Hello folks, and welcome back to Wrong Every Time. Today I’m eager to set out on a new journey, as we explore the first episode of the recent production The Fire Hunter. This show was announced with much fanfare several years ago, owing both to its distinct source material and eminently noteworthy key staff. First off, the series is based on a collection of traditional fantasy novels by Rieko Hinata, rather than light novels, which is perhaps the single most reliable delineator of narrative quality in animation. That means that both its world and characters will likely be constructed by a practiced hand; a place people could actually live in, populated by characters who presumably speak like humans rather than favored archetypes.
Secondly, the show marks another return to animation by the improbable Vladlove duo of Junji Nishimura and Mamoru Oshii. Vladlove aside (it’s clear the pair were feeling some nostalgia for their Ranma days), both Nishimura and Oshii are supremely capable artists; Nishimura’s Simoun is one of the great unsung masterpieces of animation, and Oshii presumably needs no introduction. Between Angel’s Egg, Patlabor, Ghost in the Shell, and his many other projects, Oshii has left a singular mark on animation, and stands alongside such titans as Satoshi Kon and Masaaki Yuasa as one of the great auteurs of the medium. With the two of them handling direction and writing, we could not be in safer hands, and I’m eager to learn what about this story drew them back to the medium. Let’s get to it!
Episode 1
An interesting aesthetic right from the beginning; delicate linework and intricate eye designs, but a general lack of shading for this first girl. Also some real nuance to the character acting, which feels appropriate for this team, but I imagine won’t be sustainable over a longer production
We open just after the inspiring event of the narrative, with a wounded hunter standing over this girl, saying his dog’s name is Kanata. A neat way to both open with a hook and draw the viewer into this girl’s perspective, echoing her feeling of things moving too fast by robbing us of the context for whatever she’s reacting to. If you want the audience to feel as much panic as the characters, you generally have to limit what information you give them – we in our seats will always feel a certain dramatic distance from the material, so you must close the gap somehow
Love these watercolor-style painted backgrounds. The largely unshaded character art feels cohesive within these environments, avoiding the compositional divide that haunts much of modern anime. Also like how we never get a clear look at this beast, it’s just an ominous shape
“That night, a man they called a ‘fire hunter’ died, leaving behind only his hound and his sickle”
The OP offers a clearer demonstration of our overall aesthetic; light shading, thin linework, a style gesturing towards both watercolors and elegant pencil sketches
Lots of austere character portraits, alongside images of destruction and renewal – a tree growing and collapsing, grass sprouting, fires burning
We return on that young girl praying to one grave among many. The style of shading they’re using for her jacket is quite unique – they’re actually drawing in the cross-hatching on the bottom, akin to the ornate style used in The Woman Called Fujiko Mine (a show Nishimura actually scripted for)
Jeez, it’s not cross-hatching, it’s individually drawing all of the seams of her shirt, a preposterously intricate task
We’re already past the events of the cold open, as this girl calling for Kanata demonstrates. An immediate sign that this is based on a traditional novel – the confidence of storytelling, not explaining everything to us in a rush of exposition, letting the scene breathe and the narrative explain itself
A doll sits in a roadside shrine
Remarkable cuts of animation as we return to the moment of crisis, a mix of formless fluidity contrasted against one evocative still frame, like a postcard memory in the middle of an action scene. Apparently Yasunori Miyazawa animated this sequence, a man whose credits run from Yuasa and Kon collaborations to Moomins
Kanata carries the sickle to the girl. No words are needed
The girl’s name is Touko
“You must give the dog back, alongside the warding stone and the sickle.”
Touko is informed she must travel to the capital to return the dog
Wonderfully distinctive, lumpy-faced design for Touko’s grandmother. The character designs are strong in general; not deliberately ostentatious, but each distinctive in their own ways, and crucially convincing as fellow inhabitants of this world. As far as character design priorities go, I tend to favor “do they look like they could exist within their own world” over maximizing details and charm points
“Up until about sixty years ago, we were skulking around in the dark. Now we have villages. We have the fire hunters to thank for that.” It’s certainly an evocative phrase, “fire hunter.” Its ambiguity adds a nice air of mystery to this opening sequence; rather than eagerly explaining them, it can often be more dramatically effective to leave the unique aspects of your world undefined, which both fosters reader curiosity and more convincingly illustrates how characters who take these aspects for granted would interact with them
“They risk their lives to harvest flame so that you can live with your eyes open.” A flame can mean many things – life, inspiration, passion, intelligence, civilization, courage, anger, or oblivion. It is the cornerstone of human mastery over the elements, a robust motif that plays a different role in countless stories
“I’ll speak to the papermakers.” Lots of incidental allusions to aspects of this world that are beyond our grasp, but nonetheless bolster its solidity through the characters’ confidence in their presence
Nice music so far; your usual violin strings in the back, but the melody is led by a koto, giving the scene an era-appropriate feel
The warding stone is marked “Tokohanahime”
“Put that light back. You’re wasting it.” A visual parallel is drawn between the golden liquid that provides their fire and the vivid gold of Touko’s eyes, the only bright or attention-drawing part of her design. A natural implication that she holds a fire within herself, that her soul is brighter than her garb would imply
Her older sister considers her a burden. Wonderful delicacy in this cut of her swallowing the hurt her sister caused
Touko’s mother asks the papermakers for a few sheets of “muku paper” for her daughter’s journey
“You do realize that one sheet of muku is enough to keep the lights on. It’s a sacred offering. You can trade it for bottled lightning.” Not only does this sort of incidental revelation of worldbuilding offer a steady drip feed of mysteries and discoveries, it also just lends itself to a more focused, meaningful narrative. Just because there is a specific history of papermaking here doesn’t mean we need to learn every detail of the industry; best to only illustrate so much as happens to cross the spotlight of the active narrative, which has its own priorities. Too many authors see worldbuilding as the objective itself, as opposed to a stage on which your actual dramatic/thematic priorities play out
This papermaker’s frank assessment of Touko’s prospects underlines the poverty and brutality of this world
“Lots of villages sell to factories, but only a handful make offerings. And muku paper is what the gods write on.”
“We’d shame ourselves if we sent a girl to repay a debt without properly preparing her for the journey.” Touko’s mother cleverly ties Touko’s fortunes to the reputation of the village at large
He ultimately promises five sheets
“You went to get medicine from the treefolk, didn’t you? Touko, they won’t give you eye medicine. You can’t use it.” More emphasizing the link between eyes and identity, this time in the context of Touko’s mother’s failing vision
And the image of that lone tree, its branches tossed by the winds
We finally learn some context regarding this world – that humanity was once able to use fire as they wished, but were at one point “remade,” such that approaching even a spark of natural flame would cause their bodies to “ignite from within”
Thus the fire we see Touko’s eyes is actually pretty literal, a warning that she could always be consumed by her fascination. Another thematic use of the incredibly flexible device that is fire – attempting to master it is literally “playing with fire,” inviting ruin for humanity
Now the world is full of dark forests hiding “flame fiends.” This world actually quite reminds me of Shinsekai Yori’s dangerous humans and forest fiends, a connection bolstered by their shared somber, post-apocalyptic tone and confidence of storytelling
“One day strong winds rustled the treetops, conjuring a spark that claimed the lives of Touko’s parents and her neighbor’s husband.” I see – so the wind in the trees is also a clear marker of coming disaster, and Touko’s “sister” begrudges her because she was actually adopted into her family
“Come back home. We’ll be waiting. I promise we’ll be waiting.” Akari allows herself a moment of genuine sentiment before sending Touko on her way
And at last, the “collection truck” arrives, a pair of vehicles that look more like armored trains. The absurd armaments of these trucks and high walls of the village all emphasize the unseen threat of the fire fiends
The truck stays for two days, trading for goods and running a shop in the village square
An engineer named Enji lays out the risks of travel and long journey to the capital for Touko and the audience alike
“I promise I’ll try not to get underfoot. Please take me to the capital.” Touko’s practiced little speech is heartbreaking
Enji’s features are as soft as his affect; I doubt he’s long for this world
He introduces his boss, Sakuroku
More lovingly precise character animation as Touko crawls up the train’s ladder, taking a last look at the village. Her adopted sister’s face is obscured, hidden behind the mask she purchased from the train
An unexpected title card, reading “Koushi and Hinako”
Our narrator ponders how people in past eras would cremate their dead, explicitly conflating fire with human destruction. I wonder if we’ll meet this narrator
We at last meet our presumed second protagonist, who appears to be attending his mother’s funeral. The ceremony takes place under an isolated tree much like the one from the OP and Touko’s village
She died from the toxicity of her work at a factory. Koushi returns home to a letter from the Okibi family
Oh wow, this ED is gorgeous. Like a cut paper or stained glass tapestry, mixing ornate illustrations with a touch of cubist color design, much like the contrast of ancient and modern embodied by our setting
And Done
Whoof, what a premiere! A story that proceeds with absolute confidence, a world that invites curiosity and wonder, and an overarching tone of sumptuous melancholy, sifting for human connection and happiness in the wake of world-shaking tragedy. The art and sound design is also perfectly suited to the material; the whole show’s aesthetic seems embodied in those final sequences of rainy departures, as we say goodbye to loved ones and muster our courage to face a hostile, unfamiliar world. Much of this production’s narrative and tone call to mind the mournful ambiguity of Shinsekai Yori, but here applied to a more personal tale, a drama with a clear interest in Touko’s hopes and struggles. Overall, the production offers a reassuring impression of practiced storytellers conjuring precisely the story they wish to tell; with such confidence in its execution and such sturdiness in its fundamentals, I am eager to explore more of Touko’s fallen world.
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