At some unknown point in time, the idea that a journey is more important than the destination became the single most overused trope in novels, speeches, reviews, movies, personal philosophies, and really everything else in life. As such I'm loathe to using it as a jumping off point for a review, particularly because anime has a habit of setting up a faraway destination and then making absolutely no progress towards it, all for the sake of endlessly “enjoying” the journey. No, I'm much more a fan of the idea that all good things come to an end, because no journey can be enjoyable without a clear destination to give it purpose, to sustain the journey while keeping it focused. Katanagatari is about a journey, one with a set destination and clear quantifiable progress in every episode. The show has a rhythm to it, as exposition about the past, plans for the future, and the conflict at hand all overlap and slowly build towards the final episode. At the end of every episode, a narrator comes on to announce the drawing of the curtain on the story until the next month, a punctuation mark that makes each episode feel like a concrete and meaningful addition to the story, and yet we are always left ready for more.
Immediately Katanagatari jumps from the screen with a vivid color palate and fantastic design. The most noticeable aspect of the character designs are the eyes, which only have a top outline and an iris colored to match the character’s hair, with the whites blending in with the regular skin tone. Other than that, the characters wear distinct and interesting clothes, from baggy black pants and red sleeves to a variety of animal suits. As the dialogue and events flow smoothly and fluidly, so does the art, brightening the mood while feeling natural, without glare or grunge. Few art styles have yet managed to display humans in such a gaudy, crisp way, and certainly picking the Katanagatari character out from an anime lineup is trivial.
Such designs work fantastically for a samurai show and the flashy sword duels it thrives on, and certainly Katanagatari has them in bulk. The plot centrally revolves around a reclusive martial artist named Yasuri Shichika, who has spent his whole life training with his family on an isolated island, and a young government strategist named Togame, who seeks out Shichika to begin a quest hunting for twelve renowned swords said to have supernatural powers. With this we are guaranteed one good fight for every episode, and the show absolutely delivers. However, the fights each have a very unique flavor, and the concept of what constitutes a supernatural legendary sword varies greatly. They are all well thought out, and not a single fight falls flat.
But for one of the first times in the long history of samurai period anime, Katanagatari is absolutely a dialogue-driven show, and in every 50 minute episode a whole 35-40 minutes is spent on developing the characters and building a rapport between them. Between the quirky designs and bright colors, the most obvious comparison to draw is with Bakemonogatari—unsurprising considering they both came from the mind of the eccentric Nisio Isin—and in similar form Katanagatari refuses to simply draw out the plot into a more straightforward monster-of-the-week style of progression. While Katanagatari packs few twists and certainly follows the style of miniature arcs for each fight, calling it a monster-of-the-week anime misses the way in which each “monster” helps Shichika and Togame grow as human beings rather than as fighters. The show for the most part avoids recycling bosses and trite developments that only superficially enhance the characters. The tropes they use, from the classic Legend of Zelda “hit the weak point” mentality to a growing love and infatuation between the two leads, are disguised just enough to avoid being trite, mostly as a result of the phenomenal writing at play. And when it chooses to hit the more poignant or emotional notes, it hits them squarely.
Every character is clear in my memory as I sit down to write this review, even though it's been hours since some were consigned to oblivion. But as good as they are, none stand out more than Shichika and Togame, and their adorable romance. It's rare that two characters—particularly ones as different and distinct as them—can feel so comfortable together, making so much sense as a couple without a shadow of a doubt. This journey is their chance to learn about one another and to grow as people. Shichika literally can't comprehend most common sense, and follows Togame simply because he accepts that he's “fallen for her”. Togame, while a mature intellectual, expresses herself as a kid much of the time, and we see that even she is struggling to accept the people around her. And yet the two sit together, planning strategies for the next fight while Shichika combs Togame’s hair, or Togame uses Shichika as a pillow, and soon into their journey neither of them takes any notice of these clear romantic gestures. The running joke between them is how Togame will routinely tsukkomi Shichika with a swift punch and a cry of “cheerio!”, which itself has a hilarious reason that I refuse to spoil but invite you to try and figure out for yourself. Running jokes get tiresome when it's clear that they exist solely as a constant reminder that the show is a comedy, but this joke is a model of their relationship; immature and confused, but genuinely innocent and relaxed. I never stopped laughing at cheerio.
Within the characters, their backstories, and how they struggle through the intricate and interwoven conflicts they face as the journey continues, there are a number of interesting themes at play; themes of loyalty, revenge, duty, purpose, the future, and many more. Those in particular fit the bill of a samurai show particularly well, and while the story of the journey itself is timeless in many ways, these themes ground it in a more classical time period. Many of the overarching trajectories the show follows are predictable, but certainly every character has enough quirks and development to be fascinating in their own right, and together they fit together to build a world that is distinctly the golden samurai era of Japan, told like a sort of ridiculous lost story that would quickly become an urban legend in the current age. Such characters and themes represent their time period well, and in some ways the fantasy elements of mythical swords and legendary wielders are an overlay to a much more human story, one that speaks to the way life was a long time ago.
The single most important thing that gives this story meaning is how it is constantly pushing onwards towards the goal of collecting all the swords, allowing all the time spent on characters and dialogue to still progress the journey and serve a purpose in moving forward. When the characters talk about their anxiety for the future, it is believable because the future is constantly getting closer and closer. When a character chooses to put their past behind, the next episode will have that character looking to the future instead. With only twelve swords to collect, there is no need for repetition, no feelings that the show is dragging on or getting tedious, and no trap of introducing new main characters or reviving lost ones to keep anyone happy. There are twelve swordsmen, two protagonists, and a set of ninja and government officials who serve as the sole backbone to the story, driving every event in a precise and controlled manner. When the end comes, it does not come suddenly nor unexpectedly, although the final act opens dramatically and mercilessly. All the tension, all the lessons of the journey that have slowly been laid on top of one another one by one are brought forward; the character expositions and overarching plot meet for a finale of epic proportions. And as they all come together…
…well, frankly they come to nothing. The ending is not the sort of anticlimax that dumps the viewers and leaves anyone bitter. Quite the contrary, the events at the end of Katanagatari are both filled with deeper meaning and incredibly entertaining, with fights and dialogue that capture the essence of what makes it a great show. But from the standpoint of the plot, everything comes to a dead stop, one that could be very jarring for those following the plot more closely than the characters or the world. I believe that no other ending could be more in character for Katanagatari, nor could it fit the show’s execution more perfectly.
Spending this much time talking about the flavor of the ending could be considered a major spoiler, and so you will have to take me on my word that hearing this does nothing to make the show any less enjoyable. While the building tension is certainly controlled and built in a precise manner that makes each episode more and more intriguing, the ending is important only because it brings everything to a definitive close, and serves as a target that the other episodes towards at a constant rate; it truly is the journey and not the destination that makes up the heart of Katanagatari. The art, dialogue, and characters that make up the world quickly sweep the audience away, and soon everyone is experiencing the story on its own terms. It is not an experience that is meant to last forever, or even for very long at all. But I caught myself feeling completely relaxed, comfortable with the show taking so much time to grow with dialogue and scenes of no action even with its self-imposed constraints. The monster-of-the-week genre emerged from a desire to keep viewers constantly interested and excited week after week after week, and so despite having a similar episode structure, nothing could be farther from the way in which Katanagatari chooses to invest our interest. Dialogue-driven period pieces are very characteristic of Japanese cinema, from Harakiri to the multitude of films about the 47 ronin, and so it's a bit surprising that an anime like Katanagatari is so rare. For me, it fits the bill better than any period fighter I've ever seen in anime. Thankfully, with over twelve strong and regularly spaced fights to enjoy, we don’t even have to choose.