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by Luis Reyes |
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Episode One - The Day the Moon and Sixteen Stars Align
Arrogant and self-aggrandizing, Aya trots around in her schoolgirl uniform, hanging out with friends, singing karaoke, looking forward to her birthday - which she shares with her twin brother Aki - at which they will sing karaoke, yet again. But on the way home, she instinctually tackles a purse-snatcher and stumbles over an overpass railing into the street below. But instead of splattering all over the concrete, she floats down to the asphalt, only to be in the path of an oncoming car, from which she's saved by a mysterious red headed teenage boy cut from the granite of a Grecian stone, who disappears moments after his heroic deed. Unfettered by the afternoon's peculiarities, Aya returns home where her elation bubble pops at her father's insistence that the twins spend their birthday with their grandfather, a wealthy, jovial recluse tucked away in a mysterious mansion compound. While there, Aya and Aki learn that turning sixteen doesn't just mean legal sex, it's a mystical transition from ordinary humans into the kind of celestial beings that the family has had to keep a secret for centuries. So as Aya begins this episode gazing out over the wide expanse of her future, she ends this episode entangled in her past.
Episode Two - The Angel's First Kiss
Convinced that her grandfather's uncharacteristic austerity is part of some elaborate birthday prank, Aya grows pale when he approaches her slowly and explains in stoic conviction that she must die for the family (an extended family of many aunts and uncles who all share at least part of the Mikage family mysticism) to continue living, a deed to be performed by her loving father who quivers with anguish and ultimately fails to see it through. However, Aya's powers are far greater than the family has anticipated and she flees, only to be protected by another mystic, Suzumi, on one side and a rogue faction of the Mikage family on the other.
Episode Three - The One Who Fell to Earth
Suzumi fills in a little of the gaps in Aya's knowledge about herself, though Aya seems discomforted at learning of her celestial pedigree and the idea of taking sanctuary with these people that she doesn't even know. The first chance she gets, Aya leaves Suzumi's place in search for the life she enjoyed just the previous day. Toya, the aforementioned ginger plumed boy toy, charged by the aforementioned rogue faction of the Mikage family to protect Aya, follows her to the hospital where her injured brother rests - and her grieving mother mourns the death of her husband - a death for which she blames Aya. Yuhi, Suzumi's dutiful but awkward brother, also follows Aya to the hospital just as a filial, mystical showdown ensues.
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Though cast in an excruciatingly hackneyed "typical high school kid turns extraordinary" mold, "Ceres" stands out from the rest by emphasizing that which other shows bury in the interest of showcasing the art or rendering the panty shots - "Ceres" exploits story telling techniques to make a typical high school kid story truly extraordinary.
In an address that's included as one of the extras on the disc, "Ceres" manga artist Yu Watase explains that, being Japanese, she has written with a distinctly Japanese sensibility. However, since she has been able to meet and become inspired by her readers around the world, she writes with an evolved awareness of her work and whom it might affect. The creative team assembled for the anime follows in turn, drawing from subtler traditions of storytelling media to guild an evocative animated series. Director Hajime Kamegaki employs the classic skills of thriller directors of a bygone age, manipulating light and shadows, lingering on the palpable fear of his characters, and crafting dialogue - and even the music - to insinuate, rather than explain, the action. Character designer Hideyuki Motohashi's very traditional aesthetic places a lot of emphasis on the eyes, which glisten with a noir twist and speak the volumes that the scriptwriter squeezes between the lines. And since the creative team is still Japanese, the show doesn't fear using still frames or, sometimes, melodrama to advance the story. As a whole, the creative team handles with a delicate, stylized touch a theme (otherworldly powers in a hardly worldly character) that other anime artists have allowed to slip into maudlin whine fests or a daisy chain of imperious, comic hi jinks. "Blue Seed" features the gratingly co-dependent Momiji hollering cowardly protestations of her role as savior; while a show like "Sailor Moon" caudles its audience with a bland and inoffensive sense of humor.
But, as "Ceres" is an anime, like these shows I criticize, it almost can't avoid cow towing to the adolescent fantasies of its targeted demographic - Aya has a love/hate relationship with her brother; she swoons when bishounen-type men sweep her to safety; she continually declares herself a typical high school student as if it will serve as a surrogate for actually having to be a sympathetic, much less a well rounded, character. So to appeal to that great bastion of bad taste, teenagers, Kamegaki never lets his characters stray too far from the anime archetypes to which they are shackled.
In hand with the immutable expectations of anime, the advancements made in dubbing over the last five years go unrealized by the Ocean Group/Viz team responsible for the ADR. As well as being more pleasant on the ears, the Japanese track also ads to the mystery of the piece, stylizing the already enrapturing atmosphere with the poetic alienation of a foreign language.
By the end of the third episode, Aya not only embodies teenage arrogance, but also the sum of all fears for a teenage, the complete betrayal of everyone around her, a metaphoric abandonment by a society that serves as a foundation in an extremely awkward period. And who are the bittersweet agents of salvation for this young, vulnerable dove … beautiful teenage boys that shield their real feelings. Aya is also saddled with a [bifurcated] consciousness - much like Pai in "3 X 3 Eyes" - again, the embodiment of teenage polarization. So, essentially - and this argument could forgive the piece for its saccharine schlock - "Ceres" itself is an allegory for puberty, which Kamegaki turns into an intense mystery thriller.
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