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From the moment I started Death Note, I knew it was going to be different. Right in Episode 1, we see Ryuk with that bright red apple, and it instantly gave me major biblical “forbidden fruit” vibes. It’s hard not to think of the whole Adam and Eve when watching it because when Ryuk drops the Death Note into the human world, and Light takes the bait, just like Eve took the apple. The Death Note is basically the ultimate temptation, and Light bites into it without hesitation, thinking he can become some kind of god.

By Episode 2, he’s already diving headfirst into his new god complex. Meanwhile, Ryuk just hangs around eating apples like he’s watching a movie. It’s kind of funny, but also super eerie, like he knows exactly what’s going to happen and he’s just enjoying the show.

Another thing I noticed that adds to the creepy atmosphere is the crows. They pop up a lot in intense scenes, and every time they do, you just know something bad’s about to go down. In Episode 5, when Light starts messing with Raye Penber, the tension is high and the crows are right there, like little omens of death. Same thing in Episodes 10 and 11 when Light’s plans get darker and more calculated, the crows are back, circling the chaos.

The show uses those little details like apples and crows to build this weird, unsettling vibe that sticks with you. It’s not just about the mind games or the murders, it’s about the feeling that Light’s slowly slipping into something he can’t come back from.

One of the themes that really stands out is greed. And not just the character Greed, though he’s amazing in his own right. The show constantly explores what people are willing to do for power, status, or even love and how far they’ll go, and what they’re willing to lose.

Episode 2 sets the tone. Ed and Al meet Father Cornello, a false prophet who uses alchemy to control a desperate town. His version of “faith” is just a front for power and manipulation. It’s a small scale example of how greed can corrupt even something meant to be sacred.

By Episode 22, things start to hit harder. Greed, the Homunculus, shows up and not just as a villain, but as a surprisingly complicated character. He wants everything, power, money, immortality, even friendship. But his version of greed isn’t entirely evil. He’s selfish, but also honest. There’s something weirdly admirable about how upfront he is about wanting more.

Episode 25 is a gut punch. The death of a character reminds us what happens when others’ greed for control or dominance spins out of control. It’s one of the most emotionally devastating moments in the series, and it’s all rooted in that hunger for power.

In Episode 30, we see Greed again, this time with Ling Yao. Their fusion creates a new kind of Greed, one that starts to understand loyalty and connection. It’s a turning point that shows greed isn’t just about taking.

By Episode 54, that evolution is complete. Greed makes a choice that proves he’s more than his name. He shows that even desire can change when faced with true friendship.

Greed, in all its forms, is everywhere in Brotherhood. But so is the hope that we can rise above it.

I’ve always been drawn to dystopian stories and Akira drops us right into that kind of world. Neo-Tokyo, rebuilt after a mysterious explosion, now a city full of neon lights, riots, corrupt officials. It’s loud, chaotic, and honestly, kind of beautiful.

One of the things I love most about the anime is how real its dystopia feels. You see the tension everywhere, between the rich and poor, the military and the youth, the government and the people it’s supposed to protect. Kids like Kaneda and Tetsuo are stuck in the middle, passing by while the elites pull the strings from high seats. That kind of social inequality makes the story feel urgent, like a warning we should probably pay attention to.

And don’t even get me started on the art style. I’m obsessed with that old anime aesthetic and every frame in Akria is hand-drawn, so cool and full of texture. The detail is insane. The city feels alive, with flickering lights. There's something about the imperfections and graininess of older anime that I find way more immersive than the super clean digital look a lot of newer shows have.

Alira blends everything I love: a crumbling world, big questions about power and identity, and that raw, classic anime vibe.

Sensoron isn’t your typical manga as it challenges everything most Japanese people were taught about war. One of its biggest claims is that Japan was brainwashed after WWII. The U.S., after winning the war, controlled the Tokyo War Crimes Trials and used them to write history in a way that put all the blame on Japan. It's the classic “winners write history” move.

The manga also talks about the emotional shift between generations. The people who lived through the war had one kind of emotional response that was raw, complicated, filled with firsthand experience. But their children, raised in postwar Japan, inherited a different set of emotions, mostly guilt. That guilt was taught, not lived, and it shaped a whole generation’s identity.

Kobayashi argues that this was no accident. Japanese society was reshaped to fit into the industrial economy, and that meant wiping out regional differences and pushing everyone to speak the same cultural language. Context-free communication became key and there was no need for local differences or deep understanding, just a shared set of rules and values. To make this work, Japan needed a strong national identity, and that’s where nationalism came in.

This shared identity, Kobayashi suggests, is actually artificial and a perfect example of what Benedict Anderson calls imagined communities. We don’t all know each other, but we believe we’re part of the same nation because we share the same schools, media, and language.

In the end, the manga pushes back hard against the idea that Japan should always feel ashamed of its past. Whether you agree or not, it’s a bold take that forces readers to question how much of what we "know" is actually just someone else’s version of the truth.

One minute, you’re convinced everything’s going to work out, and the next, it feels totally doomed. Just as you're bracing for heartbreak, the story throws you a light of hope. Then it pulls it away again. It’s that constant back and forth between happiness and despair that makes the movie hit so hard.

This emotional wrollercoaster actually lines up pretty well with something Michel Foucault talks about in the text we read. He sees power not as something that comes from one person or place, but as this shifting, unstable force that pops up everywhere in everyday life. In Your Name, Taki and Mitsuha are constantly caught in that kind of chaos pulled by time, tradition, and forces they don’t understand. But they keep pushing back in small, quiet ways which can be by writing names, leaving notes, trying to remember what shouldn't be remembered. Their power lives in those little acts

Foucault also says resistance doesn’t come from some big rebellion, but from these local, everyday moments. That totally fits here. A ribbon, a note, and a dream are all tiny acts of resistance that move out out into something bigger.

And we can’t talk about Your Name without mentioning how insanely beautiful it is. The animation is next level. The colors, the lighting, the skies, the landscape, they’re almost otherworldly. Every frame is filled with emotion, which makes the highs higher and the lows even more heartbreaking.

In the end, the movie is all about the messiness of connection and the quiet power in not giving up. Just like Foucault says, “power is everywhere, and so is resistance.”

Hetalia is a uniquely hilarious anime that transforms one of the most darkest chapter in modern history (World War II) into a comedy filled of stereotypes, and cultural quirks. In the first 19 episodes, the show introduces viewers to personified nations, each representing countries involved in WWII, from the awkward and pasta-loving Italy to the stoic and serious Germany. What makes this anime so amusing isn’t the war itself, but how it flips serious history on its head using exaggerated national stereotypes and unexpected friendships.

The show draws humor from the clashing personalities of the Axis and Allied powers. Italy’s obsession with food, Japan’s politeness and mystery, and Germany’s rigid order all play off each other in comedic ways. The Allies involve America’s loud arrogance, England’s delusional side, and France’s flirtyness bringing even more flavor to the chaos. These stereotypes are obviously exaggerated, but that’s what makes them so funny. Instead of focusing on bloodshed and politics, Hetalia chooses to laugh at how different countries might behave like silly roommates or neighbors in a sitcom.

By using WWII as a backdrop, the series makes history more approachable. It encourages viewers to explore real-world events while poking fun at how nations interact. In a way, it unites people through shared cultural absurdities. There’s something refreshing about seeing serious global conflicts turned into jokes about food, manners, and failed alliances.

While Hetalia isn’t meant to be taken as an accurate historical account, its comedy on stereotypes helps viewers laugh at the past while thinking about how we define national identity today. If you like history with a side of absurd humor, this anime is definitely worth a watch.

From the very first cutscene, it’s clear that Rex is driven by hope, curiosity, and a deep sense of purpose. Starting as a salvager in the Cloud Sea, he’s a teen with big dreams, and those dreams take on new meaning when he meets Pyra, a mysterious Blade.

What makes Rex so interesting in the game’s many cutscenes that we are assigned which show his optimism, even in the face of tragedy. He’s thrown into a world of political chaos, ancient wars, and a lot of personal loss, yet he never loses his belief that people can change and that the world can be saved. His emotional vulnerability, especially in scenes where he questions his strength or mourns lost friends, helps ground the story in something deeply human.

Rex’s relationship with Pyra (and later, Mythra) adds a layer of emotional complexity to the game. In scenes where he protects her or risks everything to keep his promises, you see a boy growing into a leader, not by being the strongest, but by holding tight to his compassion. These moments are filled with weight and sincerity, carried by strong voice acting and cinematic direction.

Even when the stakes rise to world-ending moments, Rex remains consistent by being kind, determined, and always thinking about the people around him. He’s not a perfect hero as he’s hot headed and impulsive at times, but that only makes him more relatable. In the end, Rex stands out as one of JRPG’s more genuine protagonists, a kid with a big heart trying to do right in a world that constantly tests him.

She’s this peaceful, brilliant, empathetic soul in the middle of a toxic, war torn planet, and instead of giving in to the fear or violence, she just keeps believing. And honestly, it’s quite inspiring.

She’s not your typical “strong” character in the sword swinging or punch throwing sense. Her strength is in her patience, her ability to listento people, or to the environment, or even to the giant insect creatures everyone else fears. And it’s that mindset, that peaceful approach to conflict, that inspires the hell out of me.

But at the same time... it’s depressing, right? Like, you watch her try so hard, love so deeply, and sacrifice so much just to keep her people safe, and it’s always the people in power who seem to ruin it all. Her hope feels so fragile next to their obsession with domination.

Still, she doesn’t quit. Even when it feels like peace is impossible, when the world is literally falling apart around her, she holds onto her belief that it can be better. That people can change. That the world can heal.

And that kind of resilience to let go of compassion in the face of violence reminds me that pacifism isn’t weakness and it’s actually one of the hardest things to choose. Especially when it feels like the whole world is trying to prove you wrong.

Nausicaa makes me want to be better. Even if everything’s broken, she shows that it’s still worth trying to fix.

There’s a specific kind of energy that surrounds anime conventions. part excitement, part chaos, and a whole lot of heart. The documentary set at Florida Supercon’s 2011 Geek Film Festival and Phoenix Comicon’s 2012 Film Festival dives into that world, focusing on otaku culture in the U.S. and what it truly means to be a fan. Spoiler: it’s way more complicated than just liking anime.

Early on, a fan proudly claims that being otaku is not the same as simply enjoying anime. According to her, otaku are superfans. They live and breathe this stuff. It’s watching shows religiously, learning Japanese using subtitles knowing voice actors’ names. Otaku don’t just watch anime, they become part of it. But the doc also shows that this identity is kind of fuzzy. A lot of people who clearly love anime still hesitate to call themselves otaku. Some feel like they’re not “hardcore” enough to claim the title. Others shy away because of the term’s stigma, especially the creepy, obsessive stereotype that still floats around from old-school media portrayals. Still, for many, cons like Florida Supercon, Phoenix Comicon, and even smaller local events like Swamp Con at the University of Florida become safe spaces where otaku can finally be seen. It’s a place to show off fan-made costumes, reenact favorite scenes, meet fellow anime lovers, and step into the worlds that normally only live on their screens.

A big idea in the film is how cosplay bridges the gap between fiction and reality. Anime characters can’t talk back, can’t interact with fans as they’re merely a fantasy. But cosplayers can. They become the face of the fandom. Seeing someone dressed as your favorite character and sharing a moment with them, even if it’s just a photo, can feel like connecting to something deeper than just entertainment. The doc also contrasts pre-made costumes with handmade ones. Sure, buying a costume is cool, but there’s something about crafting your own from scratch where sewing the fabric, painting props, gluing it all together in your room at 3AM hits differently. It’s not just cosplay, it’s a strong commitment to the role. Fans talk about how wearing something you built with your own hands adds a deeper emotional value to the experience. It becomes a personal homage to a character or show that’s meant something to you.

At its core, the doc makes a pretty powerful point about fandom: it’s a way to satisfy the gratitude of fantasy. When anime brings you joy, teaches you lessons, or helps you through rough times, cosplay and con culture become a way of saying thank you. You can’t write a letter to a fictional character, but you can show up in their outfit, quote their lines, and connect with others who feel the same.

So, while not everyone at a con may call themselves otaku, this documentary proves that the label doesn’t matter as much as the passion behind it. Whether you’re rocking a $500 handmade costume or just vibing in a Naruto hoodie, it’s all love. These events give space for people to let their inner fan out.