Bridging The Gap: The Value Of Penguindrum (An Ode To Change)

Well there was no real way this post could be avoided. After finishing this series and realizing that there was little to no way this couldn’t be openly discussed in mere tweets/Facebook discussions, it finally came to pass that an extended post would have to be made regarding Kunihiko Ikuhara’s return to anime television. The very notion that such a long break from the industry that helped bring his name to international prominence in the mid-to latter 1990s by way of Sailor Moon R, and of course, Utena, it would have been safe to assume that any return could only be a disappointment. It seemed an inevitability considering how dramatically different the state of the medium is today. Or so I woefully assumed.

Taken as an entire piece, Mawaru Penguindrum is an unrepentantly unique, and often visionary series the likes of which may delight older fans, and utterly shut out a good portion of modern anime’s devotees with its treatise on a Japan gone from shattered paradigm to helplessly lost world amidst manufactured dreamscapes. Ikuhara alonsgide Takayo Ikami & Brain’s Base, Penguindrum takes very much the same “process” based cinematic techniques that helped make Utena become one of the most accessible, yet bizarre-on-the-surface titles to have ever made a splash on the international fan scene. The story of sickly Himari, and her two older siblings, Shouma and Kanba remains less about a bizarre quest to save her life from almost certain doom with the help of a penguin-hat sporting princess and a trio of hallucinatory birds, but rather the journey of many through a near concrete thick foundation of denial. It is from this outset, not remotely interested in tropes so much as the subversion of them, all the while spinning a tale of what extremities some feel compelled to go through based on perceived positions. Fate and destiny being something of an established chess board, with all characters merely pieces, often willing to turn to amazingly questionable behavior in the name of altering trajectory, or abiding it.




The biggest difference now is that the ante has been sufficiently upped by no longer setting the central action within and around a mythical school life/incubator space where our main characters could fight their ways through. This new expansion of the discussion pitts the characters within something almost resembling contemporary Tokyo, only with a slightly more advanced technological milieu. In fact, much of what many to consider Cool Japan is hyperbolized within this at times unsettling presentation. Colors are intense with pinks and blues, and structures are often day-glo bright. The interior of one of the most often used settings- the subway, is almost wall-to-wall with moving digital advertisement (often featuring the greek chorus in Double-H, who also serve a core purpose around the story). It is almost as if the entire design aesthetic in itself is a paradoxical reflection of internet pop culture Japan. Thereby universalizing the director’s concerns that haven’t subsided any since his previous masterwork. His concerns are Japan’s concerns. His characters may be living in a world of fairy tales, but they certainly don’t see that. In fact, the two-tone reality shared by the majority of Penguindrum’s characters seems to have cornered them to the point that delusions and/or audacious actions seem reasonable. In anime reality, we are quick to judge, but the show continually calls out the viewer, making the case that even wholly reasonable people are capable of such untoward behavior.



Continuing a 17 Year Old Soul Search
As the parentless Takakura children are further tumbling down the story’s rabbit hole, it becomes apparent that not only they are bound by the illogical in order to maintain a rendition of peace, but as are the lives of virtually everyone around them. The three kids, with the youngest mostly in the dark regarding these forces that apparently hold her life in limbo, are eventually surrounded by characters who also seem primed to overstep their moral bounds in order to attain a semblance of happiness. Carrying on the theme that binds all characters in the series, it is a seemingly generational curse that has even left troubling marks on those who came before our central leads. And the more we get to grasp the lives of Tabuki, one of the boys’ most seemingly level-headed schoolteachers, and stage actress celebrity, Yuri, it becomes all the more apparent that the Takakuras lie close the ground zero of a secret that almost brought the contemporary Japanese conscience to its knees. Even as the inexplicable advances of Masako seem ready to systematically “crush” some undisclosed object close-particularly to Kanba (who’s reputation as something of a playboy belies even stranger secrets). Even more troubling still is the role of pretty, yet seemingly ordinary high schooler, Ringo Oginome. A girl who could so easily be an inocuous entity in the story, becomes an unexpected element that may save or destroy all everyone holds dear. Not unlike the American television series, LOST, perceptions are questioned, rugs are constantly pulled, and Mawaru Penguidrum becomes something that series failed to become in six seasons, a tale of a society within stones throw of a heart hampered by a lack of emotional insight. It isn’t that Japan is screwed, but rather that it stopped looking forward when the chips were down. So as the tension ramps up when history seems bent on repeating itself, the world of the show is primed to either play within these assumed constructs, or break free by acting humanly unpredictable.




A big stumbling block this show may experience in regards to fandom outside Japan, may very well be the reality that much of what is discussed within the its 24 episodes. The entire narrative decidedly centers within a wholly Japan-centric mindset. As westernized as Japan currently is, much of what affects, and ultimately motivates the show’s characters is something more akin to post-WWII psychology. And while this may seem like something that is easy for many acclimated anime admirers to overcome, there is still quite a bit of context that is left intentionally unexplained in the confidence that those aware of their surroundings might pick up on it. Which makes the series an interesting twist on what some detractors have been declaring a growing “insular” movement in anime. This is perhaps an ultimate rendition of how that very movement can create something of cultural value without resorting heavily upon familiar tropes, lest they be toyed with in some signature manner. As visually specacular as this series can be, it’s often at the service of continuing a poem Anno helped spur to introspective life in 1995.





Backtracking a little, it is important to consider that Ikuhara has long been friends with Shin Seiki Evangelion director, Hideaki Anno. An artist who became famous for pulling the veneer away from anime’s “fantasy for its own sake” place of safety with his epoch-making series. A show that was in fact affected by the outside world as terror enveloped the nation as the sarin gas attacks, and subsequent trials pertaining to the cult known as Aum Shinrikyo were taking place on tv screens during that time. A nation half a decade into crippling recession, and such events revealed a growing sense of spiritual panic that came symptomatic of a society long neglectful of its heart as profits went up a decade prior, now broken and brimming with an almost insurmountable amount of confusion ready to burst at any moment. For many, Evangelion provided a much needed pressure valve for these emotions homeside, even as the series became a monstrous media success. But it’s also worth noting that despite many series to retread similar territory (as well as Evangelion’s unfortunate “molding” into safer fabrics over the years), it has often come at the sacrifice of likeable characters, and compelling storytelling. Something with Penguindrum never seems to run short on.

Humoring The Blackness
For a series tackling such heavy themes, one wouldn’t expect the series to continue Ikuhara’s trademark surreal humor. This is something Ikuhara’s contemporary could never take away from him, and it is here in full flower, personal quirks and all. From the often amusing antics of the Takakura family’ s newly adopted penguins, to the clever use of repetition, music, love of the takarazuka, and various spins on fan expectations, the series never lets us forget that we are in an exaggeration of matters. What makes this work so well for me is that despite all the goofy antics, there is often a very character-centric reason for it. Even when the penguins acts reach absurds highs like fighting off an octopus on a window-sill, there is often a lyrical purpose to it all that remains unspoken. The show’s faith in its audience to put everything together while laughing about what could very easily become a harsh melodrama is very hard to achieve, and more often than not, it works toward better helping us understand character dimensions we didn’t realize were apparent upon initial glances. “Show. Don’t tell” is a valuable tool in film, and Ikuhara remains a master of constantly playing with this.



Industry Of Seduction
Which plays quite nicely against the series’ ultimate vision of collective antagonism, the enigmatic Sanitoshi’s belief that it doesn’t matter if fleeting love is what it is, as long as one feels it if even for a brief moment. More extravanant and over the top than even the character of Yuri, Sanitoshi with his hopelessly fujoshi-bait image and voice embodies a youth unwilling to compromise with their mission to undo all around him, no matter the cost. The most ironic element within his penchant for things “eletrifying”, and in the moment, his seemingly magical presence belies something of an unerring addiction to simplified solutions to complex daily problems. With all of his smiles and assurances, there is little in the way of anything truly transformative within his motivations. In fact, it is every bit as binary as the world he seems hellbent to destroy. And like all classic visions of Mephisto, Methusela, and Coyote, he is a soothing, seductive presence fully in the mold of what some fans long to adore, all the while tending to a world of emptiness. He is the face of an artistic medium gone commercially desperate.



Mawaru Conundrum


Which brings me back to the core of why the series carries with it something that has long eluded anime containing elements of the experimental; a solid sense of purpose. Despite years of post-Evangelion attempts to inject a certain “newness” to certain series, eager to capitalize on a growing mature market, most series have had the unfortunate distinction of either taking themselves far too seriously, or suffering from copycat-ism often symptomatic of shows existing in a newly defined environment. And it isn’t that shows like Bakemonogatari are intrinsically flawed, but rather that they often carry lesser baggage and lack the narrative acumen to reach beyond a specific audience. They ultimately become niches unto themselves, making them not only hard to market, but closer to gallery material better suited to a Murakami exhibit. What Mawaru Penguindrum has that most of these series do not is a truly sneaky package, made all the more potent by being especially meticulous about its messages/questions. There never seems to be a moment wasted, or a shot in it for the mere sake of showing it. Ikuhara has observed anime over the last ten-plus years, and clearly has quite a bit to say about it with imagery that spans the absurdist to the terrifying. Most often asking contradictory questions within the same mise en scene, as if the internet age has accelerated our intake of complexity in how we view the world, and he acknowledges this, even as the drama unfolds. Carefully, and provocatively, it beings back the notion of the auteur to television anime in a way that simply has been missing for quite some time.


Smashing The World’s Blu-ray Case
So when the climax comes, and matters for our heroes have reached their irrevocable conclusion, this is where Ikuhara delivers a passionate plea for not only the medium, but its fans. As our most unlikely characters are forced to rise to a challenge that threatens the future of many, including characters we once thought we knew within how the series initially presented itself, we are visually made aware of a world which Ikuhara seems ready to do away with. One that has essentially caged all of our characters, and led them to this desperate, penultimate moment. We are suddenly shown the destruction of a very vessel that binds many a fan the world over.- A batch of anime dvds/Blu-ray. Which in and of itself could very well have been taken alone as an atypical cinematic means of hammering the point home in a one-sided metaphor. But it is immediately amended when this very vessel becomes the means by which salvation is delivered. Interpretation: Mindless consumption carries none of the value that comes with what is being said within the things we value most. In short; Ikuhara’s distaste for ravenous fan culture & preference for something resembling actual substance is made clear within a mere few seconds of animation.


The world model within the series is rhetorically based on years of buying into invisible assumptions (Often bolstered by consumer culture sturm & drang-Something which even more harshly binds the Japanese.), and the form of the show (not unlike certain characters) seems bent on shattering these illusory traps. It seeks honest answers as opposed to perpetuating ad-hoc, otaku posturing. The show opines that destiny is what we determine with our ever changing expressions of inner personal desire, and not on what we are sold into accepting. The cycle begun with Shoujo Kakumei Utena closes with Mawaru Penguidrum, making it both one of the more exciting shows to have ever been given the green light in such a volatile media climate, and a challenging riposte to a decade of hiding beneath a shell of societal assumption. It’s wild, weird, beautiful, gaudy, painful, and imperfect look forward and backward, seeking diverse answers from difficult questions. It’s both an introspective masterpiece for modern Japanese media, and a spectacular yet inelegant kick in the teeth to the addicted, and we are all the healthier for it.


Author: wintermuted

Part-time wandering artifact, part-time student, Wintermuted's travels from the wastelands of California's Coachella Valley have crystallized his love of all-things soulful & strange. A child of the VHS era, and often working for the anime man, his voyages continue onward in the name of bridging generations of Japanese popular art together. Can also be found via , as well as !

5 thoughts on “Bridging The Gap: The Value Of Penguindrum (An Ode To Change)

  1. Neat article! This almost makes up for that past article published on this site which pretty much dismissed this show outright for not being escapist entertainment. Not that Penguindrum doesn’t have problems (it does!) but actually having substance certainly isn’t one of them.

    Something that helped me contextualize this show was realizing that almost the entire cast was made up of lost children. You have the Takakura siblings, yes, but then you also have Ringo (whose parents couldn’t love her,) not to mention Yuri and Tabuki who were both of course classic Ikuhara adults marooned in the past. Look at it that way, and the teddy bears and penguin hats and lost bunnies weren’t so much weird visual non sequitors as they were just part of the game. Opening lines of the second OP are from a children’s game, as well, and I guess you could see the Takakura siblings passing the penguindrum between them as a game of hot potato, or some other equivalent. I dunno.

    Never thought of secularism/pop art being the salvation in Penguindrum, what with Ringo finding the spell within the Double-H recording. Neat interpretation!

    Anyway this was pretty much my favorite anime of the past year, so it was nice to hear you speak up about it. Always great to read another of your articles–haven’t seen one in quite a while.

  2. I think this show’s symbolism was too strong to really enjoy the story. While Utena was more well balanced, symbolism and story. Some symbolism was cool, Himari was like Lazaro. Himari is with two brothers, but Lazaro was with two sisters. Reverse Lazaro. But it was very acute depicting the new zeitgeist of the post 95 generation.

    I was in Japan when Aum terrorism happened, so this show got me in. That incident totally affected our mentality. Probably the worst time of all after the bubble. Maybe apres-guerre was similar to our post-bubble mentality. But more than Aum, Kobe earthquakes, Japan’s police chief assassination attempt, US marine rape incident in Okinawa. Windows 95, Monju nuclear leak. So many things happened in that particular year. That was very apocalyptic. And two years later, Sakakibara Seito, middle school 2nd grader from Kobe, killed little girls. Yes, it was like Voltaire’s Candide. That made me want to move out of Japan. But I didn’t see Kanba or Shouma talk about going to other country, especially America. That could have been the option. Less and less Japanese are going abroad, contrary to Korean and Chinese students. It reflects current youth’s inwardness.

    People born in 1995 will be 17 years old this year, 2012! It may be the most apocalyptic year ever since 95.

  3. @ LaMoe – If you had told me that the symbolism was too overbearing in 1997, I might have agreed.

    But much like I mentioned in the post, the series is more or less is designed and made without the limitations inherent in Utena, and tackles a much larger rendition of the exact same concerns. And since it is no longer shackled by the concerns of school life, the targets are more varied. But I never felt out of step with the story, so much as bewildered at certain moments near the finale(where I feel the only missteps occurred, but they’re more quibbles than anything for me, nothing terribly problematic for the plot). As mentioned, this is very much a process piece, which means it is more about it being anime designed to have multilayered effects within it being animated, and being sold as animated entertainment.- This for me, is what makes it triple fascinating. Ikuhara has a better understanding than most directors in that he is also aware of the hypocrisy in what he is partaking of, and hijacking it for all its worth. The characters live in something of a utopian version of post-1995 Japan, and visually live and breathe what is essentially a fairy tale existence and are in serious need of re-examination after whatever domestic stressers hit them, and everyone else in the show.

    Where in Utena, the repetitions were more a financial means to an end turned into motif, in Penguindrum, it becomes a deliberate parody of the sameness anime endures on a regular basis. It is also a condemnation of the sameness fans tend to expect out of their tales of whimsy. People feel trapped, and feel the need to do increasingly illogical things to make matters “right” based on the world model they have accepted. The story is clear, but I will agree that it’s also mired heavily in heavy symbolism & satire that rewards with multiple viewings- and can be overwhelming on a mere single viewing. I’d opine, that the symbolism this time, is the story, and yet much of it rings true for those looking. It’s a natural upping of the ante from Utena, a show which was pretty unprecedented in its time as well. Anyway, I found it to be an incredibly rewarding, not to a mention moving “state of the heart” piece of work. It’s alive in ways most shows aren’t for me.

  4. @wendeego

    Thanks for the input regarding the series. It definitely hit me where I tend to be most interested in shows today, which is to say that as an older admirer of the medium, I get excited when it breaks a sweat. And Penguidrum with it’s incredible business does what so many other imitators cannot, in that it posits while it breathlessly tells with visuals. It is metaphorical without being overbearing. It never falls into sleep-inducing aloofness, and always seems on point, even wordlessly. It never sits still, or is satisfied with being one specific thing. But if it’s anything to me, it is a treatise on what has led Japan to where it is now, and asks what can be done to change things. Even if the characters are extensions of what we have seen before in Ikuhara’s work, they are more than welcome in how he takes it just a bit further than he could in the 1990s. While I have a kid side that enjoys an escapist romp from time to time, it’s heartening when a creator infuses so much of their collective vision into a single project, that it’s hard to fault the quibbles that happen within it. More and more I admire works for their personality, as opposed to merely filling checklists..And his denoument regarding Ringo was something I had been hoping someone would say in a big show for a long time.

    As for my posting, BTG is only one column among several that I do here, so should you be curious about the essays/silliness I tend to post, just click my name. Thanks again.

  5. Thanks for this! I definitely enjoyed the show, but with so many things going over my head, I needed something like this to sort it all out. There’s still so much depth I know I haven’t even reached yet here.

    Gonna be linking to this on my Tumblr so more people can enjoy it!

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