I’m not the biggest fan of the Monogatari franchise. Granted, I thoroughly enjoyed Bakemonogatari, but was never really invested enough to follow the rest of the series religiously, and I stopped watching after Nisemonogatari. That said, I’ve always thought that Monogatari would translate well into the film format. It’s acute focus on a select couple of characters every arc, coupled with its striking, clean, minimalistic imagery, seemed ideal for cinema.
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Kizumonogatari I: Tekkestu-hen is the first film in a three-part series that acts as a prequel to Monogatari-proper. Directed by the oft-overlooked Tatsuya Oishi from Studio SHAFT, the film, in a nutshell, impresses. Not only as a frontrunner to the rest of the Monogatari franchise, but as an independent production in its own right. It is a glorious visual spectacle, semiotically-charged and incredibly impactful. Its story, whilst by no means the most intricate or deftly-crafted of narratives, is charming in its simplicity, graceful in its power, and provocative in its subtext. Kizumonogatari I is a testament to the creative freedom animation, and anime especially, can afford and is willing to explore. So, down the rabbit hole we go.
#Your wife has such a beautiful neck…
Monogatari is a visually driven series. It is renowned for its minimalist, stylised art, which, combined with the often unconventional camerawork, is intentionally exhibitionist and ever-so effective. Whether it's to supplement the humour, emotional highs, thematic subtext, or gungho action sequences, the high-contrast, selectively-chromatic imagery usually impresses. Kizumonogatari I exemplifies this more so than ever. All the usual cheeky visual cues are here. The increased emphasis on the trademark red and black scenes, the uniform car designs, and gloriously overblown fanservice shots, all serve to remind us that its core, Kizumonogatari is Araragi’s story, the advent of his journey into Wonderland, and thus told largely from his perspective. The disorientating, anachronistic (many sequences are likely imagined) structuring of individual scenes further complements this, acting as another window into the confused adolescent mind.
▶ VideoBut Kizumonogatari pushes beyond this. It’s the smaller visual details that give it so much charm. For example, the seemingly non-diegetic, out-of-frame clangor of a car crash, which symbolically marks an unfortunate and regrettable choice of dialogue on Araragi’s part, is followed up about five minutes later with the actual image of the aftermath. It’s surreal, absurd, and tongue-in-cheek, but that’s why it works. More generally speaking, the visual craftsmanship is crisper (unless the opposite can prove to be more effective) and of a higher quality than the television series. This is especially evident in the polished and revamped character designs (pun most certainly intended).
But it’s the more obvious visual details that give Kizumonogatari I it’s punch. The emotional peaks, sakuga, and action sequences are deliberately spread apart, such that when they do occur, they are all the more memorable. Two scenes in particular stand out.
First, when Araragi meets Kiss-Shot. The scene is beautifully crafted. It is tantalisingly built up and drawn out, a chilling piano score accompanying Araragi as he begins his literal descent into darkness and madness. The image of Kiss-Shot as we first meet her is both terrifying and alluring. The peculiar combination of deadly sultriness and child-like vulnerability defines Shinobu’s character, and it’s showcased to haunting effect here. She is both the fatale and the damsel. Props to Maaya Sakamoto for the stellar voice work.
Second, the very opening sequence. Again, it is slowly built up. The camera tracking downwards around the emaciated, dead tree sitting in the cram school mirrors Araragi as he descends deeper into the labyrinth. When he finally escapes, the outcomes is explosive, befuddling, and somewhat slapstick. But that’s all part of its power.
If there’s one potential area of complaint here, it’s the conspicuous contrast between the photorealistic CG backgrounds and the 2D hand-drawn characters. There’s no real attempt to mask this, and it can be jarring. However, you could make the case that there’s symbolic relevance here: Araragi finds it difficult to fit in in the world.
#Who buys pornomags these days anyway?
As mentioned, Kizumonogatari I is Araragi’s story. More specifically, it’s his origin story. Even more specifically, it’s about his loss of and quest to (re)find his humanity. And by extension, his identity. As a side note, I found it immensely compelling that Araragi’s most humanising moment led to his own physical dehumanisation.
As mentioned, the narrative itself, despite being visually layered, is actually fairly simple. The movie is only 64 minutes long, while scenes tend to be elongated due to the stylised presentation. Central to the story are a couple of chance encounters. Then again, chance encounters have been a cornerstone of the Monogatari series and the surrealism that defines it, ever since Senjougahara ‘literally’ fell into Araragi’s arms. And again, this simplicity has a certain charm to it, especially because of how creatively everything is handled.
Not to mention the subtext. Of course, visual cues and motifs are both compelling and instrumental here. The prominence of the Japanese flag, somewhat perplexing at first, is soon clarified as Araragi bakes in the rising sun. Moreover, it points to Japan’s troubled history and indistinct identity during rapid periods of industrialisation and modernisation, as in the Meiji Restoration etc. This is supplemented by establishing shots of an industrial backdrop juxtaposed against Buddhist iconography in the opening credits. In this respect, its fitting that the cram school is situated near the boundary between industrial factories and a golden open field. Indeed, in this way, Monogatari is very much about worlds colliding: that of the phantasmagorical, the bakemonogataris, and of Araragi’s very modern problems of identity.
#Children of the night, what music they make
Kizumonogatari I works on multiple fronts. It is a splendid introduction to the Monogatari series in general; a snapshot of the best that it can offer, nicely polished, suited up, and presented on a silver platter. It works well as the first of a three-part series, where much of the same creativity, production value, and high-impact intrigue is retained in later installments. Finally, and in my opinion most impressively, it can stand on its own as an (albeit unresolved) film that exemplifies anime’s potential as a cinematic medium.