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You're twelve. Impatient enough to zone out before class even starts. Eager to go watch the clouds. After all, doing nothing is better than doing something. The teacher goes on, their voice joining those clouds in the sky, out of sight out of mind. You've been noticing yourself change. Things look darker, sharper, maybe it's the weather, but the perpetual smog overcast on your insides doesn't seem to be clearing. A rainstorm over your ribs, ice coating your heart, hail pouring onto your liver, fog building around your intestines, a tornado forming in your-- Wait. Are the girl's skirts getting shorter or is it just you?
No, they have to be. Why else would they be crossing their legs every time they sit down? It's not just the sight, but the ideas that get you feeling... enchanted? Nervous? Anxious? All of the above? Why are you so sweaty? What's this pit in your stomach that grows and grows and grows until you feel gorged on your pervasive self-indulgence, wobbling to the nearest restroom to let it all out? It's confusing, but you aren't confused. You don't bother with that. Why should you? The clouds are on the horizon.
They always are. At least to Naota. A twelve-year-old boy living in a peaceful town whereby his definition nothing happens. Naota is, of course, dealing with his own issues. His older brother, Tesuku, who moved to America to follow his baseball career, leaving a mitt-shaped hole in the heart of the ones dearest to him. He's an invisible, infinitely idealized figure by Naota, who has Tesuku's ex-girlfriend, Mamimi, draped over him. She prays for the return of her love and imposing this loss onto Naota, forcing him to fill shoes much too big for him. If juggling an older, cooler, edgier, and wounded girl isn't enough, Naota's body decides to collide him with the bright-yellow Vespa of puberty.
Contorting through dozens of keyframes that purposefully lack smears or even apparently few in-betweens, Naota lands face down onto the concrete. A massive lump or horn, forms on his forehead. A symbol of his first step into adulthood and the initial journey into getting these pent-up emotions literally beaten out of him. This abrasive, loud, and forever looming figure dashes across the street and plants a wet kiss on his lips. Haruko is that figure. He awakens to the lips of his future, his pixie dream girl. A disgusting, older character that takes him by hand and forces him into situations that rip every shred of him apart.
Naota rejects this change initially. A bandage over the horn, over the newly formed embarrassment, but of course it follows him home. Waking up to see Haruko right there at the breakfast table with his parents. Kinetic, obnoxious, and constantly in your face. In tune with the show, her personality and slung bass guitar keeps us in-tune with her mindset. Get this kid riled up by any means necessary. Naota is confused, upset, and full of bitter rage. A childish rejection of the impending change. It isn't until an inciting incident forces his horn to burst through the bandage and erupt onto the street. The initial sight is of flesh. That quickly morphs into a robot, Canti, who plays as the second half to Naota's fuming interior, his hook into the unobtainable image of perfection; his brother.
FLCL decides to stay fully below its base narrative. A narrative that forms in the mind of a kid going through the biggest change every boy goes through at a certain point. The entire world takes place within a mind, and that mind is under siege. As Naota says. "Nothing amazing happens here. Only the ordinary." Read to be a representation of his mental state, the infiltration of puberty is what rips him out of that malaise.
Every character is more of a symbol than anything, which makes their applicability and connection only as strong as your understanding of that fact. Mamimi is his past, his childhood. Haruko is the impending storm of puberty and adulthood. Amarao, the agent which tries to subdue Naota's change is the rejection, a facade of adulthood, and Canti, the robot which was birthed in the first episode is the ultimate signpost of maturity. With that knowledge, the narrative falls away and tunes you into the abstract, chaotic imagery as pure reflection.
That's both praise and criticism, as this OVAs intention is not only unclear but ultimately directionless in both a positive and negative way. While I firmly believe that any young boy would find this series not only engaging but a perfect representation of their current mentality; I can't help but feel as though a lot of the meaning will float by them. I can only see it as a point of reflection for an older audience, thinking back to youth and appreciating the chaotic nature that defined its entirety. Take that as you will. A piece of reflection that may not be suited for the youth it's intended to examine.
What great reflection it is, though! A post-Evangelion victory lap of anachronistic indulgence. If Gainax is to be blamed for the modern-day zeitgeist that anime has not only consumed but suffered from, then FLCL may as well be the peak of that established style. Unashamed and eager to please, a lapdog of Anno protege Kazuya Tsurumaki, FLCL jumps at any opportunity to indulge in the otaku-driven landscape of the anime we know today. The awkward sexuality, the male-driven demographic, the perverse camera angles. All of this is serviced by the meta-narrative, sure, but it still exists in the same feedback loop that funds the industry now. Apart from the kinetic, spectacular animation and direction that distinguishes Gainax and to a certain extent their offspring Trigger from the slobbering, talentless hacks that feed off the industry, we get this extra push for a meaning behind consuming. This meaningful indulgence was perfected early. Everything else is pale imitation that struggles to even iterate. Understanding that you see the creation and iteration so early on.
Which extends to another favorite of mine, Kill la Kill. Similarly having a sexuality-driven narrative held up by a powerful and well-done meta-narrative that entangles the series with themes that are necessary to make the indulgence palatable. Without this secondary structure, we'd have only the base narrative which isn't saying much. Without the meta-narrative in FLCL, unfortunately, we wouldn't have anything at all. Where it falls behind is where the majority of symbolism-driven products do. Once the symbols are understood, applied, and consumed, you are rarely left with anything else to latch onto, especially if the symbolism doesn't have a lasting effect on you.
This is where I'd argue for traditional stories or at least a combination of the two. To continue the brief comparison between Kill la Kill and FLCL, the symbolism in KlK is what keeps the narrative intact but ultimately is also held up by the bevy of characterization choices that power through the arcs and give us a connection to characters and symbols alike. Meanwhile, FLCL doesn't have a similar connection to the characters because the narrative is solely hung onto the themes, similarly to how Naota is latched onto Canti. It's there for the ride more so than anything else. With that said, there may be a very fair argument to be made for the strength of the symbolic narrative being substantially more effective in FLCL, which I'll leave for every unique viewer to decide for themselves.
The clouds are always waiting, but the perfect day to witness them never comes. There's always something else that throws you onto a different path. That chaotic path is often the one that doesn't let youth go until they've fully matured. FLCL captures that viscerally, with epic, kinetic, and heavily abstract visuals. Snappy, fourth-wall obliterating dialogue, and odd, abrasive choices in framing and art style. A combination of western cartoons and anime, Gainax wears their love and inspiration proudly. A blaring, unapologetic beam into a kid's mind. One could say the show's confusing, erratic style is not only intentional but mandatory. If the narrative couldn't do so, perhaps the visuals and head-nodding soundtrack could make you feel young again. That's the beauty of reflection. Stepping into shoes much too small for you and marveling at how much you've grown. Leaving your childhood behind, as it leaves the bounds of your mind, with its pyromaniacal idealism, and embracing the future, whoever that may be.
