FLCL

#####This review is spoiler free.

FLCL is fucking bizarre. An anarchical and relentless acid trip of euphoria. There’s no breathing room. There’s no pause from dramatic effect. No slow introduction, explanation or relief.

FLCL does not take time to set the table. There is no cutlery, tablecloth or napkins. It pushes a bowl of curry into your hands and throws the spoon at you as it walks away. It doesn't need to tell you who these people are, because you’ll figure it the fuck out. My favourite kind of storytelling. Waste no time, assume the best of the viewer. Make them pay attention.

FLCL is a rollercoaster in the dark. You are flung around each bend and through each dip with no clue where the carriage will take you next. This is not unpredictable, this is unknowable. Forced to the edge of the seat in excitement, “what will happen next?” becomes an impossible question to answer.

FLCL is a testament to the power of animation. The insanity works precisely because it is hand drawn. You can’t pull a robot out of kid’s head anywhere else. The fluidity brought about by animating these drawings breathes the full fury of life into the story.

FLCL pushes its medium to the edge. Reality bends to the whim of the animators. They understand the great strength of animation: the ability to control every frame. By taking aggressive control of time the show keeps your eyeballs locked to the screen. Only animation can give you whiplash.

FLCL is rock and roll. Not just in sound but in style. The electric, rhythmic energy of rock music has been injected into every orifice. Each episode feels like a full-pelt head banger of a song: opening riff, chorus, bridge and all. And scored by the incredible music of the Pillows, it does not just feel this way, it sounds it too.

FLCL is the inner dirtbag child in us all. It plays in the mud and shoots birds with a slingshot. It oozes the style and feeling of the late 90s and early 2000s. It reeks of the iconic cartoons of the period, but leaves them in the fucking dust. A kid got to do whatever the fuck he wanted, and that meant robots, guitars and baseball.

FLCL refines a feeling of unrefined and unrestrained artistry. The perfected imperfect. It’s raw, but so fine tuned. A mess, but one deliberately and perfectly constructed to be so. Anyone can yell inane meaningless bullshit, but taking that madness and making it into art is hard. The show’s name is gibberish. Absurdity is its lifeblood.

FLCL means a lot. A kid in a back end town. The only person who pays him any attention is the girl his brother used to screw. The only person he gives a shit about is the alien who wants to whack him over the head with her bass guitar.

FLCL does not mean anything. You’ve missed the point trying to read into it. It’s a joy ride. You are in the passenger seat and the driver is a maniac. FLCL doesn’t even mean anything. Experimental? Nah. That implies it’s trying to figure something out. FLCL just is. And what is it is fun. Animation is FLCL’s playground. So fucking play.