The frenzy of anime seasons can always mean that some shows fly under the radar in terms of their discussion, either overshadowed by the shonen of the month or perhaps just passed over because people tuned out for a while (in this case, the Olympic broadcasts messed things up a bit). And so here I am, hat in hand, as an incredibly high-profile fall season begins to accelerate, to say: You should really consider catching up on April’s Bird Politics anime.
Well, bird politics and mystery, historical fantasy, among other things. We’re talking about Yatagarasu: The raven does not choose its masterdirected by Yoshiaki Kyōgoku (Relaxed camp) with animation production from studio Pierrot (known from Naruto And Yu Yu Hakusho).
It’s one of the most compelling and unique anime series in recent months, continually building on its curious historical fantasy world, expanding upon it with compelling sociological details and the rippling effects of its main magical conceit. This fits perfectly with a purposeful court drama, full of visual opulence and conniving, while also feeling surprisingly down-to-earth – even though all the characters can transform into giant, three-legged ravens, the mythical yatagarasu of the title. (If you’re like me – British – the idea of people turning into ravens is very strongly associated with something else.)
While the characters easily transform their bodies and robes into wings, the show feels equally capable of shape-shifting with natural ease: action, straightforward conversations, mystery and courtroom intrigue all feel at home here in the fictional Yamauchi , a country that resembles a feudal past with the kingdom divided into smaller fiefs ruled by noble houses. The second half of the season feels even more transformative; it hints at a larger mystery surrounding the nature of Yamauchi himself, the nature of which greatly expands the thematic scope in ways I won’t spoil here. Both parts of the series drop these exciting revelations at a methodical, consistent pace. But the first half is more focused on the turmoil: as in the Chisato Abe novels on which the show is based, Yatagarasu features houses ruled by one monarch, and the series begins when that power is about to change hands.
Crown Prince Nazukihiko is about to become ruler, having supposedly inherited the divine power of the “k’inu”: the Golden Raven, which is believed to have powers beyond the other great birds. Yatagarasu begins with a series of secret battles fought on multiple fronts: one over the line of succession and the other a battle for the future monarch’s hand in marriage.
The latter is seemingly lower stakes, but also incredibly revealing of the nobles’ attitudes and the show’s view of them. The first is seen through the eyes of Yukiya, the middle child of a wealthy rural family, who moves to the central palace to become the prince’s servant. Because of this role, he quickly becomes embroiled in a complex web of espionage and secret alliances. He’s built for this world more than he’d like to admit to anyone, far more cunning and capable than he lets on. (Also great: the unlikely and tantalizing friendship between him and his new employer, the Prince.) Just as the Prince keeps his own sharpness hidden, Yukiya acts like a klutz, while secretly bitter about the system he works in , a system that tore him apart. away from his birth mother, leaving him the subject of village gossip – and that distaste for it makes him a perfect agent of change for the prince, loyal to people rather than the promise of political power.
The show also follows Asebi, a lady who moves into an outhouse while she waits to see if she or one of several other women of noble status will become the prince’s consort. It quickly becomes clear that everyone is there with an ulterior motive, and the battle for the prince’s hand becomes surprisingly intense, even more so than the basic misogyny of the women being treated as prizes to be won. That story comes to a compelling, shocking conclusion in an episode that illustrates the thrill of seeing these characters simply tell the truth about themselves.
The thrill of the show is to see how these disparate worlds – of fantasy, of would-be consorts, of hereditary rule and warriors, and, let’s not forget, giant birds – overlap in a secret struggle for power, and how that toxic ambition seeps through. to all others, fighting for everything that brings them closer to power. This is characterized by quite exciting dialogue, where every conversation is a kind of battle in its own way. Sometimes it’s not even the intrigue; there’s a charming friction between Yukiya and his boss, whose elusiveness and air of mystery sometimes make him just a pretty weird guy to work for, with the show tapping into their odd couple relationship for much of its levity. Yatagarasu is decompressed and chatty, but it’s not all heavy court drama. While not over the top, the quick bursts of violence can be intense, and a murder mystery in the second half becomes shockingly brutal at points; even before that, some of the royal family’s tricks led directly to bloodshed.
The complicated web of YatagarasuThe film’s brutal, ugly political battlefield is often presented in striking framing, even if the animation isn’t always the flashiest. Rather than action, it’s clear that the priorities are on character work – detailed facial expressions that emphasize the importance of the conversations, the carefully layered fabrics of the costume design that match the character’s seemingly delicate demeanor, but all with an awareness of the facade that offers this rich prosperity.
The attention the show pays to the details of social construction pays off, as it then shows how everything is poisoned by this power struggle. There is a distinction between ‘mountain graves’ from the countryside and ‘hof ravens’ from the city at the center, this centralization of wealth made more apparent by the show’s forays outside the city into slums built along ravines. Yukiya’s brothers are even robbed by wealthy visitors early on (they only get revenge because they themselves enjoy the protection afforded by being the sons of a local lord). One of the show’s most horrifying concepts are the “horses”: other yatagarasu who cannot return to human form, not for lack of ability, but simply because they are too poor to live by human means.
It’s funny to think that the most exciting moments of a series about people who can transform into a species of bird focus mainly on the human aspect; the transformation seems almost secondary to everything else. Not that the raven shapes don’t carry some weight: that the characters all look the same when they turn into birds, though perhaps unintentionally, feels like an illustration of how arbitrary these social divisions are, how petty the feuds in the palaces seem.
There are certainly flashier shows, both simultaneously airing and in this new season, but none that really compelled me to launch the next episode like this. The show’s fantastical premise is only half its appeal, the rest lies in the fascinating scaling of its social ladder and the thoughtfulness of how its character work matches the depth of its world-building. Yatagarasu feels incredibly fresh, and while many affectionately call it the ‘bird show’, it’s more than just a novelty – the constant surprises of its confident storytelling make it one of the most exciting anime shows of an already very good year, a claim I can make without fear of eating crow.