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juushikaDon't mind me, just pulling a sword out of a woman's stomach. No, not in the symbolic Utena glowing light and magical weapon way; I mean I literally suck my arm down her throat and fished that sucker out of there. So, where were we?
While watching Kuroshitsuji, one doesn't need to say "this really happens." Of course it really happens, this is Black fucking Butler. Grim Reapers have chainsaws and demon butlers fight with butter knives—all things are true in Kuroshitsuji, and the weirder it is the truer it's like to be. And that is, of course, half the charm—the other half is surprisingly fascinating character design and character interaction, but the gleeful weirdness is a big part of what makes it so damn fun.
But Kuroshitsuji II is still hitting my "...really?" trigger. In part it's, well, TV Tropes says it better than I can in their symptoms of Sequelitis:
(If you are now using the rest of your day to obsessively browse TV Tropes, my apologies.)
If you've ever watched Kronk's New Groove (or at least made the attempt, because I doubt the staunchest fan of The Emperor's New Groove could make it through the whole thing—believe me, I've tried) then you know exactly what they're talking about: it's all the same jokes and gimmicks that made the original film so fantastic, excised and duplicated and reduplicated, piled in a big mess and covered with neon signs that read DID YOU RECOGNIZE THAT JOKE FROM ANYWHERE? WE USED IT IN THE FIRST FILM! And it's an utter failure. Sure, lots of other sequels do it (it's perhaps the shadiest part of the Pirates of the Caribbean sequels) but you ain't ever seen such a shining example as that.
Kuroshitsuji II doesn't take things quite so far, and it isn't such a failure as a result, but it does bring with it something of ... an air of desperation. They keep reviving the same aspects because those aspects were so fun the first time, and sometimes it works (I mean, who doesn't want to see more of Ciel? and butter knife battles are always fun), but more often it's redundant and/or deadening—because reviving the iconic aspects keeps those icons static, dismissing and preventing wonderful growth (like, for example, Ciel's at the end of the original series); because constantly revising the same aspects deadens their impact via excessive familiarity. They constantly take some things that pushed the boundary in the original show and take them so far that the boundary has become the distant horizon, and how we're in naked-bruised-shota land, were in hand-down-a-woman's-throat land—and yes, sometimes it's titillating and intriguing and bold, but just as often it's a bit pathetic. It's such a transparent attempt to catch eyes and attention that even when it's effective it makes the viewer feel a little dirty and used.
Or, at least, it does me.
There is something to be said for subtlety. Subtlety doesn't always mean understatement or moderation or caution, and it doesn't have to be universal. It doesn't mean forgoing butter knives. But again, half of what make Kuroshitsuji so fascinating wasn't all the theatrics. It was moments like when Ciel was stranded and had to dress himself and couldn't, because as powerful and unexpectedly mature as he is he is still so young and sheltered that he can't tie his own laces. It was the balance in the relationship between Sebastian and Ciel: the constant power struggle, the subtle insults, and the fact that behind them all was a growing, grudging, sense of fondness and respect. Half of what made the original show so wonderful was the fragile, unresolved relationships, the slow character growth, the delicacy of interactions. Kuroshitsuji II has that. There have been glimpses into the strange and complex relationship between Alois and Claude that have stopped me in my tracks. Claude and Sebastian have something wonderful too—as both peers and enemies, the relationship between them is surprisingly rich. At the end of this particular episode the web between Claude, Sebastian, Alois, and Ciel undergoes wonderful exploration and development. There is, after all, a reason I am watching this show. These things keep me coming back. Subtlety is intriguing, it's good, and in Kuroshitsuji it's the ideal companion to all else that's so delightfully over the top. But the sequel seems conflicted and desperate. It won't reply on that balance to sustain it, and so it pulls out all the stops, piles on the returning characters and all the shameless innuendo, and things come out top-heavy. Top-heavy, and cheap. Ah, Kuroshitsuji. You're better than this.
Alois: Look at Claude's sword, Ciel!
Ciel: I'll admit it did make me tremble.
While watching Kuroshitsuji, one doesn't need to say "this really happens." Of course it really happens, this is Black fucking Butler. Grim Reapers have chainsaws and demon butlers fight with butter knives—all things are true in Kuroshitsuji, and the weirder it is the truer it's like to be. And that is, of course, half the charm—the other half is surprisingly fascinating character design and character interaction, but the gleeful weirdness is a big part of what makes it so damn fun.
But Kuroshitsuji II is still hitting my "...really?" trigger. In part it's, well, TV Tropes says it better than I can in their symptoms of Sequelitis:
It's natural for producers to try and recapture the magic and tone which made the first movie so successful. However, oftentimes they'll think to themselves: "Hmm. X worked really well in the first movie. If we ramp X up and show ten times as much of it in the second movie, people will love it!" Unfortunately for us moviegoers, "X" usually is toilet humor, sadistic slapstick violence, or something else equally repulsive.
(If you are now using the rest of your day to obsessively browse TV Tropes, my apologies.)
If you've ever watched Kronk's New Groove (or at least made the attempt, because I doubt the staunchest fan of The Emperor's New Groove could make it through the whole thing—believe me, I've tried) then you know exactly what they're talking about: it's all the same jokes and gimmicks that made the original film so fantastic, excised and duplicated and reduplicated, piled in a big mess and covered with neon signs that read DID YOU RECOGNIZE THAT JOKE FROM ANYWHERE? WE USED IT IN THE FIRST FILM! And it's an utter failure. Sure, lots of other sequels do it (it's perhaps the shadiest part of the Pirates of the Caribbean sequels) but you ain't ever seen such a shining example as that.
Kuroshitsuji II doesn't take things quite so far, and it isn't such a failure as a result, but it does bring with it something of ... an air of desperation. They keep reviving the same aspects because those aspects were so fun the first time, and sometimes it works (I mean, who doesn't want to see more of Ciel? and butter knife battles are always fun), but more often it's redundant and/or deadening—because reviving the iconic aspects keeps those icons static, dismissing and preventing wonderful growth (like, for example, Ciel's at the end of the original series); because constantly revising the same aspects deadens their impact via excessive familiarity. They constantly take some things that pushed the boundary in the original show and take them so far that the boundary has become the distant horizon, and how we're in naked-bruised-shota land, were in hand-down-a-woman's-throat land—and yes, sometimes it's titillating and intriguing and bold, but just as often it's a bit pathetic. It's such a transparent attempt to catch eyes and attention that even when it's effective it makes the viewer feel a little dirty and used.
Or, at least, it does me.
There is something to be said for subtlety. Subtlety doesn't always mean understatement or moderation or caution, and it doesn't have to be universal. It doesn't mean forgoing butter knives. But again, half of what make Kuroshitsuji so fascinating wasn't all the theatrics. It was moments like when Ciel was stranded and had to dress himself and couldn't, because as powerful and unexpectedly mature as he is he is still so young and sheltered that he can't tie his own laces. It was the balance in the relationship between Sebastian and Ciel: the constant power struggle, the subtle insults, and the fact that behind them all was a growing, grudging, sense of fondness and respect. Half of what made the original show so wonderful was the fragile, unresolved relationships, the slow character growth, the delicacy of interactions. Kuroshitsuji II has that. There have been glimpses into the strange and complex relationship between Alois and Claude that have stopped me in my tracks. Claude and Sebastian have something wonderful too—as both peers and enemies, the relationship between them is surprisingly rich. At the end of this particular episode the web between Claude, Sebastian, Alois, and Ciel undergoes wonderful exploration and development. There is, after all, a reason I am watching this show. These things keep me coming back. Subtlety is intriguing, it's good, and in Kuroshitsuji it's the ideal companion to all else that's so delightfully over the top. But the sequel seems conflicted and desperate. It won't reply on that balance to sustain it, and so it pulls out all the stops, piles on the returning characters and all the shameless innuendo, and things come out top-heavy. Top-heavy, and cheap. Ah, Kuroshitsuji. You're better than this.
