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In our modern culture, where creative entities by and large are satisfied with mediocrity, it's Boku no Hero Academia 2 that ceaselessly strives for more. This show's scorching, all-consuming ambition forged a path for itself that stretches far beyond the insulated bubble of the shonen genre; naturally, a monstrous whirlwind of hype quickly trailed behind. For most seasonals, hype is dangerous. It not only generates an insurmountable amount of expectations for said seasonal to meet but it also influences casual viewers to approach what they watch with a harsher perspective than usual. However, BnHA2 is not the average seasonal. This is a show that ascents to higher and higher mountaintops with confidence galore, that spirals further and further into untrodden territories, that manipulates and modifies its various elements without end. Boku no Hero Academia 2 never ceases; it never rests, relaxes, stalls, or tires. As a result, BnHA2 continuously exceeds expectations at every turn, its grandiose dreams soaring far beyond the standards it had established in the previous season.

On a surface level, the quality gap between Boku no Hero Academia 2 and its prequel is apparent; the visuals are more illuminating, the music more versatile and emotionally moving than before. There are cinematic tricks (for example, the camera circling around Bakugo as the audience's boos erupt) and glimpses of shading brilliance that were not present in the first go-around. A deeper examination of differences leads to a more expansive storyline and a stronger supporting cast. BnHA accomplished quite a bit, from its embrace of the American comic book style to its insertion of a youthful exuberance into the shonen genre and especially its impact on the medium at large. However, BnHA2 amplified the virtues of the first while attaching a couple of inventive features to the series' framework, albeit not without pitfalls and shortcomings along the way. Yes, BnHA2 is bigger and flashier than ever but it's the societal impact of Quirks (for the uninitiated, this is known as "superpowers"), the intricate moral conflicts, and the hidden depths of its supporting cast that really sets it apart from the rest.

Among the additions and alterations that have transitioned from the first season to the second, none is greater than the increase in character involvement. It is no secret that BnHA largely excluded its supporting cast from the proceedings of the plot in favor of Bakugo, Midoriya, and especially All Might (voiced by the booming Christopher Sabat). There is not a single soul in season one that received as much attention, importance, and (arguably) screen time as All Might. While I do understand why BnHA's brain trust decided to operate in this fashion (back then, it was a brand-new show with a small following so a charismatic force of personality like All Might was a godsend for Studio Bones and, much like Gurren Lagann's earliest episodes did with Kamina, BnHA relied heavily on All Might's neverending confidence to keep the show afloat), I simply cannot condone the disrespect shown to the rest of the cast. Sure, characters like Todoroki, Iida, and Asui were fairly interesting but their contributions in season one were absolutely pathetic. BnHA2, however, grants screen time, importance, and depth to a supporting cast (especially Todoroki) that is in desperate need of them. It is quite difficult to observe the changes made to the supporting cast and not relate them to All Might's involvement. As Todoroki, Iida, and Asui claim grand moments in the spotlight and increase their interactions with other cast members, All Might recedes further and further into the background. Where Japanese Superman used to demolish every obstacle and devour plate after plate of ham, now he is relegated to refining his mentor/advisor role, stealing the show only in the most crucial moments. It required a full thirteen episodes for the Boku no Hero Academia franchise to find its footing and establish a balance in its character involvement but believe me when I say that the wait was worthwhile.

BnHA2 resolved its issues with characterization as early as possible but there are more significant problems that this show has to contend with. Most of the first season's glaring imperfections were carried over to the second and unfortunately BnHA2 couldn't rectify all of them. Some are relatively minor, like its mediocre sense of humor and its affinity for dimming the brightness when Quirks are displayed, while the others are downright detrimental. For one, the series could've benefitted from drastically reducing Midoriya's overanalytical inclinations as they were wholly unnecessary. This is a grievance I hold with shonens in general; instead of having the fight scenes stand out on their own, shonens insist on bombarding the audience with excessive in-battle dialogue, pontificating on the intricacies of a powerful punch as if this will somehow enhance the viewing experience. Midoriya is hardly the only one in BnHA2 that's milking this trope but he's by far the biggest culprit. That this show tends to neglect a few of its supporting cast (Yuuga Aoyama, in particular) really doesn't help matter much.

While this show's faults are considerable, they don't prevent BnHA2 from maintaining relevance. As a pop culture entity, it's virtually invincible. The Spring 2017 lineup introduced an Attack on Titan sequel, a Naruto spinoff, and the controversial duo that is Re:Creators and Eromanga-sensei. Yet, Boku no Hero Academia 2 and its overwhelming ambition outclassed them all in the popularity department. Even as the Summer season rolled around, BnHA2 was still the talk of the town. That, more than anything else, is BnHA2's most outstanding achievement. The anime community is, by and large, a divisive and argumentative bunch, each member loudly proclaiming their preferences as superior to everyone else's, yet it collectively agreed that BnHA2 is worth discussing. This show's mere presence managed to transcend the medium, with its promo trailers appearing in movie theaters and its pop culture relevance finding its way into casual conversations. The BnHA 2 hype inhabits its own space in the YouTube stratosphere, where vloggers endlessly debate over the best girl (Momo) \, the effect it has on the shonen genre as a whole, and even the best OP (Kenshi Yonezu's "Peace Sign"). Through it all, you can't help but beam with pride at what BnHA has accomplished.

Imagine a bald eagle patrolling the skies, its steely gaze lightly scanning the area as it glides from one location to the next. This is Boku no Hero Academia. Now imagine that same bald eagle on steroids, its steely gaze laser-focused on what's in front of it, bulldozing everything in its path like a bull in a china shop. This bald eagle isn't merely patrolling the skies; it's visibly overpowering its surroundings and whatever is within said surroundings. This bald eagle is obliterating any bird, any delivery drone, any stray kite, any floating balloon, any aircraft that's near it. This bald eagle is almost twenty times as nimble, as vigorous, as durable, and as resourceful as before. It is not only in possession of unnatural abilities but its confidence is easily noticeable by the other birds. This, my friends, is Boku no Hero Academia 2.

Along with Akira Toriyama (the creator of Dragon Ball) and Hiromu Arakawa (the brains behind the Fullmetal Alchemist franchise), and so many others, one of the most renowned mangakas of all time is Rumiko Takahashi. She has crafted among the most well- known works in all of anime, including Urusei Yatsura, One Pound Gospel, Ranma ½, and (of course) Inuyasha. However, there is more than a little trace of infamy associated with Takahashi's name. In some circles, many of Takahashi's products are criticized for having cardboard-cutout characters, for having a horrible taste in comedy (mostly relying on slapstick and groan-inducing running jokes to force laughter), for churning out overly predictable story lines, and for ranking as among the most cliché-ridden works in anime history. Crammed beneath this mangaka's mainstream money-makers is what's one of her finest works: Rumiko Takahashi's Anthology, the culmination of 13 separate short stories spawned over years of the mangaka's career. In other words, your average anime reviewer once again discusses another tragically underrated series.

For such a hidden gem, Anthology has managed to showcase among the greatest voice cast, as well as the quirkiest, that I've ever seen. All-Star actors and actresses like Karen Strassman, Wendee Lee, and the great Liam O'Brien perform no-name roles for this title (At one point, O'Brien pulls off the voice of a dog. That's right; the man who delivered such a career-defining performance as Monster's Kenzo Tenma is reduced to uttering a bark or two). In what's perhaps the most peculiar voice casting decision of all time, model Karen Thompson popped into the studio to portray an embattled housewife. As for the characters themselves? They're pretty decent, I guess, but since they're just everyday people, they're not that memorable. However, this reliance on the ordinary is among Anthology's most unique features.

"The passage of time is three-fold. The future approaches with hesitation. The present flees with the swiftness of an arrow and the past stands forever still," – Saeko Shima (Episode 11)

Though the episodes in Anthology are different from each other, they all share one characteristic: they all discuss the meaning of life as it relates to time. The episodes focus on remembering the past, and how it relates to current and future events. The episodes focus on how temporary and short-lived the here and now is. The episodes focus on how the future always feels sluggish and chronically late. Anthology's episodic plot, which is mostly easygoing but sometimes dark, emotional, and touching, often questions the most basic yet philosophical concepts in life, like morality, love, and loyalty, among others. Rumiko Takahashi's Anthology also spares time to include a variety of references that help solidify this series, from Walt Disney's Aladdin to Power Rangers and even Inuyasha (What's also unique about Anthology is that characters from different episodes make cameos in others. For example, I can't tell you how many times I've seen that massive pink bunny). As is custom for episodic, slow-moving slice-of-life series, Anthology can become a bit predictable at times with the episodes revolving around a housewife in an apartment 9 times out of 10 (Okay Takahashi, now I know what your occupation was before you became a mangaka but, yeah, you don't need to shove it in my face) but the series consistently redeems itself with memorable moments overflowing with pathos (climaxing in episode 13's Hall-of-Fame scene, where this pathetic businessman protects his boss and stands up to him at the same time while ultimately establishing himself as the almighty "Man of the House".

When others watch Anthology, they often claim that the animation is one of the weakest, if not the weakest, aspects of this series yet it's no better or worse than other titles of the time (early 2000s). However, you could establish a case that Anthology's animation sort of stands out from other series of the time, thanks to its stunningly realistic CG (which anime titles often screw up) and its cinematic symbolism. This series' soundtrack is one of the most enjoyable and eccentric I've ever heard (I will forever be angry that this OST isn't available on YouTube). Anthology often relies on its lively yet smooth and entrancing jazz for the most part; sometimes, soft and slow melodies are present to complement the series' more emotionally stirring scenes. There are occasional East Asian chimes as well as an accordion that shows up every now and then, and in one episode, the sound of traditional African chanting invades your eardrums. Name another series that contains all of that in its soundtrack.

Rumiko Takahashi's Anthology has a nice, relaxing theme song (speena's "Tsuzureori") that sucks you into the series right away and its equally peaceful ending theme (Kumachi's "Sayonara") does a fantastic job of briefly recapping the events in the episode. The features in Anthology, by themselves, are appealing but, when everything comes together, the end result is an excellent and highly recommended title. This is the definitive slice-of-life series, a collection of sagas about everyday people with a touch of the supernatural, and a beautifully written hidden gem that's simply unlike anything you'll ever see today. If only more Takahashi – related anime titles were as worthwhile as this

I'm sure a lot of people were involved in making Afro Samurai but I cannot discuss this show without mentioning the Wu-Tang Clan. It was an iconic rap group that dominated the 1990s, a team of seven members who served different roles in making the Wu-Tang what it was. Inspectah Deck introduced a philosophical feel to each song with his introspective rhymes, Method Man was the most popular member of the group with his infectious charisma, Raekwon and Ghostface Killah brought their Mafioso ideas into the Wu, Ol' Dirty B*stard injected his eccentric style of silliness into each song, GZA was among the greatest lyricists of them all, and RZA was the Wu-Tang's leader/producer. These seven rappers (along with an army of Wu-Tang wannabes, including Killah Priest, Masta Killa, and Cappadonna) created many popular albums in the '90s, including three hip-hop classics (36 Chambers, Liquid Swords, and Only Built 4 Cuban Linx) before Ol' Dirty died in 2004. After Ol' Dirt McGirt passed away, the Wu-Tang weren't the same, spewing out a few good but ultimately forgettable albums. They needed a spark, something that would help them bring great music back to hip-hop and keep them relevant, and that spark turned out to be… Afro Samurai.

This 5-episode anime was perfect for the Wu-Tang, combining rap and a love for martial arts into one, and this is why RZA, my favorite member of the bunch, created this show's soundtrack. Afro Samurai is about a swordsman who witnessed his father's murder as a young boy and his blood-filled journey to exact revenge on the gunman who killed his dad. Before I became a fan of the Wu-Tang, before I watched a lot of anime, I checked out Afro Samurai with my little brother a couple of years back on Netflix and saw everything except for the last episode. At the time, I thought it was an excellent anime that could be improved, rating it a 7 out of 10. A few weeks ago, I decided to re-watch Afro Samurai to see if I still hold the same opinion of this show that I had before.

Some theme songs are colorful and extravagant while others are complex and emotional. "Brief" is the first word I would use to describe the Afro Samurai opening, along with "disappointing" and "visually unappealing". Now you're probably saying "Okay, well the theme song sucks. Anything good about this show?" Like I said before, RZA created this anime's soundtrack and, of course, it's amazing, perfectly complementing each scene with a grimy, edgy mood (There's this one song, Stone Mecca's "A Walk", on the soundtrack that's definitely worth listening to). The acting in Afro Samurai is simply fantastic mainly because a handful of great American-based actors and actresses were brought to the fold; Ron Perlman, known for his work in Titan A.E., was the voice of Justice, Afro Samurai's chief antagonist, while Kelly Hu, who appeared in X-Men 2, served as the voice of Okiku, the seductress/spy for an evil organization, and the famed Samuel L. Jackson starred as both Afro and Afro's companion Ninja Ninja (Even Steve Blum and Liam O'Brien, giants in the world of anime voice acting, hung around as a random swordsman or two). Oh yeah, and there's an African-American protagonist here (a first for anime titles) as well as a couple of other black characters too (Always a thumbs-up for me). These are all the positive traits that I could find here.

Afro is the titular character of this anime, and he's one of those quiet types. He's a lonely swordsman marked by trauma and frustration whom the show portrays as a figure deserving sympathy, but Afro simply comes across as uninteresting. Through Afro's quest in ancient Japan with robots and rocket launchers, other characters are introduced. Justice is the pale-skinned gunslinger/philosopher with a decent amount of depth but not enough to be particularly memorable. Ninja Ninja is my favorite, Afro's much-more-talkative sidekick who wittily comments on what he observes and gives unwanted advice to our protagonist. Along with Justice, other villains are after Afro's head such as Afro Droid (the producers are real imaginative with their character names, aren't they?) and the Empty Seven (reminds me of a group of seven rap figures that I mentioned before), but the true standout of them all is Jinno. The embodiment of fury, he is a man confined to a bear-like robotic armor who wields two blood-stained swords and is determined to slay the swordsman he once called his friend. Sadly, not even Jinno could save Afro Samurai from itself.

"This cannot be the entire series." This was the first thought that crossed my mind upon completing Afro Samurai. The over- the-top fight scenes and general lack of characterization could be forgiven but the head-scratching ending about non-violence really frustrated me. Afro Samurai doesn't deserve to be labeled a series; it's a barely above-average 5-episode bloodfest of an OVA with plot holes aplenty that fails to be seen as a serious title. It's one of the classic examples of a "turn-your-brain-off" show, the kind that action fanatics enjoy without thinking about aspects that really solidifies and legitimizes a series. You could call Afro Samurai overrated but I'm disappointed because I expected something better from an anime associated with the Wu-Tang Clan.