ZNoteTaku

*[Oshi no Ko]* is a series caught within a bizarre Catch-22 as an actual piece of entertainment. It wants to follow the comedic and dramatic conventions for storytelling that Akasaka has in mind, and also wants to unravel the disquieting undercurrent of the entertainment industry within its gaze. But to do so would involve having its cast be outsmarted or exploited by the teeth of the very beast that they seek to enterprise in, and by the nature of the show’s framing, it cannot have that. As a result, the show does not actually delve into the darkest contortions and disquieting undercurrents of the entertainmentindustry that Akasaka supposedly wants to discuss. It hints at the phantoms on the wall rather than confronts them. The whole reads more as someone who only just discovered what the entertainment industry is like, is repulsed by what they saw, and has a lot they want to say, but must make a contractual deal with the devil in order to get the story told, a provision of which is to not wholly besmirch his name in the process. Entertainment is, just as a general note, a strange entity. Stranger still though is the relationship we have with it. Even in the supposed “reality” of reality television, we all know and acknowledge on some level that everything in entertainment is manufactured or a conglomeration of lies to get a desired affect or impression. It’s engineered by hundreds of people we never know beyond the abstract to make something we think is worth the time and financial or emotional investment. We also know that the industry is not run by angels. Yet no matter how many times we get shocked by the reality that we see when the curtain gets pulled back, there’s always the next cultural object or talking point to swallow our attention even as the people within its own industry cry out to let their pleas for mercy be heard. The para-social relationship we have with the media we consume is sometimes not as simple as “I like this thing” with posters or casual merchandise; it can move beyond human ugliness or frailty and into the abyss of pure horror I emphasize this para-social quality between entertainment and consumer because it is the very lifeblood that *[Oshi no Ko]* uses to get its start, and stubbornly refuses to emphasize or embrace further as it goes along. As two idol-obsessed people watching Hoshino Ai, doctor Amamiya Gorou and hospital patient Tendouji Sarina have formed an obsessive bond with her and her almost-divine performance presence, capitulated further when she discreetly arrives at Gorou’s hospital pregnant with twins. The day of delivery is struck down by Gorou being murdered, and both he and Tendouji are reincarnated as Ai’s children with all their mental faculties in place, now named Aquamarine and Ruby respectively. Two people in the thick of idol fandom, one of whom is killed by someone in the thick of idol fandom, now finding themselves the objects of their idolized idol’s attention. The perverse relationship between entertainment and consumer comes back around again as Ai is killed in her own home by a crazed fan, angry at her for having children, and Aqua suspects they were sent by their real father. It is, after all, against the law for idols to do anything sexual, unless the agency or someone within is facilitating it. With the light of their life extinguished, they’re left to pick up the pieces of what remains. Ruby channels them into becoming like her mother and an idol herself, a depressing irony in that she naively has no clue what she’s getting into. Aqua channels them into joining the industry behind the scenes and finding their father-murderer that way, a journey of personal doom. The para-social sense of naïve optimism and slip into despair via the industry and their products never leaves the characterization (they’re always being fueled by Ai, even in death), but it does get reprioritized—if not shoved to the side outright—as the show’s scenarios begin manifesting. It chooses to focus its attention instead on how the industry functions and the people within it, functioning as a quasi-exposé. The result is *[Oshi no Ko]* effectively abandoning its original framing device for something vastly less interesting. The series wants to have its cake and eat it too, to be profoundly crushing on the emotional level while delivering its timeless message that the entertainment industry is a monolithic hydra of lies and politics that the cast nevertheless tries to succeed in. The irony is that, in Akasaka and series composer Tanaka Jin’s bid to do this, they cannot resist flexing their knowledge by having characters just spell out “the truth” of how the industry works, robbing the show of its opportunities to impose such things on the characters, barring some flashbacks. It is so on-the-nose that there is little to be discovered organically through the narrative. And Aqua’s positioning within *[Oshi no Ko]’s* structure drives this point home, especially. He became after Ai’s death a cold, calculating genius when it comes to the industry as a whole, in-part helped by having worked in it. Whether in front of the camera or from the production side, there is seemingly nothing he cannot adapt to. Such a characterization undercuts the looming danger of the industry itself because if anything bad happens, Aqua will always be able to salvage the situation or come up with some solution that makes sure everything and / or everyone is okay. It is difficult to be apprehensive of the shadows on the wall when a character keeps flicking on the lights, never truly getting caught off-guard. It is a given that not everyone who works in the entertainment industry is a terrible person, that many involved indeed are trying to create the best product possible, and they know that being nice to their actors is one of the ways to do so. But *[Oshi no Ko]* has its depiction of the industry be more abstractly monolithic in its malice as opposed to actually having people in it who are malicious. Because Aqua and Ruby are born into the business through being Ai’s children, they are constantly sheltered from its grimmer possibilities by being in a “good company” and “knowing the right people” who will oblige Aqua’s thirst for vengeance in exchange for a favor, either wittingly or unwittingly. The monologuing by the characters keeps talking about how the industry is rough, unfair, and “that’s how it is,” but any sense of unfairness is barely allowed, if at all, to directly interrupt finding Ai’s killer or pose a sincere obstacle to Ruby’s progress. Thus, there is a shorter draw distance with which *[Oshi no Ko]* can cast its muckraking net, leaving many of the emotional moments to fall strangely limply rather than fuel a brutal collision. But even so, there are rare times where the para-social relationship I hinted at before does return, and it occurs in the moments where the series shines at its brightest (or is it darkest? You decide). Aqua is hardly out of focus, but when he’s gone, the darker specters are finally allowed the chance to come out of the corner and consume the room. Left to their own devices, characters are forced to fight their way through new torments and problems—which does unfortunately paint just how reliant on Aqua they all are. Especially aided by the show’s aesthetic care and attention, apparent effort is poured into key animations and storyboarding that, when aligned with the material, elevate the punches into a sharp viscerality. Director Hiramaki Daisuke and the sizable number of animation directors understood that, particularly for a story pertaining to the entertainment industry, presentation matters. It’s a sign of just what the series is perfectly capable of doing, but ultimately decides to opt for something markedly less knotted. *[Oshi no Ko]* insists on the dangers of the entertainment industry and pulling back the curtain, but holds itself back too often by not letting it gets its claws into everyone enough. The actual horrors of the industry it proports to share are kept at a safe and comfortable distance, aiding the narrative that being an idol, and their industry, is glorious, glamorous, and worth it. It is all at once a reincarnation story, a revenge quest story, a story about idols, a story about the relationship between the industry and its fans, and an exposé on how the industry functions. I genuinely admire its ambitiousness, but it’s a case of trying to do too much, and not having the finesse to handle it all effectively. Maybe Aqua can salvage it.

RebelPanda

Lies. Who among us hasn't told a lie or two? Whether it's telling a white lie or presenting a false version of ourselves. Celebrities, actors, musicians, and artists must constantly maintain a public image, which may require telling a lie or two. As a famous idol, Ai Hoshino's life revolves around lying. "The lie becomes the truth" are words she lives by. She lies to her friends and fans, but no one can see through the facade beneath her starry eyes. Oshi no Ko's most provocative scene tragically occurs in its feature-length premiere. The tearjerker ending propelled the series into popularity, leading to disappointment when therest proved to be an entirely different beast. Some viewers may build false expectations, but those who approach it open-mindedly will enjoy where it takes them. The premiere was a well-written story best left in the past. It initially evokes the untouchable masterpiece Perfect Blue, but aside from the final scene, the juvenile execution pales in comparison. The episodes after the premiere are more refreshing. Oshi no Ko's content is comparable to my all-time favorite anime, Kaleido Star, for its realistic approach to performing arts while maintaining an uplifting message. It never shies away from showing singers, dancers, and actors' struggles to preserve their image and criticize demanding audiences. Writer Aka Akasaka does not condemn consumers but provides a mirror to reflect on their behavior. Oshi no Ko honestly portrays the Japanese acting and idol industry. Seeing how child actors phase out, stunt casting, agency competitions, and differences between writers and studios add to the realism. There are many things they should have taken into account, such as numerous reshoots, scheduling, and post-production. They seemingly picked and chose the most exciting parts of show business to portray and ignored the less appealing but equally crucial aspects. Through Ai Hoshino's twin son and daughter, the series explores the ups and downs of acting and idol careers, respectively. Both children secretly lived past lives, in which they adored Ai. Her son, Aquamarine, was Ai's gynecologist, murdered by her stalker. Her daughter Ruby was only a young girl when she died of cancer. They take their reincarnations surprisingly well, but who wouldn't when you get around-the-clock attention from your favorite celebrity? Well, probably some people. The kids pursue futures that live up to their mother's legacy and do right by her. For Ruby, this means carrying on Ai's legacy as an idol and rebuilding her group B-Komachi from the ground up. For Aqua, it's rather intense; he dedicates his life to searching for their absent father, putting aside any personal goals. Aqua and Ruby attend Yoto High School, which offers a performing arts program only for students attached to a talent agency. Luckily for the kids, Ai's previous manager Miyako Saito adopted them and made them part of her company. A common critique of Oshi no Ko is that the reincarnation plot device is unnecessary. I disagree with that judgment because it's necessary to advance the plot. Aquamarine uses his skills of talking to seniors as a doctor in his past life to smooth talk a director, which gets his mother a film role. He uses his people skills to dig up clues to track down his lost father. Unlike many other high school geniuses in anime, Aqua behaves like an adult due to his reincarnation; it is better that the plot provides a reason other than the simple notion that he's a prodigy. Some viewers may find Aqua's infatuation with Ai overwhelming, and it is nearly an oedipal nightmare. Still, it rides the line carefully—quickly reminding us that his love for Ai is admiration, not romance. Ruby's past life provides an obstacle to overcome rather than skill. She struggles with dancing, a crucial skill as an idol, partly because having cancer made it difficult for her to dance, causing her to have difficulty with her mindset. Aqua and Ruby are deeply flawed, socially awkward, and very traumatized, like the other characters. The side characters stand out with vibrant personalities that leave a lasting impression without gimmicks. Each character possesses their own set of goals, struggles, flaws, and endearing qualities. Among them is Kana Arima, a former child prodigy in acting who now finds herself a mediocre teenage actor. With a theater kid persona, Kana exudes excessive confidence that can seem condescending. However, her knack for maneuvering within the industry helps her secure roles. Like others, her character development involves confronting inner demons caused by past trauma and present triggers. As a freelancer, she often gets trapped in undesirable parts. However, when she joins Ruby to form their idol group B-Komachi, Kana discovers self-respect. Together, they build their team from scratch, with relentless effort and determination. Another key supporting character is Akane, an up-and-coming actress who works alongside Aqua on a reality TV dating show. Through Akane's arc, the writer explores a theme touched on during the premiere. Social media: How it helps and harms performance artists. There's a focus on positive and negative responses to Aquamarine's TV shows, but it peaks with online hate and canceling Akane faces. Harassment's disastrous effects on her mental health are realistic and portrayed with uncommon sensitivity. Regardless of how the arc plays out, it is cathartic to see the people responsible for her turmoil condemned by the author. This includes the grossly misogynistic haters online and the scumbag producer of their reality TV show. Aside from the tearjerker premiere, Oshi no Ko manages a few other genuinely moving moments—a mental health crisis and a near breakdown before a major performance—but surrounding those is a bit of contrived drama. Aqua's slow quest to find his father loses steam quickly. However, future seasons can revive that subplot. Ruby must navigate rising as an idol, a path well-worn by music anime. Though they mostly avoid pedestrian school drama, there's romance stalled by misunderstandings. It's as if the anime keeps seeking narrative conflict when there is plenty to dig into with the characters' turmoils—especially Ruby and Aqua's rich history. Tell us more about how their past lives inform their present! And it would've been fascinating to learn more about their adoptive mother; surely, a chapter or two can be spared for her. Despite the story's slight drawbacks, it's consistently elevated by one of Doga Kobo's most impressive presentations alongside Monthly Girls' Nozaki-kun. Although it is less well-directed than Akasaka's prior adaptation, Love is War, Daisuke Hiramaki handles the drama in Oshi no Ko excellently. The combination of orchestral background music and close-up shots creates a sense of immersion during the dramatic scenes. With soaring melodies and dynamic arrangements, orchestral compositions heighten the emotional intensity. As the music swells, it accentuates everything felt by the characters; anguish, joy, and depression, evoking an impactful response from the audience. Furthermore, the well-timed close-up shots sweeten the effect of these moments by capturing the characters' raw expressions. Oshi no Ko delves into the intricate world of lies and facades that permeate celebrities' and performers' lives. It explores the challenges and consequences of maintaining a public image while delving into its characters' personal trauma. While the tearjerker premiere may have set high expectations that the subsequent episodes couldn't fully meet, the series delivers refreshing and immersive portrayals of the performing arts. The reincarnation plot device, although debated, advances the storyline. The side characters shine with their distinctive personalities and genuine character development, with Kana and Akane standing out as memorable figures. Despite some contrived drama and missed opportunities for deeper exploration, Oshi no Ko is consistently elevated by Doga Kobo's strong presentation. Ultimately, the anime provides a cathartic experience, while taking the coming-of-age genre from a fresh angle.