Dusk Maiden of Amnesia: A Review of Anime’s Forgotten Gem — The Show’s Merits (Part 2b)
Let’s take a look at the show’s art direction and psychological drama.
Art Direction
Silver Link, at least for me, has always been the little studio that could, and Shin Ōnuma the director that could make them do it well. It’s no secret that a lot of Japanese animated productions (outside of Studio Ghibli) suffer from limited budgets, and Silver Link is no exception. What separates them from other studious is that they don’t aim for concepts that are out of reach. Their output consistently uses their low budgets to their advantage, not going for the overly-animated cuts or bombastic action sequences of other anime studious, instead using techniques such as color, lighting, shot composition and editing to make their works stand out. And I do think it is their art direction rather than their animation that is worth praising here, as in most scenes, there is a lack of it. Most of Ōnuma’s portfolio, such as Ef: A Tale of Memories/Melodies, Kokoro Connect and of course Dusk Maiden of Amnesia, is comprised of psychological romances that do not require the overly animated sequences of action or shonen anime, instead relying on the aforementioned techniques. What I like even further about Ōnuma’s work is his ability to use these budgeted techniques for storytelling purposes.
Take the opening scene we analysed in the previous section for example. Now, a cynically-minded critic might simply write it off as an excuse to reuse animation, and I would surprisingly be inclined to agree, as no doubt that is part of the reason why the scene is repeated. However, the reason it sits well with me in this anime, and not in others, is that it is being used for a storytelling purpose, that being to allow the audience to immediately identify with Yuuko’s character. It also allows us to see the exact same scene in two different ways. When the scene first plays we are watching it with bemused curiosity, as we see this young schoolgirl go about her daily routine while being drawn to the rather sporadic motion of the objects around her. When she finally notices, and when the scene plays again in retrospect, we are watching it with a sense of comedic irony, as the worries of Momoe that the animated objects are the actions of a terrifying poltergeist turn out to be nothing more than the afternoon antics of a bored schoolgirl only trying to keep herself entertained.
These budgeted techniques are also used for the sake of visual flare, and when combined with the aforementioned storytelling purposes, they make for some memorable scenes. While the limited budget is certainly on display, mainly due to a lack of eye-catching animation, these scenes make up for it in terms of color, lighting, visually pleasing camerawork and vivid imagery.
For reference, just look at the shot below.
The only animation in this scene is Yuuko slowly drifting in the pool in the foreground, and yet, it still manages to capture the attention of the viewer. It is not only its striking color pallet, intense use of saturation and contrast, and the imposing panorama of its establishing shot that makes it work, but also how the aesthetics of the night sky are reflected in the swimming pool’s waters. Despite her not being the subject of the shot, Yuuko is still in the center of the foreground, allowing viewers to still relate to the imposing panorama of the background through her perspective. The moonlight centered on her presence in the shot is also a nice touch. These cinematic techniques allow the scenes of this show to truly shine, in spite of their low budget.
Psychological Drama
The main source of drama for the show is the split personality of Yuuko’s psyche, as the trauma of her death was so damaging to her mental state that it forced her to heap all of her negative emotions onto an alternative persona, referred to by the show as Shadow Yuuko. From beginning to end, it is incredibly compelling, gripping, and somewhat emotionally draining. This is not so much a critique of the show, more so a warning to viewers. Ōnuma’s direction has a habit of addressing some rather heavy and hard-hitting subject matter, and this is a quality that I like about his portfolio, in that he is willing to tackle themes that other directors are simply not. This is far from the typical teenage drama that encompasses most traditional romantic comedies in the anime industry, so if you have an exclusive preference for that sort of material, for which I begrudge you none, maybe skip this one. Let me reiterate that I have no qualms with these sorts of shows, as I myself enjoy the more leisurely viewings of traditional romantic comedies (see my article on Mizutama Honey Boy as an example). All I am saying is that if you have little tolerance for the morbid or macabre, this show is most likely not for you.
Shadow Yuuko has no presence throughout the show’s early episodes, and her existence is more hinted at through subtle foreshadowing (how apt). Some examples include Yuuko’s complete inability to remember her past, her almost absent display of negative emotions throughout the show’s early stages and her apparent lack of motivation to recover her memories, despite her founding the Paranormal Investigations club in order to do so. By the fourth episode, both her memory and the associated negative emotions therein begin to surface. In turn, so does Shadow Yuuko, and this is where the story truly begins.
Again, this is not meant to be a critique. I like that the show takes its time with a subtle buildup, rather than diving headfirst into the psychological drama. However, I feel it is the suspense of said drama that will be a sticking point for some viewers, and somewhat understandably so. Because Yuuko is the ghostly apparition of a deceased schoolgirl, and that there is no real, substantive proof of life after death, some viewers might find her character hard to relate to. While I certainly understand this perspective, I feel this critique misses the point somewhat. The trauma and subsequent mental health issues Yuuko has to go through is more what the audience is meant to latch onto, rather than the spectral state of her existence. Her struggles could be easily equated to those of a victim of abuse or a veteran of war. After all, multiple personality disorder is something that living people have to suffer through, and not so much the departed.
What I like about Ōnuma’s portrayal of this disorder in particular is its nuance. Shadow Yuuko embodies some terribly uncomfortable aspects of the human psyche: anger, hate, bitterness, resentment. And yet, the show still portrays them as a part of Yuuko’s character. Throughout the entirety of its runtime, Yuuko and Shadow Yuuko never feel like two separate individuals; they instead feel like two sides of the same coin. Where other shows might try to resolve these traits by writing them off as separate from her character, Ōnuma accepts them as a part of what makes her feel grounded in reality.
This philosophy comes to a head in the eleventh episode, where Yuuko is finally forced to confront her shadowed counterpart, with Teiichi acting as a go-between bridge for both parties. This scene is easily the most emotionally powerful, and thus is my favorite of the series. Teiichi tries to reason with the shadowy figure, as during the prior episode Yuuko managed to transfer her memories to him, allowing him to witness her death.
During Yuuko’s youthful adolescence, her hometown, a small mining village, was being ravaged by a plague. Turning to superstition rather than reason, the town’s council believed that the plague was Godly recompense for building Seikyou Academy on top of a local shrine. With families of townsfolk dying by the day, and with the desperation of their situation pushing them to religious superstition (in a manner that is somewhat analogous to William Golding’s Lord of the Flies), the town’s council decide a human sacrifice must be made in order to appease the Gods, the sacrifice of course being Yuuko. Asagi, a young girl whom Yuuko had nurtured during the plague’s worst days, is falsely believed by the town’s council to be a religious prophet of sorts, and that whomever’s name she speaks must be the sacrifice. When Yuuko tries to free her from the council’s clutches, Asagi accidentally speaks Yuuko’s name as she is calling to her for help, leading to her death. Yuuko is thrown down into a dark basement (where the local shrine is located), to die.
With her leg broken, and in immense pain, Yuuko’s morals are scattered in her final moments. She rages against and curses everyone, from Asagi, to the town’s council and the town itself, finally revealing that this is when Shadow Yuuko was born. Desperately forcing all of her rage and hate onto this alternate persona, Yuuko finally passes away, before being reincarnated as a ghostly apparition due to her fractured selfhood.
Returning to the present, Teiichi says that he feels an immense sympathy for Shadow Yuuko after witnessing the absolutely horrid and callous context of her death. Shadow Yuuko admonishes him for this, saying that she distrusts his sympathies, and that even if they are genuine that they are simply misplaced, as she is aware of all the negative emotions that she embodies. Teiichi confronts her with the moral precept that the entire narrative has built towards, that her shadowed persona is still a part of who Yuuko is, and regardless of the embittered emotions she embodies, she is still the woman that he loves. He says that the rage and hate she feels is only human, and is absolutely understandable given the severity of the trauma she was subjected to in her final moments.
Rather than dismissing this nuance out of hand, the show confronts it with a poetic maturity, and is its most endearing merit.
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