Ask John: What are the Most Emotionally Powerful Anime Ever?

Question:
What do you think is the most emotionally powerful anime that you’ve ever seen? Has there ever been an anime that has moved you enough to call it “powerful”?

Answer:
Although this is a rather subjective question, I have to phrase my answer objectively in order to present a valid response. I’m personally such an anime fan that often times anime that’s not particularly “emotionally powerful” still arouses great emotion within me. For example, even though it’s a whimsical and decidedly non-serious film, when I finally had an opportunity to see the Mei & the Kittenbus movie at the Ghibli Museum in Mitaka, Japan, the unadulterated joy I felt while watching the short movie brought tears to my eyes. (Go ahead. Call me a sissy.) So, frequently simply appreciating the marvelous creativity and artistry displayed by outstanding anime is enough to effect me emotionally. But such a reaction doesn’t denote critically “powerful” anime.

I can think of four anime that I consider deeply moving and emotionally powerful. And I can name two other films that I think of as powerful and dramatic without being emotionally manipulative.

I imagine that it’s almost cliché to select Graveyard of Fireflies as the most emotionally powerful and just plain gut-wrenching anime film ever made. But the frequent citation is because it’s true. The structure of the film, beginning at the chronological ending, is a brilliant stroke of emotional manipulation because it forces the viewer to agonize throughout the film. It’s impossible to watch the movie and hope for a happy ending because we already know that such a thing won’t happen. The reality of the film- both its believable characters and situations, and the knowledge that the film is loosely based on historical facts- strengthens its affecting power on the viewer. It’s impossible for a viewer to totally dismiss the film as fantasy because it’s based on real life history. The result is a grueling and emotionally torturous relationship with characters we come to love and want to nurture and protect and save from their inevitable tragic end, in spite of the fact that we know their deaths are inevitable.

The Ima Soku ni Iru Boku (Now & Then, Here & There) TV series is an endurance test of emotional stamina. The series literally piles on so much crushing tragedy and pain and suffering that if not for its utterly bleak and humorless personality it would be absurd. Fascism, slavery, rape, self-mutilation, barbaric torture, murder, genocide, emotional isolationism, and other psychological and physical terrors come with such frequency and immediacy that they ought to be desensitizing, but the show’s ability to illustrate the impact and repercussions of all of this evil prevent the series from becoming a mere horror show. The only real problem is that the brutality depicted in the show is so frequent and overwhelming that it’s clearly intentional and manipulative. Effective, but nevertheless over obvious.

Nausicaa of the Valley of Wind rests on a fine line between being subtly effective and overtly manipulative. During the climax of the film we’re shown Princess Nausicaa struggling with all of her courage and determination, fighting through pain and fear. For the viewer that allows him or herself to be carried along with the film, it’s impossible not to feel anxiety and sympathy and sadness for Nausicaa’s plight. Admittedly the deus ex machina conclusion is rather labored and present because the film paints itself into a corner with no other possible conclusion. But for the viewer that watches the film with a childlike acceptance, Nausicaa’s rebirth is wonderful poetic justice- the absolutely just reward for a martyr who has sacrificed everything for the greater good. The archetypal simplicity of the film’s conclusion touches the viewer’s sense of joy and goodness. It’s certainly not subtle, which is why it’s sometimes difficult to approach the film without critical detachment. But when allowed to just work its magic, Nausicaa is an amazingly emotive and touching film that reaches our primal instincts.

With its extended running length and emphasis on character development, the emotionally piercing scenes in the Fushigi Yuugi TV series are among the most devastating in all of anime. After getting to know the characters as well as we do through the series, and learning and empathizing with their struggles, their sacrifices, betrayals and deaths are shocking and traumatic events. We believe that the characters exist and have their own lives. When they hurt and die, we feel loss and pain with them and for them. The fact that many of the characters later return, though, is a mixed blessing. While we’re happy to be surrounded by these characters again, the absence of finality to their sacrifices reduces the impact and significance of those sacrifices.

These four instances are all anime that are carefully constructed to manipulate the viewer into feeling and reacting a certain way. They are effective, but in part because there’s only one way to react to these anime without intentionally distancing oneself from the shows as a critical observer rather than passive participant. The following two instances are examples of slightly less obvious but still “powerful” anime that I number among the anime I call my most favorite.

The conclusion of Gall Force 3: Stardust War as a summation of the original Gall Force trilogy, and the conclusions of Bubblegum Crisis OAVs 5 and 6, which collectively make up a single story, are among the most emotionally resonant scenes in all of anime without being bluntly manipulative. When Lufy says a simple goodbye in Gall Force 3, she calmly understates the finality of her decision to die in battle. And when Catty sends the archived knowledge of the Solnoid race into space, she is symbolically jettisoning any hope of her race’s survival. Both of these events are weighty with implication, yet acted out with matter of fact simplicity. Both events are virtually samurai-like in their resolution and acceptance of death, and determination to die with pride, and the self-satisfaction of dying for a purpose. At the climax of Bubblegum Crisis 5, Priss makes an ultimate emotional sacrifice by doing what she knows she must do in spite of her own desires. Then, in Bubblegum Crisis 6, she engages on a suicide mission of penance, attempting to punish the perceived catalyst of her tragic decision, and make amends for her actions by punishing herself. The fast pace and constant action in Bubblegum Crisis OAVs 5 & 6 almost distracts from the emotional heart of the story, but examination of the reasons for the characters’ actions reveals a great deal of moral and emotional range and motivation.