This is the second entry in an informal series I’m writing about my approach to anime criticism. You can check out Part 1 here.
Content Warnings: Discussion of mental illness. General discussion of sexual assault. Discussion of abusive internet practices.
Imagine a situation, if you’ll humor me for a moment. Let’s say you’re someone experiencing mental illness (which I suspect will be relatable to many folks reading this). Many people might not be able to detect your symptoms on the surface – your anxiety is fairly well-hidden in your day-to-day life because it manifests in being unable to do things like make phone calls (unless truly an emergency) or start your homework until the last possible second, and everything tends to work itself out in the end to the extent that it’s technically taken care of. But your insides are constantly in knots because the world feels out-of-control, and though you don’t recognize it at this time, you definitely could benefit from some talk therapy and perhaps even some medical intervention.
The one thing you look forward to every week is attending your college anime club and watching anime with your friends, and this semester’s lineup promises to be great – one of the series the group is watching is Welcome to the NHK, and it’s one you’ve been looking forward to for a while. The first couple episodes you’ve seen on your own seem very sympathetic to your state of mind – the protagonist also suffers from mental illness and social anxiety, and the way that this is reflected in the character’s behavior feels very realistic to you. Even leaving his apartment to apply for a low-level job for which he’s almost guaranteed to get hired is a monumental task; his perception that everyone on the street is staring at and judging him makes your stomach drop, because it’s so relateable. He seems to know the actions he needs to take in order to better his life, but doesn’t have the executive function or the self-confidence necessary to make himself do them.
As the weeks and episodes go on, however, this feeling of elation begins to sour. At times, the main character’s social anxiety feels pushed aside in favor of more palatable otaku-style antics – an unsuccessful attempt at producing a pornographic video game, an accidental inclusion in a group planning to die by suicide (wacky!), unintentional involvement in a shady direct sales group… The emotional truth of the character’s situation begins to deteriorate, with a few very painful gasps here and there to remind you what the series was purportedly attempting to depict. And through the series’ many messy ups and downs, the audience around you laughs at the character’s misfortune. You feel smaller and smaller each time their laughter rings in your ears, because you know in your heart that, though they might not realize it, they’re laughing at you.
It might be obvious to most of you by now, but that club member was me.
