking him questions relating to his feelings and physical attraction to her. If he appears despondent, concerned about her father in the front seat, Hitagi playfully accuses him of not caring for her. At times when he respectfully refers to her as Senjougahara, she informs her father that Araragi has something to say to him. This forces him into a corner that he must use her first name, Hitagi, to get out of, a gesture in Japan that betrays a close intimacy—which normally would not be a problem, were it not for Hitagi’s silent father behind the wheel. Throughout the car ride, Monogatari‘s penchant for depicting close point-of-view comes into play. As usual, the camera follows Araragi’s perspective, frequently cutting from close-ups of Hitagi to her father’s side profile, the glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror. This creative technique easily conveys Araragi’s nerves, his tendency to glance up to the Senjougahara father when the daughter says something particularly provocative. Occasionally, while Hitagi grills and teases Araragi, her fingers crawl over his thighs, toying with him in an attempt to arouse and further embarrass him. However, when Araragi blinks, Hitagi is across the backseat from him, her hands kept to herself. This is one of the best examples of Monogatari‘s use of perspective and unreliable narration; it is unclear what is actually happening and what is simply Araragi’s hormonal imagination.

As they arrive at their destination, Hitagi forces Araragi to remain with her father, leaving them alone in a tense silence as she scouts out the location of their date ahead. Before the situation has a chance to grow too uncomfortable, Mr. Senjougahara bluntly asks Araragi to take care of his daughter, jokes about how dramatic the request is, and then details his thoughts about the young couple’s relationship. He expresses deep regret over how much of Hitagi’s childhood he missed out on by being a self-described “workaholic,” and he confesses the grave concern he had for years over her health, her missing weight, her missing emotions. He says that he would jump at any opportunity to help his daughter, though she never asks for anything—until today, when she looked past the years of hurt feelings to ask her father to drive her and Araragi to their date. Ever since Hitagi’s meeting with Araragi, Mr. Senjougahara has noticed her opening up slowly, a trickle rather than a downpour. With Araragi’s influence, Hitagi is gaining new friendships, expressing passion for her future, and gradually shedding her old callousness and replacing it with something kinder. Ultimately, Hitagi’s father gives Araragi his immense gratitude, thanking him for saving Hitagi’s life.

“Hitagi saved herself,” Araragi says in response to this, characteristically downplaying his own role in her recovery. “I was just there.”

“That is all she needed,” her father says. And this highlights one of the truly good things about Araragi, one he does not often credit himself with. Although many times the people he helps end up finding their own agency and taking matters into their own hands to solve their own problems, Araragi is always by their side, steadfast in his support. This resolute presence, more than anything else, is what Hitagi needed to save herself. Although students and teachers who are not really familiar with Hitagi’s relationship are often skeptical of Araragi’s place in it, those close to the couple have a much more ingenuous and optimistic opinion of it. They are capable of seeing how good Araragi is for Hitagi, and vice versa. While, for instance, outside observers may think Araragi makes more sense with someone like Hanekawa, people like Hitagi’s father and Hanekawa herself understand the relationship, that it is helping both Hitagi and Araragi improve as people in order to make it work. Both are changing, that is true; though the change is only for the better.

Hitagi returns to the car and leads Araragi through a forest, leaving her father to keep himself occupied. As they proceed through the woods, Hitagi forbids Araragi from seeing anything by holding his head down, carefully guiding him to a mysterious area and then having him lie on his back. Despite this bizarre secrecy, Araragi smiles, something he doesn’t do often. When she does allow him to open his eyes, Araragi sees an array of stars, glowing constellations spread across a clear stretch of sky. Hitagi has led him to a clearing, lying him on a blanket she spread in the grass. She lies beside him, gauging his reaction to this unusual sight, so far outside of the city. As Hitagi points out and names the various constellations above them, Koyomi is lulled into his own memory, seeing key moments from their relationship: Hitagi falling from the top of the great spiral staircase when they met, Hitagi confidently confessing her love to him after they helped Hachikuji. As he relives their relationship, he smiles to himself again.

“That’s all,” Hitagi says, tugging Koyomi from his own thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

Hitagi lays herself bare, spelling out what she views are her essential components, the parts that make up the very essence of her, though they are all largely symbolic: her ability to help him study, her quiet father and boisterous underclassman Kanbaru, the sky that twinkles above them. Until this point in the story Hitagi has opened up little by little, but this is when she lets her true self flood forth. “This is all I have,” she says.”This is all I can give you. This is everything.” Hitagi continues to let her real thoughts and feelings pour, expressing complete vulnerability. She comments on their often aggressive rapport, and she offers Koyomi her body. 

But here Hitagi cuts to the truth of her overt sexuality, confessing that she fears to actually be physically involved with Koyomi. There is a compelling and complex contrast between Hitagi’s gradually developed emotional vulnerability and her inability to be sexually vulnerable. It rings true for many people in relationships, that despite growing and slowly becoming more open to your partner, various traumas and past pains may leave some elements of a relationship closed off to you still. Hitagi associates sex with her past assault, and she is afraid that doing this with Koyomi will lead her to loathe him, that such loathing will drive him away in the end. This is the hardest truth of all, and makes all “fan service” involving Senjougahara earlier in the series make perfect sense; it is her coping mechanism, her attempt to take ownership of her trauma, despite the lingering fear of her body and potentially having sex with others. This serious and complex exploration of sexual trauma is often avoided in media, particularly in the medium of anime, where sex is so often used exclusively as a punchline. And instead of struggling for the right words, searching for some cool thing to say, Koyomi responds honestly, in the best way he possibly could: silently, he simply takes Hitagi’s hand.

After a quiet moment watching the stars, Hitagi mentions her history of misfortune. But, she says, all of her suffering was worth it if it eventually led to this moment, lying still under the sky hand-in-hand with Koyomi. While she says she will try to make the physical element of their relationship work eventually, she offers this moment together in lieu of that, nothing but the two of them and a glowing field of stars. This place is of the utmost significance to her, she explains. Long ago, when her parents were happy, when Hitagi had yet to suffer an ounce, they brought her here. It harkens back to one of the only truly happy moments she can remember. It is her treasure, and now she wants it to be theirs. Having offered everything to him, Hitagi asks Koyomi if she loves him.

“I love you,” he says, quickly, honestly. The Hitagi Senjougahara before him is a far cry from the girl he first met, her every action veiled in a defensive hostility, the girl who once wished to never be emotionally exposed enough to be able to feel pain again. Now she expresses her deepest secrets freely with the one she loves, wanting nothing more than the emotional vulnerability she once fled from. Over the course of Bakemonogatari, Hitagi has grown into someone who is open to life and its varying emotions, willing to risk potential in order to experience moments like this with Koyomi.

“What do you love about me?” Her question carries none of the playful, sarcastic tone she usually has when interrogating him. She has just attempted to break herself into pieces for him to inspect, to decide what he likes and does not.

“Everything,” he says. “There is nothing about you I don’t love.” And when he asks her the same question, she responds in kind, praising the qualities he so often dismisses or ignores: his kindness, his looks, the way he would drop everything to rescue her at a moment’s notice. And while Hitagi isn’t ready to have a sexual relationship with Koyomi, she is ready to at least try something: she asks Koyomi to kiss her, something that neither has ever done. The final moments of the episode depict both Hitagi and Koyomi turning to each other, earnest smiles spreading across their faces. Then the camera pans up to the sky, Bakemonogatari‘s ending song beginning to play. While it plays for every episode, it takes until episode 12 for the lyrics to make sense. The song’s lyrics detail the many starry constellations, with the vocalist, now clearly singing from the perspective of Senjougahara, spiraling into a love song about being vulnerable and opening up. This song in itself is another clear sign of Bakemonogatari‘s heart, that fully realized relationship between its two leads. While there are many major characters throughout the series, everything from the show’s music to its emotional climax signal that it has and will always really be about Hitagi Senjougahara, Koyomi Araragi, and the relationship that leaves them both completely seen and fulfilled.

Episode 12 of Bakemonogatari is an unparalleled showcase of emotional character writing, a masterpiece that caps the series’s original broadcast off and raises it into being one of the greatest works in the medium. There are few stories that better depict characters finding love and growing as individuals to bolster that love, rather than some inherent flaws tearing the relationship apart. Although the final three online-only episodes wrap up the story and contain their own emotional catharsis for Araragi, Bakemonogatari‘s true, beautiful, and lovely emotional climax is episode 12 and the date it depicts.

Tsubasa Cat

There is an obvious change in Araragi at the beginning of episode 13: as he walks to school, he sports a huge smile, his thoughts swimming with his recent date and subsequent first kiss. This is the most outwardly happy that viewers see Araragi in Bakemonogatari, a clear sign of Senjougahara’s positive effect on his state of mind. He encounters Hachikuji on his walk, and he listens to her report that she has seen Shinobu, the vampire child Araragi shares a mysterious bond with, wandering outside of the city, gazing intently through the windows of a local donut shop. Araragi dismisses this immediately; after all, Shinobu is unable to wander freely, trapped under the supposedly watchful gaze of Meme Oshino.

The final few episodes feature the return of Tsubasa Hanekawa’s resident apparition, the catlike curse that takes possession of her body in times of great stress. The earliest stretch of the arc focuses on Araragi investigating what caused the apparition’s resurgence, as it was brought about before by Hanekawa’s fraught relationship with her parents. However, Araragi’s attention is divided by a sudden new problem: Shinobu, much like Hachikuji informed him earlier that day, has vanished. Her caretaker, Oshino, has no answers for how this happened, answering Araragi’s questions with vague riddles and amused apathy.

Araragi partners with Oshino to subdue the rogue “Black Hanekawa,” a label they use when she is under the possession of the cat apparition. Oshino binds Black Hanekawa to the roof of the abandoned cram school that he uses as his base. Araragi returns to his high school, still intent on succeeding in his studies so that he may accompany Senjougahara to college and experience a future at her side. When he returns to the cram school that afternoon, however, he discovers that Black Hanekawa has escaped, despite Oshino’s alleged supervision. Frustrated, Araragi bickers with his mentor, but his jabs are met only with Oshino’s trademark grin, the lopsided cigarette hanging from within it. As Araragi realizes he will get no help from Oshino with either of the missing apparitions, he flees via bicycle in exasperation. Oshino calls out to him from the roof of the school, waving an aloof farewell. Araragi thinks nothing of it and sets off to, for once, handle things without the guidance of the strange man who has taught him everything he knows.

While the Araragi from the beginning of Bakemonogatari would likely never ask others for help, it is here viewers see just how much he has grown over the course of the series. He reaches out to the girls he has helped with their own supernatural issues: Kanbaru, Nadeko, Hachikuji. They all agree to search for Shinobu on his behalf, scouring the city for any sign of the blonde vampire. Finally, Araragi calls his girlfriend, Senjougahara. He asks her to help him find Hanekawa, but she turns him down; before succumbing to the cat apparition, Hanekawa had enough clarity of mind to ask Hitagi to cover for her at school, leading the planning of an upcoming festival. As they confer, the couple showcase their newfound ability to work in tandem, each filling complementary roles. Senjougahara will fill the void Hanekawa leaves behind as class president, ensuring that her absence does not negatively impact the world she left behind to sort out her apparition-related issues. Araragi will track down Black Hanekawa, utilizing the skills he developed under Oshino’s tutelage to hopefully absolve her of the affliction once and for all. This cooperative strategizing and harmonious teamwork is the satisfying fulfillment of what was promised at the end of “Mayoi Snail,” when Araragi and Senjougahara promised to always be truthful and work together to solve problems. This agreement highlights just how far they have grown, both as individuals and as a couple. Though personal progress is a perpetual process, Araragi and Senjougahara have worked through enough insecurities and emotional roadblocks to function as a couple. After the call, Araragi waits for a moment, perhaps moved by this very realization settling over him. Then he heads out to find Hanekawa.

When he does track her down, Araragi soon discovers the source of Hanekawa’s stress: himself, or at least his relationship with Senjougahara. Black Hanekawa reveals her host’s feelings for Araragi, detailing a love that developed back when Hanekawa helped him deal with Shinobu in his first brush with the supernatural. Araragi has been indirectly causing Hanekawa immense pain throughout Bakemonogatari, confiding in her about his burgeoning relationship without knowing that each comment was driving daggers into her heart. The cat apparition tells Araragi that the only way to eliminate her is for Araragi to leave the happiness he has found with Senjougahara and begin dating Hanekawa instead. This raises an interesting moral dilemma for Araragi, one that harkens back to the character traits that so many of these apparition cases ultimately boil down to. Black Hanekawa is essentially asking him to ignore his own desires and practice self-sacrifice, something he has so willingly done in many of his previous encounters with apparitions in order to resolve them. This choice harkens back to the many times others have wondered why Araragi wasn’t dating Hanekawa instead of Senjougahara, questioning the unique bond that only he and Hitagi understand. And the Araragi at the beginning of Bakemonogatari might relent to Black Hanekawa’s demand, might throw away what makes him happy, his relationship, in order to satisfy someone else.

However, the Araragi standing before Black Hanekawa is one who has learned a difficult lesson for those prone to self-doubt and self-loathing, those who will throw away their own lives if it means bettering the life of another, especially a friend he values like Hanekawa. He has learned that sometimes it is okay to choose yourself, that some things are too vital to throw away. So he does choose himself, for the first time ever. He rejects Black Hanekawa’s ultimatum, choosing to remain with the girl who is as odd as he is, who plans for a future with him at her side, who makes him see the good in himself. All along, Bakemonogatari has been brilliantly building to this emotional climax, the dramatic choice Araragi must make between two ways of life. He could continue how he has been, operating with no agency or self-importance, apathetic to any potential toll on his own life. But he chooses to evolve, to live for the future he and Senjougahara envision together, one of growth, cooperation, contentment. In doing this, he finally acknowledges that he is not to blame for someone else’s problem. Although he is at the heart of Hanekawa’s emotional issues, it is through no fault of his own.

As he explains his decision, the narrative’s use of close perspective comes back into play. While Araragi speaks, his mind drifts to Senjougahara, the camera cutting to shots of her working diligently in Hanekawa’s absence. While Senjougahara was introduced brandishing school supplies as weapons in an aggressive self-defense, now she uses them for their intended purpose, constructing decorations for their class’s contribution to the upcoming school festival. This is a subtle but poignant way to remind viewers of their own growth, to show that her role in Araragi’s life inspires him to finally make decisions that are better for his own life.

Araragi rebuffs Black Hanekawa with the knowledge that he, for once, has no fallback plan. There is no Oshino to appear with a sudden rescue, no Shinobu to sap the apparition’s energy like she did during their Golden Week foray. Black Hanekawa deduces that, if Araragi won’t agree to leave Senjougahara, the only way for her to eliminate Hanekawa’s burden is to kill him. So she falls on him, overpowering him with ease, beginning to dismember him. Araragi initially relents, much in the same way he once did when the possessed Kanbaru disemboweled him. However, as he closes his eyes, he sees Senjougahara, the key moments in their relationship that have inspired him to develop as a person, to live a life that makes him happy. With her face in his mind, he chooses to live, fighting back in whatever weak way he can. When he fails to hold off Black Hanekawa’s rage, Araragi shouts out for help in a way he has never done before, setting his pride aside for a future at Hitagi’s side.

“Help me, Shinobu!” he shouts, calling for the missing vampire. And Shinobu appears, rising from his shadow, where she has apparently been hiding for this very purpose. She proves in a burst of might why vampires sit comfortably at the top of the apparition food chain, easily defeating Black Hanekawa and draining her of energy. In the cat apparition’s place is the normal Hanekawa, unconscious, again amnesiac to the events of her possession.

With another oddity resolved, Araragi returns to his normal life. He walks hand-in-hand with Hitagi, filling her in on the battle with Black Hanekawa. Now that the dust has settled, he squeezes her hand and promises her that on their next date, he will show her what he considers his own treasure. This important moment signifies how far he has grown; with his doubt behind him, he can open himself fully to Hitagi, much in the same way she presented her heart to him at the end of their recent first date. However, he soon discovers that Meme Oshino has vanished; the odd wave he gave Araragi from the cram school’s rooftop was seemingly a permanent goodbye. Araragi again enlists the aid of the girls he has helped throughout Bakemonogatari, a clear display that, although he loathes it about himself, his compulsion to help others has an overwhelmingly positive effect on the lives of those around him. His innate need to save others is what forms the very bonds viewers see as the group looks for clues to explain Oshino’s disappearance; it is also visible during Araragi’s confrontation with Black Hanekawa, in flashes of the girls searching the city for the missing Shinobu. While Araragi was always depicted as being alone at the beginning of Bakemonogatari, he is now surrounded by friends, encountering them and engaging in lengthy conversations on his way to and from school each day.

Meme Oshino actually plays one of the most overt and interesting roles in Araragi’s growth throughout the series, filling in as a sort of teacher. In the early apparition cases, Araragi relies on Oshino to essentially guide both he and the victim to a solution. This is seen most clearly when Oshino prepares and leads the ritual to rid Senjougahara of the Heavy Stone Crab, or when he directly tells the young couple how to resolve Hachikuji’s ghostly goal. Then Oshino gives Araragi the chance to solve Kanbaru’s affliction himself, allowing the teenager to take on the Rainy Devil in single combat. However, knowing his student would fail to defeat the apparition, Oshino calls Senjougahara, ensuring Araragi would ultimately be safe and even learn a lesson from his heedless self-sacrificial tendencies. Oshino then allowed Araragi to solve Nadeko’s snake curse with Kanbaru’s assistance, only offering verbal advice and remaining hands-off. As Bakemonogatari progresses, Oshino grants Araragi agency little by little, culminating in the final conflict within “Tsubasa Cat.” With Oshino’s disappearance, Araragi can see his mentor’s role in things clearly: Oshino freed both Shinobu and Hanekawa himself, providing Araragi with one final “test” that he was sure his student would successfully pass. Oshino’s wave from the cram school’s rooftop was effectively a passing of the torch; he is satisfied with Araragi’s growth, both as a person and as a resolver of apparitions. He can entrust Araragi to look after the city on his own. Oshino’s home base being a cram school is the most obvious symbol of his vital role in Araragi’s life.

During his final confrontation with Black Hanekawa, the cat apparition told Araragi that if he chooses to rescue everyone, no one will be special. She calls into question his relationship with Senjougahara, wondering what could possibly set her apart from the other girls Araragi has saved throughout the series. As Araragi calls off the search for Oshino, he and the girls mosey back into the city, chatting together as a group. However, as the girls each depart from the gathering, Koyomi Araragi is left alone with the one who matters most to him: Hitagi Senjougahara, who rides away with Koyomi on the back of his bicycle, an arm wrapped around his waist, her head leaned against him. In the end, Black Hanekawa was wrong about the nature of Araragi’s relationships; although he has formed special bonds with each of the girls, none of them compare to his connection with Senjougahara, his special one. They are two people drawn together by their many similarities, stark differences, painful pasts, and hopes for the future. This moment of solace is repeated many times throughout the greater Monogatari franchise; at the end of many of the series’s story arcs, Koyomi returns from some final skirmish to Hitagi, who is always waiting with a knowing smile, with open arms.Bakemonogatari is a difficult series to define. An argument can be made that it fits many different genres: there are certainly elements of horror, of mystery. However, the most fitting label has to be romance, and Bakemonogatari is one of the finest in the genre. Under the layers of supernatural violence and monster possessions, the core of the series revolves around two people finding love and working to improve themselves in order to allow that love to blossom and breathe. With Araragi and Senjougahara, original creator Nisio Isin and studio Shaft present a love story that rises above its medium, one that presents two flawed, fully-realized characters and a bond from which viewers can learn the importance of self-improvement—not only for oneself but for the health of their relationships. At its heart, Bakemonogatari teaches its audience how to choose themselves, how to open up to others, how to love fully.

An Ode to Kratos Part 2: Failed Fathers and Being Better

After God of War III, Santa Monica Studios released Ascension, a big-budget prequel story that essentially leads up to the opening moments of God of War. Ascension is yet another tale of Kratos being provoked by scheming deities; battling the primordial Furies, Kratos finds an unnecessary new motive to hate Ares and seek the vengeance he will go on to dole out in the first game. Critical reception of Ascension was mixed. The story retreads well-worn thematic material, and the combat—while featuring interesting new mechanics—isn’t as complex or engaging as God of War III, which arguably became the definitive version of the series’s initial hack-and-slash gameplay.

Due to Ascension‘s lackluster reception, Santa Monica realized that the God of War franchise essentially needed to be reinvented in order to prosper. Enter Cory Barlog, whose expansive direction of God of War II led to mass critical acclaim. Santa Monica drafted Barlog to develop a new vision for Kratos. Narratively, the Greek gods were mostly extinct. While some notable survivors—like Aphrodite and Athena’s ethereal form—technically escaped Kratos’s wrath, there are not enough deities left to form a reigning pantheon. Kratos’s epic Grecian adventure had nowhere to progress, as seen in the decision to make III‘s follow-up a prequel. Kratos’s emotional journey had also reached its crescendo; he had faced his family and mostly found the forgiveness he had so long sought out. Critics and fans alike had little interest in revisiting Kratos’s guilt over his family’s deaths; it was time for the god of war to face new challenges, both physically and mentally.

As the director for the new God of War project, Barlog revisited an old idea from series creator David Jaffe. Jaffe had once suggested that, upon eliminating the Greek pantheon, Kratos should visit a new polytheistic culture, become embroiled in the conflicts of another cast of gods. Barlog initially envisioned Kratos traversing the deserts of Egypt, struggling through the sands and avoiding the divine attention of gods like Set and Osiris. However, when developing Kratos’s prospective emotional journey, Barlog decided that ancient Egyptian civilization was too populous, that Kratos’s travels there would inevitably involve frequent human encounters. Barlong wanted to shift the focus of the series away from large narrative scopes and tell a more intimate tale of fear, regret, and learning to love others. After all, the most interesting natural development of an iconic antihero known for his violent wrath is to show the opposite side, to explore the soul of Kratos long since buried beneath trauma and rage.

To fit the new narrative mold, Kratos’s upcoming adventure was moved from Egyptian to Norse mythology. Scandinavian society was much more disparate, with communities spread apart in tiny clusters and its people preferring to stick to small groups. The shift in setting allowed Barlog and his team to hone in on Kratos’s inner struggle, and to feature fewer, stronger supporting characters throughout the tight narrative. To further highlight the game’s intimate scope, Barlog adopted a more cinematic approach to the story’s execution. Players would follow Kratos through a carefully crafted single camera shot that would remain unbroken for the entirety of the game’s events. This decision meant there would be no narrative leaps in time; players would remain with Kratos from the beginning to the end of his journey, witnessing even the smallest emotional moments. The camera trick also forced the combat to change dramatically from the previous games. Instead of the distant isometric perspective with Kratos’s chained blades swiping through enemy hordes across entire rooms, the stricter scope results in more personal brawls. Kratos’s new weapon forces players to slow down and trade blows with enemies rather than assault them with rapid attacks. To reflect this speed change, the Leviathan Axe uses frost-based attacks, with many abilities freezing enemies and allowing Kratos time to wail on them uninterrupted. This style of play contrasts heavily from the Blades of Chaos, weapons that were usually associated with fire and offensive flurries. This measured pace feels modern and refined, a perfect evolution of the combat that made the original series stand out.

In many ways, Kratos’s new form reflects Barlog’s own personal and professional life at the time of the god’s reinvention. Barlog had recently become a father, and he was returning to Santa Monica from a brief stint working on Tomb Raider at Crystal Dynamics. Barlog viewed both of these life developments as redemptive opportunities, second chances. He wanted the new Kratos to undertake a similar evolution, to receive a second shot at what the Spartan once valued most in life: family. The new game would focus on renewal, the risks and rewards of opening oneself to human connection, the desire to be better than one was before. The new series direction inspired the team to title the game God of War in the same vein as the very first game; this game was a new beginning for both the studio and its central character. After the burnout of Ascension, the franchise itself would receive a bold second chance at life.

God of War begins in snow-sodden isolation. The player takes immediate control of Kratos, who has seemingly traded his iconic dual blades for a large ax. Kratos is noticeably older, his striking goatee from youth now grown into a heavy shroud of beard. His ghostly pale skin plainly bears the many scars of his Grecian rampage—most notably, a grisly slash across his abdomen from his final suicide attempt. The frozen setting reflects the vacancy in the Spartan’s eyes, the repressed grief that haunts his features. As Kratos hacks down a tree, the circumstances of his new life become clear. At least a decade has passed since Kratos brought ruin to Olympus. He now lives in a new land, one colder and more barren than the city-state from which he hails. Since killing Zeus, Kratos has fallen in love with Faye, a woman who saved his life and to whom he married. Love and time have tempered Kratos. Through his romance with Faye, Kratos has let his edges soften. The Spartan has replaced anger with silence, his lightning-quick temper with thoughtful consideration. Unfortunately, hours before the game begins, Faye has died of some undisclosed circumstance. Despite once again opening his heart to another and imbibing in a happiness he feels is undeserved, everything always ends the same way. In the end, everyone goes away. Kratos’s loved ones depart from him in death, while he, an immortal, toils forward.

But this time Kratos is not alone. Faye has also left behind Atreus, their young son. Atreus is much like Deimos, as briefly glimpsed in Ghost of Sparta. In contrast to his gruff and emotionally distant father, Atreus loves unapologetically. He misses his mother deeply and expresses empathy for all living things, doting on animals in particular. Despite Kratos’s trademark abrasiveness, Atreus desires little more than paternal connection, a spark of affection from the quiet warrior. He is a sickly child, prone to fits of coughing and bouts of weakness. While Kratos is thick with old muscle, Atreus is slender and slight. Where Kratos wields heavy weapons and hurls fists, Atreus uses a small bow, deftly fires arrows from afar. Though Faye has trained Atreus to hunt and fend for himself upon her potential death, she has passed too soon. Atreus isn’t ready to make it in the harsh world alone, and he must rely on Kratos to protect him.

Sadly, the seeds of neglect have already been sown between father and son. As revealed through dialogue, Kratos spent Atreus’s childhood both figuratively and literally distant. While Faye bore the brunt of Atreus’s training, Kratos hunted for his family, built the small cabin they call home, protected them from the prying eyes of those who may wish them harm. A recurring theme in the new God of War and its sequel Ragnarök is distraction, one’s tendency to stay busy and avoid facing their feelings. While Faye was more than capable of hunting and providing, Kratos adopted the role in order to avoid vulnerability. Fearful of Atreus befalling the same fate as Calliope, Kratos remained perpetually at bay. Raised by a single mother and himself the son of a paranoid, tyrannical god, Kratos does not know how to be a father. Though most of Kratos’s absence is depicted through Atreus’s hurt remarks in God of War, players can observe this distance directly in one Ragnarök flashback. When Atreus was a newborn, Faye encouraged Kratos to hold his son, to let Atreus learn his face and voice. Out of self-loathing and fear of repeated history, Kratos refuses. Throughout both games, it is clear Kratos sees himself as a threat to his son, the wounds brought about by Calliope’s death reopened. To symbolize his fear of the past, Kratos—to mask the scorched scars left by the chains of the Blades of Chaos—wears cloth wraps over his large forearms.

Faye’s last wish is that Kratos look after Atreus; as a result, the Spartan must stick close to the son who terrifies him. Before death, Faye asked Kratos to cremate her, a common cultural practice. She also requested that Kratos and Atreus spread her ashes from “the highest point” in all of the realms. Upon being washed away by the sea after God of War III, Kratos mysteriously wound up in Midgard, the central realm in Norse mythology. Midgard was created by Odin, the patriarch of the Norse pantheon, to house the human race. Odin is frequently referred to as “All-Father,” indirectly reinforcing the themes of fatherhood within both Norse games. Alongside Midgard, eight other realms exist inter-dimensionally. These include Alfheim, home of the elves; Helheim, where those who lose their lives dishonorably spend eternity; and Jotunheim, the realm of the “Jotnar,” a race of giants with strenuous ties to the Norse gods. Odin and the other gods watch over Midgard from their own realm, the splendorous Asgard. God of War‘s depiction of the Norse gods is similar to its portrayal of its Greek ones. Odin and his ilk, referred to as “Aesir” gods, are presented as complex and morally flawed, not wholly good or evil. The Aesir often conflict with the Vanir, the other contingent of Norse Gods. The Vanir are known for their connection to nature, their ability to weave magic. Like the franchise’s treatment of Greek mythos, the Norse mythology source material is faithfully honored. Throughout the game, players hear stories of Odin and his family’s misdeeds, their long history of subjugating the Jotnar for personal gain. Due to the Jotnar’s gift of prophecy and Odin’s unquenchable thirst for knowledge, both factions remain forever at war. Though never visibly appearing, Odin seems similar enough to Zeus that these stories reinforce Kratos’s firm belief that all gods are petty and fallible, beings beyond redemption.

Though Atreus desires to accompany Kratos and spread Faye’s ashes, Kratos worries his son will succumb to sickness, that another of his children will suffer as an indirect result of his decisions. Kratos’s rejection of Atreus is embodied by his refusal to call his son by name; instead, he only refers to Atreus as “boy” throughout most of the game. Kratos grants Atreus the chance to prove himself; the duo hunt a great stag, and, although Atreus performs admirably, his shot fails to kill the creature. As Atreus draws his knife to put the stag out of its misery, he falters. He cares too much for the sanctity of life to truly take one. In this moment of sensitivity, Atreus needs his father’s gentle hand, kind words to help him process his pain, the loss of both this beautiful animal and his beloved mother. But Kratos rejects this weakness in his child, rebuffs Atreus’s compassionate soul. “Close your heart to it,” he says, an order he repeats many times throughout the story. Kratos wants to sharpen his son, show him that the world is hard and cruel. The world Kratos knows does not value kindness, those who wear hearts on sleeves. He assists Atreus in mercifully killing the beast. Atreus apologizes to his father for his perceived weakness, frustrated at his inability to overcome his good heart. Kratos wants to protect his son by shielding him from the horrors of the world rather than training him to properly handle life’s inevitable tragedies. “Do not be sorry,” Kratos says in response. “Be better.” This idea, while misguided in this instance, serves as a recurring motif throughout the expansive journey that lies ahead of them.

Shortly after the hunt, the pair are ambushed by a giant troll, their first true combat challenge as father and son. As Kratos fends off the bulk of the troll’s attacks, Atreus weaves around the battlefield and riddles it with arrows. From a gameplay perspective the blueprint of this cooperative fighting style can be seen in Ghost of Sparta‘s finale, when Kratos and Deimos stand together against Thanatos. As Kratos is pinned down by one of Thanatos’s constricting attacks, the player can tap the circle button to make Deimos hurl a spear into the god of death, freeing Kratos from his clutches. Many similar maneuvers can be executed in God of War. Atreus scrambles over enemies, choking them with his bow or peppering them with knife blows. Atreus’s main function in gameplay is to set Kratos up for devastating melee attacks, restraining the enemy long enough for his father to smite them with the Leviathan Axe. As the two progress through their journey, Atreus learns a variety of skills that make him even more effective, including summoning spectral animals to deal damage to tough enemies.

After the troll falls, Atreus showcases the first of many signs that he is more like this father than Kratos desires he be. In a fit of uncontrolled rage, the boy rushes the dead troll with his knife, slashing at its giant corpse. The stress causes Atreus to show signs of serious illness, something Kratos has long feared would return. Atreus’s recurring illness functions as a metaphor for Kratos’s flawed parenting; the more he enforces his strict self-preservative values, the more Atreus’s body suffers, his compassion clashing with Kratos’s callousness. Kratos deems Atreus “not ready” for the journey ahead, and he takes the boy back home to wait. At the cabin, Kratos has an even greater fear realized: sent by his father Odin, Baldur—a god—arrives at their doorstep, and he recognizes the divinity within Kratos.

In many ways, Baldur acts as a twisted version of the young Kratos. He dutifully serves as Odin’s lapdog, enforcing the All-Father’s will through chaotic means. As Kratos is forced to brawl with Baldur to hide Atreus’s existence, he discovers that none of his attacks leave lasting damage on the Aesir. Baldur is invulnerable, but this power came at the cost of being able to feel anything at all. Now an unflinching machine of destruction, Baldur parallels Kratos both young and old: though Kratos chooses to lock his heart away, Baldur has no choice. His lack of empathy is a natural result of his inability to feel pain. The only thing Baldur wants is to experience sensation again, to be able to freely feel as Atreus does. When Baldur’s strength puts Kratos on the back foot, the Spartan is forced to recall a bit of the great rage that once leveled Olympus, the destructive force that ruined Greece. Using his old power, Kratos barely manages to defeat Baldur. But he knows it is too late. Where gods are concerned, it never stops with just one. Now that the box holding his secret has been opened, it can’t be closed again.

Baldur’s visit leaves Kratos fearful of further godly trouble. Even with the risk of illness, he decides to take Atreus with him to spread Faye’s ashes. As the duo make their way for the tallest mountain in Midgard, Atreus tries to appeal to his father with jokes. He helps Kratos navigate the foreign land through his extensive knowledge of its nature and Norse lore and languages, lessons imparted on him by Faye before her death. Kratos is frequently surprised by the sharpness of Atreus’s wit, the wealth of information his brain contains. Atreus reads runes for his father, able to understand letters Kratos can not comprehend. The Spartan never bothered to learn the local languages, relying instead on Faye to help him make his way. Now Atreus fills that role, teaching his father bits of Old Norse vocabulary. In return, Kratos physically guides his son through the world. He catches Atreus when the boy must drop from great heights, and Atreus clings to his back when Kratos scales dangerous cliff sides. However, Kratos remains guarded and untrusting toward his son, unsure that Atreus will finish their journey. Atreus frequently asks to cary Faye’s ashes himself, even for only a few minutes. Kratos always refuses.

Each of the central characters in God of War is saddled by the grief of a fractured relationship, some broken bond that mirrors the one between Kratos and Atreus. Along their journey, they meet Brök and Sindri, a pair of dwarven brothers who were once a famous duo of blacksmiths. The siblings have long since separated after a series of petty spats, though neither can really remember what the final tipping point was. As Kratos and Atreus fulfill various tasks for them, Brök and Sindri each betray interest in the other’s well-being by asking how they are doing. Their fraught relationship is an obvious parallel to the strained bond between Atreus and Kratos, the inability for loved ones to truly connect, the thematic tragedy at the heart of God of War. While Kratos finds begrudging kinship with the gruff, irreverent Brök, Atreus connects with the good-spirited Sindri. The dwarven brothers actually created the Leviathan Axe and many other famous Norse weapons, including Thor’s hammer Mjolnir. They crafted Kratos’s signature weapon for Faye, who they both loved dearly for her compassion, the trait Atreus shares. Sindri even gifts Atreus with arrows crafted out of mistletoe, said to be stronger than typical ones.

Another notable ally Kratos and Atreus make is Freya, a Vanir goddess once married to the malicious Odin. Due to a tense history between the Aesir and Vanir gods, Freya entered a political marriage with the All-Father in order to establish a fragile peace between their people. While Freya was initially charmed by Odin, time and ambition turned him into someone sour, poisoning their relationship and leading to a bitter divorce. This relationship is somewhat fabricated for God of War, as Odin spends most of actual Norse mythology married to Frigg, another goddess. However, here the mythological characters Frigg and Freya have been merged into one. “Frigg” is instead an alternative name given to Freya by her husband, and the main title she is known by in Asgard. While with Odin, Freya led the legendary valkyries, powerful female winged warriors who serve at the head of Odin’s undead armies. In retaliation for their martial meltdown, Odin has sequestered Freya to Midgard. If she tries to hop between realms, she is violently tugged back to the human world. This inability to escape her controlling husband even in divorce gives Freya a modern nuance, depicting another relationship to compare to Kratos and Atreus. Much like the Greek era, each of the mythical characters in God of War is given a similar modern flare, some human elements that help players emotionally empathize with such larger-than-life gods.

Freya is also a parent: she is Baldur’s mother, though the two have long since severed ties. Their troubled relationship—out of any in God of War—most closely resembles that of Kratos and Atreus. Like Kratos, Freya sought only to protect Baldur from the dangers of the world; instead of preparing him for the inevitable heartbreak and wounds that stem from life, she sought a way to protect Baldur from making mistakes, from befalling any harm. With noble yet misguided intentions, Freya crafted a spell that turned Baldur invulnerable, granting her son what is essentially unbreakable skin. Freya’s obsessive desire to protect Baldur mirrors Kratos’s initial avoidance of Atreus, his wish to not expose his son to his long history of wrath and murder. The one exception to Freya’s spell is mistletoe; deemed too small and insignificant, Freya neglected to include protection from such a weak plant in her complex magical composition. This oversight actually adapts a famous Norse myth. In the original story, Frigg, Baldur’s mother, travels the nine realms and asks each living thing to swear allegiance to her son. She similarly skips over the mistletoe, as it is a relatively new plant and one she heeds little notice of.

Though Freya’s protective spell was successful, Baldur was mortified by its results. He felt betrayed by his mother, stripped of any ability to make his own mistakes, to experience the various pangs and even pleasant sensations life has to offer. Baldur curses his mother and vows to never forgive her. Over time, his invulnerability warps his brain, his view on the world and the many lives within it. Baldur embraces a sort of nihilism in response to his unbreakable body; if there are no physical consequences for any of his actions, then nothing really matters. He becomes his father’s lackey, fulfilling any task Odin assigns him without question. Freya’s overbearing tendencies failed to bring her closer to her son, instead having the opposite effect: due to her desperate actions, Baldur will never truly return to her.

But through her irreparable relationship, Freya has learned difficult lessons about parenting, knowledge which she tries to impart on Kratos. Like Baldur, Freya can immediately sense Kratos’s godliness, see the same divinity within Atreus. However, Atreus does not know his own nature. Though Faye knew of Kratos’s history and divine lineage, Kratos has withheld the information from his son, both out of hatred for himself and mistrust of gods in general. Freya warns Kratos of following in her footsteps, of letting his desire—to protect Atreus from the world’s hard truths—drive a permanent wedge between them. Kratos begins to realize the repercussions of his reservations, that Atreus’s sickliness is a physical manifestation of Kratos’s parental failures. The Spartan is walking the same path as Freya, and, in doing so, is creating another Baldur. However, despite this burgeoning awareness, Kratos is unable to open up to his son, to express what hangs above them.

Atreus’s illness serves as a looming threat throughout the first half of God of War, presenting itself at inopportune moments that disrupt the pair’s journey. The boy’s sickness often accompanies bouts of extreme Kratos-like rage, though his small body can not suitably house such strong negative emotion. Freya grants the two access to other realms via travel runes, though each realm requires its own. Early in the game, the father and son visit Alfheim on an errand to retrieve a bit of bifrost, the element that makes inter-realm travel possible. Towards the end of their time there, Kratos is tempted by the Light of Alfheim, the ethereal gathering place of the souls of non-human living things. From the radiant beam of light, Kratos hears Faye humming an old tune, similar to Calliope’s haunting song in Chains of Olympus. Though it is better explored in Ragnarök, God of War gives subtle glimpses into Kratos’s deep grief, the piece of himself missing in Faye’s absence. Kratos is temporarily lost in a flashback, pursuing Faye’s song despite his late wife never physically appearing before him. While there, Kratos hears many secret confessions that Atreus once made to Faye’s corpse, including admitting his hesitant hatred for his father. Atreus’s disdain for Kratos threatens to force father and son into the very cycle Kratos contributed to when killing Zeus: a cycle of father neglecting son, son killing father. Kratos sees the signs that he is not much better than Zeus, that his treatment of Atreus could create yet another Kratos.

A frantic Atreus manages to pull him back to reality, visibly shaken by his father’s momentary vanishing act. Though Kratos perceives he has only been gone a few minutes, the scene before him reveals the truth: while he was trapped for a much longer period of time, Atreus was forced to defend himself against a horde of Dark Elves. As Kratos absorbs the sheer volume of corpses littered at his feet, he finally sees the harm he is inadvertently causing his son, the great rage that has been passed on to Atreus. Atreus, lonely and frustrated, accuses Kratos of never really loving Faye, of not being capable of loving anyone. “Do not mistake my silence for lack of grief,” Kratos snaps back. “Mourn how you wish. Leave me to my own.”

“I’m sorry,” Atreus says, immediately guilt-stricken. “I didn’t know.”

“How could you?” Kratos says, the emotional gulf between him and his son sinking in. “You don’t know my ways.”

Kratos and Atreus make it back to Midgard, and they finally traverse its tallest mountain. In a skirmish, the chest strap on Atreus’s quiver snaps. Kratos uses one of Sindri’s mistletoe arrows to repair it. At the peak, the pair eavesdrop on Magni and Modi, sons of the mighty Aesir Thor. Seeking Kratos’s whereabouts, the brothers interrogate Mimir—Odin’s former advisor—who has been permanently imprisoned within the furled roots of a tree for over a century. After Magni and Modi depart, Mimir informs Kratos and Atreus that this mountain is not actually the highest peak in all of the realms, the one Faye wished to be spread from. Their actual destination is Jotunheim, though access to the realm of the giants has been destroyed by Odin. Mimir offers to help them on their adventure if Kratos decapitates him and finds some way to resurrect his head. The Spartan obliges. He then totes the disembodied dome back to Freya, who is easily able to use Vanir magic to bring Mimir back to life. Attached to Kratos’s waist, Mimir serves as their closest companion throughout the remainder of God of War. Primarily referring to Kratos as “brother,” he essentially becomes an uncle to Atreus, Kratos’s only true confidante. Throughout their travels, he regales the pair with stories of the Aesir, Vanir, and the nine realms, simultaneously teaching the player many Norse myths and God of War‘s interpretation of them.

The trio embarks on a quest to gain access to Jotunheim. They stumble across the colossal corpse of Thamur, a giant, the physical embodiment of Aesir cruelty. Thamur serves as yet another parallel to Kratos; after a bitter dispute with his Thamur, Hrimthur—his son—ran away to Midgard. Thamur pursued him, but he was ambushed by a hateful Thor, who murdered the giant in cold blood. Mimir tells Kratos and Atreus many stories of Aesir evils, reinvigorating Kratos’s hatred of all gods. Mimir also knows of Kratos’s Greek killing spree, but he offers the Spartan acceptance; in his years of service to Odin, he too committed many heinous acts. He encourages Kratos to come clean with Atreus, confirms Kratos’s suspicion that his secrecy is only hurting the boy. While exploring the devastation caused by Thamur’s murder, the trio is ambushed by Magni and Modi. Acting under Odin’s orders, the brothers seek to detain Kratos and deliver Atreus to the All-Father, though neither knows the reason for this. Everyone in service to Odin acts in blind faith, never knowing his motivation behind their assignments.

Kratos and Atreus are forced to defend themselves against the godly duo, but both Magni and Modi are powerful and share their father’s penchant for lightning. Thor’s sons demonstrate fear over failing their task, of what their father may do to them should they return home empty-handed. Their terrified admiration of Thor reflects Atreus’s own feelings for Kratos: though he loves and looks up to his father, he is always afraid when Kratos snaps, reveals the rage still seething deep within. Magni and Modi hide their anxieties behind their boisterous attitudes, swaggering in faux arrogance as they battle Kratos and Atreus. Modi makes matters worse by verbally harassing Atreus, insulting Faye and driving Atreus into a fit of anger and a subsequent bout of illness. Though Kratos has slain many gods, he tries to refrain from killing either of Thor’s ebullient sons. Due to this self-restraint, Magni overpowers Kratos, locking him into a defensive stance with powerful blows. But when Atreus snaps and hurls himself at Modi, a worried Kratos breaks through Magni’s assault and executes the Aesir with a fatal blow to the head. In the wake of his brother’s death, Modi reveals his true colors. He scampers away from the scene pitfully.

In combat encounters, the player can click both thumbsticks to activate Kratos’s Spartan Rage, a feature that heals him and allows him to do more damage with his bare fists. This ability effectively harnesses the immeasurable anger Kratos expressed in past games and uses it as a controlled source of power to escape difficult scenarios or turn tables in battle. When Kratos’s party travels to the temple of Tyr, the Norse god of war, Modi waylays them. He continues to taunt Atreus about Faye, causing the boy to have his own burst of Spartan Rage. However, unlike the hulking Kratos, Atreus’s fragile body collapses under the strain. He slumps, comatose. Kratos breaks free of Modi’s hold and wounds him, sending Thor’s son whimpering away with his life.

In desperation, Kratos hurries Atreus to Freya’s home, begs her to help him with magic. Freya agrees, but she tells Kratos what he already knows: Kratos’s lack of self-acceptance is what is wounding his son. In order for Atreus to truly heal and prosper, Kratos must find it within himself to share his true nature with his boy. Needing its heart to cure Atreus, Freya tasks Kratos with slaying the Bridgekeeper of Helheim, a troll who watches over dishonored souls as they enter the realm to begin their posthumous eternity. However, Helheim is a frozen realm, its dangerous denizens impervious to ice. In order to succeed in his quest, Kratos must find fire. In perhaps the best execution of the single-shot camera trick Santa Monica utilizes, players watch an entire gamut of emotion spread across the solemn Kratos’s features. He leaves Freya’s home in silent conviction. Throughout the game, Kratos and Atreus frequently travel via boat, harkening back to viking imagery of longboat combat. Usually these trips are peppered with conversations; sometimes Kratos begrudgingly imparts knowledge on his son, or Atreus may teach Kratos about Norse history. Now as Kratos boards a nearby boat, he is saddled with a silence louder than any of the monstrous roars or metal clanging he has grown accustomed to hearing. 

While Kratos struggles with storms in his heart, the gravity of his upcoming decision weighs heavily on him. Though his exact destination is unknown on an initial playthrough, the player senses Kratos is about to slide backward, slip into the old angry Greek God of War. To signify this, the camera pans away from Kratos’s tortured expression to reveal Athena’s grinning ghost, her quiet smile taunting the Spartan as he rows forward. The spirit vanishes and Kratos reaches his trip’s terminus: the cabin he built with Faye, still damaged from his skirmish with Baldur. As Kratos enters the cabin, he pulls aside a rug and pries up loose floorboard. Buried beneath his new life lies the symbol of his Grecian suffering, the ugly reminder of his shameful service to the old pantheon. Kratos unveils the Blades of Chaos, weapons that, no matter how hard he tried, he could not escape from. As is revealed through conversations with Atreus in Ragnarök, Kratos tried many times to throw away the Blades, to rid himself of the stubborn reminders of his past misdeeds. However, the weapons always found their way back to him, refusing to let him forget his mistakes. Kratos taking up the Blades of Chaos once again is also his first step to truly being a father, to accepting what he once was and what he still could be. In order to be better, Kratos understands he must let the old ghosts in. As the god of war turns to leave his home, Athena’s ghost waits in his doorway.

“There’s nowhere you can hide, Spartan.” Athena takes vengeful pleasure in taunting Kratos, her greatest failure. She lambasts him for acting as a mentor to Atreus, for fighting against his violent nature in order to be a decent father. “There is one unavoidable truth you will never escape. You cannot change.” Athena twists the knife, manipulates Kratos’s greatest fears. “You will always be a monster.”

But Kratos has already grown through his travels with Atreus, through heeding the advice of the wise Mimir. He is beginning to see his son for the miracle he is, the redemptive legacy he can still live behind. Even if Kratos is spoiled goods, Atreus is yet unblemished. The boy may still turn out alright.

“I know,” Kratos says, acknowledging the truth in Athena’s jab. “But I am your monster no longer.” He pushes past the ghost, tests the Blades of Chaos against a swarm of enemies, and sets off for Helheim. In the realm of the dead, Kratos slays the Bridgekeeper and retrieves its heart. However, he witnesses another glimpse of his past, the giant face of his father Zeus glaring down at him. Though temporarily shaken, unsure of how a Greek god can appear in Helheim, Kratos returns to Freya, completes his lonesome quest.

Freya is able to heal Atreus. In the process, she pleads with Kratos to open up to the boy, to accept his godhood and help Atreus grow into his own. Kratos claims that all born as gods are cursed, that Atreus is tarnished in the same way he, as the son of Zeus, also is. He feels guilty that he has passed on his divinity to the innocent Atreus; his godliness serves as a metaphor for his self-hatred, for the subtle corruption inherent in most adults. As Atreus wakes, he hears his father call him cursed, misinterprets this comment as being directed toward his weak body and compassionate soul. His heart is wounded by yet another paternal rejection. When the two set off to continue their journey, Atreus admits to his hurt feelings. Kratos, a little stronger now after embracing his past, forces himself to do what he thought impossible: tell his son about their natures.

“The truth,” he begins, facing away from Atreus in order to make speech easier. “I’m a god, boy, from another land far from here.” The camera remains on Kratos’s face as he struggles through his admission, demonstrating for the player how difficult it is for him to open up. “When I came to these shores, I chose to live as a man. But the truth is I was born a god.” And then the hardest part: “And so were you.” Though Atreus’s initially remains silent, he finally speaks up.

“Can I…turn into an animal?”

Kratos is dumbfounded by his son’s innocence, his easy acceptance of godhood. What weighs so heavily on Kratos is simply seen as factual information by Atreus, something to stir up his curiosity, to excite him about the future. Kratos is moved by his son’s guiltlessness, by Atreus’s ability to see good.

“Turn into an animal? No…no, I don’t think so.”

The trio returns to Tyr’s temple to find the Jotunhiem travel rune, this time unimpeded by Modi. Though never appearing in God of War, Tyr—like Faye, Odin, and Thor—is just as important as the characters who play direct roles. He is depicted through beautiful murals as a compassionate god, an exception to Kratos’s theory that all gods are evil by nature. Though Tyr is said to have been dispatched by his jealous father Odin, he was unanimously beloved by all beings, humans and Jotnar alike. Odin’s treachery against Tyr fits into the cyclical nature of God of War‘s father-son disputes. Tyr also somehow achieved inter-dimensional travel; as Kratos and Atreus explore his temple, Mimir points out the many artifacts from other cultures, including ancient Egyptian, Japanese, and Celtic. Tyr is depicted as a compassionate god, a deity more like Atreus than Kratos. He serves as an example of the power of an open heart, of freely loving those around oneself. It is no coincidence that Tyr is the Norse god of war, an obvious parallel to Kratos. Where Kratos—like Ares before him—ruled through conquest, Tyr existed almost as a servant to others. Though once serving Odin as Kratos served Ares, Tyr found his own path and ruled with kindness instead of carnage. Tyr serves as a constant reminder to Kratos that it is possible to be a good god, that one can always be better.

Though initially similar to the kind-hearted Tyr, Atreus begins to contrast with him. Knowledge of his divinity slowly corrupts him, instilling an arrogance that he uses as a perch to look down upon others. To Kratos, he verbally derides what he now views as petty squabbles between the likes of Brök and Sindri, problems he originally responded to with compassion. His hubris begins to boil over when Sindri tries to empathize with him over the loss of Faye, his estrangement from Kratos. Sindri mentions his struggles with Brök, to which Atreus explodes in annoyance. The boy calls the brothers’ issues “little people’s little problems,” wounding one of the few people who has shown him genuine kindness. Sindri continues to craft items for Kratos, though he does so while making downtrodden comments.

The trio are soon once again ambushed by a bloody Modi. After they easily fend him off, Modi reveals that, after returning home with news of his brother’s death, Thor savagely beat him. Though never seen in the game, Thor’s looming presence mirrors the wrathful Kratos, how Kratos fears he will become with Atreus. As Modi cowers away, Atreus’s arrogance escalates; he threatens Modi with his knife, contemplating slaying the god. Though Kratos tries to warn him away from said path, Atreus executes Modi anyway, an act he reacts to with indifference. Kratos keeps his growing frustration with Atreus at bay, though he attempts multiple times to pull his son back from this dark course.

When Kratos finally tries to use the Jotunheim travel rune, Baldur makes his reappearance. Though Kratos is able to defend them both against the Aesir, he warns Atreus to not engage. Atreus, emboldened by godhood, attacks Baldur anyway. When Kratos tries to restrain him, Atreus, swept up in the battle’s chaos, shoots his father with an arrow. A gleeful Baldur abducts Atreus, taking flight on a massive dragon. Kratos manages to latch on to the beast, uses his fists to brawl with Baldur once again as they tumble through the sky. Their battle interrupts the realm travel process, resulting in everyone crashing down to Helheim. Having escaped Baldur, Atreus is once again flippant when mentioning mortals, even dismissing his own mother. Kratos finally confronts his son. 

“You, boy, are not yourself.” Atreus reels away from the speech, though Kratos’s words strike home. “You are too quick to temper. You are rash, insubordinate, and out of control.” As Kratos unloads complaints, he is almost talking to his younger self, a shade of his past that Atreus is beginning to become. “You will honor your mother and abandon this path you have chosen.” Kratos throws his son a life line, a chance to escape following in his footsteps. “It is not too late.” As Kratos, Atreus, and Mimir make their way out of Helheim, Mimir warns the duo of Helheim’s tendencies to play tricks on the minds of the living, to make them face memories they regret. Atreus watches himself erupt on Sindri, murder Modi. His adult mask slips and reveals the boy beneath, remorse flooding through his body. He does not recognize himself.

As they near their exit, Kratos is confronted with visions of his own tragic actions, deeds that Atreus also now witnesses. The pair see a younger Kratos skewer Zeus with the Blade of Olympus. Though unaware of Zeus’s relationship to Kratos, Atreus is still shocked by his father’s savagery, that his dad is capable of such a horrific deed. But somehow witnessing each other’s lowest moments allows the father and son to grow a little closer; Atreus sees the violence his father is capable of, but he continues to love him in spite of it. Kratos is disappointed in Atreus’s arrogant trajectory, but he still tries to steer him straight. Atreus discovering Kratos’s past helps them both begin to heal the rift between them. As Atreus returns to himself and abandons his newfound arrogance, the two establish a new normal, a bond of trust and support.

After escaping Helheim, the trio discovers they need a particular key crafted for them in order to access Jotunheim, their final destination. Kratos attempts to enlist Brök’s help, though Brök dismisses his request; alone, he is incapable of creating anything other than a tool for war. But as if to mirror the growing closeness between Kratos and Atreus, Sindri reappears in Brök’s workshop, extends a peace offering. Though cruel, Atreus’s words carried truth; the issues Sindri and Brök faced were trivial at best, and it is simply not worth being apart from your most cherished person over petty conflict. The brothers put their differences aside and reunite, crafting the key needed to access Jotunheim.

In God of War, inter-realm travel requires traversing a celestial path within a massive void referred to as the Realm Between Realms. While on this path, Kratos is warned to not stray lest he wish to suffer potentially deadly consequences. In learning how to access Jotunheim, the party realizes that Tyr utilized a magical travel rune to depart from the path; this was how he was able to visit other cultures and lands. Filled with trepidation, Kratos and Atreus realize they must depart from the straightforward road and instead explore the dangerous depths of the astronomical vacuum around them. Kratos breaks from the trail, approaches a great ledge that mirrors the very cliff he threw himself from years ago in attempted suicide, his family and any chance for happiness taken by his own bloodied hands. Kratos steps to the ledge and gazes down into the purple abyss, once again inches away from the death he once desired.

But Atreus steps up next to him, Kratos’s living redemption. Though imperfect and far too much like Kratos for the Spartan’s comfort, his son’s life is precious. In Atreus, the tired Kratos finally finds a reason for moving forward, for clinging to life despite all of the dead who haunt him. Kratos has lived through an impossible degree of heartache and hardship, suffered many mortal wounds of the body and soul. But he is still here on the precipice of danger, his boy climbing onto his back, eager for the adventure that still awaits them. Through trials and travel, the boy has grown to trust his father implicitly, the walls between them crumbling slowly down. He has seen some of Kratos’s worst deeds and loves him anyway, finds comfort in his father’s steady strength. With Atreus clinging tight, Kratos falls forward from the path, only now not to die, now no longer on his own.

The trio gain access to Jotunheim, though they need one final key to complete their journey: Mimir’s missing eye. Odin removed the eye over a century before and hid it within a statue of Thor, one that has since been devoured by Jörmungandr, the world serpent. Jörmungandr is an incomprehensibly enormous snake, one said to have been knocked into the past by a mighty blow from Thor at Ragnarök, the cataclysmic event predicted to take place at the end of times. Kratos and Atreus encounter the serpent several times throughout the game, and—though its grisly appearance harkens back to the monstrous enemies Kratos slew in Greece—it is always friendly, treating Atreus in particular with a familiar respect. Due to the snake’s affection for Atreus, it allows the trio to enter its mouth via boat to search for Mimir’s missing eye. Though they achieve their goal, the group is interrupted when the serpent is violently attacked from outside. 

Jörmungandr spits up Kratos, Atreus, and Mimir onto a stretch of Midgardian land near Thamur’s corpse, and Freya soon joins them. In Helheim, Kratos and Atreus learned the truth of Freya’s relationship with Baldur, that she granted the god his invulnerability and consequently earned his ire. Baldur appears before the group, revealing himself to have assaulted the world serpent. Though Kratos and Atreus have mostly worked through their differences, Baldur still hates Freya for her overbearing nature, her decision to remove his ability to feel. Similar to Kratos, Freya is rife with guilt over her past actions. She accepts Baldur’s desire to kill her, even expressing willingness to allow him to. But Kratos steps between them. In Baldur’s murderous rage toward his mother, Kratos sees himself and Zeus, the cycle of god killing god, child killing parent. He stops Baldur, tries to teach the angry Aesir that vengeance on one’s misguided parent will accomplish nothing. Killing Zeus did not absolve Kratos of sin, did not drive away his guilt and rage. Baldur rebuffs the Spartan’s wisdom and attacks, though Freya soon separates them with binding tree roots. Baldur breaks free first. He approaches Kratos, but Atreus, having grown to truly love his father, stands in the way. Though small in body, he reveals his mighty spirit, his courage to face any threat to his dad. Baldur rewards the boy’s effort with a powerful punch to the chest, one that sends him crashing into Kratos and coughing up blood.

But Atreus is not as fragile as he once was; like his father, self-acceptance grants him strength, empowers him to withstand Baldur’s strength. As Kratos helps Atreus to his feet, they are shocked to see Baldur bleeding. His fist collided with the mistletoe Kratos used to repair Atreus’s quiver, breaking Freya’s spell and Baldur’s skin. Instead of fear, Baldur expresses glee at the sensation of pain, at regaining the ability to feel. Consumed by dismay, Freya reanimates Thamur’s massive corpse, attempts to use it to prevent the upcoming battle between Kratos and Baldur. She is unsuccessful. Kratos and Atreus clash with the Aesir, engaging in a furious final duel to protect both Freya’s life and prevent Baldur from taking Atreus under Odin’s orders. Early in the game, Baldur kept Kratos on the ropes, his invulnerability almost proving too much to handle. Now he is vulnerable, able to feel pain, to die. Kratos uses both the Leviathan Axe and the Blades of Chaos in harmony as he fights, merging the sins of his past with the hopes for his future. He stakes everything on stopping Baldur, though he is not alone: Atreus, his skills now sharply refined from their realm-trotting adventure, unleashes volley after volley of arrows against Baldur, granting Kratos the edge in battle by a wide margin. Though forced to hide in the house when Kratos fought Baldur at the beginning of the game, he is now trusted to fend for himself, to give Kratos the advantage he needs to defeat the Aesir. Throughout the skirmish, Freya desperately tries to stop both sides using Thamur, often lifting them in the air or blocking off parts of the battlefield. One particular sequence shows the two heroes working in perfect synchronization as they fight Baldur in free fall: Kratos restrains Baldur while Atreus blasts the Aesir with flawless shots.

After a bloody fray, Kratos beats Baldur into submission, prepares to do what he once did best: execute a god. Freya pleads with the Spartan to spare her son. Luckily, Atreus has impacted his father as much as Kratos has impacted him. The boy reminds Kratos of his earlier lesson, one preached by the Spartan and taught by the actions of the absent Tyr: one can always choose to be better. Kratos heeds his son’s advice and releases Baldur. He warns the Aesir to avoid both he and Atreus, or his mercy may eventually run thin. But Baldur’s priority has never really been Kratos or his son. Above all else, Baldur seeks vengeance against his mother. As Kratos and Atreus begin to depart, Baldur wraps his hands around Freya’s throat. Freya, overcome with guilt over breaking her son’s heart, submits to his attack.

However, out of gratitude for her saving Atreus, Kratos refuses to let Freya die. He approaches Baldur from behind and takes the Aesir’s head into his massive arms. “The cycle ends here,” Kratos says, while Atreus and Freya watch on. He seeks to set one final example for Atreus, to show that he is no longer the man from the beginning of the game who keeps to himself and lets gods sort out their own problems. Kratos finally accepts his own divinity, the responsibility that accompanies such power.

Kratos has learned the very lesson he has parroted to Atreus throughout the duration of the game’s narrative. While he dismisses Atreus’s apologies over small mistakes, Kratos is the one who is full of immense sorrow. Sorrow for who he is, sorrow for his violent past, sorrow for the loss of any friend or family unfortunate enough to cross his path. In growing with Atreus, Kratos finally forgives himself and stops being sorry. He chooses improvement, a future of trying harder, of being a better man, a better god, than he was the day before.

“We must be better,” Kratos says. He snaps Baldur’s neck, ending the life of one who was believed unkillable. Freya wails with grief over her son’s death, vows vengeance on Kratos for what he has done.

“You are just an animal,” Freya cries, her words mirroring Athena’s taunts in Kratos’s cabin. “Passing on your cruelty and rage. You will never change.” But where earlier Kratos accepted Athena’s insult, his bond with Atreus has strengthened him. His son’s compassion reminds him of his softer side, of the man who once loved Calliope and Deimos. Kratos has changed, through both the love of the late Faye and his raising of Atreus. He rebuffs Freya, in full confidence that she is wrong.

“Then you do not know me.”

Freya targets Atreus, implies that the boy only loves Kratos because he is unaware of his dad’s horrific misdeeds, his slaying of gods, of his father. So Kratos tests her theory. He tells Atreus everything: his service to Ares, his long history of murder, his act of patricide. Atreus is stunned by his father’s admission. He wonders if everything is hopeless, if all gods are fated to hate and kill their fathers, if he and Kratos are playing into the same cycle. But Kratos remains steady; he reassures Atreus that they are not the gods of old, Greek or Norse. Instead they will be the gods they choose to be, gods like Tyr, who lead with compassion and honor. The cycle of familial bloodshed ends with them.

Freya swears to kill Kratos and carries Baldur’s body away. Though saving her life, Kratos has become a villain to her, a destructive force she wishes she never encountered. With no more obstructions in their path, Kratos and Atreus finally set off for Jotunheim. Mimir voluntarily stays behind under the watchful eyes of Sindri and Brök. As father and son finally enter the realm of the giants, both are overwhelmed by its vast majesty, its isolated beauty. Jotunheim is a boundless land, its horizon cast in a perpetual sunset. The gravity of their journey’s ending leaves Kratos emotional. As Atreus continues ahead, Kratos takes a moment to look out over the expansive valleys, the broad mountain ranges in the distance. In this climactic moment of clarity, the Spartan recounts his travels with Atreus, his relationship with Faye. He thinks of his struggles in Greece, of a lifetime rife with tragedy. But here he still stands, and only a few feet away is the boy who saved him. Kratos unravels the wraps on his forearms, lets the wind carry them away and into the distance. The twisted scars from his Olympic chains, his lack of self-forgiveness, no longer matter. Through Atreus’s acceptance, he is no longer ashamed.

“I have nothing more to hide,” he says, arms outstretched, heart open to what lies ahead. As he catches up to Atreus, Kratos removes the pouch containing Faye’s ashes from his own waist. He hands them off to his son, his full trust for Atreus now apparent. The duo continue to climb this final mountain, entering a cave covered wall-to-wall in giant wooden plaques detailing the many prophecies predicted by the Jotnar over the ages. These carvings depict the follies of the Norse gods, of Odin and his family. They portray the pains of the Jotnar, their abuse at the hands of the Aesir. But as Kratos and Atreus reach the cave’s end, they discover a set of plaques dedicated exclusively to them, their travels presented beat-for-beat, all of their actions until now predestined. The pair discover that Faye was a famous Jotnar named Lauffey, and that she abandoned her people to live a life in Midgard. They also learn Atreus actually has another name given to him by his mother: Loki, the prolific god of mischief from Norse mythology. This narrative twist lines up with actual mythos; the mythological Loki is the son of the giants Lauffey and Fárbauti, whose role Kratos fills in God of War. Little is known of Fárbauti in actual myth, only that his name essentially means “dangerous striker.” This obscure hole in Norse mythology is brilliantly utilized by Santa Monica to simultaneously fit Kratos into their new story and honor the ancient culture they pull from.

These revelations excite Atreus, leaves him curious over the meaning of his Norse name. As Atreus rushes to the mountain’s peak, Kratos discovers one final plaque concealed behind a curtain. It depicts an adventure to come, trials the duo will face, gods they may encounter. But it also shows a crying Atreus on his knees, a figure resembling Kratos lying dead in his arms. Kratos covers the plaque and keeps quiet, joining his son at the mountain’s top. There they discover a mass grave of Jotnar corpses, each strewn haphazardly over another. Atreus realizes he may be the last Jotnar, and Kratos understands this is one of the reasons Faye ordered their ascent. While looking out over the giant graveyard, Kratos and Atreus complete their task: the pair open the pouch and, together, spread Faye’s ashes to the wind, watching as they disperse out over her fallen kinsmen. Father and son watch on in silence, the once-threadbare bond between them now strong and sure, sturdy enough for whatever a future of intrusive Aesir or vengeful Vanir may hold.

Throughout the game, Atreus begs his father to tell a meaningful story, to allow him a glimpse of the Spartan’s past. With Mimir’s heckling, Kratos attempts to do so multiple times, but his tales always fall flat. As they descend the mountain, Kratos reveals to Atreus the source of his name. He recalls a kind-hearted soldier who once served him, one who spread his compassion throughout the ranks. This Atreus was such a source of light that he could even brighten up the reserved Kratos. Even when he died, Kratos remembers, the young soldier had a smile on his face. He named his son after him in the hopes that his Atreus would shine with kindness in the same way, would bring joy to those around him. Somewhere along the way, Kratos forgot this wish. He stopped seeing the potential good in his son, replaced “Atreus” with an unsentimental “boy.” But now Kratos remembers naming him, remembers the second chance both Atreus and Faye gave him. The duo collect Mimir and finally head home.

Unfortunately, several threats are brewing in Midgard. The cataclysmic Ragnarök is said to be preceded by a long season of apocalyptically cold weather, a period referred to as Fimbulwinter. Snow begins to fall heavily in even the sunnier regions of the human realm; bits of the lake Kratos and Atreus traverse start to freeze over. Brök and Sindri remark on the plummeting temperature, the end times promised by such drastic climate change. In Norse mythology, Baldur’s death at the hands of Loki triggers Ragnarök, and it seems the same order of events may play out in God of War. Mimir informs Kratos and Atreus that, in their brief absence, he encountered Freya. She had recovered her valkyrie powers, armed herself in preparation to reap vengeance on her son’s killers. Atreus can not understand her rage, but Kratos does. He realizes the choice of life he has robbed from her, the same decision stolen from him years ago by Athena.

The game ends with a dream sequence, perhaps a prophecy: after returning home to sleep, Kratos and Atreus are shaken awake three years later by violent thunder. As they emerge from their cabin into a torrential downpour of freezing rain, they spot a hooded Thor who has arrived at their doorstep with motives unknown. Thor reveals his hammer, clearly prepared for a violent confrontation. But Atreus awakens, finds that Fimbulwinter has yet to fully set in. He sees his father beside him, preparing for yet another day, the future before them wide and untold. Both Kratos and Atreus have sinned, but within the other they have found forgiveness. The past is to be learned from. Ragnarök itself may be approaching, but it is tomorrow’s problem. Though they will brace for events to come, for now there is only today, another unknown journey before them. Atreus straps on his quiver and bow, follows Kratos out into the snow.

An Ode to Kratos – Part 1: Grief of a Greek God

God of War

For many children of the early 2000s, owning a copy of God of War was a sign of having cool (or oblivious) parents. An entire generation of kids—jaws dropped in raw awe—committed brutal executions against mythical beasts and undead soldiers. These kids hammered circle buttons to finish the game’s sex mini-game, their burgeoning curiosity overshadowed by their fear of an intrusive parent. 

When compared to other gaming mascots of the era, Kratos, God of War‘s protagonist, harshly stands out. On the same console, most kids would more likely be playing Sly Cooper or Kingdom Hearts—stories with easily-digestible themes and cartoonish combat. Unlike other kind-hearted PlayStation mascots, like Kingdom Hearts’ Sora or Ratchet and Clank‘s eponymous duo, Kratos was not a figure parents would want their children to aspire to be. Sporting an eternal grimace and a striking red tattoo over his face and torso, the spartan warrior ripped through his enemies in a storm of 480p viscera. He rescued almost no one, sometimes even going so far as to kill the innocent himself. 

While family-oriented video games of the time featured heroes fighting for some noble cause like world salvation, Kratos was simply hellbent on his vengeful quest to murder one enemy: Ares, the Greek god of war. Kratos’s backstory is gradually revealed throughout the events of the first God of War. Like most able-bodied Greek men, Kratos lived a life of military conquest. Born in the city-state of Sparta, Kratos enlisted in the legendary Spartan army. The caring man Kratos may have grown into is squashed by the horrific trials that the famously brutal Spartan training entails. In Ghost of Sparta, Kratos is depicted as a child who cares for his brother Deimos and mother Callisto dearly, though he hides this beneath is layer of stoicism. This concerned boy is unrecognizable in the man players see in God of War. Through military conquest, Kratos quickly earned enough combat valor to be promoted to the rank of general, gaining the leadership of elite soldiers and utilizing them to dutifully sack numerous cities in the name of Ares. Kratos’s success crashed to a halt after a conflict against eastern barbarians. As his fellow Spartans were slain around him, Kratos offered Ares a desperate plea: his one-track service in exchange for the god saving his life. Through divine intervention, Kratos was spared. In return, Ares gifted him with two barbaric weapons dubbed the Blades of Chaos. The blades are attached to Kratos via chains that permanently melt into his flesh, caking his forearms in thick scars. Kratos used these powerful blades to massacre entire cities in the name of the god who rescued him.

Despite the opening hour of God of War depicting Kratos as a ruthless killing machine, the Spartan warrior has always held a softer side—one now largely forgotten in many discussions that cite God of War (2018) as completely converting the antihero into a sensitive man. Many players lament the ridiculously perceived lack of badassery in Kratos’s modern depiction. The same kids who illicitly played God of War too early in life remember him as a stoic warrior who cared for nothing but drawing blood—but this couldn’t be further from the truth. In reality, each of the early God of War games highlight the complexity of the Spartan general. Kratos was once devotedly married to a woman named Lysandra, and from the couple came a daughter, Calliope. Flashbacks featuring Kratos’s family are sprinkled throughout the series, but these glimpses successfully paint the portrait of Kratos as a decent family man. His relationship with Calliope is particularly fleshed out throughout his Greek adventures. In particular, the PlayStation Portable spinoff Chains of Olympus showcases Kratos’s love for his daughter above all else. A late cutscene in the underplayed Ascension, which is otherwise light on story, demonstrates Kratos’s remorse over his Spartan service separating him from his family, his growing desire to be by his family’s side instead of waging wars overseas.

When the gameplay calls for Kratos to be an unflinching force of destruction, the player may easily forget the true tragedy that lies at the heart of Kratos and his many plights. In the end, Kratos is always but a tool of the Greek pantheon and their petty familial squabbles. The perceived inhumanity that Kratos embodies is exactly what the Greek gods seek to hone as a weapon. Kratos is the plaything of Zeus and his godly ilk, his potential happiness an obstacle that stands in the way of the gods using the Spartan for their own nefarious methods. At the behest of Ares, many of Kratos’s military conquests before God of War involved slaying slews of innocent civilians whose only “crime” is worshiping Athena, Ares’s sister. Ares openly views Kratos as his tool; he uses the Spartan like a sword, slices through Athena’s followers in order to deal small blows to her. Athena herself uses Kratos throughout the God of War series, though she does so through a veil of good intentions. Despite appearing to have his best interest at heart, Athena weaponizes Kratos’s rage and turns him against Ares, convincing him to murder the god by the end of the first game. The very first cutscene in God of War takes place after Kratos has stricken down his former idol; the player sees a hopeless Kratos on the ledge of the highest peak he can find. “The gods of Olympus have abandoned me,” he mutters, his voice hollowed out by remorse. Kratos then casts himself into doom, plummeting toward a likely suicide. The exact reason for Kratos’s immense depression is only fully revealed in the game’s finale. 

Once a loving husband and father, Kratos is transformed by Ares into a single-minded slaughterer. The antagonistic Ares works behind the scenes to free Kratos of any human connection, viewing the Spartan’s familial ties as his only weakness. To accomplish his goal, Ares transports Lysandra and Calliope to a village housing one of Athena’s temples before ordering Kratos to raze the camp to the ground. In his blind assault, Kratos inadvertently cuts down his beloved wife and precious daughter with the blades Ares gifted him. As life drains from their bodies, so too does humanity evacuate Kratos. He becomes exactly what Ares desired him to be: a merciless killer, cold-blooded and catastrophic in his violent pursuits. To make matters worse for Kratos, he is plagued nightly by dreams of his misdeeds. He sees time and again the Blades of Chaos cutting through Lysandra, Calliope collapsing beneath one lethal blow. Kratos seeks only to end his nightmares, to be with his family once again in death. He is given the moniker “Ghost of Sparta” due to his bleached white skin, the ashes of his wife and child grafted onto him and forever obscuring his dark complexion. The alias also fits his emotional vacancy, as Kratos is figuratively dead inside already.

Enter the saintly Athena, goddess of not only wisdom but also warfare. Athena is the antithesis of Ares; she is kind of the surface, acts as if she earnestly wishes to help Kratos end his suffering. Athena offers Kratos a way to clear his mind: in exchange for killing Ares, she promises to rid him of his nightmares. However, while Ares used Kratos as an arbiter of chaos, Athena seeks to use him as an enforcer of her will. By killing Ares, Kratos will bring order back to Greece and Olympus. Kratos is propelled by guilt to take Athena’s offer, hoping to free himself from his chains and live in peace without the memory of his family’s blood splattering over him, his own blades shredding their skin and sinew.

But Athena’s true machinations aren’t clear until the game’s closing moments. During his final battle with Ares, Kratos is taunted by the god of War. Ares wages psychological warfare with his former herald, allowing him the opportunity to defend his family from many clones of himself. The story is further expounded upon by the gameplay. Santa Monica Studios does an excellent job throughout the franchise of reinforcing a game’s themes in key gameplay moments. As Kratos, the player is tasked with protecting his family and preventing their health from reaching zero. If the family takes a substantial amount of damage, Kratos can heal his family by embracing them. This action utilizes the same button input mapped to the many executions Kratos has committed earlier in the game. This beautifully reflects the duality of God of War‘s tortured protagonist: Kratos is a killer, capable of horrific acts of violence. But at his core, he wants to be a good man, a reliable leader, a loving father. With the same button capable of ripping the heads from his enemies, Kratos can heal his family. After a long struggle, Ares demonstrates a tragic truth: there is no magic spell that can free Kratos of responsibility for his actions. His slate will never really be clean. Kratos watches his family die once again, and he uses the ensuing rage to do what should be impossible: kill a god.

As Ares lies dead, Athena reveals to Kratos what he perhaps already knows. She can’t actually lift his burden, and he will dream of his dead family for as long as he lives. So Kratos finds himself on the precipice of death, abandoned by the god who promised to rescue him from his past. He hurls himself to certain doom, eager to be rid of his unending guilt. But Kratos isn’t killed by the fall. He dies many times throughout the franchise, but death has a way of not sticking for the Spartan. Athena rescues Kratos against his will, convinces him to cast aside his mortal concerns and ascend to take the godly throne Ares left vacant. Unable to die as he wishes, Kratos reluctantly becomes the new Greek god of war, vowing to use his immense power to raise hell for the gods who constantly toy with him.

Chains of Olympus

Though the three spin-off games do little to advance the overarching narrative, each title provides insight into Kratos’s bleeding heart. Both Chains of Olympus and Ghost of Sparta highlight Kratos’s relationship with a single key family member. The former takes place before God of War, when Kratos still dutifully served Ares. In Chains, Kratos investigates the disappearance of the sun from the sky. His inquiry draws him to the underworld, where he is haunted by the voice of Calliope. Kratos is frequently distracted from his main objective each time he hears his dead daughter hum an old song, her ghostly voice playing on his bottomless guilt and drawing him deeper into Hades.

Kratos discovers that the Titan Atlas, once imprisoned in the depths of Tartarus, has somehow escaped its confines. Through a series of  travels and trials, Kratos unfurls a vengeful plot set in motion by Persephone, the goddess of seasons. Sick of her miserable, unwilling marriage to Hades, Persephone seeks the destruction of Olympus. Like Athena and Ares in the main trilogy, she manipulates Atlas’s resentment for Zeus and utilizes him to accomplish her goal. When Kratos finally confronts her, Persephone presents to him Calliope’s soul, forever at peace in the Elysium Fields. The goddess grants Kratos the chance to join her, to have not only the finality of death he craves but also reunion with his most loved one. For a moment, Kratos accepts her offer, content to spend the rest of eternity with Calliope, a more peaceful fate than he deserves. However, he realizes Persephone’s true aim: by destroying the Pillar of the World, Persephone will decimate both Olympus and the underworld, including the Elysium Fields and all of the souls who reside there. While Persephone’s objective may seem extreme, her motives are relatable to the Spartan; he too has lost everything at the will of the gods, and he desires little more than to see them pay for their sins. Kratos is faced with a loaded choice: spend his final moments with Calliope and allow her soul to be wiped away with the rest of the world, or abandon his daughter in eternal peace and stop Persephone’s plot.

Kratos’s heartbreaking decision is presented in gameplay similarly to the climactic battle in God of War. As Calliope clings to his leg, begging him to stay, the player must mash the circle button in order to push her away. The first attempt is unsuccessful, as gameplay merges perfectly with narrative. Kratos does not want to leave his daughter, but he knows that shoving her aside is the only way to offer her everlasting tranquility rather than a few pleasant moments with her distant father. Kratos steels his heart and deserts his daughter, finding the willpower to kill Persephone and reluctantly rescue Olympus—though he will eventually fulfill the goddess’s desire on his own.

Ghost of Sparta

Ghost of Sparta is the only thorough glimpse players get into Kratos’s tenure as the god of war. The foundation of the game’s narrative is built through brief flashback sequences. Kratos is revealed to have had a brother, Deimos. Deimos serves as a foil for Kratos; though the Spartan has always had a soft side, his hard-headedness and stoicism have steered him since childhood. Where Kratos is cold, Deimos is warm. He is kind-hearted and admires his brother above all else. Kratos desires to become a great Spartan warrior, and Deimos, despite lacking his brother’s constitution, wants to make him proud by becoming a Spartan as well. Kratos tries to strengthen his brother through rough combat practice, frequently leaving his younger brother bruised and beaten. Their adolescent appearances also contrast greatly: while Kratos is physically unblemished, Deimos was born with unique birthmarks that trail across his entire body. 

Ghost‘s story includes the recurring thematic relevancy of prophecies and the gods’ attempts to subvert them. After hearing a prophecy that a “marked warrior” will one day slay him, Ares—accompanied by Athena—abducts Deimos one afternoon while he and Kratos are training each other in combat. When Kratos tries to stand up to the god, Ares strikes him down, leaving the signature scar through his right eye that Kratos sports long into adulthood. While Ares wishes to casually kill Kratos for his insolence, Athena secretly knows the truth of the prophecy: Kratos will accrue red tattoos to match the birthmarks of the brother he believes dead. He will become the “marked” murderer of Ares and even eventually dethrone Zeus himself. Athena convinces Ares to spare the Spartan’s life, and Kratos fosters a lifelong guilt over the loss of his brother. In actuality, Ares delivers Deimos to Thanatos, the god of death. Thanatos tortures his new captive for many years, transforming the gentle boy into a hateful man, one who resents his older brother for not rescuing him. 

As the god of war, Kratos discovers evidence that Deimos is alive, imprisoned in Thanatos’s domain. He embarks on a journey to free his brother, using his godly powers to decimate powerful foes and save many of his Spartan followers along the way. One particular group of Spartans rewards Kratos with a spear and shield, allowing the player to experience Kratos’s Spartan fighting style and adding a fresh layer of complexity to the combat gameplay. The new weapon set also holds narrative weight, beginning a trend in the series of weapons other than the Blades of Chaos carrying personal stakes for Kratos.

After slicing his way through numerous monsters, Kratos ultimately finds and extricates Deimos. But Deimos has had years to stew in indignation, his misplaced bitterness festering for over a decade. He attacks Kratos, unleashing the years of pent-up rage against his undeserving brother. Succumbing to guilt, Kratos allows Deimos to nearly take his life. However, Thanatos interrupts the sibling spat, snatching Deimos and whisking him away to lure Kratos into further danger.

Kratos rescues Deimos from Thanatos’s clutches, arms his brother with the same spear and shield granted to him by his Spartan subjects. This exchange essentially completes the Spartan training the brothers engaged in as children, Deimos now strong enough to hold his own against Kratos. Finally fighting side-by-side as Spartans, the brothers defend themselves against the monstrous Thanatos. But their reunion is short-lived: in a burst of strength, Thanatos crushes Deimos to death, ending his temporary life of freedom. In return, Kratos enacts swift, lethal vengeance on the god of death. Kratos cradles his younger brother in his arms, and—steered by the player—embarks on a long trek to ultimately bury him. The length of the walk allows players to feel the growing weight on Kratos’s shoulders, the guilt that expands within him. Kratos vows to use his divine power to wreak further chaotic havoc on the rest of the pantheon, setting him on a fated collision course with his father, Zeus.

God of War II

Despite his gruff exterior, Kratos is always driven through his grandiose journeys by his wounded feelings, the guilt he feels over the loss of his few loved ones. In the sequel God of War II, eight years have passed since Kratos’s divine ascension. Much of the Spartan’s sentimentality has been stripped away by his service to Olympus. Kratos acts as a wrathful god not dissimilar to his predecessor Ares: he uses his armies to ransack cities that swear fealty to his fellow gods. Sensing the future threat that the Spartan will bring to Greece, Zeus betrays and fatally impales the god of war. To add insult to injury, Zeus massacres the legions who worship Kratos. This act of cruelty inadvertently reignites the soul in the otherwise callous god of war. Kratos literally climbs his way back from death, seeks out the mystical Fates who are capable of rewinding and changing time. On his quest, Kratos slays a roster of famous Greek heroes, including Perseus and Theseus. He accrues and weaponizes a slew of mythical items like the Golden Fleece, utilizing these legendary objects to ultimately slay the Fates, travel backward in time, and confront Zeus  at the moment of the older god’s betrayal.

The depiction of Zeus in most Greek myths is that of a widely revered yet greatly flawed mighty god. Many myths detail Zeus’s romantic affairs, and a number of famous Greek heroes stem from these sexual encounters. Zeus has cataclysmic daddy issues: his siblings were devoured as infants by the Titan Kronos, their father. Kronos swallowed his children out of fear that they would one day grow up to slay him, as he himself did to his own father, the primordial deity Uranus. Zeus was whisked away at birth and raised in secrecy by his grandmother Gaia. Through extensive training, Zeus—much like Kratos—hardened his heart and grew into a fearsome warrior. He waged war with his father and the other Titans, freeing his siblings from Kronos’s captivity and overthrowing the Titans’ hierarchy. Though he spared his father’s life, Zeus trapped Kronos in a fate worse than death: eternal suffering in Tartarus, the deepest pit of the underworld. This tragic cycle of fathers killing sons is prevalent throughout all of Greek mythos, and it is also the very heart of the God of War franchise. God of War‘s Zeus acts as a natural extension of Greek mythology. His long history of petty assaults and shallow sexual infidelities is intact.

Many of the actions Zeus takes both before and throughout the series are in an effort to put off the same dreaded fate of his father and grandfather. One of this Zeus’s many paramours was none other than Callisto, Kratos’s mother. Unbeknownst to Kratos, Zeus’s murder of him is an attempt to subvert the cycle of violent overthrow. By snuffing out the rebellious Kratos, Zeus eliminates the biggest threat to his godly rule, to his life of opulence and trifles. But unfortunately for Zeus, his betrayal is what gives Kratos new purpose, provides fuel for a murderous rampage to avenge his dead soldiers. Before Zeus’s betrayal, Kratos wanted little more than a true death. Had Zeus struck him down and left his armies alone, Kratos may have died in peace, sought out his beloved Calliope and Lysandra in the underworld. However, Zeus’s savagery instilled in Kratos a new reason to live: to avenge all lives collaterally lost through the petty antics of the gods. 

Though Kratos is able to defeat Zeus, Athena interrupts him before he is able to deal the killing blow. The death of Zeus will result in widespread chaos throughout Greece, the fragile order upheld by the gods crumbling to ruin. Here Athena reveals her true colors: defender of the status quo, a conniving god willing to use Kratos to sustain her comfortable Olympic way of life. But Kratos is finished with fate, sick of existing as merely a weapon for divine familial rivalry. He takes one final lunge for Zeus—but Athena is willing to give up her physical form to ensure her father’s reign remains everlasting. She throws herself in front of Kratos’s blade and dies in Zeus’s place. Though Kratos once mourned for Calliope, Zeus is unmoved by his daughter’s mortal sacrifice. He flees the arena and summons his siblings and sons to defend Olympus from Kratos’s unyielding wrath. Meanwhile, God of War II ends with Kratos taking a page out of Athena’s book: he decides to weaponize the Titans, the only beings capable of brawling toe-to-toe with Zeus’s family. He travels back in time to the original battle between Zeus’s siblings and their Titan predecessors, and he brings the Titans to the present in order to storm Mount Olympus and slay his father.

In fighting to prevent fate, Zeus unwittingly sets his doom in motion. This theme appears time and again throughout the series, and it is even the foundation for the events of God of War: Ragnarök. Acting out of fear, Zeus essentially fills the shoes of Kronos: terrified of a son that may one day kill him, he seeks to control and then ultimately cuts down Kratos. On the other hand, Kratos plays out the same cyclical role of the younger Zeus: trained by a deity—in this case, his unknowing half-brother—to be the ultimate warrior, he pursues vengeful justice against his tyrannical father. The conclusive clash between father and son is predestined, and, much like Kronos, any attempt to prevent this fated battle actually makes it more inevitable.

God of War III

God of War III serves as the conclusion to Kratos’s journey, both physically and emotionally. Kratos is unable to die satisfied until his vengeance is realized. He sees the gods for the pestilence they are, the remorseless way they use their subjects as toys. Kratos uses the gods as an external source of blame for his family’s deaths, replacing his spite toward Ares with a hatred for the pantheon as a whole. In his mind, destroying Olympus will truly avenge Calliope and Lysandra. The god of war is incapable of looking inward, of seeing that his destructive wrath played a role in his losing everything.

Kratos fights his way up Mount Olympus, cutting down any god who obstructs his path. He pounds Posieidon’s skull in, drowns Hades in the River Styx, and slices Hermes’s legs off. When the Titans betray Kratos, he turns his blades against them as well, slaying Gaia and Kronos. The demigod hero Heracles also attempts to stop Kratos. Another son of Zeus, Heracles hopes killing Kratos will curry favor with their father. He resents Kratos for the attention Zeus heaps upon him as a result of the Spartan’s trouble-making. Kratos brutalizes his half-brother without sentimentality, their shared blood meaning nothing to him. Along the way, Kratos is assisted by an ethereal Athena, who once again convinces him she is on his side. She suggests Zeus’s reign should indeed come to an end, and that Kratos is the only one who can stop him. While Kratos chops through the pantheon, his rampage has widespread ramifications throughout the human population of Greece. Great storms and plagues swarm the city-states, causing wide-spread chaos and death throughout civilization. As Kratos ascends Olympus, he sees massive tornadoes and floods wreak havoc upon the land, illness and insects picking apart its people. Much like the death of his wife and daughter, Kratos ignores his own guilt over this loss of life; he chalks the destruction of society up to the gods, pushes forward to dish out his wrath on Zeus.

Throughout his journey to slay his father, Kratos hears of Pandora, an immortal child created by the smith Hephaestus. The Spartan learns that Zeus, in another attempt to cheat inevitable death, has locked the child away; she is the key to unlocking the Flame of Olympus, which would allow someone to open the mythical Pandora’s Box and grant them the power to kill Zeus. Kratos seeks out Pandora in order to attain this mystical strength, but, when he finds her at the heart of a labyrinth, he is immediately reminded of the little girl he lost. In Pandora, Kratos sees Calliope. He projects his daughter onto the synthetic child, convinces himself that rescuing Pandora will somehow bring retribution for his past, cleanse the blood from his scarred palms. But as Kratos brings the girl to the Flame, he uncovers a horrific truth: to access the power locked within the box, Pandora must give her life.

Although Pandora is willing to die for Kratos to stop Zeus, the Spartan refuses to let her sacrifice herself. Zeus arrives and mocks Kratos, chastises the petulant rage that drove him to wipe out an entire pantheon of gods. Zeus warns his son against allowing Pandora’s death, ordering Kratos to not fail Pandora as he did his own dead daughter. As always, Zeus’s words have the opposite of his intended effect; Kratos instead realizes that saving Pandora won’t bring Calliope back to him, that his trail of destruction since swearing fealty to Ares is irreversible. Kratos casts Pandora into the Flame and fends off Zeus in a fit of rage. Upon finally opening the box, he discovers that it is empty. Pandora died for nothing. Further taunted by Zeus, Kratos attacks his father and—after a long, savage skirmish—he finds the strength to seemingly kill him.

However, much like Athena, Zeus manages to cling to life in an ethereal form, free of his corporeal body. Though Kratos has eliminated every external source of his anguish, he has left his great guilt fester inside him, consuming all of the good within him. Zeus easily weaponizes this against the Spartan, trapping Kratos within the abyss of his torment, an inescapable eternal darkness. As Kratos begins to fade, a single light draws his attention from within the dark depths of his mind. Pandora’s voice pulls him forward, guides him through a menagerie of memory, forces him to face the slew of sins he’s committed. At the end of it all awaits the two Kratos is most afraid of facing: Lysandra and Calliope. Once again reunited with his loved ones, Kratos finally finds forgiveness within—forgiveness for his Spartan conquests, forgiveness for his crimes for Ares, forgiveness for the deaths of his family, forgiveness for his self-hatred and desire to die.

Kratos frees himself from his chains of shame; he forces Zeus’s spirit back into his crippled body and finally kills his father, completing the cycle of slaying yet again. For a moment, all is quiet. Kratos takes in the destruction of Greece, the disaster his wrath has brought on the innocent. He finally understands his consequences of destroying the divine status quo, the consequences of his vengeance. Athena’s voice shakes him from his realization; she congratulates him for his service, for performing admirably as her soldier. Kratos has once again been used as a god’s sword, wielded by Athena to overthrow their father and create a new order with which she can rebuild Greek civilization.

Athena reveals to Kratos that Pandora’s Box was not actually empty; what Kratos released opening the box was the concept of hope itself, optimistic ideals, the power for one to choose goodness. This hope is now locked away within Kratos, and Athena will continue to subjugate him and control the flow of positivity in order to truly rule her Grecian subjects as society rebuilds. But despite yet another betrayal, Kratos appears at peace. His goals have been achieved: Zeus is dead, and Olympus has fallen. As Athena details her plan to rule over a new age, Kratos realizes the same strength he used to kill Zeus can be turned against another god, one he’s wished to kill for years. In the process, he can wrest control of the future away from his calculating sister. Wielding the magical Blade of Olympus, Kratos impales himself. As Athena curses him and rips the sword from his torso, the power of hope trapped within Kratos is released to the teeming masses, possibly instills in the suffering Greeks the idea that they can rebuild and start anew, that everything will eventually be okay. Athena leaves Kratos to bleed to death, and the Ghost of Sparta embraces his long awaited death. As the closing credits roll, the game’s final shot rests on a trail of Kratos’s blood leading into the rising sea.

Better Call Saul: Sins of the Brother

Breaking Bad swept the late 2000s, and it kept the television zeitgeist in a stranglehold throughout the early 2010s. Vince Gilligan’s epic drama series, alongside breakout hits like Mad Men and The Walking Dead, put the AMC cable network on the map as a home for serious, critically-acclaimed antihero tales. These series’ popularity exploded further with up-and-coming streaming services like Netflix bolstering catalogs including their early seasons. In late 2013, final stretch of universally-beloved episodes brought an end to the story of Bryan Cranston’s chemistry-teacher-turned-meth-maker Walter White. The success of Breaking Bad was so colossal, it seemed insane to think any subsequent series, let alone one set in the same universe, may measure up to the bar of quality set by Gilligan and AMC.

So it came as a surprise to some when follow-up Better Call Saul, the Breaking Bad prequel, received as much darling praise as its predecessor from critics and fans alike. The late 2010s and early 2020s saw the return of many pop culture franchises in the form of cash-grab spin-offs and lazy, unimaginative sequels. However, AMC seems to have struck gold twice. In the Breaking Bad successor series, Gilligan rewinds the clock and shifts the audience’s point of view from Walter White to Saul Goodman, a supporting character from Breaking Bad who mostly functioned as comic relief. Saul Goodman was always a standout in the original show due to Bob Odenkirk’s unanimously beloved performance as a shifty attorney with a quick wit and fast-moving mouth. Still, for all of Odenkirk’s charisma and memorable scenes, Saul Goodman didn’t exactly come across as a complex character.

Better Call Saul blows this notion away immediately. Though giving viewers flashes of Saul’s life post-Breaking Bad, a grand majority of the story takes place about six years prior. Viewers learn immediately that Saul’s real name (although Saul Goodman was always obviously a moniker) is actually Jimmy McGill. Jimmy already has many of the characteristics we see Saul possess: he is constantly conning, and he easily manipulates others into doing his bidding. Early episodes highlight his hostile interactions with Howard Hamlin, a successful partner at HHM, the corporate law firm where Jimmy once worked in the mail room, and Mike Ehrmantraut, the elderly criminal with a conscience featured in Breaking Bad who viewers see here first working as a parking lot attendant. However, audiences are now able to see a softer side of Jimmy coinciding with his tendency for mischief. Despite a fraught relationship, he loves Chuck, his older brother who is also Howard’s acclaimed law partner. Jimmy expresses tenderness in his supportive relationship with Kim Wexler, a long-time friend and gifted attorney stuck within the cogs of HHM. Jimmy is immediately granted a humanity left unseen in Breaking Bad for the most part, instilling faith in the viewer right away that a separate series surrounding a predominantly comic relief character can succeed.

Gilligan’s greatest strength, dating back to serving as a writer for The X-Files, has always been his knack for strong character-driven storytelling. While The X-Files may feature more exciting week-to-week plotlines, Gilligan’s crime-drama stories showcase a much slower burn. Neither Breaking Bad or Better Call Saul feature elaborate gunfights each week, or frequent shocking murders to keep the viewer’s interest. When violence occurs in either show, it is always a hard punch to the gut, a random act of evil hard to see coming. Both shows feature well-meaning protagonists who fall far too deeply into lives of crime, and their unlawful actions ultimately cost them everything. Neither Walter White or Jimmy McGill are master criminals, deftly eliminating their enemies or solving their crises. The tension and entertainment of both series stems from the slow corruption of their protagonists, their struggles to survive their increasingly dire lives.

What makes both Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul feel so narratively rich are their focuses on relationships, the shifting ties between a relatively small cast of characters. Both series feature complex interpretations of fatherhood, both literally and symbolically. Breaking Bad‘s central relationship is a fatherly one between mentor and student: the tense alliance between Walter and his former student Jesse Pinkman. Walter’s relationship with his son remains fraught throughout the series for a number of reasons. One of these is the sheer amount of time Walt dedicates to his meth enterprise and, consequently, his work with Jesse. Partially due to his own father’s ire and disdain, Jesse drifts through a life of drug use with no role model to guide him. When he and Walter begin working together, Jesse initially looks up to him. But Walter is inarguably a horrific father figure to Jesse, being either directly or indirectly responsible for most of the tragedy Jesse suffers throughout the course of the show. However, Jesse does receive a positive mentor in Mike Ehrmantraut, the older, wiser reluctant criminal who always keeps Jesse’s best interest at heart. Mike tries his best to keep Jesse above water, and he offers guidance to help the young man navigate his evolving life of crime as safely as possible. Walter’s toxic possessiveness of Jesse eventually takes over, and it is undoubtedly one of the factors in Walt’s rash murder of Mike toward the end of Breaking Bad. At the very least, the series ends with Walter finally attempting to make up for his frequent failures as a father. He ultimately succeeds in providing for his estranged family, and he gives his life to wipe out the white supremacist gang that tortures Jesse in captivity. Still, Jesse is forever scarred from Walt’s failed mentorship, and the audience sees the depth of these emotional wounds on display in the Jesse-centric sequel film El Camino.

Better Call Saul features this same concept of failed fatherhood dispersed amongst its cast of characters. Jimmy’s career as an aspiring attorney is further complicated when he accidentally gets wrapped up with a Mexican drug cartel. Similar to Breaking Bad, Jimmy’s criminal ties and personal life constantly come close to crossing over. While Breaking Bad had memorable characters like Gus Fring and Hector Salamanca (both of whom show up later in major roles), Better Call Saul introduces a new character to be the face of its cartel storylines: Ignacio “Nacho” Varga. Nacho showcases a complexity unseen in most of Breaking Bad‘s cartel characters. Much like the beleaguered Jesse Pinkman, Nacho is a youthful criminal with a heart of gold. Although attached to the monetary gain and power that accompanies his lifestyle, Nacho really wants to leave crime behind and go straight. His drastic steps to free himself from the chains of the Salamanca family create real empathy for the audience, and his cycle of suffering at the hands of the cartel he willingly joined portrays how easily one’s choices overwhelm them and set an irreparable direction in their life.

Nacho’s only true ally throughout the series is Mike Ehrmantraut. Despite frequently bumping into each other and butting heads early in the show’s duration, Mike quickly grows to care for Nacho’s wellbeing and takes major action throughout the series to protect him. Similar to his caretaking role with Jesse in Breaking Bad, Mike always fights to alleviate Nacho’s criminal burdens. Nacho becomes the key pawn in the evolving power struggle between Gus Fring and the Salamanca family, often landing in situations where he could be killed at any moment. His own father, Manuel, is often drawn into his complicated double life. Nacho makes increasingly drastic decisions to protect Manuel once Hector Salamanca, the patriarch of the Albuquerque cartel branch, seeks to use Manuel’s car upholstery shop as a criminal front. Nacho desires to be a good son and to honor his father, but he is stuck with the cartel in a career he can never escape. The conversations he has with a disappointed Manuel show the audience that Nacho is locked into a cycle much like Jesse, where, despite his many attempts to go straight, he will never truly break free.

Mike’s concern for Nacho is partially the result of his own failings as a real father. By the time the series begins, Mike is a recent retiree of the Philadelphia Police Department. While with the PPD, Mike engaged in acts of corruption alongside his coworkers, such as skimming money off of confiscated monetary troves. Unfortunately, his son, Matt, tried to follow the same career path. Ignorant to his father’s dark side, Matt joined the PPD with idealistic intentions: he believed in justice, the idea that the police are inherently good. When Matt stumbles across his colleagues’ widespread corruption, he is broken-hearted by his father’s participation. Before Matt can make a  decision about blowing the whistle on his associates, he is killed by two other police officers. Later, Mike murders them both in retaliation. Much of Mike’s turmoil throughout Better Call Saul is the struggle to truly grieve over Matt, the guilt he feels over his perceived role in his son’s death. This thematic inability to move forward and process loss in parental relationships plays out on a larger scale throughout the narrative as well.

Most of the remaining supporting cast are fettered to the idea of honoring their parents, even to extreme degrees. Consider two of the antagonistic forces in Jimmy’s life: Eduardo “Lalo” Salamanca and Howard Hamlin. Lalo is introduced midway through the series after a Nacho successfully disables Hector Salamanca, his elderly cartel boss. Lalo, Hector’s nephew, travels from Mexico to Albuquerque in order to take the reins of the Salamanca cartel outfit. In many ways, Lalo is a worse alternative to Hector: while Hector has a cruel mind and sadistic tendencies, he is restrained by his age and heart problems. Lalo has all of Hector’s evil but also an able body. He can enact horrors that Hector must rely on others to accomplish. Lalo seeks vengeance against Gus Fring, who he incorrectly assumes played a part in his uncle’s debilitating stroke. Lalo views Hector almost like a father, cherishes the memories he has watching Hector commit atrocities against the innocent. He has inherited Hector’s sociopathic worldview, and he wants to utilize it to coast through the world.

Howard runs the illustrious law firm HHM, though he became a partner at the firm through nepotism. His father, George, talked Howard away from an idealistic career with low pay; he instead drafted his son into a partner-track position at his firm, making Howard the second “H” in HHM. Howard lives in the shadow of his father, knows that there are those who believe he is only successful due to his family’s legacy. Still, many respected attorneys praise Howard as being an excellent lawyer, impressed by the positive relationships he forms with clients. In his youth, Howard’s knack for the law drew the attention of Chuck McGill, his father’s partner. While Chuck views Jimmy as a perpetual disappointment, he sees Howard as highly competent, a man with a bright future. Chuck mentors Howard in a way he would never consider doing with Jimmy. This relationship plants the seeds of resentment and hostility in Jimmy, brewing a one-sided competition between him and Howard.

However, much like Walter White, Jimmy’s truest antagonist could be argued to be his closest family member. While Walter dealt with many external threats in his life as a meth-making outlaw, his most frequent opposition came in the form of Skyler, his wife. Skyler questions his criminal misdoings at every turn, unsuccessfully attempting to redirect his time and energy toward their family. As Walter becomes increasingly infamous in the drug underworld, his ego balloons to reveal who he really is beneath the veneer of a high school chemistry teacher. 

Jimmy starts off with the opposite dilemma; he’s already served time, conned hundreds of people out of money or possession. Chuck, his brother, has always had to be responsible for Jimmy, even from early childhood. Chuck is more of a father to Jimmy than a brother. Through extended flashback sequences, viewers see Chuck come through for Jimmy time and again, whether defending him as an attorney or protectively staying the night with him after Jimmy has had too many drinks at the bar. Chuck’s perception of Jimmy is forever frozen as the perpetual screw-up he needs to look after, the grifter searching for the next big win. But despite this, Jimmy is trying to reform. He has no interest in making a name for himself amongst criminals. Jimmy spends most of his free time providing for Chuck, completing various tasks his brother is no longer capable of doing due to a mental illness causing him to believe he has developed an allergy to electromagnetism and can no longer leave his home or enjoy the luxury of electricity. Jimmy provides Chuck’s groceries, the newspapers Chuck loves to read but are only available from different, disparate stores littered throughout Albuquerque. However, Chuck waits at every turn to remind Jimmy of who he was, who Chuck thinks he will always be. This suffocating expectation creates a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy; Chuck’s perpetual presumption—that Jimmy will cheat to get his way or only accomplish anything through some elaborate ruse—shackles Jimmy McGill to “Slippin’ Jimmy,” the nickname representative of Jimmy’s scam-soaked past. Jimmy is cursed to fruitlessly try to change his ways time and again, only to slip back into the crooked tendencies his brother associates with him.

Where Jimmy and Chuck fundamentally differ is their views toward their father, Charles Sr. Charles worked diligently for years managing a convenience store in Cicero, Illinois. Due to his immense generosity, Charles is an easy target for conmen and grifters with sob stories who are looking for a quick buck. As a child, Jimmy notices the way the well-meaning Charles is frequently ripped off. While he respects his father’s work ethic, he vows to never be a “sheep.” He instead idolizes the “wolves” who prey on his father, and, as an adult, he develops a myriad of schemes to scam money out of the unassuming. Chuck, on the other hand, views Charles as an inspiration. He strives to succeed because of his father’s influence, his wide-spread respected reputation as a good man. Due to both of their parents working long hours at the store, Chuck is left with the brunt of raising Jimmy. Many of the fond memories Jimmy has of his parents are actually experiences he had with Chuck, as the older brother occasionally reminds him. But the younger Chuck’s brotherly love is too late to save Jimmy from the corruption of the “wolves;” their impact has already landed. Although their mother, Ruth, is featured less prominently in flashbacks, she has her own share of key moments in the brothers’ shared past. Despite Chuck’s noble burden of responsibility, his efforts to honor his parents, his mother always dotes on Jimmy instead. In one notable scene, as Ruth lies dying in the hospital and Chuck sits at her bedside, she becomes cognizant for a single moment before her death. “Jimmy?” She asks, unable to hear Chuck’s pleas. As she dies, the audience sees resentment plant its stake in Chuck’s heart. When Jimmy returns from the nearby vending machines and asks Chuck if their mother had any final words, Chuck lies and tells him no.

Both protagonists force themselves forward through self-deceit. Walter’s big lie is that his criminal actions are just in the name of earning an absurd amount of money to provide for his family after his likely eventual death from lung cancer. His true motive becomes more apparent to the audience when, after accruing more than enough cash to secure a future for his wife and children, Walter continues to cook meth and commit murder in the name of criminal enterprise. Jimmy ultimately embraces his amorality, utilizing his lack of scruples to achieve most of his key legal victories throughout the series. Jimmy convinces himself the ends justify his means, no matter how dubious those means may be. When working by the book, Jimmy loses; potential clients pass him over for the more luxurious and prolific HHM, and his professional failings damage his personal relationships. With scruples failing him, Jimmy crumples under the weight of Chuck’s recurring disappointed gaze. He embraces “Slippin’ Jimmy,” modifies it to fit his new profession in the law. Jimmy constantly hides his transgressions from Chuck out of fear of proving his elder brother’s judgment correct. An early episode shows Jimmy stage the rescue of a billboard worker to achieve local fame. Due to Chuck’s mental illness, Jimmy is easily able to hide his schemes from him. However, Chuck, propelled by the desire to prove Jimmy’s crookedness, finds the strength to leave his house for the first time in months. He discovers Jimmy’s lies after stealing a local newspaper, a seemingly inconsequential action that enacts a slow-burn chain of events that end in Chuck’s eventual suicide.

Jimmy’s complexity is most prominently seen in how he remains his brother’s primary caretaker, no matter how many times he and Chuck fall out. Even when—after a particularly nasty fight—Jimmy promises to never help Chuck again, he still camps outside of Chuck’s house, ensures that Howard and HHM are providing for him. Jimmy knows that Chuck is mentally ill. Although Chuck is fully convinced that his allergy to electromagnetism is a real affliction, everyone in his life harbors the belief that he is actually losing his mind. Jimmy shares this belief, but he never expresses it to Chuck. He respects his brother more than anything, and he would never let Chuck know that he doesn’t believe him. Jimmy’s admiration for Chuck is what drives him into a law career, motivates him to work tirelessly to earn the requisite college degrees. He wants to be like Chuck, wants to be seen in the same way Chuck sees someone like Howard.

The emotional conflict between the McGills is brilliantly symbolized in their actual literary conflict. Despite Jimmy hustling without help to pass the New Mexico Bar exam and become an attorney, Chuck is undaunted by his monumental accomplishment. On the surface, he shows the right feelings: awe, enthusiasm, fraternal pride. However, Chuck hides his true, tragically unshakable belief—that Jimmy somehow cheated his way into the law, that Jimmy being a lawyer somehow sullies the honor of the profession itself. Chuck’s pride in being a lawyer is shaken by his brother’s success. If someone like Jimmy, a career scammer who once defecated through a car’s sunroof without knowing children were residing inside, can become a lawyer, then his own accomplishments hold less value. Chuck’s conflict is both existential and philosophical; his identity is the law, and he fundamentally believes that people, especially Jimmy, are not capable of real change.

Kim Wexler is the other person audiences really see Jimmy demonstrate his goodness toward. Jimmy is in love with Kim, and he goes to great (sometimes illegal) lengths to ensure that she is professionally successful. His love for Kim ultimately drives the final nail in his relationship with Chuck. When Chuck wins over Kim’s sole client—the mega bank Mesa Verde—Jimmy steals and alters documents to confuse the mentally unwell Chuck. As a result, Chuck submits faulty paperwork and set back Mesa Verde’s plans for opening a new branch. Due to his illness, Mesa Verde and Howard assume Chuck simply made a mistake, that his mind is beginning to fail. For once, Chuck’s presumption of Jimmy’s hand in the matter is true. Despite Jimmy’s attempts to gaslight Chuck into thinking he just isn’t as sharp as he used to be, Chuck remains steadfast. He ultimately proves Jimmy’s guilt, secretly recording a confession at the end of the second season.

The third season sees the brothers’ final battle as Chuck seeks to have Jimmy disbarred. Chuck’s motivation is thematically resonant: ending Jimmy’s law career will prove the law is just, that Chuck and his professional accomplishments have value. Although Jimmy is actually at fault, he fights tooth and nail to clear his name by any means necessary. When he has no choice but to plead guilty, he changes tactics: Jimmy decides to prove that his motive for confessing to the crime were noble, and that his recorded confession is a lie to appease his mentally ill brother. Jimmy is faced with a moral dilemma. On one hand, he could come clean and admit to his wrongdoing, effectively cutting his law career short and proving his brother’s opinion of him righteous. However, viewers already know what Jimmy will do. In a heated cross-examination, Jimmy ultimately puts Chuck’s mental illness on display for a courtroom full of his closest friends and family. Jimmy is let off with a slap on the wrist—a one year suspension from practicing law. Meanwhile, Chuck is left catatonic. He must finally face that his brain— the one thing he values most in the world—is compromised.

Still, Chuck slowly takes steps toward recovery. He willingly begins seeing a doctor, taking longer and longer trips outdoors. Chuck still has the law, and, though he and Jimmy will never be close again, his reputation remains mostly intact. However, Jimmy finds himself suffering more than he thought he would. Struggling to find gainful employment, Jimmy faces a monetary drought. Still unwilling to truly accept blame for his role in Chuck’s fall from grace, Jimmy seeks retaliation. He lets slip to a malpractice insurance agent that Chuck is mentally ill, embellishing his brother’s mental state to make it seem as if he is constantly making legal mistakes and putting HHM at higher risk for malpractice lawsuits. Due to the financial toll this causes, Howard forces Chuck into an early retirement, effectively robbing him of his final reason to live. Before his mind completely unravels and he takes his own life, Chuck has one final encounter with Jimmy in which he sees completely calm and rational. As a regretful Jimmy makes one last attempt at repairing their destroyed relationship, Chuck severs their ties forever. “You don’t have to make up with me. We don’t have to understand each other,” Chuck says matter-of-factly, “the truth is, you’ve never mattered all that much to me.” This ultimate goodbye shatters Jimmy. Brokenhearted, he leaves his brother’s house. Days later, Chuck kills himself by burning his own house down.

Much like Mike Ehrmantraut’s inability to accept and process his son’s death, Jimmy is unable to properly grieve for Chuck. The rest of the series depicts Jimmy’s downfall at the hands of his repressed grief, bridges the gap between a difficult but loving brother and the criminal attorney later seen in Breaking Bad. Due to the cataclysmic terms their relationship ended on, Jimmy acts remains unmoved by his loss. In a realistic depiction of true grief, Jimmy refuses sadness. He instead turns to anger, committing fully to the scheming “wolf” persona. While working at a cell phone store, Jimmy cons shady customers into purchasing phones they don’t need, promising that the temporary phones he pawns off are untraceable. He develops a wide range of clientele, almost all of them accompanied by criminal activity. Where Chuck lived honorably, Jimmy wants no attachment. When committing illicit acts, Jimmy takes on the moniker Saul Goodman, symbolically shedding the name McGill—his only remaining tie to Chuck. After a moving speech about Chuck’s impact on his life, Jimmy is once again granted permission to practice the law. However, he claims to Kim that he feels nothing for Chuck, and the speech was only an act for personal gain. To solidify this notion, he changes his professional name to Saul Goodman, throwing away Chuck’s good influence and embracing who Chuck believed him to be. He brings on his criminal acquaintances from his illicit cell phone operation as clients, works to defend people he knows should justly be placed in jail. Everything Jimmy does as Saul Goodman is in an effort to spite Chuck, to be successful as the “Slippin’ Jimmy” his brother hated in order to make a mockery of Chuck’s values, the cause he took his own life over.

Another recurring theme in Better Call Saul is how one’s inability to cope with negative feelings like grief can result in harm to others. Jimmy refuses to look inward, to work on the personal issues that led to the schism between him and Chuck. He instead seeks an outside source to project his pain onto: Howard Hamlin, Chuck’s partner and eternal student. Throughout the first half of the series, Jimmy takes petty shots at Howard: he rips off the HHM logo for his own practice, buys similar suits, and even lightens his hair to be a similar shade of blonde. However, after Chuck’s death, Jimmy grows more malicious. In the immediate aftermath of Chuck’s death, Howard is the one who informs Jimmy that Chuck’s death is being ruled a suicide. Howard blames himself for Chuck’s decision, and, unwilling to admit to his role in destroying Chuck’s insurance rates, Jimmy allows him to take the blame. Jimmy even shows Howard grace, tries to alleviate the burden Chuck’s suicide has left on his law rival.

However, everything changes for Jimmy when Howard invites him to an upscale lunch. Over a year after Chuck’s death, Howard is smiling again. He is seeing a therapist, and he has successfully navigated the grieving process and adopted a healthy mindset toward his perceived role in Chuck’s demise. Howard’s emotional growth is comedically symbolized in his vanity license plate that reads “NAMAST3.” At lunch, Howard offers Jimmy more than a truce: he invites Jimmy to work at HHM, a long-held dream of Jimmy’s that Chuck snuffed out years before. Instead of accepting Howard’s offer, Jimmy turns on him. He coordinates acts of vandalism, smashes his prized Jaguar with bowling balls. This act is symbolic in itself; if the Jaguar’s novelty license plate represents Howard’s ability to move on, Jimmy’s destructive maliciousness represents his inability to, his desire to bring Howard back down to his level. Jimmy pays two prostitutes—a couple of his recurring law clients—to ambush Howard at a business lunch and pretend as if he is a frequent customer. To Jimmy, Howard represents Chuck’s true legacy; he is the man Chuck trained to one day succeed him, the lawyer Chuck saw great potential in over Jimmy. Jimmy hopes to make Howard feel as low as he does, to bring him crashing down from his pedestal. Throughout the series, Howard tried to support Jimmy in his own way. The central antagonism between the two is the result of Chuck’s refusal to accept Jimmy as a lawyer; any time Jimmy tried to plant himself into a job at HHM, Chuck used Howard as a proxy mouthpiece to reject Jimmy. Chuck tried to protect his brother from his true belief: that Jimmy brings chaos and dismay anywhere he goes, and hiring him on at HHM would be the final nail in the coffin. Despite this, Howard always offers Jimmy words of support, frequently asks others how Jimmy is doing. In response, Jimmy always bristles, assumes Howard has less-than-altruistic intentions.

 But after years of this, Howard holds the moral high ground. When he runs into Jimmy at the courthouse after weeks of the latter’s vengeful torment, Howard earnestly says, “I’m sorry you’re in pain.” Jimmy emotionally collapses under the weight of what he’s done, truly experiencing the horror of Chuck’s loss for what may be the first time. Instead of commiserating with Howard, he explodes. He throws a public tantrum, ranting and swearing at Howard. As Howard fails to deescalate the encounter, Jimmy follows him to the exit, spouting passionate gibberish in an attempt to show how small Howard is to him, a contorted version of his last conversation with Chuck: “I travel in worlds you can’t even imagine! You can’t conceive of what I’m capable of! I’m so far beyond you! I’m like a god in human clothing! Lighting bolts shoot from my fingertips!”

Howard’s confrontation fails to end their conflict. The final season of Better Call Saul features Jimmy enlisting the help of Kim, who has baggage with Howard of her own, in an effort to destroy his professional image. The couple plot to make Howard’s colleagues believe he has an insatiable cocaine addiction, going as far as to plant drugs in his locker and stage embarrassing public encounters. Jimmy and Kim both have different moments where they worry their ploy is spiraling out of control, that maybe Howard doesn’t deserve their malicious meddling. However, they follow through until the end, causing Howard to blow a major legal dispute that recurs throughout the duration of the series. Meanwhile, Jimmy has an ongoing fear of Lalo Salamanca, who essentially forces Jimmy to defend him in court. After Lalo interrogates both Jimmy and Kim at gunpoint in their home toward the end of the fifth season, the couple live in fear of the drug lord’s return—despite hearing news that he has been seemingly assassinated at his safehouse in Mexico. Over time, the two begin to breathe easier, to stop worrying that Lalo will return from the dead.

In one final act of surrender, Howard visits Jimmy and Kim at their apartment late at night. He brings a bottle of aged Macallan scotch as a parting gift and reluctant peace offering; this whiskey is symbolically resonant, as Howard and Chuck used to crack open a bottle in celebration of winning a major case. Now the one younger “brother” of Chuck offers a bottle to the other, but Jimmy notably refuses to take it. As Howard tries to force an explanation of the harassment out of Jimmy and Kim, he also tries to convince them to drink with him, to partake in Chuck’s favorite drink. When both refuse to either answer or join him, Howard strikes at the heart of the conflict: “You’re perfect for each other. You have a piece missing.” Moments later, Jimmy’s criminal ties and personal life finally reach their long-awaited point of collision: Lalo enters the apartment, and Jimmy sees his worst fears realized. As Howard senses the danger and attempts to leave, Lalo executes him mid-sentence with a point-blank pistol shot to the head.

Similar to the effect Hank’s execution has on Walter White in Breaking Bad, Howard’s death is the point of no return for Jimmy. He realizes how far gone he is, how his crusade against the innocent Howard led directly to Howard’s death. Jimmy’s inability to accept Chuck’s loss, his repression of his own role in the circumstances that led to Chuck’s suicide, resulted in misdirected hatred toward Howard and Jimmy’s subsequent campaign to ruin him. Kim, who in a twisted way represents Jimmy’s last hope for a moral life, quits her law career and leaves both Jimmy and Albuquerque forever. 

As the series fast forward to Jimmy’s life post-Breaking Bad, audiences see a Jimmy who still reels from Howard’s loss, still lives in fear of Lalo despite being told he is dead. The final arc shows how little Jimmy has changed, how his failure to accept Chuck as a mostly well-meaning but flawed father figure still haunts him. Jimmy now has a new third identity to escape from police scrutiny: Gene Takavic, an unassuming Cinnabon manager in Omaha, Nebraska. Unable to live a quiet life, Jimmy ultimately succumbs to his old conman habits. However, he does so utilizing the name “Saul Goodman,” once again clashing against the legacy-laden “McGill.” Jimmy is eventually arrested for his laundry list of crimes committed in both Better Call Saul and Breaking Bad, but he manages to convince the opposing counsel to offer him a relatively simple prison sentence of seven-and-a-half years. 

Bob Odenkirk as Saul Goodman – Better Call Saul _ Season 6, Episode 12 – Photo Credit: Greg Lewis/AMC/Sony Pictures Television

When he hears that Kim, who has also struggled under the immense guilt of Howard’s murder, has openly confessed to being an accessory to the crime, Jimmy reaches one grand final dilemma that parallels his decision to publicly embarrass Chuck three seasons earlier. He can either take the fall for everything and confess to his multitude of criminal acts, or he can let Kim duke it out with lawyers for the rest of her life. Choosing the latter would be the easy choice; Jimmy would once again squirm his way out of taking responsibility for his actions, coast through his cushy prison sentence, and then likely return to his old ways upon release. For the first time in his life, however, Jimmy takes the honorable route. He executes one of his most elaborate schemes yet, orchestrating Kim’s attendance at the very trial that will give him a seven year wrist slap and then send him back into the world. With the world watching this Albuquerque courtroom, Jimmy confesses to everything: his ruination of Chuck, his hand in Howard’s murder, his partnership with the now-infamous Walter White. The judge, overwhelmed by the chaos of Jimmy’s confession, says, “Mr. Goodman, sit down and stay seated.” With poetic finality, Jimmy responds, “The name’s McGill.” By adopting his true name, Jimmy symbolically accepts Chuck’s good influence and forgives him for his pessimistic judgment. Jimmy’s moral turn ironically comes with arguably negative consequences: now sentenced to a whopping eighty-six years in prison, Jimmy heroically shuffles off to the rest of his life.

However, a story as intricately complex as Jimmy McGill’s would be remiss to end with a simple complete shift in morality. On the bus ride to his new home, Jimmy is recognized by the other prisoners, who begin to eagerly chant his television commercial catchphrase: “Better Call Saul.” As audiences get one last glimpse into Jimmy’s prison life, he is treated almost like a celebrity, a humorous reward for his years of criminal defense. Inmates slap him on the shoulder and smile as they call him “Saul.” This last sequence showcases Jimmy not abandoning his grifter nature completely, but instead finding equilibrium: he finds the perfect balance between the good-hearted Jimmy McGill and the shifty Saul Goodman and, in the process, attains some semblance of inner-peace.

Better Call Saul is a monumental achievement in storytelling. Gilligan’s tale of a flawed man’s slow descent into lawlessness is presented outstandingly on almost every level. The direction and cinematography in most episodes, especially those helmed by Peter Gould, Gilligan’s frequent collaborator. Many camera shots frame Jimmy with his face either mirrored or split in two, showcasing his moral duality, the tumultuous identity tightrope he walks along throughout the series. The accomplished acting on every front helps to sell Gilligan’s vision, to bring to life the tormented denizens of the AMC drama. However, the single strongest aspect of Better Call Saul is its writing. The overarching plot is a slow boil that entraps the audience alongside its characters; when Jimmy realizes he is in too deep with the cartel, the viewer is just as surprised at the revelation of how trapped he is within his own disastrous life. While he is an expert at creating wide-reaching character-driven plot lines, Gilligan is just as effective at crafting perfect individual scenes, each line of dialogue dripping with emotional resonance. One of his best is the final flashback scene of the series, shared between Jimmy and Chuck weeks before the events of the show.

Soon after Chuck begins his hermitude, Jimmy stops by his apartment with groceries, newspapers, and ice. Chuck has stopped using his refrigerator due to its reliance on electricity, and he instead cools his food with a large ice chest that needs to be constantly refilled. Although this encounter takes place before the brutal legal battle that irrevocably fractures their relationship, Jimmy and Chuck have still clashed time and again. Jimmy is regularly wounded by Chuck’s insinuations about his morality, and, though he regularly tries to be supportive, Chuck can’t shake his lack of faith in Jimmy. Jimmy is struggling to establish his own law firm, taking on unsavory clients to make ends meet. As he tries to leave, Chuck stops him.

“You could stay for a while,” Chuck says, offering an olive branch. “We could talk.”

“Maybe you just want to tell me what I’m doing wrong,” Jimmy accuses.

Chuck is taken aback, hurt by the truth of what his brother says.”That’s not what I had in mind.” In a moment of silence, it seems as if the brothers may for once have a pleasant conversation. Jimmy isn’t exactly an open book—but he hasn’t left the house, and that’s something. As Jimmy fumbles with the bags of ice, Chuck can’t help himself. “I’m hoping you didn’t steal that from a motel ice machine.”

And this is how it ends, time and time again. Jimmy freezes, unable to ignore his brother’s accusatory tone, the ease of which he thinks the worst of him. Almost like breathing. “You can hope,” he says. “I’m going to pass on the heart-to-heart, Chuck.”

Chuck notices how crestfallen his brother is, mistakenly attributes it to his unfulfilling legal work. “Jimmy,” he says, offering his best fatherly advice, “if you don’t like where you’re heading, there’s no shame in going back and changing your path.” This line of dialogue brilliantly showcases Chuck’s duality: his desire to see Jimmy happy, and his wish for Jimmy to leave the law.

“When have you ever changed your path?” Jimmy fires back, highlighting the fundamental tragedy between him and Chuck. Chuck has lived on a steadfast track, powering through law school and collecting an assortment of accomplishments throughout his storied career. He did all of this while looking out for Jimmy. To his brother, Chuck is the most admirable person in the world; to Chuck, Jimmy will always be a failure. Their tragic inability to understand each other is the core of every conflict they’ve ever had, every fight that is yet to be.

Chuck recognizes this and laments. “We always end up having the same conversation, don’t we?” As Jimmy leaves disheartened, the scene ends with the hiss of Chuck activating his oil-powered lantern. He fades into the blackness of his house and Jimmy’s memory.

Gintama’s Farewell Shinsengumi Arc: Tonal Balance and Character Perception

As a long-time consumer of shounen stories, I’m accustomed to strong starts, endlessly meandering middle sections, and a sloppy culminating war arc that serves as a lackluster finale after a series has stretched on for far too long. Naruto famously unravels in its second half, and its last arc is a colossal conflict that brings back a myriad of dead characters—an unlimited supply of padding for an innumerable amount of fight scenes. Other big series like Bleach meet similar fates: winding final storylines that feature senseless battles as the author wraps up the personal arcs of each character in their massive overstuffed roster. 

Gintama could have easily dropped into the same familiar pitfalls, bolstering protagonists who evolve through a series of escalating nonsensical power-ups and battles that reach a galactic scale. However, author Hideaki Sorachi deftly avoids the trappings of his contemporaries; his storytelling success stems from over a decade of tactical genre weaving and slow character development through an eclectic mix of short-term gag humor and long-term tales of strife laden with heavy dramatic stakes. Through an extended initial blitz of episodic comedy, Sorachi easily captures the audience’s affection for each of his varied characters, whether a storyline revolves around the antics of goofy former samurai Gintoki or one of his many loveable acquaintances. By the time Gintama reaches the Benizakura arc—its first long dramatic story—the audience has had 57 episodes to grow attached to the central cast. Gintama‘s serious arcs do not abandon the show’s trademark tongue-in-cheek comedy completely; the occasional joke provides levity that makes the dramatic tonal shift of these disparate serious narratives easier to swallow. Farewell Shinsengumi, the final arc in Gintama‘s fourth anime season, serves as a shining example of Sorachi’s storytelling expertise.

The spines of Gintama‘s dramatic storylines are supported by the same rich characters audiences previously came to love through their absurd antics in the show’s early episodes. In the video game series Yakuza, central character Kiryu Kazuma flounders in a new giant criminal conspiracy with each subsequent title. If one were to play only a Yakuza‘s main plot, their perception of Kiryu would be that he is a serious man—so dry that he threatens to come across as boring in some titles. Kiryu’s personality is not on full display unless the player engages with Yakuza‘s many side-missions. In these small stories, the crime thriller atmosphere of the game is replaced with a comedic, gag-filled tone that permeates each individual quest. Kiryu is no longer the hardened criminal with a tendency to do the right thing; he instead helps strangers and acquaintances alike in zany tasks that offer welcome departures from his everyday life struggling against the evil machinations of other men. Apart from Kiryu, each of Yakuza‘s player characters have a similar dichotomy. They are all in the throes of interpersonal strife: the recurring Goro Majima grapples with the ghosts of his past decisions, while one-off characters—like Yakuza 4‘s Masiyoshi Tanamura—work through an emotional journey that acts as a thematic parallel to Kiryu’s.

Gintama‘s character-driven tonal balance operates in a similar vein. The main difference between Yakuza and Gintama is that the default tone is reversed; Gintama is a comedy by nature. The foundation of each of its many characters is built through its rapid succession of running jokes and physical humor. This style of humor thrives on fleshing out each character’s respective desires, traits, and ticks. One joke may revolve around policeman Toshirou Hijikata’s obsession with mayonnaise, while another points out how plain of a character the aspiring swordsman Shinpachi Shimura is. Still, neither character is ever completely relegated to a simple recurring gag. Hijikata, Shinpachi, and the rest of the cast are depicted with complete sincerity when Gintama takes a turn for the tragic. Sorachi utilizes many techniques to cast his entire expansive roster of characters in a lovable light, and this long-term strategy pays off when the joking stops and blood is shed.

The early serious arcs of Gintama are used to flesh out the background of a particular character or introduce a new one. However, the status quo of Edo—the fictional city where a majority of Gintama‘s story takes place—is rarely altered in some noticeable way. For example, the early Shinsengumi Crisis arc introduces a new villain, Itou Kamotarou. Kamotarou conspires to take control of the Shinsengumi, an elite group of police consisting of swordsmen from rural backgrounds. His ambition relies on becoming second-in-command to Isao Kondou, the Shinsengumi chief; this brings Kamotarou into direct conflict with Hijikata, the current vice-chief and strategic commander of the police force. Their conflict for who will influence Kondou and the future direction of the Shinsengumi drives the arc forward, culminating in an explosive duel to settle their dispute forever.

Most of Gintama‘s antagonists really only exist for their featured arc and then vanish for the rest of the series. This is a recurring trope in shounen stories, as seen with many of the villainous Akatsuki members in Naruto or the super-powered enemy entities in Dragon Ball. Despite Takasugi Shinsuke, a ghost from Gintoki’s past, playing the role of recurring central antagonist, each arc has a separate villain. While Kamotarou’s journey begins and ends in a single arc, Takasugi’s lackey Bansai Kawakami is also heavily featured in a standout fight with series protagonist Gintoki. Bansai’s participation in Shinsengumi Crisis represents a major trend in Gintama; the central plot of an arc is often quickly wrapped up, but a subplot may extend far beyond the small scope of a single story. Although Kamotarou’s evil plot threatens to derail the Shinsengumi permanently, the arc reaches a safe, shounen-standard conclusion: Hijikata triumphs over the dastardly conspiracy and restores his beloved Shinsengumi to the same peaceful stasis it was in before the arc started. The protagonist of a given arc usually develops in some small, meaningful way, but they return to their default light-hearted state of being after a conflict concludes.

This storytelling pattern is prevalent throughout Gintama. The machinations of antagonists like Takasugi Shinsuke develop bit by bit in the background of the smaller serious arcs, but the inevitable clash between opposing samurai doesn’t erupt until late in the anime’s fourth season. The Shogun Assassination arc sees the conflict between Gintoki and Takasugi reach its first major climax, and the repercussions of their conflict produce a ripple effect that changes the course of the series permanently. This is the beginning of the long end for Gintama; gone are the pseudo-stakes of early dramatic arcs. Now major characters lose their lives, relationships undergo dramatic change. Edo is forever impacted by the events of Shogun Assassination, and Gintama‘s new strife-ridden stasis serves as the setting for the tragic Farewell Shinsengumi arc that follows. 

Due to a change in the reigning regime, the Shinsengumi—Edo’s prolific police force—is forcefully disbanded. Shinsengumi chief Isao Kondou is detained for execution in an unfair judicial charge; his subordinates are left without a clear direction forward, only vague orders to not do anything rash in his absence. Throughout the grand majority of Gintama, Kondou is typically depicted in a comedic light. He is most commonly seen stalking his crush Tae Shimura, and the central cast berates him for his gorilla-like body hair. With Kondou’s life suddenly on the line, the tonal shift and new dire stakes lend his upcoming execution a dramatic gravity that wouldn’t exist without the many comedic arcs he previously featured in. Even his one-sided romance with Tae is treated with utter seriousness; she visibly mourns his absence despite being previously annoyed by his pestulant persistence. Kondou serves as a perfect example of what makes the characters in Gintama work: the audience develops a deep attachment through seeing their hilarious plights, and they feel the impact of a character’s painful moments to a greater degree in response.

As Kondou awaits execution, his most immediate underlings grapple with the loss of their close friend. Sougo Okita, captain of the Shinsengumi’s First Division, floats through Edo like a ghost instead of moving on to a different occupation. He continues to wear his formal Shinsengumi attire and ponders his new purposeless existence without the guidance of Kondou and the fellowship of the police. However, Toshirou Hijikata’s complicated response to the Shinsengumi’s dissolution is much more interesting, and his emotional journey is the soul of the storyline.

As the rigid and demanding vice-chief, Hijikata is dubbed “The Demon” by his subordinates. He developed the Shinsengumi’s code, 46 rules for a member to follow in order to be both an upstanding policeman and honorable samurai. When an officer inevitably breaks one of these rules, Hijikata comedically orders them to commit seppuku to atone for their slip-up. Much like Kondou, Hijikata is the butt of many jokes in the early series. His self-seriousness makes him the straight man in almost every dynamic, particularly in scenes squaring off with his rival Gintoki. This stoicism presents itself in all aspects of his life: he holds a romantic candle for one woman—Okita’s sister—who died years before after Hijikata spurned her; he resents being referred to by the nickname “Toshi;” and he demands his same intense dedication to the Shinsengumi code from every man under his command. Kondou is Hijkata’s best friend, and the two share a tight, unshakable bond that strengthens the corps they lead.

It makes perfect narrative sense then that Hijikata’s entire world is ripped out from beneath him as the Shinsengumi collapses. His identity as the demonic vice-commander is completely dependent on being a leader within Edo’s elite police force. After joining the normal police, Hijikata becomes sullen and reclusive. He is drawn to the shuttered Shinsengumi headquarters almost magnetically, stuck staring at its taped-off doors. The first episode ends with the resolutely stoic “Demon” shedding tears over his lost life and the impending doom of his closest friend. Hijikata is paralyzed, torn between staging an uncharacteristically desperate rescue operation and obeying Kondou’s final order to remain steady, to let events play out naturally, to not put himself at unnecessary risk. To Hijikata, orders are everything. He enters a state of auto-pilot, an apathetic trance to live his life within.

Unbeknownst to him, Okita is approached by a group of Joi rebels, the sworn opposition to the servantile Shinsengumi. Despite their natural animosity, the rebels want to put differences aside and assist the disparate Shinsengumi members in an attempt to break Kondou loose from captivity. Okita refuses to take leadership of this mission, choosing instead to adhere to whatever move Hijikata decides is best. Hijikata is given the arc’s most dramatic narrative choice: remain complacent under Kondou’s command or rebel against his staunch moral code to save his friend’s life. He has always made the honorable choice: ignoring his romantic feelings for Okita’s sister, leaving his post when he feels he is not adequately performing his duties.  His life with the Shinsengumi was depicted through colorful gags, ridiculous anti-criminal operations, and laughter. When Hijikata finally encounters his former compatriots again, there is only silence. Rain splashes over him as he takes in the sight of opposing men joined together on their knees, heads bowed, waiting for his order. It is therefore satisfying when Hijikata finally chooses to be irrational, to risk everything for an opportunity to rescue one of his dearest companions. 

Unlike the Shinsengumi Crisis arc, Hijikata does not have a dramatic final clash to emerge victorious from, to violently reset Edo to its peaceful status quo. His personal arc within the story is instead an emotional one. When the Shinsengumi and Joi alliance enters their long final skirmish, Hijikata gives a rousing speech in which he adds one final 47th law to the Shinsengumi Code: survive at all costs and return to Edo together, even at the expense of all other rules. This decision exemplifies Hijikata’s growth over 300 episodes of anime; he has transformed from a man who follows his code of honor at all costs to one willing to bend the rules for someone important. Hijikata metaphorically sheds the uniform of the Shinsengumi and embraces the imperfect country samurai he truly is: flawed, mostly honorable, and a defender against the unjust. As the allied forces lick their wounds in the rescue mission’s aftermath, Hijikata shares a drink and a laugh with Gintoki. He peacefully accepts the loss of his former life and his stern reputation that accompanied it. Along with the surviving members of the Shinsengumi, Hijikata departs Edo, leaving behind the city he once dedicated his life to protecting.

Hijikata and the heroes of the Shinsengumi are not the arc’s only characters to be given tragic gravitas. Initially depicted as antagonists, Isaburou Sasaki and Nobume Imai serve as leaders of the Mimawarigumi, the rival police force to the Shinsengumi. Both are defined by recurring gags: Sasaki is addicted to sending emails from his cell phone, constantly badgering an annoyed Gintoki to be his virtual pen pal. Nobume is a sadist, but she loves doughnuts with a passion she doesn’t demonstrate for anything else. Sasaki and Nobume regularly serve as enemies in Shinsengumi-centric storylines, but it is not until the Farewell arc that their tragic history is revealed. The audience learns of the dry, conniving Sasaki’s former life as a doting husband; we see his existential turmoil while trying to decide a name for his daughter, combing through every possible option by writing them out on slips of paper. Despite still being calculating and cutthroat, the former Sasaki usually makes just decisions at the end of the day. He even defies orders from the shogun and spares the lives of the Shinsengumi—his eventual rivals—although his noble decision comes at great personal cost.

Nobume Imai was raised as an assassin, renowned as a highly-effective killing machine by the time she reaches adolescence. Sasaki discovers the girl among the corpses of his loved ones and deduces that she must be the murderer. However, instead of exacting revenge, Sasaki takes the girl in as a surrogate daughter. He raises her in the place of his own child, even granting her the same name he finally decided on. The two form a deep bond, and their shared past paints their actions throughout Gintama in a different light. By the end of the Farewell Shinsengumi arc, it is impossible to not love both characters in the same way one cares for Gintoki, Hijikata, or Kondou. Redefining audience perception of a character through carefully revealing their backstory is a common tactic in shounen storytelling, but Sorachi joins experts like Eiichiro Oda in executing this technique with finesse.

Gintama‘s Farewell Shinsengumi arc is a masterclass in character-driven storytelling. Through focusing on key members of the supporting cast like Hijikata, Kondou, Nobume, and Sasaki, Hideaki Sorachi demonstrates the power of long-term character development. Sorachi reaches a sublime tonal balance by flip-flopping from quick gags to sincere moments. Even if Gintama is primarily a comedy, it truly shines in its dramatic storylines. Its lovable, nuanced cast of characters help it achieve masterpiece status among its shounen contemporaries.

To Your Eternity: Building Character from Scratch

When selecting a slew of 2021 anime to catch up on, I organized my queue and saved the shows I was most interested in for last. The final anime I consumed was Fumetsu no Anata e, or To Your Eternity. While knowing little about it, I was familiar with Koe no Katachi, the more famous work of Yoshitoki Ooima, Eternity‘s creator. My close circle of anime-watching friends lamented the 2016 mega-success of Kimi no Na wa, or Your Name; they told me weekly that the popular movie paled in comparison to Katachi. I delayed watching the movie as I always do when something is relentlessly recommended, but inevitably viewed it one hot summer afternoon and was moved to tears like many others. In Katachi, Ooima demonstrates a clear mastery of short-form emotional character-driven storytelling in a realistic modern setting.

To Your Eternity retains Ooima’s heavy emphasis on deep characters and heart-breaking story arcs despite being a much longer story and implementing fantastic elements into its premise and setting. The single television season depicts the 14-year journey of a nameless being, later dubbed “Fushi,” as it learns what it means to be human through a series of relationships forged with various social outcasts. Fushi begins life as a small orb, created by a divine being to fulfill a mysterious agenda. Fushi has the supernatural ability to transform into some of the different life forms it comes across, specifically after the other being dies. In these forms, Fushi does not age and heals from any wounds. Upon arriving on earth, it quickly adopts the form of a solitary rock and then a white wolf shortly after—the body with which it begins its epic travels in earnest.

Koe no Katachi only truly focuses on one character’s perspective. The narrative follows  teenager Shouya Ishida as he grapples with a crippling guilt and related depression; Shouya lives in perpetual turmoil over his childhood role in the brutal bullying of Shouko Nishimiya, a deaf elementary school classmate. Shouya’s destruction of Shouko’s hearing aid results in an overwhelming ostracizing from his peers, leading Shouya down a route of self-hatred that reaches its pinnacle as he enters adulthood. Katachi examines Shouya and how his singular relationship with Shouko, both in elementary school and as young adults, impacts and changes him for the better. In Shouko, Shouya finds grace and forgiveness; he learns to accept that he cannot change his past, but he can still become a caring person for the future.

Eternity’s protagonist Fushi begins as a blank slate, reflecting the philosophical theory of tabula rasa—the idea that human minds are clear before experiences with the human world are imprinted upon them. When Fushi gains sentience, he has no tragic backstory. Still, each arc in Eternity follows a similar narrative structure as seen in Katachi, but the plot format takes on a cyclical nature. Fushi meets a new human and learns some important lessons from them. Sometimes this knowledge is practical, like discovering speech from the child March and the elderly Pyoran. At other points, Fushi learns something emotionally profound: familial love and acceptance from the disfigured Gugu, or how to properly mourn through its continuous encounters with deeply personal loss. Each person Fushi meets imparts wisdom, whether simple or nuanced, unto it, and Fushi pieces together a personality from the bits he borrows from others.

Fushi’s process of personal development reflects the way all human beings grow in the real world. We discover aspects of our own nature, gain knowledge about societal expectations, and develop moral codes through a life of friendships and strife. Fushi has multiple found-families and a number of antagonistic forces, each chipping away at its marble exterior to create the sculpture of a human seen by the season’s finale. 

The slow evolution of Fushi consistently rewards viewers. After the first few episodes, it struggles to squeeze out words of gratitude. By the end of the season, Fushi speaks confidently in full sentences, occasionally stopping to ask the definition of a more complex word. When Fushi experiences its first personal loss, it responds with only a blank stare. After the death of a loved one in the final episode, Fushi immediately succumbs to grief and drops to its knees in violent sobs. Despite its growth and philosophical ascension, Fushi regularly slips and falls backward. In moments of anger and anguish, it adopts the form of a monstrous bear and wreaks destructive havoc on its surroundings. In one key story beat, Fushi chooses to grow four years older without changing from its primary form of a pale-haired teenage boy. Fushi enters late adolescence, gains a few inches in height, grows the wisps of a beard. It later unintentionally sacrifices this physical maturity when transforming to fight off an enemy, and finds its body deaged when returning to its boy shape. The years of growth lost represent a real person’s immature slips even into adulthood; gaining maturity is a constant cycle of advancing, failing, and advancing again. Fushi, like real human beings, becomes something of a palimpsest: even with its previous experiences written over, it never loses what is written beneath. It honors those it has lost and fights tooth and nail to retain its memories. Fushi’s trajectory from a purposeless existence to a person with their own values and goals is incredibly fulfilling, and it’s easy for audiences to anticipate the immortal being’s further growth in future animated seasons. 

Fushi’s complex development would fail completely if the characters it encountered in its journey were not themselves each interesting and equally fleshed out. Much like Koe no Katachi‘s intricately-realized Shouko Nishimiya, Fushi’s companions each have clear desires, anxieties, and flaws. Ooima paints realistic portraits of human beings who all feel alive and different from one another. Fushi is moved and shaped by each desire of those he cherishes: March’s desire to blaze through childhood and become an adult, Parona striving to protect March’s innocence, Fushi’s first human companion longing to end his solitude and reconnect with his lost loved ones. The first true story arc features Fushi, under the guidance of motherly March and courageous Parona, developing from an infantile mindset to enter a sort of rough mental adolescence. The relationship Fushi forges with March is the blueprint for the narrative cycle that harkens back to Ooima’s work on Koe no Katachi, a model that is utilized time and again to varying degrees of success throughout Eternity‘s duration. Within this plethora of people Fushi meets from different walks of life, the most impactful story in the season is arguably that of the young Gugu.

Gugu is introduced as a strange boy with a chameleon-like helmet obscuring his face. In his backstory, he is shown to be a poor boy with a pure heart; he works tirelessly in servitude to rich families, saving every dollar to one day live a life of comfort with Shin, the older brother he idolizes. Shin regularly takes advantage of his idealistic brother’s good will, using the money Gugu raises for selfish purposes. Still, Gugu’s selflessness perseveres. He sells vegetables with a grin to make ends meet, and he earns the favor of Rean—a wealthy girl Gugu quickly develops a crush on—after sharing his meager dinner with her dog. After being abandoned and left penniless by Shin, Gugu wanders the world without purpose, works because he knows nothing else. When a freak circumstance sends giant logs careening toward an unsuspecting Rean, who is distracted by purple bellflowers, Gugu acts without thinking: he tackles her out of harm’s way and is crushed instead.

Gugu survives thanks to the machinations of the bizarre Booze Man, an eccentric elderly liquor distiller. His body, however, is irrevocably damaged. Gugu’s face is disfigured beyond recognition, and his belly is perpetually bloated as a result of Booze Man’s experimentation. The chameleon mask audiences first see Gugu hides horrific scarring. He begins a new life working for his savior, hiding his new anxieties from the outside world. Gugu never removes his helmet, regularly pokes his big belly in defeat. The once bright boy grows bitter, understands the world will never accept what he has become.

Enter Fushi, a being who has no sense of what is handsome or hideous. Gugu is baffled by Fushi’s innocence, its blind acceptance of Gugu’s mask, body, and face. While townspeople glare at Gugu or call him a monster, Fushi is happy to be in the boy’s presence. Gugu gleefully adopts Fushi as a younger brother, showers him with the attention and advice he never received from Shin. Fushi finds belonging in Gugu, Booze Man, and his companion Pyoran. Gugu inadvertently teaches Fushi about romantic love when Rean enters the distillery one afternoon; the boy’s braggadocio crumbles into bumbling pleasantries. As Rean begins spending more and more time with them, Gugu finds a melancholic contentment being with the girl he loves, even if he knows she’ll never be with him and his new marred form. Rean’s innocent affection and Fushi’s fraternal admiration empower Gugu, instill in him a confidence he’s never before had. Gugu finds strength in his new relationships and the blind acceptance only achievable when faced with overpowering love.

Even as Gugu grows muscular and tall, his anxieties remain ever present and human. His collection of physical flaws reflect the common blemishes real people relentlessly fret over. Some of the most common vain concerns are those of weight gain, facial imperfections. When an older Rean expresses romantic interest, Gugu finds her affection unfathomable. Gugu’s impoverishment remains an obstacle between them, his monstrous appearance leaving him forever a societal outcast—but Rean loves him regardless of this. Fushi witnesses Gugu’s plight and Rean’s unrealized devotion. After their romance reaches its bittersweet conclusion, Fushi is left forever branded by their relationship; the immortal being will live forever under the influence of its older brother.

The sheer strength of Gugu’s arc is perhaps why the last act of the season’s story falls flat. A chain of events lead a grieving Fushi to Janada, an island of criminals who decide their leader through trials of colosseum combat. While this section showcases the sharpest animation of the series, the new characters Fushi encounters fail to hold candles to Gugu, Rean, Booze Man, and Pyoran. The complex, heartfelt romance from the previous arc is instead replaced by another found-family dynamic. Tonari, the most important new character Fushi meets on the island, doesn’t leave much of an impression or stand out in the way March and Parona from the first real arc do. The redeeming factor in the story’s final stretch is the spine of the series itself: the growth Fushi continues to demonstrate. 

For the first time, Fushi comes face to face with sadistic evil. A former enemy returns to deliver devastating news to it, and her actions challenge Fushi’s developing moral compass. The dynamic provides an exciting philosophical conflict: the ideals instilled upon Fushi by good people like Gugu and March versus the violent instinctual desire to dish out revenge. All of the enemies Fushi has faced throughout the story converge on Janada, and the horrific outcome of these evil forces coming together leaves Fushi with an even heavier emotional burden by the arc’s end.

The final episode features only Fushi and one of its oldest friends on a short, somber journey. The last miniature story demonstrates how far Fushi has come over the course of 20 episodes. It carries on thoughtful conversation, it laughs, it grieves. The series leaves Fushi in a curious position to kick off the upcoming sequel season—though the anime studio Brain’s Base passing the torch to unproven studio Drive could be cause for concern.

Brain’s Base does an admirable job with Eternity‘s art and animation throughout. The combat sequences are well-animated. Fushi’s recurring battles against the otherworldly elemental monster Nokkers are all commendable, but the short one-on-one late-game duel with antagonist Hayase is a shining example of the studio’s efforts. The many facial expressions on each of Fushi’s forms remain dynamic, easily eliciting laughs or tugged heartstrings. The artstyle of the adaptation at times has an almost watercolor appearance, particularly in its depiction of human hair and eyes. Other elements exhibit Brain’s Base’s prowess: the flames Gugu breathes, splashes of blood bursting from wounds. Each time the immortal Fushi is ripped apart and stitches itself back together, Brain’s Base tactfully displays anatomical gore and its subsequent healing. Not every scene is laden with artistry; some shots feature stiff movements or characters simply standing around without interesting framing. On the whole though, Brain’s Base delivers on the animation front at most opportunities. Studio Drive may showcase some similar talent in its adaptation of the next few Eternity arcs, and the recently released trailer at least shows promise.

The musical score is emotionally effective throughout: lighthearted pieces drive the daily antics of Fushi and its friends, and tragic piano tunes punctuate each character’s death. The opening sequence’s catchy theme song “Pink Blood” is performed by Hikaru Utada, famous for a prolific pop career that includes famous tracks for the Kingdom Hearts and Neon Genesis Evangelion franchises. The song itself is strong, but the evolution of its accompanying video sequence as the series progresses also stands out. Shots of Fushi’s experiences are gradually cut into the sequence as the season unfolds, sometimes clearly and other times as a faded overlay. There are also a few images in the sequence that are blatant misdirection, similar to Jujutsu Kaisen‘s first opening sequence in 2020. Characters appear in Eternity‘s opening with ages and appearances never to be seen due to tragic occurrences in the story; seeing these glimpses of what could have been becomes a profound experience. The ending sequence is fine; a simple instrumental with important images that harken back to various moments in the series. It doesn’t stand out, but it doesn’t detract either.

A few other weak points stick out in a series of narrative highs. The villains, particularly the mysterious recurring Nokkers, are not entirely interesting; the monsters Fushi frequently faces are visually interesting, but seeing the same scenario play out over and over becomes less exciting with each subsequent encounter. The human antagonist Hayase is slightly better, although some strange motivational choices in the late story may leave audiences baffled at times. Each episode also begins with a lengthy recap, some lasting multiple minutes. Hopefully the upcoming season slices these reminders down to a less distracting length.

Fushi’s journeys throughout To Your Eternity treat audiences to an expert study of crafting character from scratch. By presenting a clean slate protagonist, Yoshitoki Ooima creates a walking metaphor for real human growth. Fushi fills its slate with the values and experiences passed down from the many potent characters it comes across in its travels, and the strongest of these people serve up some of the most memorable anime arcs in recent memory. Brain’s Base successfully delivers an adaptation of Ooima’s manga that is often powerful, even with a few notable faults. Here’s to seeing how Fushi further develops and what studio Drive accomplishes in the second season. 

Metroid Prime: Atmospheric Horror and Explorative Storytelling

My first attempt to conquer the Nintendo Gamecube’s Metroid Prime was around Christmas in 2002. The isolated horror atmosphere presented to the player in the game’s opening moments stole my seven-year-old attention span. Bounty hunter Samus Aran arrives on the Orpheon, a massive abandoned spaceship, to answer a distress signal sent out by the Space Pirates, her mortal enemies. Samus likely arrives with the express intent to slaughter any survivors, and that she does. Unbeknownst to the child staring wide-eyed at the crab-like alien carcasses littered through the Orpheon’s corridors, the Space Pirates are awful. They’re responsible for most crimes committed across the Metroid franchise’s fictional galaxy. At the player’s behest, Samus executes the few lingering Space Pirates after their weak attempts to shoot her down. The setting gives the impression that the Orpheon was once home to hundreds of these aliens, a home base for their horrific deeds. Now its defense is left in the hands of the mortally wounded few.

In the heart of the Orpheon waits a bioengineered monstrosity, the abomination responsible for the carnage Samus waltzed over on her way to the game’s first boss fight. This encounter sets the player up for the series of boss fights to come, most of which are the results of the Space Pirates playing god. I repeatedly replayed through this linear tutorial level as a child because I was lost when Prime actually opened itself up for the bulk of its contents. After surviving her disastrous excursion on the Orpheon, Samus Aran chases her archrival Ridley, the leader of the Space Pirates and killer of Samus’s parents, to the planet Talon IV. Its surface initially seems as barren as the Orpheon, but Samus is soon assaulted by a number of alien creatures naturally defensive against her invasion.

The process of exploration and discovery that make any good Metroid game tick are impossible for a child to appreciate. As an adult, it’s easy to finally move past the still excellent Orpheon sequence and fall in love with the geodynamic Tallon IV. Samus loses most of her special abilities after killing the Orpheon’s final boss, so the fundamental gameplay loop of Prime involves her killing bosses to recover these powers. Samus quickly discovers evidence of an ancient Chozo civilization once inhabiting the planet, and, after restoring herself to full power, must locate their lost ancient artifacts to unlock a secret hidden within the planet’s core. The Chozo are a legendary race of bird-like aliens revered for their wisdom on a galactic scale. They also raised Samus as one of their own after the aforementioned Ridley slaughtered the people of her planet. The erasure of Talon IV’s Chozo population is personal for Samus.

That’s all there is to the game’s overarching narrative, but it only scratches the surface of its story. Numerous details await the player in the form of lore entries hidden around Talon IV, each giving context to some aspect of Samus’s journey: the enemies, environment, power-ups, and deadly boss encounters. Director Mark Pacini and his team made the brilliant decision to set the game’s events on a planet whose central conflict has long since been resolved, leaving Samus to absorb the aftermath. Something sinister reigns over the denizens of the planet, and, after hours of piecing together the disastrous history of Talon IV, the final boss encounter carries a heavy narrative weight. Samus isn’t only fighting for survival; she could leave the planet with ease after reassembling her suite of superpowers. However, the information Samus and the player gain over the course of their shared journey propels her to see her quest through to the end. Samus takes on her last opponent out of mercy for the planet it has corrupted and vengeance for the Chozo civilization it brought to ruin.

This slow shift in motivation signifies the nobility of Samus’s character, alluding to the just streak that drives her through most of the Metroid games. Despite the canonicity of the Prime series being up for debate, the first game takes place early in Samus’s bounty-hunting career. The only video game to take place before Prime chronologically is the very first Metroid for the Nintendo Entertainment System, or its Gameboy Advance remake Zero Mission. That game sees Samus return to the planet she was raised on, facing off with many of her series-long rivals for the first time.The Samus seen in Prime is young, silent, highly-competent. While there is almost no spoken dialogue and very few cutscenes to characterize her, Samus still stands out as cool and committed. The Metroid series has always done a great job at crafting such an iconic central character, and entries are usually considered misfires when they feature her spouting many voice lines or replace her with a different protagonist entirely.

The only other notable character for most of the game is Ridley. He’s seen sparingly through the story, glimpsed in shots of the skyline and in the opening cutscene. Prime‘s Ridley has much of his body replaced with cybernetic replacements, lingering ramifications of his battle with Samus in the original Metroid. The immense hatred between these characters is readable even if Prime is a player’s first Metroid game; Samus jumps into action as soon as Ridley rears his ugly head, and any battle between them across the franchise is presented without fanfare. There are so many boss fights with Ridley across the series that it’s almost become an obligation, but any opportunity to slap Ridley with a barrage of missiles is a welcome one.

Ridley’s enhanced metal body speaks for the limitless capability of the Space Pirate’s bioengineering schemes. Bringing their hateful captain back to life is only one of their many twisted achievements on display in Prime. Most of the bosses throughout Samus’s journey on Talon IV are the direct results of Space Pirate machinations; these creatures are disfigured, mutated, and powerful. Each encounter with one is a reminder of the evil that created them. This environmental storytelling helps players see the depths of Space Pirate depravity.

These narrative allusions also take shape in the form of ancient Chozo ghosts who test Samus throughout her journey. These specters are the only remnants of the former civilization, and collecting their runes and power-ups feels like Samus taking up their wills as her own, giving her all the more motive to extinguish the final blight from the planet. Hiding the stakes within environmental details gives the player the illusion of discovering these past calamities on their own, effectively transporting them into Samus’s mind along with her armor; they experience the same realizations as the bounty hunter, giving them a personal agency within the narrative.

The gameplay puts players behind Samus’s visor, adopting a first-person style for the first time in the franchise. This shift in perspective away from the side-scrolling third-person approach to the previous games is perfect for Metroid, and it unsurprisingly is revisited for a few games afterward. Forcing the player into the bounty hunter’s power armor also makes them utilize the game’s visor system; as they explore Talon IV, the player must switch between a quartet of viewing filters that reveal secret platforms and hidden unlockables. The most useful of these is one that scans the environment and enemies around Samus, giving the player the countless bits of implied story necessary to grasp the scope of Talon IV’s downfall.

A similar system is employed to switch between the different weapons Samus gains access to. Her default arm cannon feels great to aim and shoot, a must for a game that features as much combat as Prime does. Later players can use tools like the Ice Beam to navigate the environment and stun enemies before delivering killing blows. Samus must utilize all of these tools in the late-stage boss encounters, and a mastery of her combat mechanics is necessary for the final fight. The game generally does an admirable job proving the necessity of each new ability, requiring the player to regularly rotate through their different beams to unlock doors into new. Samus also faces a horde of enemy types who can only be damaged by one weapon or another, providing a welcome difficulty and dynamic evolution in the game’s combat.

As with all Metroid titles, exploration is the name of the game’s main mode of interactivity. Of course a seven-year-old accustomed to movie tie-in games would be lost on the surface of Talon IV; the moment Samus lands, linearity is lost. Retro Studios leaves the player to locate their own path forward, presenting them a number of avenues not yet accessible. As Samus reacquires her abilities, new paths become available. This encourages continual revisiting of previous areas, scouring walls for secret doors or hidden passages to optional power-ups. Prime‘s later stages may be easy or punishing, depending on how many extra health bars and missiles you’ve collected along the way. The sheer number of secrets in each of the planet’s rooms make them feel complex and carefully crafted. This coupled with a number of biomes: arctic tundras, volcanic wastes, Amazonian wetlands. The variety in Talon IV’s environments keep the game visually fresh, making Samus’s journey a beautiful one if nothing else.

And that variety is vital considering how many times you will step foot in each of the many areas. Backtracking is a double-edged sword; the wealth of secrets a player may initially miss can make revisiting areas feel rewarding, but Prime‘s map is so huge that navigating from one end of the planet to the other feels like it takes forever. Compared to how quickly Samus can blast across Zebes in Zero Mission, Talon IV can at times feel exhausting to traverse. This isn’t helped by the game’s clunky 3D map, a feature much improved on in later Prime titles. Once verticality is introduced to some of Talon IV’s environments, exploration in these areas can be frustrating. The player needs to memorize their route through places like the Space Pirates’ bioengineering facility in order to remember doors in ceilings or floors.

Prime also holds the player’s hand more than the classic 2D games, pinging the player and forcing them to open their map if the game feels they’ve taken too long to reach the next objective. While not as annoying as it becomes in later games, it’s still frustrating to be on the cusp of unlocking a new optional ability and suddenly forced to a grinding halt as the game tells you: “Go to this location now.” On the other hand, this feature at least helps players like me at age seven get to where they need to go rather than be absorbed in the varied landscapes of Talon IV. 

These backtracking issues are further exacerbated by Prime‘s last act. After collecting all of her abilities and conquering a roster of bosses, Samus is tasked with locating a dozen Chozo artifacts that function as keys to the final area. This move comes across as unnecessary, padding out an already lengthy journey to add a couple hours more of digging around. Growing boredom in the backtracking process will eventually be assuaged by two magnificent boss fights to cap off the story; Samus’s final two ordeals are the most fun encounters in the game and pay off hours of collecting bonuses and engaging with Prime‘s fun combat.

Navigating Talon IV as Samus feel great on the Gamecube controller, but the Wii updates her aiming mechanics with effective motion controls. This design change promotes a greater degree of interactivity for the player, and tense battles feel more immersive while manually having to point Samus’s arm cannon. This process is smoothed by Prime‘s excellent lock-on feature, helping the player keep sight of their target at all times. Even as a certified hater of most motion controls, Prime‘s still felt good to use. The modern updates brought about by the Wii release only enhance the game, including easier difficulty settings than those of the original to reach a greater variety of players. Still, playing the game on the “Veteran” difficulty (equivalent to the original game’s default) is the ideal experience.

Metroid Prime‘s different production elements all stand out even by today’s standards. The graphics and resolution have obviously aged, but the unique enemy animations and excellent environmental design make the game still unlike any other. From horrific displays of violence to tranquil wooded clearings, this 2002 game can still be stunning. The sound design may be the real star of the show. From the noises of Samus’s different weapons to her heavy footsteps and enemy shouts, great care was put into each audible effect present. Topping this is an excellent soundtrack from series composer Kenji Yamamoto. Many beautiful and haunting arrangements score Samus’s exploration, and most of these are throwbacks to significant tunes from games past. One particular song plays in the Underwater Frigate Reactor Core—a melancholic piece punctuated by piano that matches the watery depths Samus is traveling through.

Metroid Prime holds up. Rumors of a port for the Nintendo Switch mean a new generation of players may experience this excellent game for the first time. Hopefully a future release may include some streamlined backtracking similar to the changes seen in the HD rerelease of The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker for Wii U, where Link’s late-stage journey across the sea to recover smaller bits of Triforce pieces was shortened and simplified. Either way, Prime is a game worth experiencing. Diving in blind will result in an unforgettable investigative journey.

Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man Trilogy

It’s a testament to Willem Dafoe’s terrific performance as Spider-Man‘s Green Goblin that I was too afraid to watch the 2002 film as a child. My dad wasted money on tickets to see it in the theater; I started crying the moment we entered and heard Dafoe’s booming cackle.  Once the movie saw a home video release, a kid at my daycare pining for clout brought the VHS to break up our afternoon monotony of movies like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and The Sound of Music. As the opening credits rolled on the small CRT TV, I began hyperventilating and fell into a full-blown panic attack. The daycare called my mom to pick me up, and the embarrassing experience pushed me to ask my mom to buy the movie for our new DVD player at home. Through sheer seven-year-old willpower, I made it through a viewing of Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man on our living room’s big screen. I fell in love with the dazzling special effects, the epic yet campy tone, the thematic resonance of Peter Parker’s two hour journey. Spider-Man became my lifelong favorite superhero. 

Then Spider-Man 2 was better in every way. It’s been my favorite movie since I opened it as a Christmas gift from my dad, and watching it last month proved it holds up. It exemplifies the perfect sequel, scoffs at the idea that the second movie is always worse than the first. The themes and threads presented in Spider-Man are all revisited and further expanded on. Audiences are treated to the most human Peter Parker to appear on screen to date. The film explores the dichotomy between selfless Spider-Man and the man under the mask who just wants to catch a break. Doctor Octavius is an excellent antagonist who personifies Peter’s personal fears, a man whose ambition takes everything from him. Peter witnesses firsthand the danger that comes to the loved ones of powerful people, and he sees how that love lost can turn man to monster. While each Spider-Man features a fine-tuned narrative, the second movie best demonstrates this trilogy’s ability to tell an enthralling story with each element moving together like parts in an efficient machine.

My love for Raimi’s Spider-Man trilogy drove me to comics, and I found in the colorful pages the same things that made me love Tobey Maguire’s Peter. The endless struggle between selfish desire and doing the right thing, the everyman always slightly behind ends meet, the evolving definition of what it means to be a hero. Maguire’s Peter still stands unique in comparison to later film-interpretations of the character. Marc Webb portrays Andrew Garfield’s Peter as an edgy skater who is in no way uncool. Jon Watts leads Tom Holland’s performance as an aw-shucks shy teenager who dresses well and gives the impression of a preppy kid making himself appear nerdy in the name of hipster chic. 

Meanwhile, Maguire and Raimi craft a Peter who is similar to the intelligent outcast from Stan Lee’s immortal 1960’s Amazing Spider-Man run. Peter here has cringe one-liners in his bouts with supervillains that both work for Raimi’s auteur directing style and for Maguire’s interpretation of the character. His awkward earnestness when talking to Kirsten Dunst’s Mary Jane, his star-crossed love interest, is both painfully believable and endearing. Maguire’s performance has been eternalized by memes stemming from Peter’s comedically dark turn in Spider-Man 3, but the character always had that edge. Each film follows a distinct arc revolving around one of Peter’s major flaws, and his journey to overcome his own issues is often more interesting than the big climactic battle with his antagonist. 

Spider-Man shows Peter struggling with the responsibility of being a hero, and he develops an initial grasp of the sacrifice necessary to live a life as the wallcrawler. In Spider-Man 2, Peter fights to find a balance within his dual life. The themes of personal sacrifice are further expanded, and he learns through his interpersonal plight the importance of remaining steadfast and responsible—even at the cost of the romance with Mary Jane he wishes for more than anything. Finally, in the massive Spider-Man 3, Peter conclusively faces the inner arrogance that directly led to his uncle’s death at the beginning of his journey. While many lament the goofy direction this inner turmoil takes, it fits perfectly within Raimi’s directorial style established in his earlier works like The Evil Dead.

Another holdover from Raimi’s early career directing horror is the underlying scary mood present in each movie. Each film features moments of body horror: Peter’s ability to crawl walls is visualized through microscopic spikes jutting from his fingertips, and his body produces organic web fluid—a jarring change from the hand-made technological web shooters present in the comics. The villains all have horrific origins, brought to life by a series of excellent performances from the likes of Willem Dafoe, Alfred Molina, and Thomas Hayden Church. Dafoe’s Norman Osborn has a grisly transformation into the Green Goblin, his alter ego. His portrayal of the long-standing comic character is more reminiscent of classic horror villains than the antagonists present in modern MCU films. Molina’s Otto Octavius boasts the most horrific scene in the series: he memorably massacres a team of surgeons in a scene that harkens back to Raimi’s Evil Dead films. The demonic possession rampant in that trilogy is also present here, in a sense. Osborn, Octavius, and Spider-Man 3‘s Venom are all at the mercy of some out-of-body force. For Osborn, experiments with a weapons-grade gas creates a new maniacal persona; Octavius is controlled by rogue artificial intelligence he created; and Topher Grace’s Eddie Brock is possessed by an alien symbiote that embellishes his worst character traits, transitioning him into a dark mirror of Spider-Man.

Despite Venom’s late inclusion in Spider-Man 3 being critically scoffed over, he does have a thematically relevant role to play. He physically represents the dark side of Peter the audience has watched for the preceding hours of film, although the character had enough unexplored rich potential that he would have been better served in his own sequel film. Despite an infamous case of studio interference, Spider-Man 3 does manage to host a great villain in the Sandman. His origin being tied directly to Peter has been discussed as a contentious choice for the last decade, but it helps to fully realize Peter’s complete arc across the trilogy. Despite Peter’s character growth over the first two films, the only person he has been unable to forgive for his years as Spider-Man is himself. While an obvious retcon, Sandman being his uncle’s true killer works narratively in a similar way to Venom. While Peter symbolically views himself as responsible for his uncle’s death, he faces off with the man who actually pulled the trigger. The depth of this dynamic should have been the bulk of the movie.

What makes Raimi’s Spider-Man stories memorable, even after two more separate Sony-led Spider-Man series, is the parallelism present between Peter’s personal flaws and the downfall of each film’s main antagonist. Raimi’s films easily draw connections between Peter and his villains, a feature not prevalent in either Garfield’s or Holland’s appearances. The main enemies in The Amazing Spider-Man are all directly created by Garfield’s Peter’s actions. He gives his first major villain the mathematical equation that turns him into a monstrous lizard; his ego and dismissal of a nerdy Jaime Foxx leads to the creation of the evil Electro; and the same venom that created Spider-Man turns Dane Dehaan into a Green Goblin. Holland’s villains both hold grudges against the MCU’s Tony Stark, Peter’s mentor in those films. Peter is indirectly wrapped up in their revenge plots against Stark, and he bumbles his way to victory against them both. There is little narrative correlation between the MCU’s Spider-Man and his central antagonists. 

The villains of the Spider-Man trilogy are not its only great supporting characters. Although spawning some jokes over the years, Dunst’s performance as Mary Jane is consistently solid. Although she and Maguire may not share quite the same chemistry as Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone in The Amazing Spider-Man, their relationship is incriticate and personal. The bond Peter and Mary Jane share is the backbone of Raimi’s trilogy, and it is equal parts satisfying and fulfilling that the final movie ends with a somber, romantic dance they share in a jazz bar. Raimi’s final scene is a huge contrast to the impressive web-swinging crescendos the first two films end with, but there was no better way for these characters to go out. Peter’s friendship with James Franco’s Harry Osborn is established well enough in the first movie to work as an emotional throughline for the sequels. Its conclusive execution in Spider-Man 3 isn’t as deftly handled as other storylines, but their alliance in the final battle is satisfying and a worthy send-off for Harry.  

Rosemary Harris stands out as May, Peter’s moral compass. She has some of the best lines of dialogue in the series, and Raimi trusts her with key scenes that address each of Peter’s thematic struggles. And of course, J.K. Simmons’ larger-than-life performance as newspaper mogul J. Jonah Jameson is such a raging success that the character hasn’t been recast across three different Spider-Man franchises. His unforgettable portrayal made the character more popular than ever before and demonstrates that excellent acting can be found even in the depths of the often dismissed superhero genre.

The production quality of the film is Hollywood’s early-2000s state-of-the-art. Its CGI effects have definitely aged, but they stunned audiences at the time and often hold up compared to even modern superhero films. It’s too soon to tell, but the 2004 CGI used for the superhuman movement of Molina’s Octavius in Spider-Man 2 seems more effective than the 2021 CGI used on the same actor playing the same character in promotional material for the upcoming Spider-Man: No Way Home. There are glaring moments of CGI that are frankly distracting by modern standards, including Peter’s pursuit of the criminal he believes shot Uncle Ben in Spider-Man and his airborne battle with Harry early in Spider-Man 3. The special effects are still impressive in more cases than not, particularly in most of the series’s astounding fight scenes. The best of these instances is Spider-Man 2‘s subway duel, and Raimi’s team blends computer graphics and practical effects to make one of the most unforgettable scenes in film history.

The myriad of camerawork across the trilogy is a filmmaking triumph. From the special camera invented for the web-swinging sequences to the standout direction in scenes like Spider-Man 2’s surgery massacre, Raimi proves time and again his mastery of his craft. The original Spider-Man trilogy oozes with Raimi’s auteur style to this day, and stood out against its peers even back in the early 2000s. That’s not to say the films aren’t products of their time; each movie features tie-in theme songs from some of the biggest bands of the era—Nickelback, Dashboard Confessional, Snow Patrol. These rock songs don’t hold a candle to the soaring orchestral score by Danny Elfman, and the main theme remains one of the best movie compositions of all time. Elfman’s music makes the action on screen feel truly heroic, and Peter’s struggles are raised to a mythological scale.

It would be easy to go on for hours about any of Raimi’s Spider-Man movies. Even the worst of the trilogy is rich with thematic resonance and deliberate direction. Spider-Man helped kick off the biggest movie genre in history, and that accomplishment is easily understood upon watching the films today. With Sony’s upcoming No Way Home set to feature many of the Raimi characters, it’s clear that Spider-Man is still one of the greatest and most influential movie series of all time.

Arcane: Thematic Duality

The best part of Riot’s ridiculously popular League of Legends has always been the anecdotal lore about its wide cast of playable characters. These interesting archetypal stories are hardly on the forefront in the multiplayer game; players can piece relationships and past events together from quips of dialogue as they earn kills, or they can read through pages and pages of information on Riot’s website and fan wikis. Many would argue the worst part of the elaborate franchise is actually playing the game itself—it carries with it a checkered reputation of player-based toxic behavior and often frustrating match lengths. That said, it is one of the most popular games of all time for a reason. There’s a depth and complexity to its gameplay that takes years to master, but emerging victorious in even a quick unranked match is one of the most rewarding sensations in gaming. Despite a personal cyclical history of playing the game, becoming addicted, and eventually fizzling out, I have always loved League of Legends and all of its faults.

Due to the base game’s immense learning curve, Riot made the wise decision to extend their impressive world-building and relatable characters to as many other media formats as possible. New players may be immediately turned off by the intricate mechanics present in each individual character, the tense encounters with rogue teammates and mean opponents, and the ever-present feeling that they’re terrible at the game. Riot has already branched out into different genres of video game, including the virtual card game Legends of Runeterra and the recent RPG Ruined King. However, the most successful of these recent endeavors is Arcane, the Netflix-hosted animated series. 

The series features a tighter narrative scope than the global conflict present in the premise of League of Legends. It presents the story of Jinx, one of Riot’s flagship characters, and greatly expounds upon her long-assumed relationship with Vi, an earlier member of League‘s roster. While most cinematic video game adaptations rely exclusively on fan service, Arcane sets out almost as if the original game doesn’t exist. It features a compact focus on only one region from the game’s lore, and it deftly guides the audience through the world’s creative magic system.

The tight writing brings a deep humanity to the story’s central characters. Jinx, known initially as Powder, and her sister Vi are the heart of the series, and their relationship slams hard on both a personal and geopolitical level. Strong writing weaves the emotional narrative together with the plot’s action, and Arcane features that complex degree of care and detail throughout. The show’s first act excellently helps viewers connect to the sisters as children. A whole third of the series is dedicated to establishing the twin cities of Piltover and Zaun: one is industrial and revolutionary, the other dingy and left to rot. The inhabitants of Zaun resent those of Piltover for treating them like punching bags, and the lavish lifestyle of the rich is made possible by the tyrannical oppression experienced by the poor. Arcane is definitely about classism, and that divide drives the plot forward while forcing the core cast against each other. The stark dichotomy between the cities is further represented in three pairs of main characters.

The youth of Vi and Powder is intimately explored, effectively showcasing the tender bond between these sisters. Orphaned before the events of the series, Vi is forced into a role of responsibility. She becomes tough for the sake of her sister, engages in petty crime and street brawls to keep the smaller girl safe. Vi is relatable and charismatic from the show’s opening moments, a storytelling victory resulting from the strength of her writing, detailed facial animation, and voice provided by the talented Hailee Steinfeld. The weight she carries on her shoulders leaves her flawed and heroic in equal parts. Vi makes for an excellent protagonist to bring audiences into the world of Runeterra, and her desire to do best by Powder while also remaining morally just compels the viewer to care. Vi’s greatest flaw may be too much responsibility—the giant chip on her shoulder and her self-seriousness cause her to unintentionally neglect Powder emotionally. This leads to a tragedy at the end of the first act, an event that redefines the sisters’ relationship and fuels the narrative’s emotional weight moving forward. 

Powder is the opposite of Vi. This is demonstrated through excellent visual contrast as well as in their personalities. Powder’s hair is bright blue compared to Vi’s pink. She’s lithe and weak, but Vi is stocky, powerful. Vi solves her problems with her fists while Powder (and later Jinx) create weapons and technological feats of destruction. Powder lacks Vi’s parental burden, and she instead wishes to be valued and loved by her sister and the other orphans they run with. Her dark transformation into Jinx later in the series is understandable and a natural progression of the first act’s stakes; it’s hard to watch Jinx suffer, and her continuous conflict with Vi is heartbreaking. Vi fights only to save the ghost of her sister, an afterimage of Powder from years before. Jinx desires nothing more than to be loved and accepted by Vi as the troubled criminal she’s become. The interpersonal clash between these two characters is one of the many things that makes Arcane excellent.

The tragic sibling rivalry between Jinx and Vi is paralleled in their respective father figures Silco and Vander. The girls are molded in the images of these men. Like Vander, Vi is a boxer who ultimately wields massive power gauntlets and laments the loss of her sister to darkness. Similar to Silco, Jinx feels forsaken by her sister and righteous in her own evil deeds. Silco particularly makes for a compelling overarching villain, one whose goals are admirable even if his methods for achieving them are not. The audience is left unsure whether he truly cares for Jinx as a daughter or viewed her only as an efficient tool, a sadistic means to an end. The uncertainty in his motivation proves the power of his role in Arcane.  

The other central duo is Jayce and Viktor, a pair of Piltover scientists who strive to create magic through technology. Although their relationship doesn’t quite explode into full-blown antagonism, it’s clear that their opposing fates bring friction between them. Despite being warned against the danger of their experiments, Jayce and Viktor push forward and bring their city great technological progress. There is always an imbalance in their dynamic, though. Viktor carries with him the burden of originating from Zaun, and the emotional baggage of his past oppression haunts him. While Jayce also experiences hardship, he does so from a place of privilege. Viktor naturally takes the role as Jayce’s second, a clear reflection of the greater power difference shown in the relationship between Piltover and Zaun. This longstanding city rivalry also foretells the pair’s eventual fate.

For their notable scientific achievement, Jayce is rewarded with status and power while Viktor watches from the sidelines. His failing body prevents him from absorbing the limelight, and Jayce unintentionally capitalizes on this and prospers. Viktor becomes more and more desperate to regain control of himself as the series spirals onward, and his actions lead to shocking results and a body forever tarnished. It remains to be seen how their relationship will boil over in future seasons, but it will definitely be an exciting outcome if their appearances in League are anything to go off of. 

The other members of the main cast have clear goals that they’re willing to give up everything to achieve, and seeing these clashes of will erupt in visually gorgeous fight sequences is always a treat. Many of those yet unmentioned are as memorable as the protagonists. Ekko is energetic and good-hearted, and he’s featured in one of the series’ best battle sequences. Caitlyn’s drive to be just and fair is clearly demonstrated early on. She expresses a genuine compassion for Vi and gives her a much-needed chance to relax; their blooming relationship is one of the highlights of the series. Arcane doesn’t only feature characters from the game; some of its most interesting aspects are original to the production. A viewer unfamiliar with League may be unsure who existed before now and who didn’t. Future seasons promise the addition of more game characters, and preexisting lore dictates that dynamic characters such as the robotic Blitzcrank will one day appear.

The production quality of the show is astounding and stands as one of its highest selling points. Many viewers still reel at the notion of computer-generated animation, but standout projects like Sony’s Into the Spider-Verse have demonstrated the vast potential of the medium. Arcane carries on in this tradition, boasting a beautiful, unique art style that harkens to the great original character designs littered throughout League. The 3D animation is bolstered by traditional 2D effects, creating a beautiful artistic blend that is truly unique for the medium. There is almost always something breathtaking happening on screen, especially in the action-packed final episodes.

Part of the show’s artistic merit stems from its updated character designs of League‘s preexisting characters. The steampunk-esque atmosphere present in both cities effects informs their adapted looks. Vi transitions from the game’s corset-like attire to a more befitting punk-rock aesthetic: red blazer, dark hoodie, striped pants. Jinx’s classic design is modernized, with her bikini replaced by a halter top. This is sure to birth many conservative think pieces, but it’s a fine change and a nice modern update to a character who debuted in 2013 and hasn’t changed much since. The outfits of the Piltover characters contrast to the edgier designs of Zaun’s residents. The privileged are dressed in formal coats, ties, and clean clothes, meshing well with the brighter shades present in their city. The outfits worn by Piltover’s citizens are also mostly similar, clashing with the unique looks sported by the poor in Zaun’s slums. This is one of the many touches Arcane provides to make both sets of characters feel completely different to the other.

Incorporating some of the most popular bands of the modern era is a surefire way to kick up interest in a fledgling video game adaptation. Arcane‘s soundtrack features artists from Denzel Curry to PVRUS, lending the show a soundscape that mostly matches the imagery on screen. Some of the licensed music can be jarring to hear within the events of the show, including an in-universe Imagine Dragons cameo. Bands that have such a distinct sound tend to stand out when popping up, so that particular brand of pop rock can be distracting. Some original songs, like the one recorded by Sting for the show’s final moments, do better in depicting the intended mood of a given scene. That said, the original instrumental score is always great and appropriately executed, underscoring the most emotional moments and maximizing their gut-punch impacts.

Riot’s first foray into television is a spectacle worth beholding, a master class in dynamic, character-led storytelling. It’s no wonder Arcane is only the beginning of long-form animated projects set in the League universe. Here’s to 2023’s sequel season.

Nomad: Megalo Box 2

The follow-up to 2018’s Megalo Box, a loose adaptation of historic manga Ashita no Joe, hits like a truck. The first season of the show is thoroughly enjoyable. While it follows a wild protagonist’s standard underdog journey from slums to world champion, the production elements and weaponized nostalgia win audiences over with ease. The ties to the Joe manga are prevalent in the first season, and many of the characters are remixed into new iterations. The events are wholly more optimistic than those of the manga, but that doesn’t mean its dramatic edge is dulled.

Nomad ramps up the narrative stakes tenfold, and it grows much richer thematically. Gone is the fiery-eyed Joe from the first season; seven years later, he now lives as a haggard, scarred boxer who brawls his way through the underground fighting scene. Known only as “Nomad” in these illicit arenas, the older Joe has become everything he once rallied against. For one, Nomad uses mechanical enhancements in these back-alley fights; he embodies the antithesis of “Gearless Joe,” the scrappy young man who used his own body against the corporation sponsored professional boxers who earned their titles through cybernetic advancement. The Nomad has hardened his heart, lost the compassion that made him such a likable lone wolf in the first season.

His found family established in Megalo Box are notably absent. Joe’s coach Nanbu and the orphan children they jointly cared for have all vanished. The tale of how Joe lost his loved ones is presented in haunting glimpses of the seven years before Nomad, and the writers’ ability to strategically reveal information in flashes throughout the season is  a compelling one. It isn’t until late in the story that viewers have a full picture of what really happened to Joe between Megalo Box and Nomad, but giving the audience the ability to piece together Joe’s past on their own is a highly effective narrative choice. 

Joe begins the process of self-discovery again while assimilating with an immigrant community, fully engaging with their lifestyle and culture. Battling a brutal addiction and fear of returning home, this Joe is for the first time unbelievably human. His many plights and anxieties help the audience latch onto him, and I was moved to tears by his journey several times. The strongest part of Ashita no Joe‘s story is arguably its reliance on character depth; the manga’s Joe Yabuki is examined in great detail, entire panels dedicated to his melancholic gaze. Both Joe and Nomad feature boxing protagonists, but the stories are more about who that character is rather than the foes they punch out. The original manga muses about the concept of identity, of finding yourself in what you love. When the passions that define you are taken away, what’s left? Ashita no Joe and Nomad reach different answers to this question. Joe Yabuki lives and dies to throw punches, for the animalistic thrill of putting his being on the line. Nomad‘s Joe begins this particular journey in a similar way, but regret and loss build him into an entirely different man than his predecessor in Ikki Kajiwara’s manga. The oppressive gloom from the beginning of the season eventually gives way to gentleness as Joe determines what is more important to him than fighting, and the story’s optimistic trajectory is a welcome change from Ashita no Joe‘s original grim conclusion.

Fans of boxing stories both good and bad have grown accustomed to the protagonist’s opponents being one-note caricatures who exist for the sole purpose of being knocked down. Nomad rises above this trope with finesse. Following in the vein of Megalo Box‘s Yuri, Joe’s three major rivals in Nomad are as fleshed out as he is, each with sympathetic motivations and beautiful arcs that play out alongside Joe’s own. The first arc of Nomad revolves around Joe’s relationship with Chief, a leader of the immigrant community he takes temporary shelter with. Chief is everything “Nomad” Joe isn’t: positive, selfless, and charismatic. He pushes Joe to be the best he can, encourages him to accept his faults and move forward with rectifying them. Their friendship becomes the soul of the story, and it fuels the narrative with an emotional weight that lasts through its conclusion. Chief teaches Joe the importance of empathy and the shortness of life. Liu is a boxing prodigy, the student of Joe’s former rival Yuri. He replaces Joe in the court of public opinion and becomes a stand-in for the Joe of years past: quick, ardent, and likable. Mac, Joe’s last opponent, is a family man who arguably becomes the protagonist of the anime’s final act. The gravitas the show gives his arc is resonant, and it’s impossible to not sympathize with him after receiving an intimate portrait of his family life and the way mega-corporations have ruined his body. Mac most clearly mirrors the aging Joe, and the depths explored in each of these characters makes it hard to choose who to root for in their final bout.

Nomad is about many things: aging, loss, legacy, forgiveness, redemption. We see Joe’s body aging, his reignition of compassion. Joe struggles to honor the legacy of his mentor, to set a good example for Sachio, the orphan who is akin to his son or younger brother. The relationships in Nomad are messy, imperfect, and universal. Joe’s physical and mental journey back home can be both difficult and endearing to watch, but its execution is a thing of beauty.

Nomad was made with great care, delicately crafted to feature an intimate story and the same production tricks that make a 2021 series feel antiquated in a good way. Although there are fewer boxing matches than in its first season, each fight is meticulously animated to help viewers feel the impact of each blow and maintain the suspense of who will emerge triumphant. The show’s soundtrack remains one of its best elements, and the music present may be even better than the fantastic rock score Megalo Box boasted. The iconic themes are still present, but they now intermingle with Spanish-inspired guitar riffs and contemplative instrumentals. The music is varied and always appropriate for the unfolding story beats. Each central character has their own original theme music, and most of these tracks feature alternative versions to match the context of the scenes. The entire score is composed by mabanua, whose score punctuated the bombastic first season. Although the new music is outstanding, Joe’s original theme is still immensely memorable. When it finally shows itself in a key moment late in Nomad, it’s difficult to not feel the thrill of the upcoming dramatic action.

Nomad is a sequel that takes its first entry and flips it on its head. Who knew the perfect follow-up to an underdog boxing story would be an introspective road to recovery, a serious tale of family and transience. Joe’s last adventure is, without a doubt, my favorite anime of the year.