Chatty AF 224: Magic Knight Rayearth Rewatchalong – Part 3 (WITH TRANSCRIPT)
Caitlin, Colleen, and Megan return to complete their rewatch of the Magic Knight Rayearth anime!
Caitlin, Colleen, and Megan return to complete their rewatch of the Magic Knight Rayearth anime!
Caitlin and special guests Megan and Colleen return to dive into the second season of Magic Knight Rayearth!
After a battle with technical issues and some lost audio, Caitlin and special guests Megan and Colleen are ready to jump into a revisit of the magical girl-meets-mecha isekai classic, Magic Knight Rayearth!
It’s clear that Yuki’s the one we’re following along this journey, without the assumption that an able-bodied reader needs to have everything about her disability painstakingly explained to them. As well as the storytelling structure itself, this is achieved through suu Morishita’s ingenious use of lettering, wherein the format and function of the words on the page themselves allow the reader to experience the world as Yuki does: thus allowing this to be her story, told with her own words, and of her own experiences.
In the afterword of the first volume of Classmates, Nakamura Asumiko wrote of her first BL series, “I wanted to go with something cliche, almost hackneyed.” It’s true, Classmates does indulge many of the standards of the genre. Instead of using these cliches as shortcuts, however, Nakamura uses the reader’s familiarity to build a framework for a humanistic, multifaceted story about queer intimacy, connection, and joy.
Manga artist Hagio Moto’s work in particular opened my eyes to how versatile the iconic shoujo style can be as a storytelling tool—not just for romance, but for horror, mystery, and mind-expanding science fiction.
The way sex is represented in media can be one-note, draining all the eroticism from the experience. If we want exciting variations on the representation of sex in media, it seems to me that joseimuke (media intended for a female audience) anime are optimal mediums for representing the erotic aspects of sex.
While the influence of theater on Utena isn’t subtle, knowing what specific strains of theater the show references would likely be lost on most viewers. Yet uncovering those histories can be like finding little Rosetta Stones to help you parse a show that prides itself on obscurity.
As a lesbian, Fruits Basket was not written for me. Even so, the romance between Kyo and Tohru resonates deeply with my experience of queerness.
Looking at these series side by side, we can see the same archetype and corresponding fantasy of the scarred, strong yet secretly sad man being nursed emotionally by a female love interest play out in different hues for their specific target audiences, in all its glories and pitfalls.
The way this writer, a member of the dubbing team, talked about the show and his inability or refusal to unpack even its most basic themes spoke to the sort of misogyny that pervades critical analysis, in which female characters and creators don’t get even the slightest grace for being messy, imperfect beings.
Unlike many other gender-bending stories of the time, which often fall back on a “born in the wrong body” story, or a Mulan-style passing narrative, Ikeda acknowledges a wide range of trans experiences, and the complex ways in which trans experiences are socially constructed, and historically specific, intersectional, and, above all, personal.
Momose’s trauma is a constant throughline in the series, but we can rest assured that he’s going to be okay—while there are dark moments, the light-hearted nature of the show and its clear placement as a fluffy, bit-based comedy reassure the audience that ultimately this will be a kind story that lets this wounded person have a good time.
The author, illustrator, and character designer has created some of manga’s best-loved shoujo works by combining the aesthetics of fantasy aimed at young girls with complex themes.
In effect, Sailor Moon’s narrative asked if individuals commit acts of evil or if evil is an inevitable force, and came up with two separate answers.
Classic shoujo has a hard time being exported, especially in the Anglophone sphere, and in pop culture discussions it’s generally been reduced to a subpar category of comics when compared to the high-praise shounen manga are known to receive. However, her value as a multifaceted artist and storyteller should be valued as much as other prominent authors from the ‘70s and ‘80s.
Hotaru’s story represents the tension between our desire for comforting narratives of disabled people healing and the reality of disabled life as shaped by capitalism and the limits of our bodies.
This show makes me laugh, it makes me cry, but more than anything, it makes me hope. It makes me hope that no matter how bad things get, there will always be a second chance waiting just around the corner. Even two decades after the original manga began publishing, it shines just as brightly. But I’m not here to talk about how much I love Fruits Basket. Today, I’m here to explore one of its most under-discussed problems: its portrayal of queerness.
For better or for worse, there’s nothing quite like Vampire Knight out there. Revisiting the series today—about 15 years after its release—reveals not only a lot of its shortcomings, but a lot about the cultural context in which it was released.
Despite its fantastical setting, The Story of Saiunkoku is no traditional fairy tale, and the sexist hurdles Shurei faces to achieve her dream of becoming a civil servant are much closer to unjust reality than escapist fiction. This allows the series to explore systemic oppression, workplace harassment, and the importance of structural support, especially in systems that claim to be merit-based.