I follow the VTuber La+ Darknesss, who reads a lot of manga on a regular basis. Every so often, she throws out a recommendation, and one such title that caught my attention was Oshi ga Yameta, or My Fav Idol Quit.
Miyabi is a 25-year-old woman who is obsessed with a male idol, the 22-year-old Miku. She devotes her entire life to supporting him, even going as far as doing sex work to fund her fandom. Miyabi also meets up with a group of like-minded women, each of whom have their own favorite idols, and each of whom have their own secrets about their personal lives. But when Miku announces that he’s quitting the business, Miyabi ends up like a boat adrift in the ocean. What she doesn’t realize is that Miku’s retirement is the catalyst for drama, turmoil and discovery—not only for Miyabi and Miku, but also the people around them.
The world of Japanese idols is a great subject for stories because the clash of fantasy and reality is inherent to it. Oshi ga Yameta focuses on the drive of fans to keep living in an illusory world, but not solely in a negative manner or judgmental manner. Individual and societal circumstances, like the pressure put on Japanese women to marry young, undergird the seemingly foolish decisions being made by idol fans. At the same time, the manga also portrays the idols themselves as being of all stripes, from those who genuinely buy into the idol image to those who enter the industry with ulterior motives. The lives depicted feel both ugly and beautiful, and it’s not always clear which aspects are which. Is Miyabi’s main sex client any better or worse than Miyabi herself in terms of how passion, love, and lust intertwine?
Comparing it to the biggest idol drama work of the day in Oshi no Ko, Oshi ga Yameta entirely lacks the supernatural elements as a plot hook. The latter also maintains its heroine’s perspective as a fan and nothing more (as opposed to having her enter the industry), and puts greater emphasis on the torrent of complicated emotions arising from a lifestyle that is both self-affirming and self-sabotaging. The art in Oshi ga Yameta is also very different, showing a messier style with less distinct differences in character designs, but which emphasizes its characters’ own dysfunctions and roiling emotions. The two series do resemble each other more in certain ways, but it’s not immediately obvious how.
I originally planned to read all of Oshi ga Yameta a lot sooner, so it’s funny that I would finish after the news about the Fuji TV scandal involving the former leader of the idol mega group SMAP. Juxtaposing this real scandal with that of the manga’s, it becomes clear that there’s still an element of fantasy even as stories feel “too real.” But the ability to approach sensitive topics while cloaked in fiction helps to provide plenty of food for thought, and this particular manga provides a hell of a buffet.
In 2016, I was looking at a preview of the new anime season with friends, as was our custom. We talked about the shows we thought had potential, the ones we were more skeptical about, and anything else of note. But there was one series that seemed to come completely out of left field. A Taiwan-Japan co-production that wasn’t animated but rather performed using puppets, and it was written by Urobuchi Gen of Madoka Magica fame?! Even if we potentially did not end up liking it, we had to at least give this Thunderbolt Fantasy a chance.
Nine years later, and this series has become one of my absolute favorite works of fiction ever. The novelty of its puppetry never actually wears off, and it’s backed by solid writing and charismatic voice actors giving some of their best performances, as well as a sense of tension and excitement that had me coming back for more. So when I found out that they would be doing the North American premiere of the feature-length Thunderbolt Fantasy: The Final Chapter, I made it my mission to attend the convention.
This is my review of the movie, but since then, the movie has come out on Crunchyroll under the name Thunderbolt Fantasy -The Finale-. I recommend you just get straight into watching it, but feel free to proceed if you want my thoughts. Note that there will be a MAJOR SPOILERS section at the bottom.
The Basics
Thunderbolt Fantasy is set in a world once ravaged by a war against demonkind, which humanity barely won thanks to the help of a series of divine weapons. In the long years since this War of Fading Dusk, the weapons have been sought after by the righteous and the evil alike.
When we first see the two main characters of our story—no-nonsense vagrant swordsman Shāng Bú Huàn and white-haired pain-in-the-ass illusionist Lǐn Xuě Ya—they have just met each other for the first time, and both are holding their own respective secrets. At the end of the first season, we learn that Shāng is not only a ridiculously powerful swordsman who can wield a wooden stick like it was real steel, but that he’s also in possession of the Sorcerous Sword Index: a special scroll designed to house all sorts of supernaturally powerful weapons. Shāng carries it to prevent the weapons from falling into the wrong hands, notably the Order of the Divine Swarm, a clandestine organization seeking to conquer the world.
But Lǐn the “Enigmatic Gale” has been far more, well, enigmatic. Throughout the prior seasons, he appears to just be an elusive trickster who finds joy in aggravating the powerful. But in the penultimate chapter, we finally learn a truth even he didn’t know: Lǐn is actually a kind of “offshoot” of the Demon Lord who rules the Demon Realm, cast away and abandoned to remove any of the leader’s weakness. Lǐn thus has a revelation that the greatest target to torment would be essentially none other than himself.
Three other major plot points help create the backdrop for the end. First, the leader of the Divine Swarm, Huò Shì Míng Huáng, turns out to be the Emperor of Xī Yōu, the land which Shāng was trying to leave. This means the emperor was playing both sides of the law the entire time. Second, one of Shāng’s old allies, a bard named Làng Wū Yáo (voiced by rock star TM Revolution!) is actually half demon and is being forcibly transformed into an infernal god by his long-lost father. Third, the armies of Dōng Lí and Xī Yōu (the East and the West) are on the verge of coming together to fight a new war against the demons, though the former doesn’t know a thing about the latter’s true identity.
The Final Chapter
I’ll admit that I don’t have the most rigorous grasp on the full story of Thunderbolt Fantasy. There’s a lot I’ve forgotten over the years among all the different plot threads, and I suspect many coming into this movie would be in a similar situation. However, I actually don’t think you need to have an encyclopedic knowledge of all that has transpired to enjoy the film. In addition to just being incredibly entertaining, the characters all have such bombastic designs and larger-than-life personalities that it’s easy to identify what roles they each serve in the overall narrative, even if the details are a little fuzzy.
That said, the movie is (as expected) not meant to be watched without any prior exposure to the show, and it does little in the way of actively filling in the blanks for the uninformed. It feels very much like the conclusion of a long-running TV series than a work meant to stand entirely on its own legs. Things happen fast and furious, not only in terms of the pace of the storytelling but also the action. The fights are more complex and relentless compared to what is typically seen in Thunderbolt Fantasy, and rivals even the greatest martial arts fight scenes in history.
In a certain sense, this is PILI taking off its weighted clothes and unleashing its full potential. The studio has a four-decade history of creating action-oriented puppet TV shows in Taiwan, and if you compare Thunderbolt Fantasy to their other works, the latter often turn into such never-ending frenzies of stylized violence that the notion of “breathing room” is a suggestion at best. But action in Thunderbolt Fantasy is slower and more deliberate, emphasizing the drama over a fight choreography built on countless details. In The Final Chapter, we get the best of both worlds.
Battles truly feel like the characters are fighting with everything they have, while the narrative and the characters’ individual motivations provide context to give their movements meaning and weight. Lǐn fights his doppelganger, the Demon Lord, and they naturally match each other move for move. Làng’s travel companion, a sentient pipa, has turned human and fights with strings befitting a former instrument. When he runs into a yandere princess puppeting two magical corpses at the expense of her own life force in order to take on Làng’s demonic father, the three-way back-and-forth is nonstop but also relatively easy to follow. And when Shāng finally gets the chance to wield a non-wooden sword after nine years of avoiding it, his assault is all the more special.
The plot twists and dramatic turns are all really satisfying in a way that screams “epic finale,” and the respective fates of all the big villains provide perfect bookends to all their stories. The film even touches on the origins of Shāng himself, and it was the last thing I could have ever predicted. That being said, I want to discuss some of the details of the ending.
SPOILERS SECTION
There are three major spoilers I wanted to write about in greater detail.
The first thing is Shāng being in the same company as Marty McFly (Back to the Future), John Connor (Terminator), and Philip J. Fry (Futurama). Essentially, he turns out to be the son of Lāng and the blind harpist Mù Tiān Mìng, both with whom he fought side by side before the start of Thunderbolt Fantasy. They realize their baby is somehow the Shāng they know, and the couple gives him up to the sentient pipa-turned-human, who apparently comes to raise him in another realm so that he will be ready to fulfill his destiny.
I definitely did not expect that, and based on the audience reaction, I don’t think anyone did. I also genuinely thought he had romantic feelings for Mù, but I guess it turned out to be more filial. They hinted at Shāng being a time traveler of sorts in Season 4, and possibly before that as well, but it implies the source of Shāng’s unparalleled swordsmanship: the fact that the man has trained across time and space and dimensions since he was a child. So he was the child who saved everyone, and also got his own parents together, to an extent. At least he did not sleep with his own grandmother.
The second thing is the way the leader of the Divine Swam is defeated, and the aftermath of his loss. There’s something a little hokey but absolutely wonderful about him using all the divine weapons of the Sorcerous Sword Index to transform into a gigantic armored demigod. A part of me wishes he was vanquished in a more conventional manner, but I think what happens fits the story incredibly well.
Shāng uses the one remaining blade, and while it seems to have no effect on Huò, it seems to be opening up a rift in the sky. Realizing the true nature of the weapon in his hand, Shāng proceeds oto summon Bái Lián, the sage who originally created the weapons (and whom he met in Season 3). Bái Lián proceeds to forcibly bring the emperor into the void beyond and back home to his own world where the weapons came from, and where they are now rusted and lifeless. The emperor tries to use his dark magic to threaten Bái Lián but finds that he can’t form spells. Bái Lián tells him that had he arrived in this realm as himself, he would have retained his powers, but by tying his very being to the weapons, he is now as inert as they are, and the only thing he can do is live like any other average person. His precipitous fall from world conqueror to commoner breaks him.
I love this so much. Not only is it rather cathartic given the state of the actual world right now, but I really find pleasure in seeing someone who believed they were untouchable be laid low and made to feel vulnerable. The villain really thought he was inherently superior and deserving of ruling over his entire world, and the fact that he can’t handle the idea of fending for himself the way everyone else does is the justest of deserts. (See also JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 5: Golden Wind). Bái Lián is also based on a popular recurring character in PILI’s Taiwanese puppet shows, so his presence at the climax is also a way to pay homage to the studio that made all this possible.
The third thing is Lǐn taking over as Demon Lord. Hilarious. We get that silly moment where Shāng sees through his disguise and refuses to duel to the death with the Enigmatic Gale (“Of course it’s you. I’ve never even met the Demon Lord, so why would he want to fight me?). We also get to think about just how a Demon Realm ruled by the most egregious troll in all of existence would turn out.
SPOILERS OVER
Concluding Thoughts…and More
What a fantastic ride. I’ve been told that this movie was originally supposed to be a full season, and it does show to a degree, but I still think this was a wonderful way to close the book on Thunderbolt Fantasy. It was the essence of this whole international creative endeavor boiled down to a clean 90-ish minutes, and had me coming away grateful to have learned about it nearly a decade ago.
So those are my thoughts on the movie, but this is actually just the first part of my Thunderbolt Fantasy coverage from ACen 2025. There was a “red carpet gala” to show off the puppets before the screening, as well as a Q&A afterwards with some live puppet demonstrations. Even more exciting, I got the chance to interview the PILI staff and even try out one of the puppets!
Of all the decades-long science fiction mega franchises in the world, Doctor Who is definitely one where I’ve long had little, if any exposure.
In my head, it was always this series where people got mad if I called the main character “Doctor Who.” It also had the image of being a relatively low-budget serial adventure that suddenly became big again around 2006 or so, had been going on since television was black and white, and somehow had still kept going. It was (somehow) a still-ongoing story whose various hiccups and plot inconsistencies can be hand-waved away with suspension of disbelief and time travel shenanigans—not unlike a mix of soap opera, pro wrestling, and Star Trek, with shades of the legacy of Buffy the Vampire Slayer in more modern times.
Oh, and I enjoyed seeing that one scene of Daleks vs. Cybermen. It works even without knowing a single bit of actual Doctor Who context.
But until recently, I don’t think I quite appreciated the lasting impact Doctor Who has made on culture and entertainment—not just in the UK, but around the world too.
I think there were two things that prompted me to start looking at the series more in-depth. First, I kept seeing people (including VTubers like Gawr Gura) make reference to the Doctor Who monsters known as Weeping Angels. Second, I read that the Doctor Who theme song is iconic, identifiable, and still very unique even after 60 years…and I couldn’t recognize it even if you played it in full for me. Knowing that this was a missing piece of television and pop culture education in my brain was my motivation to learn. And with a lot of help from a very well-maintained official Doctor Who Youtube channel, I started to just watch clips of iconic scenes from throughout its run going all the way back to the First Doctor. I read discussions about “who’s the best Doctor,” knowing that this debate has been going on for literal decades and across generations and waves of nostalgia. I learned that the aforementioned theme song is one of the two most continuously used theme songs ever (the other being James Bond), and even influenced Pink Floyd.
But one thing I held back on was watching actual full episodes of Doctor Who. Where do you even start? It’s a challenging question, even when compared to similarly old franchises like Gundam or Star Wars don’t have to face. In those cases, “go with some version of the original” does the trick, but with Doctor Who, there are literal episodes of the early era that were never archived, and by most estimations, Doctor Who didn’t hit its stride until at least a few years in.
I ultimately went with “Genesis of the Daleks,” a story from the Fourth Doctor era, because I read that it’s a widely beloved episode featuring one of the most popular Doctors of all time. I understood that it risked color my perception of Doctor Who to an extent, and that it would give me perhaps a different impression from the 21st-century “New Who” era that helped drive Tumblr discourse for over a decade alongside Supernatural and Sherlock (the so-called SuperWhoLock fandom). If this was the “peak” of Doctor Who, I tried to remember that the series is a range and not a single mountain.
I was impressed. Within the caveat of it still being fairly hokey, the basic plot is surprisingly serious and fraught with profound ethical dilemmas. The Doctor being forced to go back in time to try and stop the creation of the cruel, genocidal war machines that would become his greatest nemesis. He finds himself in a “would you shoot Baby Hitler?” scenario and a chance to convince the father of this army of Baby Hitlers to change his mind, only to realize that this creator is beyond all help. (And if the Nazi analogy wasn’t clear enough, all the soldiers fighting this forever war are all very SS-coded.) For a show aware of and expecting young viewers among its audience, these are heavy topics.
(I also can’t help but think about the fact that Nazis were still fresh in the general memory of humanity at this point. It’s perhaps appropriate that I’m watching this at a time when we are realizing once again that Nazism and fascism are clear and present threats that must be confronted.)
But even putting aside the weightiness of the topics, what truly makes “Genesis of the Daleks” work are the performances of the actors themselves. Tom Baker as the Doctor is so very convincing, both in terms of his portrayal of this eccentric protagonist around whom the series revolves, but also with the way he seems to really grapple morally and philosophically with the potential impacts of his decisions. Baker isn’t alone, either, as other actors (notably Elizabeth Sladen as Sarah Jane Smith) also bring a sense of sincerity to their performances.
The ability to make you believe that the characters believe their own words reminds me a lot of tokusatsu from Japan: The shows might look cheap, but the actors and presentation make the stakes feel real, and that’s something that can ring true on some level even if the writing, the visuals, or storytelling styles change. It’s also the case that, like Doctor Who, franchises such as Ultraman and Kamen Rider have themselves been ongoing for decades—with new protagonists coming in on a regular basis, and with continuous growing pains as they try to adapt to the changing times. Because of all this, I came to the conclusion that Doctor Who is basically British tokusatsu.
It’s actually more coincidence than anything else that I started watching Doctor Who during a time that I’ve heard about some wild things going on. I don’t pretend to have an opinion on all that because, well, I’ve just dipped my toes in. But it is funny and amazing to me that this work of fiction is somehow both massive and small, and that it has existed long enough to have made a mark on both the history of prog rock and Tumblr. I don’t know how much more I’ll end up watching, but never say never.
And did I write all that just to talk about watching a single Doctor Who story? Yes. Yes I did.
I’m not a big fan of obsessing over tropes. The way people might try to fit everything into a TVTropes category bothers me, and even when asked questions about what kinds of character pairings I prefer, it always greatly depends on context and execution. Despite this, I do enjoy occasionally watching Overly Sarcastic Productions’ Trope Talk, and after watching their recent episode about the “Dreaded,” I found myself wondering what might be my favorite example.
The answer, as with so many things, is Heartcatch Precure!, the 2010 entry in the Precure magical girl franchise.
According to TVTropes, the Dreaded is “a character or a single, unified group whose primary characteristic is the fear the other side has of them.” Examples include Darth Vader, All-for-One from My Hero Academia, and perhaps even Uncle Iroh from Avatar: The Last Airbender. In terms of narrative the way the character’s reputation precedes them adds to the sense of anticipation for when they do show their full strength, and as the Trope Talk video points out, a character can also lose their “Dreaded” aura if they are overused or mishandled.
The reason I love Heartcatch Precure!’s version of this is that there are two “Dreaded” characters, and the way the series handles them both is just magnificent.
WARNING: SPOILERS
The series begins not with girls who would become the main characters, but a clash where a warrior named Cure Moonlight is defeated by a formidable foe named Dark Precure, who seems to mirror her abilities. Before all hope is lost, Moonlight’s companion mascot, Cologne, sacrifices himself and creates an opening that will allow a new generation to take over the fight. In the first two minutes, Dark Precure is established as this overwhelming entity who crushed Cure Moonlight, but then Heartcatch! does something important: Dark Precure doesn’t show up, at least for a long time.
And so the new heroes, Cure Blossom and Cure Marine, discover their new abilities and find their footing as they repel the enemy’s minions and monsters time and again. Then, Episode 10 hits, and Dark Precure appears, beats them down, and makes all their efforts and progress look hopeless. The first episode established her as a dangerous foe, but this just shows superior she is compared to Blossom and Marine. It does a great job adding to Dark’s aura of dread.
But when nearly all hope is lost, a high school girl they met earlier shows up and does the seemingly impossible, blocking Dark Precure’s finishing blow. This girl, Tsukikage Yuri, is actually the former Cure Moonlight, and she’s using the broken remnant of her transformation stone as a shield. This is when Heartcatch does something that pushes the Dreaded trope to the next level: Upon realizing who it is standing before her, Dark Precure reacts with a caution so different from her previously stoic attitude that it immediately makes clear what a force Yuri is. With just a fraction of her strength, she makes a seemingly unstoppable villain hesitate.
Heartcatch Precure! thus establishes its Dreaded characters: one on the side of evil, and the other on the side of good. What’s more, both their stories play important roles long term in various ways. Relative to each other, they establish a deep sense that they are each others’ true arch enemies. To the main heroines, Dark Precure acts as a litmus test: As the series continues, the girls go from being outclassed to being able to at least hold her off—not enough to diminish Dark’s status as a Dreaded. Yuri, for her part, is part of a vital part of the story: It’s through the efforts of the others that she slowly regains her conviction to fight and to stop blaming herself for the death of Cologne. When Yuri finally transforms into Cure Moonlight again, all the anticipation that comes from her reputation pays off in spades.
The presence of a trope does not make anything inherently good or bad, and 90% of its effectiveness comes from execution. They’re descriptive rather than prescriptive, and Heartcatch Precure! uses both its Dreaded characters to both entice and reward its audience over time. It’s just one of the million reasons I still love this magical girl series so much.
I like to joke that certain figures comprise a pre-history of VTubers. Anyone who plays into the idea of a virtual character or alter ego, in part or in full, counts: the Wizard of Oz, Max Headroom, Sharon Apple (Macross Plus), Kevin Flynn (Tron), and so on. But one individual on my silly list is apparently making a comeback: Jem from Jen and the Holograms. To celebrate her 40th anniversary, she is returning with six new songs, including an extended version of the main theme from her original cartoon.
Jem and the Holograms is a TV series from the 1980s, targeted at a young female audience. The heroine is Jerrica Benton, the owner of a music label who also performs as lead singer of Jem and the Holograms. What makes Jem a “proto-VTuber” is the fact that she uses a special holographic technology, a sentient computer named Synergy, to create an alternate persona for the stage. Just like modern-day VTubers, she releases music videos of her original songs in this guise.
And while this might be mere coincidence, I noticed that the newly recorded rendition of the Jem and the Holograms intro is a length that has always been rare for American cartoons: about 90 seconds, the same as a a standard anime opening or ending.
(Or perhaps Synergy is the VTuber?)
Another interesting wrinkle is that, much like the return of the VTuber boss of bosses Kizuna AI this year, this Jem revival features her original singer: Britta Phillips. One of the biggest and most painful lessons the VTuber community learned in AI’s heyday is that the fans do not accept a different human behind the avatar. These entities are not viewed as “character designs” or “concepts” with interchangeable performers; the persona in front and and the person behind the curtain together form a VTuber. It’s more complicated in Jem’s case because she had separate singing and acting voices, and there was a 2015 live-action movie, but there’s still a sense here of the OG coming back.
Though certainly not intended to be an example of the future of VTubing, this Jem thing makes me wonder what will be possible someday. For a form of entertainment that is arguably not even 10, what will 40 years of VTubing even look like?
I attended Anime Central 2025 last month! I enjoyed it a lot and ate a decent amount of Chicago’s iconic foods, so expect some reviews and other coverage in the coming weeks (or maybe months). The last time I was there, I was very under the weather (later finding out it was COVID-19), so it was sure to be a better overall experience this go around.
Kio had a talk at a gallery, and tweeted his wishes for how Gundam GQuuuuuuX would go.
Closing
I hear that a funny VTuber that may or may not be part Shark, part Mackerel is on the horizon. I hope she’s gonna be a part of the upcoming Virtual Vacation 2025 concert…
Kio was at Gallery Zenon and the Rakuen cafe. He went with manga author Tsuruta Kenji.
Kio founded the Madarame Cream Soda to be really fizzy, capturing the viewpoint of the manga. The gelatinous bits also make it dangerous to talk while drinking it.
Kio lays out his vision of what he wanted to see in Gundam GQuuuuuuX Episode 7 [SPOILERS KIND OF?]:
Machu and Shuji start the Clan Battle as MAVs -> Nyan deals with the money -> Deux goes berserk because of the kira kira -> The Psycho Gundam does severe damage to the colony -> The Military Police gets wiped out -> The Psycho Gundam reaches the building where Kycili and Machu’s mom are -> Machu and Shuji can’t stop it -> Xavier’s Gyan and Shallia’s Kikeroga arrive in style -> The Hambrabi is shot down -> The Psycho Gundam is pushed back, leading Deux to go Newtype berserk even more -> Zeknova -> The Red Gundam vanishes -> Xavier is shot down -> Challia and Machu form an impromptu MAV combo and destroy the Psycho Gundam -> Machu leaves her cockpit to find Shuji -> Machu’s identity is exposed by the broadcast -> She goes with Challia because he knows about Zeknova -> Nyan fails to procure the money and flees -> She runs into Xavier after he crashed -> Nyan goes to Zeon.
I’ve been thinking about Pokémon a whole bunch lately, particularly about the online community and how much time has passed. The competitive players I considered my friends are so far in the past that the next generation after them is considered the “old school.” I met many of them during Generation 1, and one of the most fascinating times was in the transition to Generation 2, particularly with regard to theorycrafting.
The importance and limitations of theorycrafting is something all players have to deal with in any competitive environment, but back when information was scarce and we only had questionably translated materials from the Japanese release, it really felt like something different. As with every generation change, players on sites like Azure Heights tried to figure out what would be strong in Gold and Silver. One answer that came up was Starmie.
On paper, it made sense. Starmie was among the top picks in Red, Blue, and Yellow. It was fast. It hit hard. Its movepool was also among the best. Not only did it learn powerful moves that benefited from its Water/Psychic typing (Psychic, Surf, Hydro Pump), but it could also cover every type combination in the game with Ice Beam and Thunderbolt (or Blizzard, which was ~90% accurate in Gen 1), and it learned amazing defensive/support moves in the paralyzing Thunder Wave and the health-restoring Recover. Being Psychic type was also a huge boon in a generation where they had no actual weaknesses.
Gen 2 introduced egg moves: techniques that Pokémon could only learn via breeding. This could potentially be transformative, and one move stood out in Starmie’s list: Confuse Ray. Being both paralyzed (25% chance to not move at all combined with a 75% speed reduction) and confused (50% chance to hit yourself and not execute a move) was among the most annoying things to deal with in Gen 1. To have parafusion on a single Pokémon seemed like a nightmare scenario, and so Starmie was predicted to be a serious meta threat.
Time proved things out differently, however. While parafusion could still be annoying, the changes made to the battle system went far beyond players’ early theorycrafting. The dividing of the Special stat into two (Special Attack and Special Defense) meant that moves like Amnesia and Psychic were not quite as effective. The introduction of the Dark and Steel type, and to a lesser extent the improvements made to Bug, all took away the Psychic types’ major advantage. Curse turned out to be an incredibly strong move, especially when paired with an incredibly bulky choice like Snorlax—even when stuck in place while paralyzed and confused, they could weather the storm and Rest off the damage. Heal Bell, a move that removed all the status effects inflicted on your own team, trivialized attacks like Thunder Wave. And this is the generation Mean Look and Perish Song was introduced, creating the Perish Trap strategy that could lock opponents in and force them into no-win scenarios.
Back then, the false hype of parafusion Starmie taught me something important: People will theorize based on their previous experiences because that’s what they have to rely on, and that strength is relative. Strategies don’t exist in a vacuum, and things that were considered universally strong sometimes falter in a different environment. (And sometimes, things are actively nerfed.) This is far from the only instance of theory not matching practice in Pokémon or even beyond, but it’s one I remember with a strong tinge of nostalgia.
Today is hololive VTuber La+ Darknesss’s birthday, and that has me thinking about her relationship with her fans. In a world that both passively and actively encourages talent and fans alike to fall into obsession, she rarely lets others dictate what directions to go.
I like watching new VTubers debut. Variety is the spice of life, and you never know who’s going to be a pleasant surprise. But I’ve also noticed something when looking at reactions to these reveals: There’s a certain kind of viewer who seems very eager to throw their full support behind someone or something. With just an initial introduction (or even less) to work off of, this type of fan behaves like they’re looking desperately for a conduit for their passion
This can be just another way of engaging with online personalities, albeit one that differs from my more hesitant “wait and see” approach. A forlorn heart might yearn to be recognized and have its intense feelings reciprocated, so having some kind of outlet can be healthy. The fact that this can turn into genuine feelings of attraction and affection can still be okay if there is recognition and understanding of the limits of this relationship.
Where it starts to get iffy is when someone either projects all their values and fantasies into a figure and fails to at least admit that this is projection, or when the eagerness to find a fandom turns into bitterness. That’s the point at which being parasocial becomes harmful, and I worry about both sides in these scenarios.
Some will play into this dynamic, but La+ has a bit of an unusual relationship with her viewers. She is herself an idol fan, and she has expressed empathy for those who have been hurt by an idol revealing that they have a significant other. She’s also a self-professed doutan kyouhi: a competitive fan who does not want to interact with others who share the same particular fandom. She knows what it’s like to be obsessed with someone…but she doesn’t actively seek to be that object for other people.
The way the holoX commander prefers to hold her fans at arm’s length has actually at times garnered her haters. They wish she was something she’s not trying to be, and the fact that she doesn’t conform to their desires bothers them. She’ll make connections outside of hololive in big collabs with people regardless of gender or genre. She’ll gush over Mai Shiranui from the Fatal Fury franchise, channeling the energy of fighting game fans who grew up in the 1990s and 2000s despite not being of that era. She’ll ask to be insulted by her colleagues in hololive with mature voices. She’ll even come up with an official name for her fans (Plusmates), but never actually use it. And when others talk about what La+ is like behind the scenes, they’ll mention how hard she works for herself, her peers, and her fans. That’s something I really appreciate about her: She does her own thing and appears to have a good time in the process.
La+ Darknesss prefers to act as a fellow fan who has the privilege of doing idol-like activities, such as singing and dancing on stage. In this way, seems to look at the fans who might potentially become her most obsessive and parasocial supporters, and says, “I get where you’re coming from, but I can’t be that for you. I can entertain you, though.” That’s just fine by me.
Cobra Kai finished earlier this year after six seasons, and it has me remembering when I started the Karate Kid spin-off. Back then, it really surprised and impressed me with how much it avoided being a regressive nostalgia fest and tried to put out new ideas, and all while having the old characters look over a new generation of karate students. But like with so many popular things, a bad ending can really sour a series as a whole, so I was still a bit cautious. There’s a reason I’ve never really written about Game of Thrones.
Thankfully, despite the later seasons dragging in places and sometimes forcing drama in certain places like there was an obligation to do so, Cobra Kai finishes strong both emotionally and thematically. It also understands something very fundamental: A show based on The Karate Kid needs to begin and end with karate.
Everything I wrote in my previous review still holds up. Cobra Kai stresses the importance of finding balance, but that there is no one-size-fits-all approach. Sometimes, the aggressive approach of Cobra Kai is exactly what a person needs, but following it to the extremes can cause more harm than good—something Johnny Lawrence (the main character of the series and original bad boy of the franchise) knows all too well. Miyagi-Do, the style and life philosophy of the “Karate Kid” himself, Daniel LaRusso, is more defensive and less likely to lead someone down a dark path, but it might not have the sheer force to break through to the hearts of those who aren’t receptive to it.
There are numerous moments in the show that stress this point, but I think one of the most powerful comes when the character Tory Nichols is facing Sam (daughter of Daniel) to see who will represent Miyagi-Do in the women’s division of the world karate tournament, the Sekai Taikai. Tory’s mother has just passed away, and the girl is distraught and emotionally unstable during the match. The LaRussos see this fact and try to stop Tory, but Johnny understands that Tory needs to let out her emotions through this fight. While Daniel’s heart is in the right place, it’s Johnny who better understands what Tory is going through, and the former’s failure to recognize that causes Tory to abandon Miyagi-Do.
Eventually, pretty much all the characters get their happy endings, which might feel a bit hokey, but the nature of each one really speaks to the unique qualities of each individual. With the setting of a tournament to determine the world’s greatest karate dojo, each person must achieve their balance.
Robby Keene (Johnny’s once-estranged son) has had a rough past with negligent parents and getting roped into the wrong crowd, and Miyagi-Do has helped him temper his anger. When his opponent in the semifinals, Axel Kovačević, purposely breaks his leg, however, Robbie is forced to forfeit. Yet, while he wishes he could have won in front of the world, he also knows in his heart that he had what it took to do so, even if a dirty trick stopped him.
Sam LaRusso decides to quit in the semifinals and give Tory a bye to the finals, it’s because she realizes that she never got into karate to prove that she was the best or the greatest. It’s helped her find good friends, a great boyfriend (despite some Teen Karate Drama), and even mend fences with her rival in Tory. Karate opened the world to her, and she ends up going to college in Okinawa (the birthplace of karate).
Tory Nichols, however, is not like Robby or Sam. She has a chip on her shoulder, guilt over causing so many problems, and a burning desire to beat the crap out of Zara: the arrogant, man-stealing, social media darling waiting for her in the finals. Zara knows how to get into Tory’s head, but an “I love you” and a kiss from Robby brings her back to take 1st place. What Tory needed was to realize that she had people on her side no matter what. When she and Robby also get offers for karate sponsorships, she gains the stability she’s always been searching for.
Miguel Diaz, Johnny’s first student and in many ways the heart and soul of the Cobra Kai series, finds balance in bringing together all the experience he’s gained from not just karate but bonding with everyone. He’s no longer the weak, bullied kid he once was. At the same time, all the challenges he’s faced and the lessons he’s learned from both Cobra Kai and Miyagi-Do unite in him to win the finals against Axel.
As for Axel, he might have been responsible for Robby’s injury, but he ultimately refuses to let the toxicity of his own sensei control him. Despite having strong romantic feelings for Sam (who is Miguel’s girlfriend), as well as being told that his life is worthless without victory, he chooses to be the better man and fight honorably. He helps highlight another key aspect of Cobra Kai: The purpose of teachers and mentors is to pass on the good lessons and understand what should remain in the past. And this isn’t just subtext—it’s stated outright.
Nowhere is this idea more ironically poignant than the original big, bad villain of The Karate Kid: John Kreese. He is responsible for so much of the misery brought forth by the Cobra Kai dojo. The Cobra Kai series delves into his past as a traumatized Vietnam veteran who tried to instill in his students the mantra of “strike hard, strike fast, no mercy” as a way to make them invincible, and it isn’t until the very end that he realizes how much damage he’s caused in the process.
I find the moment of Kreese’s inner revelation interesting, because it doesn’t seem to click until he sees the real master of the Cobra Kai style (an elderly Korean man) using his weaker students as fodder to train the stronger. Even Kreese wanted only to drive weakness out of his students, and not to sacrifice them on the altar of strength. When he remembers his own commander in the Vietnam War (and the one who originally taught him Tang Soo Do) allowing his subordinates to fight to the death as POWs instead of acting as a leader, Kreese decides to end the cycle of abuse, albeit decades after he already traumatized Johnny, LaRusso, and many others. However, he can’t stop being the man he’s been, so his ultimate act of closure is to stop his former friend and literal comrade-in-arms Terry Silver from kidnapping Johnny’s family by fighting Silver and blowing up his yacht. (Whee.)
It all comes to a head when Johnny has to face another teacher, the Iron Dragons’ Sensei Wolf, to determine the overall winning team of the Sekai Taikai. Wolf is younger, stronger, faster, and more skilled, making Johnny the complete underdog, and he’s overwhelmed by fear during the match. But Daniel, knowing Johnny all too well, goes against his normally gentle demeanor and tells him that fear does not exist in Cobra Kai and to “stop being a pussy.” When it comes down to the last point, Johnny sees himself in the same position he was in when he lost to Daniel back in 1984. This time, however, Johnny takes a defensive stance. He looks like he’s about to perform Daniel’s move, the Crane Kick, but instead sweeps the leg and uses the advantage he gains from that to finish Wolf and win it all.
Daniel came to realize that the crass and aggressive philosophy of Cobra Kai was what he needed to successfully communicate with a panicked Johnny, but he used it to communicate a lesson Mr. Miyagi taught him: You can lose the match, but you must not lose to fear. Johnny, in turn, used the patient defense of Miyagi-Do but adapted it to his own style, changing the context of the iconic “sweep the leg” line that is one of the most lasting pieces of pop culture from The Karate Kid.
Overall, through the ups and downs, Cobra Kai sticks the landing magnificently. It understands that it has old fans watching, but also a new audience who don’t know anything about Karate Kid. It stresses that the young can learn from the old, and that the old can learn from the young.
As a final note, I think one thing that really gets across the positive vibes of the series is the sheer number of cameos from the old movies. They seem to be there to give props to as many people who were involved with The Karate Kid, no matter how big or small their roles were. It’s a celebration in the best way: One that knows that when the party ends, there’s still more to do to make life better.
OGIUE MANIAX 